#did this for school and i loved writing it

[heartsriki]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY ⌇편지

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. jungwon | word count: 2200+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ highschool au!, fluff, misunderstandings, sunshine x grumpy.

synopsis — After seeing your tiny crush nishimura riki sneak something into the confession box you just had to investigate.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊guys I swear ill make a non highschool au with riki soon... I couldn't help myself.. anyways its FEB!! can't wait to write valentines themed fics!

Finally.

It was your favorite month of the whole year.

You worked as a library assistant at your school—not because you particularly loved the job, but because it was better than joining a club.

Well… that’s what you told people.

In reality, you had a secret gig.

Tucked away in the most secluded part of the library was your confession box—a simple, unassuming container where students could slip in anonymous notes pouring out their feelings.

It started as something just for you. A place to vent when things got overwhelming. But then, he found out.

Jungwon.

You had no choice but to let him in on your little secret, and somehow, he became your best friend. Over time, word spread, and people started using the box themselves. What once held only your thoughts turned into a place where students whispered their love stories into folded pieces of paper.

Only Jungwon knew you were the one behind it.

And now, February had arrived—the holy grail of confessions. Sure, people submitted notes year-round, but around Valentine’s Day? The numbers spiked.

You weren’t going to lie. You loved it. Not just the thrill of reading them (and occasionally sharing the best ones with Jungwon, who never breathed a word), but the idea that you were helping people express what they were too afraid to say out loud.

So here you were, stationed at the front desk, pretending to browse book requests on the computer when a group of girls giggled their way to the back of the library.

Your eyes flickered toward them, amused. Definitely not because you were excited to read their confessions later. Nope. Definitely not.

Then, moments later—he walked in.

Riki.

The second you saw him, your instincts flared up. Suspicious.

Riki never stepped foot in the library. He barely did his assignments, let alone read for fun. So why was he here?

You watched, careful not to make it obvious. He glanced around, acting almost… nervous? And then, without a word, he disappeared into the back.

Seconds later, he reappeared from the other side—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, walking out as if nothing had happened.

Your breath hitched.

No way.

Did Nishimura Riki just put a confession in your box?

Your hand scrambled for your phone. You had to tell someone.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

And you did think about it.

You and Riki had a… relationship. Not exactly a friendship, but not total strangers either.

You first met in detention.

It was your first time there, and you had no idea what you were supposed to do. So, naturally, you turned to the guy next to you—the one with his headphones on, slouched in his seat like he owned the place.

Curious, you tapped his shoulder.

He flinched, looking caught before turning to glare at you. “What?”

You blinked. “How did you sneak those in? Can I listen too?”

Before he could answer, you asked another question. “Wait, also—what are we supposed to do in here?”

His face twisted in disbelief. “What do we do in detention? You sit here. Now be quiet before—”

“Mr. Nishimura, sneaking electronics in again?” The teacher’s voice cut in, hand outstretched.

Riki groaned, slumping back in his seat before begrudgingly handing over his phone and headphones.

When the teacher walked away, he snapped his head back to you, eyes burning with betrayal.

You swore he glared at you for the rest of the day.

Ever since then, you tried to make it up to him—with snacks, lunch, even passing him worksheets to copy. Eventually, after weeks of bugging him, he forgave you.

Kind of.

Even now, he still acted so indifferent.

Whenever you waved at him in the hallway, he looked away. When you invited him to sit with you and your friends, he ignored you. Even when you walked beside him, talking about anything and everything—he barely responded.

At first, you assumed he was just bad with people. But then you saw him with his friends—laughing, joking, talking.

So why was he only like this with you?

Eventually, you gave up.

You distanced yourself, refusing to waste energy on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

But then, every now and then, you’d catch him staring—or see him approach you, only to hesitate and walk away.

It was confusing. Frustrating. You told yourself you didn’t care anymore.

Until the school trip.

It had been late at night when you were sent to fetch supplies from the shed—a small, isolated building at the edge of the woods.

You weren’t scared, but walking alone with only a flashlight wasn’t exactly comforting.

By the time you found everything, thunder rumbled outside. Moments later, the skies opened up.

Heavy rain. Lightning. The kind of downpour that turned dirt trails into slippery nightmares.

Running back wasn’t an option.

So, hugging your knees to your chest, you sat in the shed—silent, alone, trying not to cry.

Minutes passed. Then—

The door burst open.

You jumped, heart nearly stopping—until your eyes locked with his.

Riki.

He stood there, soaked from head to toe, breathless, his curls sticking to his forehead.

Did he… run here?

He didn’t speak. Just stared for a moment, like he was checking if you were okay, before stepping inside and sitting next to you.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re helpless, you know that?”

You blinked, then let out a soft, teary laugh. He was trying to act tough. But he was clearly worried.

Neither of you spoke after that. You just sat there, listening to the storm. Well, you spoke—rambling like you used to, and for once, he didn’t seem to mind.

By the time the rain cleared, something between you had shifted.

And now, months later, here you were—staring at an empty confession box, knowing Riki put something inside, yet not finding his name anywhere.

Jungwon’s voice pulled you back.

“I knew I’d find you here.” He smirked. “Anything good?”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask your disappointment. “Yeah, some interesting ones. Oh—Minji completely dropped her last crush and moved on to a new one. Isn’t that crazy?”

Jungwon squinted at you. “You’re looking for Riki’s, aren’t you?”

You groaned, immediately dropping your head onto the table. “I’m pitiful. Don’t look at me.”

Jungwon laughed, dragging a chair out and sitting across from you. “You’re not pitiful. Just mildly down bad.”

You groaned, keeping your forehead against the table. “But I know he put something in there. I saw him! I was so ready to read it, but it’s like—poof!—nothing!”

Jungwon tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “You sure he actually put something in the box?”

You lifted your head slightly. “Of course, I literally watched him sneak in.”

“Then…” Jungwon grinned knowingly. “What if he took something out?”

That made you pause. You sat up straight, eyes wide. “Wait… What?”

“Think about it,” Jungwon continued. “If he put in a confession and realized he wasn’t ready, maybe he took it back.”

Your mind raced. That… actually made sense. But why would Riki take it back? And more importantly—who was he confessing to?

The thought made your stomach twist, and you weren’t sure why.

Jungwon smirked, clearly enjoying the sight of you struggling. “You could just ask him, you know.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right. ‘Hey, Riki! Weird question, but did you happen to steal a confession from my box?’”

“Why not?” Jungwon shrugged. “Or are you scared of the answer?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but the words never came. Were you scared? The idea of Riki confessing to someone else made your chest feel tight in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

Before you could respond, the student council room door creaked open again.

And there he was.

Riki stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair a little bit above his eyes which flickered between you and Jungwon before settling on you.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “Welp. That’s my cue to leave.” He patted your shoulder before slipping past Riki, whispering a quick, “Good luck,” on his way out.

The door clicked shut. Silence.

You swallowed. “Um… Did you need a book or—”

“I didn’t take it back.”

Your breath hitched.

Riki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The letter. I didn’t take it back.”

Your heart was pounding now. You tried to keep your voice steady. “What do you mean?”

His gaze dropped to the floor. “I put it in there without a doubt, I think… someone else removed it. Maybe it was a sign not to confess to you.”

You.

Your throat went dry. “It was… for me?”

Riki let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Obviously.”

You blinked. “Obviously? What do you mean obviously? You ignore me ninety percent of the time!”

He huffed, looking almost embarrassed. “I don’t ignore you.”

“You literally pretend not to hear me half the time!”

“Because I don’t know what to say!” Riki finally looked at you, frustration and something else—something softer—lingering in his expression. “You drive me crazy, you know that? You talk too much, you’re way too nosy, and you never leave things alone. And somehow, I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I like you, okay?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Riki rolled his eyes at your stunned silence. “This is embarrassing.”

You snapped out of your trance. “Wait, wait. Back up. You like me?”

He groaned, turning toward the door. “Forget I said anything—”

You grabbed his sleeve before he could leave.

He froze.

Slowly, you grinned. “You like me.”

Riki’s ears were turning red. “Shut up.”

You laughed, warmth bubbling in your chest. You never thought you’d get anywhere with him, and yet—here he was, out of breath looking at you so fondly, confessing in the most Riki-like way possible.

February was definitely your favorite month of them all.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The moment Riki stepped into the library, he knew he was making a mistake.

This wasn’t his scene. He didn’t do books, didn’t do anything that required more effort than necessary. But here he was, standing in the one place he actively avoided, shoving his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets as his eyes flickered toward the back.

He could feel your gaze on him.

You were always watching him.

Not in a weird way—more like you were constantly trying to figure him out. Always with that curious glint in your eyes, like he was a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He hated it.

No, that wasn’t true. He hated that he liked it.

And now, as he made his way toward the confession box—the stupidest thing he’d ever been a part of—he was hoping you weren’t paying too much attention.

With one last glance around, he slipped to the back, pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and dropped it inside.

Then, without missing a beat, he walked out through the other side, playing it cool.

It took everything in him not to look back.

He could already picture the way your brain was short-circuiting, the way you were probably grabbing your phone to text Jungwon. You always told him everything, after all.

Riki swore under his breath as he left the library.

He wasn’t even sure why he did it.

Well.

That was a lie.

He knew why.

It was because of you.

Because you confused the hell out of him.

You were supposed to be annoying—loud, persistent, way too nosy for your own good. You were supposed to be someone he could easily brush off, like he did with everyone else.

But you weren’t.

Because no matter how many times he ignored your waves in the hallway, you still smiled at him. No matter how often he shut you out, you never stopped trying.

And then you stopped.

You finally gave up on him.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel too tight.

Ever since that night on the school trip, when he found you curled up alone in the shed, it had been harder and harder to act like he didn’t care.

That night, when he heard you were missing—it was like he could imagine you with red eyed, shoulders shaking—he couldn’t stop himself.

Didn’t even think.

He just ran.

Ran straight into the storm, through the rain, barely able to see a damn thing—but knowing exactly where he was going.

When he finally got there, when he saw you small and fragile under the dim light, something in him cracked.

He never wanted to see you like that again.

But he didn’t know how to tell you that.

He wasn’t good with words. He wasn’t good with feelings.

So he wrote it down instead.

It wasn’t a confession, not in the way you expected.

But it was something.

Something for your eyes only.

Something he thought you would have found by now.

So when he walked passed the student council room later that evening, seeing you and Jungwon hunched over the pile of notes, he knew immediately.

You hadn’t seen it.

Because if you had, you wouldn’t be looking for his name like he overheard.

And now, as both your heads snapped toward him, your eyes wide and startled—

Riki sighed, stepping forward.

…You took it, didn’t you? He thought looking straight at Jungwon.

Because if you didn’t find his letter in the box…

Then someone must have.

What was Jungwon playing at?

What happens next? Click

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Part 3: Why Is It A Big Deal?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Dean Winchester xf!reader

POV: Dean POV, Reader POV, Soldier Boy/Ben POV

Summary: Dean's in for a rude awakening when he finds out exactly what you did when you got stranded in another universe.

Tropes: Fluff, Frenemies (Dean and the Reader), Enemies to Lovers, Awkward Situation, Multiverse Problems, ANGST, Crossover

Word Count: 12.4K (I PROMISE I DIDN'T MEAN TO)

Listen While You Read: Treat You Better By Shawn Mendes

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing, Making Out, Sexual Innuendo, References to Sex, Jealousy, A little homophobia (it’s Soldier Boy), Feelings, Angst, Self Deprecating Thoughts? References to Past Sex (it happens quite a bit). Soldier Boy Being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: It's finally here! I have loved the return to this universe more than words can describe. Each of the POV's are crazy in their own way. And again, don't forget to read the fic "Stranded" by @justagirlinafandomworld that inspired me to write this series in the first place! ENJOY!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Dean POV

Dean leaned back on his bed at the bunker and jammed the pillow further down around his ears over his headphones. He was listening to a mixtape that he had burned forever ago, chosen because it had the loudest drum solos blaring through his Walkman. However, it wasn't enough to block out the sounds that were coming from your bedroom or the subtle knocking of your headboard against the metal wall between his and your room that grew louder and louder every passing minute.

Dean had tried his best to get Sam on his side when he proposed the idea that Ben didn't have to come back to the bunker and instead should be sent be sent back to wherever the hell he came from right then and there, but Cas was still out doing whatever it was he was doing, which meant that Ben was going to stick around for a little longer.

And it meant that Ben was finally getting his wish… you.

Dean's teeth gritted together when he heard another moan over the sound of the cymbals and felt a white hot spike of something in the pit of his stomach burn through his body.

When you'd agreed to move to the bunker Dean had insisted you live in the bedroom next to his. It meant that if there was a problem in the middle of the night, Dean would be the first to hear you scream and the first to protect you. But other than the time you stubbed your toe and Dean kicked down the door when he heard you yell with his gun drawn, there hadn't been an emergent situation that required his help.

Right now he was regretting the decision to have you live next door wholeheartedly, because it meant that he was having a front row seat to everything Ben and you were doing in your bedroom.

Dean sighed, his eyes squeezed shut, as he tried not to imagine what was happening, but he kept having flashes skate across his mind. He didn't want to see what it looked like or sounded like to have Ben's name tumbling from your lips, all Dean wanted was to hear you say his name like that and to be the one making you fall apart beneath him.

Not some asshole from another universe.

The image of you laying under him back at the school came back to him in a wave, pushing away the revulsion momentarily. He remembered how soft you felt under him, how you clung to his body as if he was the only thing grounding you to earth, how natural it felt to be there protecting you, how you sighed when he pushed your hair back from your face, and how all the soft parts of you seemed to fit perfectly against all of the hardened muscles of him.

He hadn't even made love to you and you laying there on top of you felt more intimate than any experience he'd had in his life. Dean wanted to exist in that moment with you a little longer, to savor those last few seconds of you staring up at him as if he was the only person in the world.

The memory of Ben kissing you after followed. Dean remembered the way Ben's lips roughly took from you and the way he held on to your face and it snapped Dean out of it. It hurt him more that you let Ben kiss you after Dean had been the one to save you.

Fuck.

His teeth gritted hard together so tight that he heard them grind. He hated watching you with Ben, hated watching Ben do the one thing that Dean had wanted to do for years. And Dean also hated the way that Ben treated you, as if you were something to be possessed and showed off, as if you weren't smart or anything more than just beautiful.

Dean had known from the first moment he saw you in Ellen's bar years ago that you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life. You were funny, kind, sarcastic, and had a hard edge that you'd developed after years of being a hunter, but there was something else, a softer side of you that you didn't let everyone see, something hidden beneath it all that you only allowed yourself to have whenever Sam was around, but never with Dean.

It made him hate his brother a little bit, seeing how effortlessly the two of you had developed a friendship, while Dean had to practically Heimlich you to talk to him.

Dean wanted to see that side of you so badly. He wanted you to smile at him the soft way you smiled at Sam, and wanted you to laugh at his jokes or tease him playfully about his hair or about what he was wearing that day the way he'd seen you with his brother.

He tried to find reasons to be in the same room as you, drifting to sit nearby while you read or watched a movie. You always seemed different then. Your body was relaxed, open, with just a hint of a smile curving on the edge of your lips that made Dean want to stare at you for the rest of his life.

He tried to make you laugh whenever he could and tried his best to impress you, but each time he did you'd only roll your eyes and make a sarcastic comment. You didn't like him, Dean knew that, but he wished you did.

Sure he was maybe a little harsh on you sometimes, but Dean didn't want anything to happen to you, he was trying to protect you, because he knew the moment he stopped caring so much would be the moment he lost you.

He'd lost so many things in his life and he knew that he couldn't lose you, not without losing a piece of himself.

He hadn't felt like this about anyone else ever, and he didn't know what to do with his feelings. Bottling them up only seemed to hurt him more, but whenever something happened on a hunt or you tried to split away from him and Sam, he panicked and said things that he shouldn't instead of the three little words that he'd been wanting to say to you for years.

That's what happened a few weeks ago on a hunt, when you went into a house alone and faced a poltergeist that threw you across the room and into a glass cabinet. Dean had stood there yelling at you trying to tell you how stupid it had been for you to go in alone, while biting back what he really wanted to say- that he couldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you because looking at you was like watching the fireflies along a misty road at dusk, each one lighting a path in the darkness that showed him the way.

Yes he was angry, but all Dean saw was the bloody ripped sleeve of your shirt, and the way your face had contorted in pain when Sam picked you up and helped you back to the car. It made Dean feel like someone had ripped at his insides with a pickaxe seeing you hurt and listening to the whimper of pain that passed through your lips. He knew that he went too far when you broke his nose, but damnit, Dean just wanted you to be safe! And you never listened to what he told you because you were just so damn stubborn and always got on Dean's last nerve.

The truth was he hated that this was your life, hated that you were a hunter and each day you put yourself in danger, because he believed you deserved more. You deserved a normal life with someone who loved you, maybe a few kids, a dog, and a life far from the world that Dean and you knew so well.

Of course the thought of you with anyone else made Dean want to put his fist through a wall. The problem was even though Dean wanted you, he believed that you deserved better than him. You deserved the white picket fence and suburbia, not a darkened bunker underground with a man who wasn't sure he still had anything good left.

It was the reason why he didn't want to tell you how he felt, that, and Dean believed you absolutely hated him and hated being around him in the first place. It's why he buried it beneath the surface for so long.

However, when he was looking at you Dean often forgot the things that happened to him. You made him want to keep getting back up to fight if not for anyone else, for you.

But then Ben had shown up.

When you'd gotten dragged to another universe, Dean had tried everything in his power to get you back. He'd screamed and prayed for Cas so loud and so many times he went hoarse, he'd looked through almost every book he knew of to find the spell to bring you back to no avail, tried several rituals that promised results but gave him nothing, looked at his computer screen for so long that it made him cross-eyed, and drank coffee so strong it made his heart race.

But all Dean knew was that you were somewhere else alone, where he couldn't get to you or protect you, and it made him sick. He hated the thought of you alone trying to fight your way to survival in a place like the Endverse. When Cas finally came five days later and helped Dean bring you back, Dean had been so happy to see you that he'd almost hugged you, but instead he'd made an off-brand joke and you'd run into Sam's arms for a hug that made his chest tight.

Dean thought that he was having a nightmare when he saw Ben, a man who looked so much like himself, stride into the motel room confidently and kiss you. Dean was waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to fuck off, but you didn't, you liked it. And judging by the sounds Dean was hearing through the wall he could see that you wanted Ben.

All it did was piss Dean off that another version of himself got to have you and he didn't. Not when he'd known you longer and you'd only known Ben for five days.

Five fucking days. She's known that asshole for five days and she likes him. She's known you for years and she can't even stand to be in the same room with you.

The thought made Dean's heart clench in his chest. He didn't understand what Ben had that he didn’t have, he was him after all as Dean kept saying over and over to you. But Dean knew that deep down the real thing he was telling you over and over was not that Ben was him, but rather was asking the question: "why not me?"

Does she really hate me that much that she can't stand the thought of being with me? That she can stand to be with someone who looks exactly like me, but can't stay in a room with me for more than ten seconds?

Dean gets out of bed, stomps out the door, and down the hallway towards the library to try and escape the sounds coming from your room. They vibrate down the hall after him, like a flock of seagulls, mocking him all the way and doing little to ease the anger and jealousy swirling beneath his skin.

Sam is sitting in a chair with a large volume in front of him and a piece of notebook paper scribbling furiously when Dean enters the library, but he doesn't appear surprised to see his brother.

"That better be a way for use to get rid of the walking Trojan ad." Dean huffs, throwing himself into the chair across from his brother.

Please let them be using protection. The last thing I want is to be stuck here to raise super baby. I had enough problems with Jack.

Sam gives him a sympathetic look, and pushes his long hair back behind his ears. "Sorry. I'm researching a case in Kentucky, but Cas said that he'd be back in a few hours-"

"He said that ages ago! I want that asshole gone now." Dean's hand tightens on the arm of the chair, so tight that his knuckles are white.  He was happy that the library seemed to be far enough away from your room to escape the noise, but he knew it was happening, which didn’t help at all. "I don’t understand what she sees in that dick."

Sam hesitates for a moment, tapping his pen against the notebook paper.

"Just spit it out Sammy." Dean sighs.

"He might be an asshole to you, but not to her." He replies simply.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well you're kinda…" Sam shrugs and leans back into his chair trying to find the words.

"I'm kinda what?"

"You’re kinda a dick to her." He finishes. "She's getting fed up with it. The other day she told me that she's been thinking about moving out and going back on her own. I've been trying to talk her out of it-"

Dean's blood ran cold. He hated the thought of you leaving again, it meant that he wouldn't know where you were or if you were alive and he wouldn't be able to make sure you were prepared for a hunt or at least be there to have your back if something went wrong- because let's face it, something always went wrong. "What? What the hell are you taking about?! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because she hasn't made up her mind."

"But why?"

"Because ever since the first time we’ve been going on hunts with her, you’ve been rude and-"

Dean interrupts his brother with a shout. "What? Do you expect me to hold her fucking hand? We’ve seen experienced hunters get killed out there with one simple mistake! And she’s just some amateur-"

"Dean, she's not an amateur." Sam sighs as if he can't understand why Dean was being so difficult.

He was. Sam was used to it whenever the subject of you came up in front of Dean, but honestly his brother's stubborn attitude when it came to you was annoying him.

"She is!" Dean snaps back wishing that he had a beer.

"No, she’s not." Sam shakes his head. "She’s been doing this just as long as we have. You know who her mom was and you know that her mom was just as hard on her as our dad was on you-"

At the mention of their father, Dean can feel his jaw tighten, memories flashing across his mind that he wanted to forget. The cold feeling of disapproval begins to creep up his spine to his shoulders, but Dean shakes it off. "That doesn’t matter."

"I think it does."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, Dean you keep saying that he’s you, but I'm starting to think that she's you."

"You need to stop using all those hair products Sammy, they're messing with your head-" Dean scoffs.

"Just listen to me for a minute." Sam points at him with the pen. "She might be stubborn and sarcastic on the outside, but she's not callous or emotionless. She hides what she's feeling deep down, just like you do. And I think that she likes Ben because he doesn't hurt her and he makes her feel wanted."

But I do want her.

The thought rises before Dean could stop it and he wonders if you'd spent all these years thinking that he didn't want you around when it was all he thought about. Every decision he made was to try and protect you, to put you first, and the thought that you didn't see that hurt him.

"I'd never hurt her-" Dean's voice comes out a little softer and more broken than he meant it to, catching slightly on the words.

Sam shakes his head. "Not physically. But the two of you have been doing this for years and I think that she's sick of you treating her the way you do and then she met Ben. She met another version of you who appreciates her. I know that you’re a little jealous-"

"I am not jealous!" Dean says on instinct, but Sam knows the truth, he's always known the truth, and Dean knows it too.

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother. "You should talk to her. Take Ben out of it and talk to her the way you talk to other people."

"I talk to her like I talk to other people." Dean grumbles as he gets up out of his chair intent on going to the kitchen to get a beer or something stronger to take the edge off.

"No you don't. So go talk to her." Sam waves a hand in Dean's direction before his gaze drops back down to the book.

"She's kinda preoccupied." Dean mutters under his breath and the image of you and Ben tangled up in your bed makes him flinch.

Sam looks up at his brother again, sympathy flashing in his eyes. "Dean-"

"Just leave me alone Sammy."

And with that he turns and makes his way towards the kitchen, hoping that he won't be able to hear Ben and you, and wishing that you hadn't met Ben in the first place.

Reader POV

Ben mutters something in his sleep, rolling his body towards yours so close that his muscular right arm brushes against your bare shoulder. He was laying on his stomach, his face pressed into one of your many pillows, snoring softly, and taking up most of your bed.

It wasn't hard to. The full sized bed was hardly big enough for you, let alone two people, especially not someone as tall and broad as Ben. Which became more obvious when you noticed that Ben's feet were hanging off the end.

You sigh, laying on your back and staring up at the cracks in your ceiling, unable to fall asleep. You followed each one with your eyes, tracing the shapes they made like someone watching the clouds on a hill bathed in sunlight. You'd thought that after everything Ben and you did for the past two hours you'd be able to fall asleep as easily as he did, but you couldn't because your mind was awake and roaming everywhere it could.

It wasn't that you hadn't had a good time with Ben or hadn't wanted to have sex with him. Ben didn't force you into anything. You wanted to have sex with him. You had missed him and it had been a while for you, and you liked Ben. The problem was that now, after, there was an odd feeling stirring in the pit of your stomach, something that felt surprisingly like guilt.

I have nothing to be guilty about.

You chide yourself, hands curling and uncurling on the edge of the blanket the longer you stared up at the ceiling. But it was still there, bubbling up beneath the surface. Your mind kept slipping back into the memory of Dean and you in the broken auditorium.

Each time you closed your eyes you were back in Dean's arms, looking up at him while he pushed your hair out of your face and asked you if you were alright, his eyes filled with something that looked suspiciously like worry. He'd never acted gentle or caring like that before with you and you still felt odd from everything that happened.

Fuck. What is happening to me? I just spent the last two hours with Ben, I shouldn’t be thinking about anyone else but-

You sigh again and shut your eyes, but it just brings the image back to haunt you.

You hadn't had any thoughts like this about Dean, not ever, and you didn't know why now. You'd spent years thinking that he was a big jerk who hated you, but the Dean you saw earlier today was far from that.

In the past, Dean had your back a few times, but it hadn't been like earlier. He'd never held you close, covered you with his body as if he didn't care what happened to himself as long as you were safe, and he'd never brushed your hair away with such tenderness it made your heart flutter in your chest.

No. Dean has been a total dick from the moment I met him, he hates me, he-

The thought stutters to a stop when the hurt and jealousy in Dean's eyes when you kissed Ben comes flashing back through your mind.

Does he? Or did I just interpret that wrong? Maybe it was just the hatred he had towards Ben flaring but… why does he hate Ben? He has no reason to.

But despite everything that Dean had done to you over the years, you didn't hate him.

Even though he tap danced on your last nerve whenever he opened his mouth and often made you feel stupid you couldn't, not when you saw the way he cared so much for other people. Dean Winchester was selfless, he always put other people first and was willing to sacrifice himself if it meant someone else got to be happy and got to live.

You glance at the man lying in the bed next to you. Ben was handsome and strong. He possessed some of the qualities of Dean that you found attractive, but he treated you differently. It was what drew you to him when you got trapped in Ben's reality, not just that he looked like Dean, but that Ben joked with you, teased you, and he seemed to generally care about you.

Dean didn't act that way with you. At least, you'd never seen Dean act that way before today. Today was different than any other day and you wished that it hadn't been.

Ben mutters something else, and this time he leans more towards you, his arm coming up around your waist to hold you against his side. The warmth and weight of it was familiar, but it made the feeling of guilt grow larger in your stomach.

Why is this happening? I didn’t feel guilty the last time I had sex with him.

Your eyes trace the way his dark hair has fallen into his face and over the pillow, and you reach up to push some of the strands back from his face. But with it comes the ghost of how you wanted to do the same thing to Dean earlier, that your fingertips had itched to feel his brownish golden hair in your hands.

Before he'd drifted off Ben had asked you to come with him when Cas sent him back to where he was from, said that he wanted you there with him. You had an inkling that it was the first time that Ben had asked something so serious from a woman. But you weren't convinced that it was because Ben wanted to have a relationship, rather that he didn't want to be alone.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't considering it. Ben was kinder to you, gentle (in his own way), and he seemed to appreciate having you around. But there was something holding you back.

At first you thought it was Sam. He was your best friend and you didn't want to abandon him, but there was another feeling, an ache deep down that you didn't know the cause of. Other than Sam there really wasn't anything in this universe that would hold you back from going with Ben, but obviously there was, you just couldn't figure out what.

Sure Ben's reality was fucked up… yours was too. Demons and Angels duking it out for supremacy while other creatures hid under beds and in the dark to kill people or worse wasn’t ideal either. But you weren't sure what your life could look like there. There wasn't anything to hunt which meant you'd probably be dealing with supes instead and the thought wasn’t appealing. You weren't sure that you belonged in his world.

Maybe I should have asked him to stay with me?

The thought made you bite the inside of your cheek. You'd been thinking about moving out of the bunker. Yes it was the only permanent home you'd ever known, but Dean was getting on your nerves and you thought that maybe you should get a little bit of distance from him. Moving out and Ben staying meant that he could come with you on hunts, but you weren't sure that was the solution either. Ben was strong and brave, but you weren't sure that he had the precision or the delicate side you needed when approaching a hunt to do well here.

It was these thoughts that were keeping you awake and you decide to get some water to clear them.

You slowly begin to slip out from under the covers, gently moving Ben's arm off of you as slowly as you can as to not wake him before you make your way to your dresser to find a clean pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt. Ben sighs and shifts in the bed, the sheets pulling down just a little bit so you can admire the expanse of his freckled muscular back.

You'd seen Dean shirtless before once. He had come running out of his room with his gun drawn when you'd stubbed your toe on your bedside table and yelled. He hadn't put on a shirt before coming into your room, just aggressively kicked down the door wearing only a pair of hotdog pajama pants that you did mock him relentlessly for afterward. You didn't know why he'd looked so frantic when you yelled. It was just a toe after all. There wasn't anything for him to be worried about. Sam had showed up maybe ten minutes later rubbing the sleep from his eyes not worried at all.

But you'd remembered how Dean had looked shirtless. Sometimes the thought came flying into your mind at the most inopportune times, when Dean pissed you off and stuck his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your lips and the warmth of his skin through he air. The thought of him shirtless with his pajama pants hung so low on his hips that you could see every single hard defined muscle of his abdomen including the ones that made smart girls like you stupid.

You slipped on the clothes, but stop before you open the door to cast one more glance at Ben.

Although you knew that Ben and your relationship was more physical, there was a part of you that believed it could grow into something more if you went with him, something that you'd been wanting for a little while. Not just Ben specifically, but with someone.

Yes you were lonely, and Ben lessened the ache whenever he was around, but sometimes you wanted more than this and being a hunter didn’t help at all.

You never met anyone or tried to have a real relationship with anyone in a long time. The last permanent boyfriend you'd had wasn't a hunter, but someone you'd met in a bar after a hunt with Dean and Sam. It lasted Four months. Four months of you missing anniversaries, dates, and his birthday. He'd accused you of cheating on him with Sam and you'd found him in bed with his work partner when you'd tried to surprise him one weekend. You hadn't been surprised. Surprising was when the guy had tried to follow after you and both Dean and Sam had blocked his path and told him to "get lost." That was putting it nicely.

Sam had to hold Dean back from breaking the guy's arm when he shouted over the two of them at you that you "weren't worth the trouble." You didn’t understand why Dean was also just as pissed at the idea of the guy cheating on you as Sam.

You shake off the thought and tiptoe out of the room in the direction of the kitchen.

The bunker was silent, the metal floors cool beneath your bare feet as you walked down the desolate hallways. You glance at Dean's closed door for a moment as you pass and the feeling in the pit of your stomach tightens. A flash of the emotions on his face when you kissed Ben in the car and at the school flickers through your mind and you clench your jaw.

What the hell is wrong with me?

When you enter the kitchen you realize that you're not alone. Dean is leaning over the metal table his large hands braced on the top, his back to you, and his head bowed. A bottle of expensive whiskey sits on the counter in front of him next to a glass with the maple colored liquid inside. But the weird thing was that this wasn't the usual stuff Dean drank. This was the bottle that he had Sam hide from him for emergencies, the stuff that you'd only seen Dean drink when he was really upset and nothing else would cut it.

But what?

He turns when he hears you walk in.

You watch his eyes darken slightly as they skate over what you're wearing making your cheeks flush. You didn’t think he was still awake. If you had, you would have wore more than your favorite Metallica t-shirt that was worn soft from years of wear. Dean's gaze catches on the end of it where it hits mid-thigh, lingering a second too long, and makes something spark in your chest.

"Sorry. I was just getting some water." You clear your throat awkwardly.

"Romeo didn't get it for you?" Dean frowns as if the thought of Ben is an annoyance to him.

"No, he's asleep." You shake your head. "I thought you were asleep too-"

"Kinda hard to be sweetheart when the two of you are shooting a porno in the room next door to mine."

You feel your cheeks flush an even brighter pink. You didn't know that Ben and you were being that loud. The bed was a little squeaky, but you hadn't worried about the sound. The icky feeling in the pit of your stomach is back, the guilt rising in a wave the more you realize how much Dean heard.

Again? Why am I guilty? Ben and I had fun, he didn't force me to do anything. I wanted to have sex with him but-

"I'm sorry. I didn't know we were being that loud." You shake off the feeling and move around Dean to get a glass from one of the shelves.

"Guess he was making up for lost time huh? All those lonely months away from you fucking other women were hard I guess." Dean's words bite through the air and made your own temper flare up.

"He's not cheating on me. We weren't exclusive-"

"But you haven't been with anyone since you came back from his world."

Your hand freezes around the glass you reached for on the shelf. Why did he notice that? And why does he care?

The flicker of emotion in Dean's eyes when you kissed Ben in the auditorium comes roaring back, jealousy and hurt. It makes the guilt worse.

You let out a breath to calm the anger that wishes to bite back at Dean's comment. "Look, I know that you don't like him, but Ben isn't a bad person and even though it's not any of your business, we had fun."

You don't know why you felt the need to justify what you'd done with, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Standing here in front of Dean felt awkward, and it never had before. And it wasn't just because of what you were wearing, there was something else charging the air between the two of you. You were expecting a giant purple elephant to appear in the corner.

Dean chuckles, his eyes dark. "Did you now?"

"Yes." You reply, but you can't hold his gaze, not when he's looking at you like that.

Dean takes a long swig from the glass in front of him, his lips curling on the edges in a cruel smirk. This was the Dean you saw more often, the one that made you feel like a failure and a bother, but it was the first time that you longed to see the soft Dean who protected you from the fallen debris.

"I could hear just how much fun the two of you were having sweetheart." He continues. "But the man who isn’t a bad person toasted a woman that he slept with without batting an eye. Imagine what he'd do to you."

"A woman who was going to kill me." You say to defend Ben. "And he wouldn't hurt me."

Dean's eyes flick down to your thighs, his gaze hardening. "What do you call those?"

You glance down at the place where your shirt meets your thighs and notice the bruises. There were five on each leg and each was a perfect imprint of Ben's fingertips. They didn't hurt and you certainly hadn't felt or noticed them before Dean pointed them out.

But you knew that Ben would never hurt you. He wasn't like that.

Sure he killed that woman today, but she was crazy and she was trying to kill me and-

"He didn't it on purpose. He's stronger than us and sometimes-"

"Don't you dare make excuses for that asshole." Dean growls eyes flashing. "I don't care if he didn't do it on purpose, he still did it. He knows how strong he is and if he can't control himself he shouldn't be sleeping with you!"

"You're being ridiculous!" Ice clinks against the sides of your glass as you make your way back towards the sink.

"No, I'm not. And I want him gone!"

"Oh really?" You snark while placing the glass under the running water in the sink. "I had no idea. You've been so calm and collected since the moment Ben showed up."

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but instead huffs out a breath and pours himself another glass. The amber colored liquid splashes against the sides of the cup as Dean violently picks it up to take another drink.

An uncomfortable silence settles over the kitchen.

The water is cold, but you can't feel it when you take a sip, and you still can't quite look at Dean.

If he really is jealous, why can't he just come out and say it? Why is he being so stubborn and nitpicking someone else?

You sigh quietly to yourself and take another sip of water. The guilt was building again, prickling beneath your skin and bringing an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of your stomach the longer you stand there.

Why am I guilty? Dean being jealous has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him!

You think about going back to your room and being done with it, but you can't something is keeping you in that kitchen with Dean just as something is keeping him there with you.

"He-um-" You swallow. "He asked me to back with him to his universe." 

Dean's entire body tenses as he explodes. "What? Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"No I-"

"Are you seriously considering that?" He demands looking at you like you're crazy.

"Yes. I am." You answer him honestly. There's something hidden beneath the surface that makes you want to tell Dean this. You're not sure if it's morbid curiosity or if it's something else, something that you can't quite place, but you want Dean to tell you what he thinks.

"But why?! You've known that asshole for five days!" Dean snaps back, but you can hear something in his voice, almost as if he's holding himself back from saying something else.

Dean please just say it! Don't keep it in!

"He's not an asshole, he's just rough around the edges." You shrug continuing to make excuses for Ben and thinking about the bruises on your thighs.

"Oh please." Dean rolls his eyes so far into the back of his head you wonder how they didn't get stuck on his brain. "If I took a piece of tree bark and ran it along his arm, he'd make it smooth."

"But-"

"Sam told me that you were unhappy here, but I didn't think you would throw your entire life away to be with that asshole!"

His words make you hesitate for a moment in surprise.

Sam told him that I was thinking about leaving? Why did he tell Dean that?

"What life Dean?" You shout, throwing your arms out to gesture to the entire room. "I don't have anything here! I can't keep a relationship because I let people down. I don't know who my dad is because he walked out on my mom as soon as he found out she was pregnant. My mom died four years ago. I go to bed every night wishing for something else to happen but-" Frustrated tears were burning in your eyes now.

You didn't want to cry in front of him, but the urge to was overpowering everything else, the emotions you tried to keep down for so long beginning to curl and reform from the dark recessive parts of your mind where you buried them the night you met Dean Winchester.

"You deserve better than that asshole!" Dean shouts over you taking another step in your direction.

"Oh and what do you think I deserve Dean? Are you saying that I deserve someone like you?

Dean grits his teeth in frustration, anger blazing behind his eyes. "No I-" He finds his words. “I can’t believe you slept with him.”

"Oh good! That dinosaur. Falling back on something familiar, what a typical Dean Winchester move!" You gesture wildly with your hands sloshing water onto the floor. "I don’t understand why you’re so upset about it. We’re both consenting adults. He didn’t force me to do anything.”

You put down the cup to avoid throwing the glass at him.

“I just don’t see why you did it!” He towers over you, his body pulled taunt with his own anger and frustration.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You shouldn’t be sleeping around with people like him!”

Is he out of his MIND?!

"Why not?" You demand, fists curling into balls at your sides because you know that it's not safe to put them anywhere else. The anger that was flaring in your chest was starting to rival how you felt the last time that Dean and you had an argument and you broke his nose. And it had just finished healing a few days ago.

"Because he treats you like a piece of meat!" Dean shouts it so loud you can hear the frying pans hanging in the kitchen clink together

"Do you even hear yourself? I have seen you in bars picking up women after a hunt-"

You had. Countless times. The bravado Dean had when the three of you were still floating on the adrenaline that was pumping through from a hunt you'd seen first hand in the bars where Sam and you sat at a one of the high top tables watching him weave through the crowds with the sound of classic rock blaring over the crackly speakers. You watched Dean find another woman for the night, saw how he tried his best lines and got what he wanted while you sat in the motel room next to his trying to read beside a sleeping Sam and avoid the noises coming from next door.

"This is different!" He fumes.

"How is it different Dean? I want to know!"

Is it different because he's jealous? Or did I just imagine that?

You didn't think that you did.

Dean's face is bright red with the force of his anger and you're sure yours must be too given how it feels like it's on fire.

"He's always touching you or kissing you, putting his fucking hands on you!" Dean's jaw is clenched tight.  "I've never heard him give you one compliment other than how you look-"

You laugh in his face, but it comes out crueler than you meant it to. "In contrast to how many compliments you give me? Because I don't think there's been any of those."

"I compliment you." He huffs back.

"Oh really?" You scoff. "When?"

Dean is quiet for a minute. His eyes drag over you again, but this time the sweep of them bring a heat vibrating against your skin and your throat gets tight. "I like your shirt."

"HA!" You shout triumphant holding up a finger. "That's looks based."

"You didn't let me finish!" He scrambles. "I like your shirt because I like that band too and you have okay taste in music."

"Oh wooowwww. I have "okay taste in music" let me just swoon right here." You wave your hand back and forth. "Fuck you. I have awesome taste in music!"

"That's not what I-"

"And who is it that should I be sleeping around with? You?!" You roll your eyes trying to take a step away from him, but he moves to intercept you.

His fists are clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles are white. “I didn’t say that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

His green eyes darken as he stares down at you, the fluorescent lights above the two of you catching the familiar hard lines of his face. Even though Dean looked like Ben, he still looked like himself in his own way. The familiar crows feet that graced under his eyes, the subtle tilt of his head, the rough stubble that pebbled over his chin and cheeks, the soft freckles, and the green eyes that you always found on you. There was a small scar just barely visible on the bridge of his nose and a few flecked on the edges of his face that made him more handsome.

You'd noticed how handsome he was in the past, but never like this. You'd never looked at Dean as other than someone who annoyed you. And yes he was annoying you now, but there was something else that you could feel threatening to explode, something you buried deep down and refused to unearth.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth Dean, I’m trying to figure out why this is such a big deal to you!”

Why is it a big deal?

“It just is!"

"Why? Because you're jealous?!" You hadn't meant to say it, but Dean's body goes taunt again.

"I am not jealous. I just don’t want you sleeping with him!”

“I think you are! And you’re not my dad Dean. You don’t get to decide who I sleep with!” You'd had enough of hearing him yell at you, of hearing him bitch about something that wasn't any of his business.

Who does he think he is? We're not together.

“That’s not what this is about-“

“Then what is it about Dean?! Why are you so hung up on something that is none of your business?!”

"It is my business!"

"How? How is it your business? Because you think that Ben is you somehow?"

"He is me!" Dean roars again and you wished he would stop saying it, because it was snagging on something in your chest.

A lie that you told yourself when you first started sleeping with Ben. You knew it. That you liked Ben because he looked like Dean and he appreciated you, that he didn't make you feel stupid, or ugly or not worth his time.

"No, he's not!" You shout back shaking off the feelings for what you hope is the final time. “Why do you care so much about this?!”

“Because I-“ Dean shouts, eyes narrowed at you. “Because I just do!”

“WHY?” You poke your finger into his chest. “I don’t care who you think you are. You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot sleep with!"

“I’m not trying to!”

“Yes you are! And I am so sick of your bullshit Winchester. This is none of your business. None of this is. It's my life! So why don't you just take your unneeded opinion and-"

The rest of your sentence evaporates into thin air as Dean grabs your shoulders so tight you're sure they're be bruises and pulls you in for a searing kiss.

Your body is frozen in shock, the warmth of his lips against yours holding a softness that you'd never known.

Everything about this kiss is different than the ones you'd share with Ben. You knew better than to compare them, but Ben kissed like he meant to devour you. He wasn't hesitant or afraid to take what he wanted when he kissed you, but Dean?

Dean kissed like he wanted you to understand and that he wished to understand himself. Dean's kiss was passionate, filled with enough emotion that it left you breathless. Ben was never afraid to take what he wanted but Dean, he was almost asking, trying to let you understand, and trying to listen to what you wanted.

But just as he deepens the kiss you push him away and slap him across the face. The sharp sound rings through the kitchen and for a moment all you can do is stare at him shocked while the red mark on his face forms.

"What the hell was that for?" Dean shouts, but the emotion in his eyes wasn't anger, it was hurt.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" You shout back still out of breath. The ghost of his lips presses against yours and the taste of the whiskey remains on the tip of your tongue.

"I thought that-" He clears his throat, eyes widening.

"Thought what?"

"That you wanted me to-"

"To what? Kiss me?" The frustration was building again, because yes it had felt good to kiss him, but you hated that he was doing this now. That after years of him hating you, now when you had the possibility of being happy Dean was making this harder for you.

"Well-"

"No." You poke your finger into his chest, and this time you can't hold back the tears. They slip from your eyes, hot against your skin, as you feel every emotion that you'd kept bottled up beginning to surge up in a wave. "You don't get to do this Dean. Not now. Not after years of you treating me like shit."

Dean sighs and reaches for you, but you pull back from him. Hurt flashes in his eyes again and you can feel your own in the center of your chest. "I didn't-"

"Yes, you did. Damn it Dean, I'm not some shiny toy the two of you can fight over."

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"Then why now?" You ask in a half sob.

Dean pauses. "What?"

"Why after years of you hating me-"

"I never hated you." Dean's voice is more of a whisper than anything else.

"Oh bullshit. Yes you do!" You raise your hand to scrub at your cheeks, the tears falling quicker now.

It was the first time that you'd allowed yourself to cry in front of him, and you were fighting the urge to run back to your room. Ben was still there and you didn't know how the hell you were going to explain to you why you were crying.

"Will you just shut your damn mouth for five seconds and let me talk!?" He snaps running his hand through his hair, frustrated.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm going to break your nose again if you do!"

"You need to because I'm trying to explain-"

"Explain what? Explain that you've completely lost your mind? Explain that all the years of you undermining me, making me feel like a burden, teasing me, yelling at me, making me feel like I was stupid, and driving me absolutely insane, has just been you trying to say that you love me?!"

You hadn't meant to shout that at him. Hadn't meant to say the word love, but now it was there hovering in the air between the two of you. Dean's eyes are locked with yours and you don't think he's taken a breath since you spoke.

Because love was a little word, only four letters, but why did it always seem so heavy? How could one word have the same weight as a loaded gun? How could something so small cause so much pain and so much hurt?

"Yes." Dean looks down at the ground, not able to meet your eyes. He looks ashamed and you can't find the words to fill the silence.

Because Dean Winchester was in love with you. The man who you'd always thought hated you, who you thought wished that you were never around, and who you thought believed you to be an annoyance.

Holy shit.

"I-" He swallows. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how much I hurt you. All I wanted was for you to be safe and to talk to me the way you talk to Sam." His voice is quiet, just a soft rumble, but you can hear a tremor on the edge of his words. "I didn't mean to make you hate me."

The words strike you right in the center of your chest and it shocks you so much that you stop crying. You'd seen different sides of Dean before. Seen him angry, happy, annoyed, frustrated, sad… but Dean Winchester had never looked broken around you, not like this, and certainly not over you. Whenever something went wrong Dean would isolate himself from you in his room with a bottle of something to numb the pain. It made you feel like someone was gutting out your insides with a pitchfork.

The silence grows between the two of you again, and his head is still bowed and looking down at the floor in shame.

You exhale softly, controlled by something that you're not sure, and reach out towards Dean's face.

He flinches back from you, eyes rimmed red, looking at you suspiciously as if he believes you're going to break his nose. In hindsight, you supposed it was a reasonable fear to have since you'd done it in the past.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice cracking. Dean's green eyes have dimmed, looking more like an aged jade pot that's sat outside in the sun for too long.

"Please shut up." You sniffle, the end of your mouth twitching into a smile, before you place your hands on the sides of Dean's face and pull him down to you.

The kiss is quick, only a brush of your lips against his to give yourself a taste and when it's done you pull back letting your hands fall to your sides. You're not sure why you did that. Maybe it's because Dean admitted to loving you and he looks like a lost puppy, but-

Dean steps forward into the space, his hands reaching towards your face, and you flinch.

“What are you-“

“Please shut up.” Dean murmurs, echoing the words you'd whispered to him moments ago.

His hands are rough and warm against your cheeks. Worn from years of carrying a gun in his hand and hard work he never shied away from. But they’re nothing but gentle against your skin as he pulls your face to his.

You could be standing on the surface of the sun and not feel as hot as you do now. A volcano could erupt and bathe you in lava and you would just scoff at it like it was a normal day, because kissing Dean feels infinite. It's all consuming. The scrub of his five o'clock shadow against your cheeks, the slide of his hands down your arms that bring goosebumps in their wake, the smell of his shampoo that you always catch when you walk into the bathroom, the nudge of his nose into your cheek, and the soft supple welcome of his lips that draw the breath from your lungs all take you somewhere otherworldly.

You couldn't stop. It was a compulsion, like magnets, like it was something you wanted to do for so long but buried it deep down to avoid the inevitable. Fueled by the belief that Dean would push you away, because Dean Winchester hated you.

But he didn't, he never did.  And in the kiss is something else, years of emotions the two of you pushed down, years of being frenemies of almost losing each other, years of ignoring what was developing between the two of you, and years of watching the other fall for the wrong person.

Dean moans softly into your mouth and picks you up, his muscular arms fitting under your legs to place you on the counter, not pulling away at all and stepping into the space between them to fit himself closer to you. Your hands come to the back of his head, tangling in the short strands at the nape of his neck, shuffling your nails through his hair in a way that makes Dean shudder and pull you tighter to his chest.

Dean pulls back from you out of breath, but rests his forehead against yours, as if any further is too far from you and he doesn't wish to ever let you go.

"I don't hate you Dean." You whisper before he can say anything. "I can't. And I was only with Ben because I thought that this could never happen because you hated me-"

Dean's lips fall against yours taking your next words with it. "I don't hate you. I never did."

"Then why?"

He sighs. "I hated that you were a hunter, that this was your life, that you'd been doing this for so long with no one helping you."

"I'm okay."

"I know that, but I-" Dean hesitates. "I shouldn't have done what I did, but I didn't think that you'd want this-"

"This?"

"Me." Dean closes his eyes leaning further against you, almost as if he can’t hold himself up.

"Why?" Your grip on the back of his neck tightens.

"Because I'm-" He tries to find the word. "I'm not perfect. I'm a jealous asshole. I've done terrible things, made you cry.” He sighs. “You deserve better."

You kiss him softly. "There is no one better. I'm not looking for perfect, I'm looking for human. There's nothing wrong with making a mistake and being imperfect. The imperfections are what make you, you." Your fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck. "Dean, you're not a bad person. You are the most selfless man I have ever met. And maybe you've messed up a few times, but I have too. Do you think I'm a bad person for the things I've done?"

There was a list of them that seemed to grow longer each day and it was difficult not to dwell on the things of the past. But standing here with Dean, watching the weight settle on his shoulders, while he told you that he didn't think he was enough for you made you throw it all away.

"No.”

“Do you think that I’m not deserving of love?”

“No. But-"

 You shush him. "Then don’t talk that way about the man I love."

Dean's eyes widen, but you watch the end of his lips twitch into a smile. "You love me?"

"Yeah." You whisper. "I think I always have, but I was afraid because you were-"

His mouth falls over yours so fast you don’t have time to finish the thought. "I love you too."

Your heart flutters in your chest with his words.

"Kinda hard not to." His thumbs stroke along your hip bone over the soft t-shirt sending electricity dancing along your spine.

You smirk. "You're right. I am pretty great."

"I think the word you're looking for is high maintenance." Dean smirks back at you.

"Aww… That means I'm out of your league and you're lucky to have me in your life." You giggle with a smile.

"I am." He murmurs, nudging his nose forward into yours moving in for another kiss.

Someone clears their throat from the other side of the room drawing your eye. Ben is leaning against the doorway dressed in his suit, watching where you're wrapped up in Dean's arms.

Any warm feelings you were having standing there with Dean immediately evaporate and the guilt comes roaring back. You'd forgotten that Ben was still here and you felt bad for him. You didn't want him to think that you used him.

"Ben I-" You begin to stutter, but he only shakes his head at you.

"You don't gotta explain anything doll, I know what this was." Ben smirks, but you see something flicker in his gaze for just a second before its gone.  "And I'm man enough to admit when I'm beat. Even if I don't like it."

"But-" You try to say again.

Oh this is so awkward.

"Don't do me any favors sweetheart, we had fun." Ben shrugs. "That's all this was."

Cas walks into the room with Sam at his heels, who looks much too smug when he spies where Dean has you on the counter. You push Dean back and stand up, while Dean shoots daggers with his gaze leveled at Sam.

Sam isn't phased, but chooses not to say anything.

Ben rolls himself off the doorway and walks confidently to where Dean and you are standing, extending his hand towards Dean. "You take care of her." Ben's eyes flick to you for a second before focusing more on Dean. "She's special."

The hand of guilt on your throat tightens just a little more, because somewhere you wondered if Ben really was as aloof as he seemed or if he had started to care about you a little more than he let on.

"I will." Dean's smile is forced, and you see him squeeze Ben's hand a little tighter as he does.  It only makes Ben smirk wider.

Cas begins to write the symbol on the floor taking care with each intricate detail to open the portal, but you stop him at the last minute.

"Wait." You take a step forward and hug Ben tightly. "Thank you."

"You're thanking me for fucking you?" Ben snorts throwing a smug look in Dean's direction that makes Dean bristle. "Guess I am a gift."

"Shut up." Your cheeks blaze bright red and you hear Dean growl something under his breath. "No, just thank you. For being here."

Ben hesitates. He raises his hand to your cheek, fingers tracing along your skin before he brushes away some of your hair. It was a gentle gesture from him, one that you weren't accustomed to. The emotion in his eyes shifts to something else, but he hides it with a smirk. "You're welcome sweetheart."

"Maybe you'll meet the me from your reality." You say, because you're not sure what else you can say, not when Ben is looking at you like that.

The entire situation was again reaching soap opera proportions and there was only so much you could take before you drove your car off a cliff.

The truth was, you did like Ben. You thought he was attractive, bold, strong, but there was always something a little gentle that lurked under the surface he never let anyone else see.

But you loved Dean. He understood what it was like to be a hunter, understood what it was like to not be able to live up to someone's expectations, and he loved you. You couldn't see a life with Ben, but you could see one with Dean. Ben didn't belong in your world and you didn't belong in his.

Ben's smirk twitches. "Maybe. But she won't be the same as you doll."

Dean clears his throat and steps forward to pull you back into his chest possessively. "I think your ride's leaving." You don't have to look up into his face to know he's frowning.

Ben chuckles. "You know what kid? You're alright." His eyes flick back to yours. "You give me a call if you get bored with him."

"She won't." Dean snaps. “And don’t call me kid.”

Ben only laughs at him and steps closer to Cas as he begins to finish the ritual and when the portal finally opens, Ben goes through without looking back.

And you don’t feel guilty anymore, because you knew that Ben understood.

"Finally." Dean breathes a sigh of relief that makes you snort, dropping his head to your shoulder. It was so casual that you had to remind yourself that Dean loved you and you loved him.

Sam clears his throat. "Hey Cas will you help me with something in the library-"

"What do you have to do in the library?" Cas frowns at him confused.

"Just something come on-"

"But why-"

"CAS!" Sam shouts casting an obvious look in the direction of where Dean and you are standing.

Cas looks at the two of you. "Are they coming with us to the library?"

Sam huffs out a frustrated breath and grabs Cas by the back of his trench coat to drag him out of the kitchen so Dean and you can have a few moments alone.

You snort at the confused look on Cas's face when Sam drags him out, before you turn your body in his arms to look up into Dean's handsome face. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is to be jealous of yourself?"

"I thought he wasn't me?" Dean smirks, his eyebrow arching with his tease. His fingers are resting resolutely on your hips, thumbs softly trailing in circles.

"He is a little bit." You admit defeated. "But don't look so smug Winchester."

"I think I'm allowed to be a little bit." His smirk grows and he leans his face down to yours. Instead of feeling angry at the appearance of his smirk it only makes you smile.

Standing here in the aftermath made you see Dean in a different light, made your heart buckle and jump in your chest the longer you stood there in the kitchen basking in the warmth that began to bloom in your chest.

"Maybe…" You gently touch the front of his buffalo print flannel, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingertips. It looked good on him, very little looked bad on Dean.

"Do you regret staying with me?" He mutters.

"What?" You glance back up to see his face and notice that he's not smiling, he's frowning at you, and his eyes aren't as bright.

Dean clears his throat. "Well you seemed like you were really going to miss him and-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him back down to you, putting you everything you have into the kiss, hoping that Dean can feel how you have no regrets staying with him, that all you want is him.

"Dean Winchester." You breathe, moving your hands to cup his cheeks so he can't look away from you. "I do not regret staying with you, because I love you." You pull him as close to you as you can, his warm hands splayed over your back. "This is where I belong." You kiss him on the tip of his nose. "And this is where you belong. With me."

Dean's eyes warm the longer you hold his gaze. "I'm starting to believe you."

"Anything that I can do to convince you?"

"I can think of a few things…"

Ben/Soldier Boy POV

"Stupid, fucking piece of shit!" Ben growled at the computer monitor in front of him that had a bright red ERROR message splayed across it.

It had been two days since he'd left your reality, and he was trying his best to shove away the disappointment at the fact that you hadn't decided to come back with him. It wasn't that Ben wanted more than what the two of you had, it was that he liked having someone to talk to or try to talk to, and you were a good listener.

He didn’t like opening up to people, but there was something about you. He could trust you and Ben hadn't found anyone he could trust since he got back from Russia.

Ben also wasn't about to admit that he was lonely, he had plenty of women who were eager to warm his bed, but there was something about you that always made him feel different. He wasn't sure what that was exactly.

He'd also be lying if he said that he had wanted to explore it a little more if you'd come with him to his reality. The thought of you staying with him for an extended period of time in his apartment hadn't been unwelcome. Ben had never allowed other women to stay more than a day, but you… Ben would have let you stay as long as you wanted to.

Fuck.

He knew that he wasn't in love with you, but Ben knew he liked having you around. He liked being friends with you and he liked fucking you.

And yes he was disappointed that you had chosen Dean instead of him, but at the same time Ben didn't blame you. You had a history with Dean and when you'd been forced into Ben's reality, you'd talked to him a lot about Dean. Ben knew that you liked Dean more than you cared to admit.

But there was still an unwelcome feeling in the pit of his stomach that Ben wasn't accustomed to.

Ben huffed out a breath to push away the thoughts, while looking at what was left of the keyboard on his desk. The keys were scattered across the wooden top like bits of confetti, broken easily underneath his large fingertips when he'd tried to write an email

When he'd come back from Russia, Ben had taken a job working for the Department of Supe Affairs, but he was "grounded" due to the "anger issues" that he swore he didn't have, and because he didn't listen to Butcher whenever he gave him an order.

I don't need to follow orders. I'm Soldier Boy! I should be giving the orders!

Basically it meant that he was stuck on a desk indefinitely until Annie January, the new department head, released him. She'd also ordered that Ben go to company mandated therapy sessions once a week. He'd refused to go, but after Annie threatened him with termination of his contract, which meant that Ben would have gone back to being someone who "looked like someone who used to be famous," he'd gone to therapy.

And he refuses to admit this to anyone… but he liked it. Someone who was paid to listen to him bitch for a whole hour about whatever pissed him off and actually kept their trap shut was just what he needed.

Sometimes it reminded him of when he would talk to you, but there were still things that he refused to tell anyone and some of those things he had told you.

Ben ran his hand through his hair frustrated at his predicament. He would have liked to go into the field and take out some of his frustration on another supe, but Annie refused to give.

Ben didn't like listening to women, but even he had to admit Annie had a set of brass balls and he respected her for it. She didn’t take shit from anyone and especially didn't listen to Ben's bitching over why he should be in the field instead of being chained to a desk.

"Oi you all right mate?" Butcher calls and Ben can hear the shit eating grin without looking up from his computer screen.

The error message was still displayed in bright red letters, mocking him.

Ben knows that Butcher doesn't give a shit, and is probably about to start teasing him about his inability to adapt to modern day technology.

It wouldn't be the first time.

"Don't you have something better to do? Like fucking that little bitch that Annie is ploughing?" Ben spits back, clicking on the mouse but all it does is bring up another error message in another language.

"Oh mon ami, that doesn't look good." Frenchie walks by to stare at the computer screen that has now gone slightly fuzzy.

"I don’t think that's going to fix it mate." Butcher laughs. " But I called IT."

"I don’t need any of those four-eyed fucks helping me!" Ben snaps turning to narrow his eyes at Butcher.

He's holding a white cup of tea, wearing his usual long trench coat and Hawaiian shirt, with the shit eating grin that Ben knew Butcher was going to have when he looked up.

The last thing Ben needed was some nerd telling him everything that he did wrong. He was already on a first name basis with the director of the IT department, who was a little weasel of a man and who no longer picked up the phone when Ben called to yell at him.

"I think you're gonna want to listen to this particular four eyed fuck. She's new." Butcher gloats. "But don’t say I never did anything for you Soldier Boy."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Ben shouts at Butcher's back, but he's already gone.

Ben turns back to the error message that has begun to flash an even brighter red and now has a countdown.

"Fuck, fuck fuck-" Ben growled and to remedy the situation he puts his fist through the computer screen. It makes a high pitched electrical popping sound, showering his desk in sparks, while the overhead lights flicker, before the screen goes completely black.

Ben was not stupid, but he was a little slow when it came to modern day technology. He was doing better than he had initially, but it was taking him a longer time to understand using his desktop computer at work than his cell phone.

"Hi, I'm from IT. Mr. Butcher called and said that you might need a little help." The voice was small and tentative, coming from somewhere on Ben's left.

"I don't need any help. Especially not from a fucking four-" Ben started to growl, but then he looked up and the words died in his throat.

Because the person standing next to his desk was you.

This version of you looked different. Ben was used to seeing someone in old band t-shirts, worn blue jeans, and flannel shirts, someone who carried themselves confidently and had a hardness surrounding their outer exterior that simply said "don't fuck with me."

But this version of you was softer and a little gentle. Your hair was longer and pushed back from your face by a simple black headband, you were wearing dark framed glasses, an oversized cardigan sweater that covered a simple pair of blue jeans, a striped blouse, and a pair of dark blue converse. The converse made Ben smile. He hadn't seen anyone wearing Chuck Taylors in a little while and it was a welcome sight, something from the past that he actually recognized.

The version of you Ben knew from Dean's universe flashed through Ben's mind again. She was more confident and outgoing, but you looked a little shy, hiding back in the cardigan and using the iPad in your hands as a welcome distraction to looking Ben in the eyes and like a shield.

He thought it was cute.

As much as Ben liked the version of you he knew who didn't shy away from anything, Ben found himself smiling at this one. You were definitely more soft spoken and a little less confident, but Ben could see a sweetness and sincerity in your eyes that he hadn't come across since he came back to the US.

It was the thing that always made him trust the other version of you, the part of him that made him want to tell the other version of you things that he hadn't told other people.

"I'm sorry." You say, even though you have nothing to be sorry about. "I-"

"No. I'm sorry." Ben clears his throat awkwardly and for the first time in a long time he feels nervous. He wasn't sure why that was, not to mention he never apologized to anyone, ever, but he didn't want to scare you away.

"It's okay." You give him a soft smile. "Computers can be frustrating, but sometimes it’s better not to put your fist through the screen."

Ben chuckles. "Probably not my best work."

You shake your head, a wider smile on your face, the motion of it sending the smell of your perfume over him, something floral and a little old fashioned. You look at the remnants of the computer and bite the inside of your cheek deep in thought.

Ben found himself tracing the furrow of your brows and the scrunch of your nose. You were beautiful in every reality to him.

"Well, Mr. Soldier Boy I don't think-"

"Please call me Ben." He interrupts.

Ben wondered if you were this shy all the time and if you'd be just as shy if he took you to bed. He wanted to find out.

Ben had slept with many women in his lifetime and he was usually drawn to women who were more confident and outgoing, sure of themselves, but there was something about your shy attitude that Ben found attractive.

"Ben." You say it in the soft voice of yours, cheeks flushed a little bit as if you're embarrassed to say it. "I don't think that there's anything I can do for this." Your hand waves over the computer. "But I can go talk to my boss and tell him you need another one."

"I'll go with you." Ben stood up.

He didn’t want to let you out of his sight, not when a part of him worried that you weren’t really there or you would evaporate into nothing before his very eyes.

"Oh, it's okay. You don't have to-" You stammer, shaking your head, and not quite looking at him as if making eye contact was a little harder for you.

"I want to." Ben smiles at you. He hears your heart beat quicken and can hear the small intake of breath you have when he smiles. "He's an asshole and I don't want him to chew you out for something I did." Ben explains.

It was partly true. The guy was an asshole. Not to mention, Butcher had said it was your first day and Ben wasn’t going to stand by and have the head of the IT department screaming at you when you had done nothing wrong.

"Oh." You clear your throat, cheeks blushing that cute pink color that makes Ben smile wider. "Well if you'll just follow me."

He hadn’t met someone like you in a long time. And even though he liked the other version of you, Ben was starting to like this one more.

"To the ends of the Earth doll." Ben winks and watches the flush of your cheeks deepen to a crimson and hears the way your heart buckles and jumps when he does.

And the longer he stands there watching you blush, Ben begins to feel an odd feeling flicker in the pit of his stomach racing up into his chest that he’d never felt before and for the first time in a long time Ben was curious to see where it could lead.

A/N: Alright we made it to the end and everyone got a happy ending! Thank you again everyone for all the love and support while I was writing this mini-series 💗

Reveal of the Poll:

🥫: Meeting the reader from Ben's Universe in a grocery store.

💻: Meeting the reader from Ben's Universe in the IT department.

Personally I liked the IT more, and the problem is now I really like the shy reader with Ben. They are so cute and now I'm hyperfixated on Ben with a shy reader so we'll see where that goes 🤣

Thank you so much for reading! As always likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, but are not required. I love hearing what y'all think!

Taglist For It's Not A Big Deal:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @livya99 @zepskies

@winchesterwild78 @ladykitana90 @spnfamily-j2 @whyyouegg

@suckitands33 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @s0uz4s @schinug @just-levyy

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @minas-fantasies @ladysparkles78

@mochminnie @peachhiz

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@funkenniffler

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt IV

Pairing - KindergartenTeacher!Steve Harrington x SingleMom!Reader

WC - 5.6k

Summary - A snow day prompts Steve and Abbey to spend a little one on one time together.

AN - sorry this one took a little longer! being creative is hard when the U.S keeps sucking me of all my joy. thanks for the patience, love y’all! ~ emma

Three weeks ago, your daughter’s kindergarten teacher gave you his phone number in a chilly, deserted diner parking lot, and every weekday since that night, Abbey has had to all but drag you from his classroom when you go to pick her up in the afternoons. One topic leads to another and another, and before you realize it, you and Steve have been chatting in his mostly empty classroom for over an hour. But this morning, you’re dialing those digits he gave you on your landlines keypad for the first time with shaky fingers. You’d spent the past hour exhausting all your other options. Your mother? Working. Your sister? Out of town. Your usual babysitter? sick.

Steve was the only person you knew for a fact wouldn’t be working today.

It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to that you hadn’t called yet. Every waking hour since that night, you had been wrestling with yourself about what an appropriate reason would be. Was he flirting with you? Did he genuinely just want you to have access to him in case of an emergency? Both? Your inner dialogue was deafening– like a squawking bird in the back of your brain.

The intrusive volume of your thoughts seemed to quiet now as your leg bounced impatiently– anxiety over the prospect of having to call into work outweighing your trepidation– waiting for him to pick up the call on the other line. 

He finally answered halfway through the fourth ring, “Hello?” Despite the early hour, Steve sounded wide awake. Probably rousing at the same time you did, not expecting to be temporarily blinded by three feet of bright, white snow piled on top of his car. On the kitchen radio, you can hear the newscaster announcing a closure of the local schools.

“Steve, it’s Y/N,” your voice cuts through the static.

He pauses briefly, yours probably being the last voice he expected to hear when he picked up his phone, “Hey, morning–” he clears his throat, “everything alright?”

“Yes– well– I don’t know.” You rub the tips of your fingers restlessly over your closed eyelids, “I don’t have anyone to watch Abbey with the school being closed, I've tried everyone and I really hate to ask but–”

“Of course, I can be there in thirty. Can you give me your address?”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can just call out if–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, just give me your address,” his incredulity and lack of hesitation sends the wings fluttering about in your stomach again, while cementing the reassurance of his words. You gain the courage to repeat your home address for him to write down.

You can hear the sound of pen hastily scratching paper, then after a few beats of silence he speaks again, “It’ll take me a little bit to clear off my car, but I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Thank you so much, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you can hear the grin in his voice, can picture the flash of perfect white squares, “see you soon,” you breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the click of the receiver being placed back in its cradle. Abbey is bundled up on the couch watching Rugrats, a bowl of cereal in her lap. Normally, you wouldn’t let her eat in the living room, but you needed respite from her usual game of 20 Questions to make some phone calls.

“Hey, Ab,” you say as you approach her, thoroughly engrossed in her cartoons, “Is it okay if Mr. H comes over and watches you today while mommy goes to work?”

The question is more than enough to pull her focus from the television screen. Her face lights up like the Fourth of July as she nearly spills her cereal with the force of her straightening on the sofa, “Really?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes, grandma is working and Julia is sick. Is that okay?” As excited as you know she is, you want her verbal confirmation. Mostly because you’d never put your child in a situation she’s uncomfortable in; but a smaller, more selfish part of you wants to be absolved of the guilt you feel for having to leave her all day.

Your wish is granted almost instantly as she squeals and hops off the couch where she’d been lounging, placing her bowl on the coffee table. Halfway to her room, she calls, “Mommy! Where are my coloring books?”

“They’re on top of your bookshelf,” you call, “don’t make a huge mess, please!”

“I won’t!” She replies, muffled through the drywall separating you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t had time to tidy the house or make yourself look even remotely presentable before Steve arrived. If it weren’t for the relief that floods your body upon seeing his car pull in the driveway, you might even be a little embarrassed. Booted footsteps shuffle up the porch as you’re shoveling things into your bag at the last minute, followed by three light knocks on the door.

“Coming!” You shout from where you stand in the dining room.

Before you even have the chance to reach the foyer, Abbey is darting from her bedroom in plastic play shoes and throwing the door open with immeasurable enthusiasm.

“Hey–” Steve starts, expecting it to be you before he realizes who’s greeting him, “Oh, hi Ab,” he waves to the little face staring up at him, “Where’s your mom?”

“Mommy!” Abbey calls, “Mr. H is here!”

Steve spots you holding two pieces of notebook paper clad with chicken scratch scribblings. You look frazzled– hair thrown up hastily and scrubs wrinkly. He scours the place where he would normally find an emotion akin to pity for your distressed state, but in its absence, he only feels endearment laced with a little concern.

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re shoving the papers in his hands and spouting off information that he’s praying is already on the sheets you’ve given him.

“I should be home by five, if anything happens, this–” you point to a barely legible number, “--is my work phone. This is her doctor’s phone number and she’s allergic to peanuts. There aren’t any peanuts in the house but–” you sigh, exasperated with yourself, “just in case.”

The rest of the pages are filled with ramblings about which channels Abbey likes to watch and how to work the television. How, in case she needs a bath, you have to pull and then twist the knob for the hot water to run. That she is not, under any circumstances, allowed to put nail polish on by herself and where you keep her Epi Pens.

Steve’s surprised at how many of these sentiments he already has catalogued. He’s required to know Abbey’s emergency contacts and that she has a nut allergy for his job, but he knows that channel thirty-seven has the best cartoons because Abbey once told him that Power Puff Girls was her favorite– and you’d already relayed to him the hilariously tragic tale of what happened the last time Abbey attempted to paint her own nails.

Despite this revelation, he doesn’t dare interrupt you. He indulges your ranting, a grin creeping involuntarily along his face.

“-- sorry, I’m rambling– I’ve just never left her with someone who wasn’t my mom or her sitter before,” you’re a little breathless after two straight minutes of talking.

“Hey, hey– you’re okay,” he wastes no time reassuring you, “you know I’d never let anything happen to her.” You nod your understanding, “Besides,” now he’s speaking to Abbey, “we’re gonna have a super fun time right?”

She shouts, “Yes!”

He looks at you with his brows raised, amused, “See?”

“Okay, alright,” you kneel down, chuckling, “do I get a hug? Or am I chopped liver?”

Giggling, Abbey wraps you in a suffocating embrace, like always. Her excitement for Steve has never quelled her affection for you, and you can tell that she’s still hesitant to see you go. You smack a kiss on her cheek, grabbing your bag from the floor as you rise again.

“Swear you’ll call me if anything happens?” You ask him one more time, already knowing the answer.

“Cross my heart.” He smiles fondly, stoking the flames burning bright around the cage that your heart inhabits.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Your home is cozy, much cozier than anything Steve had growing up. He’s warmed at the idea that Abbey has the privilege of growing up in a house that feels so lived in– stains on the carpet, soft edges and yellow lighting. There’s clutter on the kitchen counter by the microwave and colorful alphabet magnets securing several bright pieces of artwork to the fridge.

“Are these the pictures you drew in art class last week?” He asks Abbey, who has been trailing behind him all through the house, pointing things out to him as they go.

“Uh-huh, Mrs. Morse helped me with that one,” she points to what Steve thinks is probably supposed to be a zebra.

“Well, you’re very talented, I love them,”

“Can we go play outside?” She asks, drawing out the last syllable and completely ignoring Steve’s compliment.

“Sure we can,” he chuckles, “where do you keep your snowsuit?”.

Abbey takes Steve by the wrist and leads him to the coat closet by the front door. Similar to the rest of your house, it’s stuffed to the brim– full of puffy nylon and heavy winter boots. He catches a glimpse of a familiar brown and green jacket– his jacket. You’d promised to wash it and return it to him, but it must’ve slipped your mind. He grins to himself at the reminiscence as he fetches Abbey’s snow gear and shuts the door.

Steve hadn’t dressed appropriately for a morning rolling around in the cold. He had slipped on a pair of your mittens, probably meant more for fashion than practicality, because his fingers were already completely numb. But he can’t seem to deny her when Abbey pleads with him to make snow angels. They’d just spent the past half an hour building two snowmen– one short like Abbey and one tall like Steve, she insisted, as she wrapped her scarf around the snowman that resembled her.

“Please, Mr. H?” She begs when she notices his hesitancy.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, “but then we’re gonna go inside and have lunch. Deal?”

That appears to be a good enough covenant for her, “Okay!” Abbey exclaims, falling fairly harshly to the cushioned ground. Steve braces himself for tears, but Abbey only keeps laughing in that contagious way as she begins spreading her arms and legs out beside her in a repetitive motion.

“Are you gonna make one?” She questions from her place on the ground.

He grunts as he reluctantly lowers himself down next to her, anticipating the icy wetness waiting underneath him. The snow seeps uncomfortably through his jeans, but the sound of Abbey’s unbridled joy nearly makes up for his soiled clothing.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

What’d you want to eat, Ab?” Steve calls from the pantry while Abbey changes out of her wet clothes in her bedroom.

“Not hungry!” She calls back.

He sighs, expecting her stubbornness– she was nearly as mulish as you.

“Remember the deal we made earlier?” He asks, “That if I made a snow angel with you, that you’d have to eat something for lunch, right?”

She emerges from her room, pout prominent on her strikingly adorable features, “But I wanna keep playing,” she whines, giving her foot a little stomp on the linoleum for emphasis.

“We can keep playing after, I promise,” he knows he’s not winning this battle without a compromise, “does your mom let you eat in the living room?” He asks with a lilt to his voice that makes him sound conspiratorial.

“Sometimes…”

“How about…” he pauses as if thinking, “I make us some food and we watch a movie while we eat?”

He can tell he’s got her after that– hook, line and sinker. She still pretends to mull over his proposition for a moment before agreeing, “Hmm…I think that sounds good,” she settles, trying and failing to mask her elation.

That’s how Steve ended up, plates of grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, dodging barbies and miscellaneous stuffed animals on his way to the living room a few minutes later.

“Have you found a movie yet?” He asks Abbey as he sets the plates down atop the coffee table.

“Yes but–” she jumps on her tiptoes, “I can’t reach it,”

Steve walks over to the towering shelf of VHS tapes in front of her, “Which one are you trying to reach?”

Abbey points at the tape in question, “Home Alone,”

“Alrighty,” Steve says as he grabs it with ease, “Your foods on the table, go sit while I put it in,”

Abbey, for once, does as he asks– bounding over to the coffee table with the excitement typical of a five-year-old who has an adult's permission to break a house rule.

While Steve eyes your VCR, he catches a glimpse of a photo out of the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. It’s you, no older than twenty, holding a swaddled baby in a sterile hospital room. He doesn’t recognize the picture as one he’s seen before.

Of course you’ve never seen it before, he thinks, you barely know her. Get a grip.

You’re filled with such youthful brilliance in the shot, despite the underlying weariness of having just given birth; your hair tied messily into a bun at the nape of your neck, sweat beading on your brow bone. It’s just you and Abbey, Steve thinks her father must’ve been the photographer.

He can’t help but think of himself at that age and all the stupid shit he was doing. How, if you had handed him a baby then, he wouldn’t have known the first thing about what to do with it– but here you had raised such a bright, healthy daughter and largely alone. He was struck by such a sudden and overwhelming admiration for you that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Mr. H?” Abbey asked, mouth full, “When are we gonna start the movie?”

Her question sends him hurling back to reality. A reality where he’s your daughter’s kindergarten teacher, and the two of you are friendly with each other at best.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

At some point during the movie, once their lunch was reduced to crumbs on empty plates, Abbey had hauled out her box of coloring books and crayons that she had been looking for this morning.

Steve, the less creative of the two, was coloring in a cartoon illustration of a fairy while Abbey was making her own drawing on a piece of white construction paper. The lack of constant chatter is a welcome reprieve, but he knows that Abbey only becomes quiet when she’s particularly concentrated, so he chances a peek to his right at what she’s working on.

She got a death grip on a brown crayon– shaved almost down to the tip– with her tongue sticking ever so slightly between her lips as she focuses intently on her art.

The picture is of three stick figures– two tall and one significantly smaller in between them. It’s set at what looks to be a playground, a bright yellow sun in the sky and blue scribblings around white clouds. Swings, slides and even a little blue dog adorn the rest of the background.

Pleasantly surprised at her artistry, Steve says, “That looks amazing, Ab!”

She’s snapped out of her stupor, her face split with a wide toothless grin. She doesn’t thank him, only lets out a few bashful giggles at his praise and says, “I like yours too,”

“Is that you?” He points at the littlest figure.

“Mhm, see? I made her hair curly like mine!”

“It looks just like you,” he agrees, then draws her attention to the other figures, “Is this your mom and your dad next to you?”

“This is mommy,” she points, “I put her in the blue clothes she wears at work,” he knows she’s referring to your scrubs, but the phrasing makes him chuckle.

“And this is you!” She circles the figure she’s drawn with the tip of her finger. She’s included his voluminous chestnut hair and his silver wire-framed glasses, even one of the stupid striped polos he wears at school. Looking at it now, it’s obvious who it was supposed to be– but it’s so unexpected that he feels his face heat up at the realization.

“Oh, wow, Ab– That’s–” he grapples to find the words to express the juxtaposition he’s found himself in. He’s honored, truly, to be included in this portrait Abbey’s made of herself and her mother– her family– but there’s a gnawing guilt he can’t seem to shake. The fear that, in some way, he’s replacing her father.

“I love it, Ab, thank you,” he smiles fondly at her work, the proud grin she wears slowly melting the flash freeze of trepidation that encased his conscience.

“Can we hang it on the fridge for mommy to see when she gets home?” She asks after a moment.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Around four o’clock, Abbey begins asking what they’re having for dinner. Steve wonders briefly if you always have to deal with her being so ravenous.

“How about we start cooking now? That way it’ll be ready for your mom when she gets home,”

“Okay,” Abbey concurs. Steve wouldn’t consider himself a Michelin star chef by any means, but he can make a mean chicken parmesan.

A trip to the grocery store was needed to grab some ingredients. After scribbling down the required items on a crumpled receipt, and struggling for ten minutes to get Abbey’s carseat in the back of his BMW, they’re on their way.

He meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, “Do you want me to put on some music?”

“Christmas music?” She asks hopefully.

Steve isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas music– Christmas in general, really– but he obliges her request and turns the dial to their local channel, soft bells and a choir of voices begin to flood through the interior of the car. She really is so harmlessly manipulative with her saucer eyes and round button nose, he can’t seem to refuse her anything.

Steve drives more cautiously than he thinks he ever has, even more so than when he was sixteen and learning how to drive with his family’s Pontiac as his father stared harshly at him from the passenger seat. He comes to a full halt at every stop sign, and he never takes his eyes off the road.

After fighting some early rush hour traffic, they make it. Without a second thought, Abbey grasps Steve’s hand while walking through the parking lot. He tries not to look startled at the sudden contact, recalling how she always seems to have a firm grip on your hand in public spaces too. Steve’s just glad she feels comfortable with him.

“Can I help?” Abbey asks as Steve grabs a cart from the corral.

“Course’,” he smiles, “do you wanna grab the ingredients and put them in the cart for me?”

She bounces excitedly, “Sure!”

Wandering through the aisles, Abbey never strayed from Steve’s side. Every time he read off an item, she would dutifully fetch it and throw it into the cart with a little more force than necessary, but Steve didn’t mind.

“Do you live by yourself?” She asks out of the blue as they peruse the store.

“I do,”

“Then how come you know how to cook?”

He laughs at her inquisitive nature, “Well I have to eat don’t I?”

“Yeah…” she ponders, “I guess so,”

“Alright, the last thing we need is breadcrumbs,” he informs her, scanning the shelves.

Like earlier, Abbey attempts to stand on her tiptoes to try and reach the can in question, “I’m getting it,” she mumbles in determination, very much not getting it.

“Here,” Steve says as he lifts her up by her waist like it was second nature to him.

“Got it!” She exclaims, tossing it in with the rest of the groceries. “Can I ride in the cart now?” She yawns with a polite hand over her mouth. He supposes grocery shopping takes a lot out of you when all the shelves are at least five feet taller than your head.

“Sure,” Steve chuckles as he slots her little legs through the designated holes.

Despite the ride home only being about ten minutes long, Abbey manages to doze off– lulled to sleep by the subtle hum of the car's engine. Steve veered as gently as possible into the driveway, careful not to disturb her even though he was about to wake her up anyway.

“Abbey,” he shakes her softly, “we’re home,”

Abbey rouses, but only slightly. She yawns again and stretches with her arms over her head before extending them out, silently motioning with her eyes still closed for Steve to carry her inside.

“Okay, c’mon lazy bones,” he grunts at the angle but lifts her from her car seat nonetheless. After unlocking the door one-handed, he sets her carefully on the couch and covers her with a plush throw blanket before heading back outside for the rest of the groceries.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The first thing you notice when you approach your front door is the savory smell of something cooking. Inside, the TV is off and your daughter is sleeping soundly on the couch. Quiet clattering noises flood from the kitchen.

The sleeves of Steve’s burgundy sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the kitchen smells of roasting chicken and mahogany as he stirs a simmering pot of homemade pasta sauce. He’s humming some tune softly under his breath– Bob Segar, you think.

“Hey,” you greet with a grin as you set your bag down on the dining table. Steve turns around to meet you as you ask, “What’re you doing?”

“Cooking?” He replies.

“No, really?” You deadpan back, eliciting an amused chuckle from the man standing at your stove.

“Abbey was asking about dinner,” he pauses, “we were gonna do this whole thing– we were gonna make it for you together, have it ready by the time you got home, but,” he gestures with his arm to the living room where Abbey is napping. Steve Harrington is nothing if not expressive– talking with his hands, eyebrows always either furrowed in concentration or raised in amusement. It’s one of the most charming things about him, you think.

“Well, thank you,” you say, “you didn’t have to do that,” you feel a blush heat your cheeks at how domestic this feels– like you come home to Steve cooking dinner for you and your daughter every night. You can picture it as easily as if it were your actual reality and it leaves you feeling briefly vertiginous. You’re not sure Jeremy ever cooked even one meal for you in the entirety of your relationship.

“The chickens almost done and then I'll get out of your hair,” he assumes a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the fact that he feels like he’s overstepping– overstaying his welcome or crossing some invisible line.

“Are you kidding?” You scoff, “You’ve gotta at least stick around long enough to see how it came out,”

“You don’t mind?” He asks hesitantly.

“Steve, of course I don’t mind,” honestly, you think you’d start a fire and burn your house to the ground if it meant getting him to stay just a little longer to help you put it out, “plus, I’m sure Abbey’ll be stoked.”

“Alright, well,” he smiles warmly, “it’s ready if you wanna go wake the gremlin up,”

At the table, Abbey insists on sitting next to Steve in the chair across from you.

“This is delicious, Steve,” you compliment.

“Best you ever had?” He teases, but his phrasing makes you choke a little on your pasta.

Abbey makes a twisted face, “The sauce tastes funny.” Saved by the bell.

“Abbey!” you scold playfully, poorly concealing a laugh behind the back of your hand, “Sorry– I think she’s just used to eating Prego,”

“That’s okay– I think she’s right, actually,” he assures you, twisting his expression into something sour and causing Abbey to giggle. His eyes are the color of rich soil as he sends you an oh, so familiar look across the table, communicating another silent thought to you. One that says, I don’t mind how blunt she is, I think it’s endearing.

When dinner is finished, Steve insists on doing the dishes for you too. “You cooked, Steve, let me–” you try to barter.

“--You do enough as it is,” he counters simultaneously.

“You watched my child all day!” You laugh at his stubbornness.

“I do that everyday anyway!” He argues, beginning to fill up the porcelain farmhouse sink with hot, sudsy water.

“At least let me help,” you give him that wide eyed look you always seem to be giving him lately. God, you’re no better than Abbey. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

“Fine,” he tries to frown but his smirk betrays him in his act of faux annoyance.

After a few minutes of stuffy silence, you ask, “She wasn’t too much of a pain in the ass today, was she?”

“Not any more than usual,” he jokes and a plate slips through his fingers, causing a small splash of water to coat your face in dishwater. You gasp at the sensation.

“Oh– Sorry!--” he tries to apologize, but you take your dishwater soaked fingers and flick them in the direction of his own face– small soapy bubbles clinging to his lashes and eyebrows.

“I cannot believe you right now,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“There, now we’re even,” you smirk.

“I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Mommy!” Abbey rushes into the kitchen, “Can Mr. H stay to watch a cartoon before bed?”

“I don’t know, baby, it’s getting late,” you can just barely see the flash of heartbreak in her gaze before Steve interjects, “It’s okay, I don’t mind staying for a little longer,”

You send him a skeptical glance over your shoulder, but he just nods and asks Abbey what she’d like to watch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The end credits for an episode of The Rugrats flashes across the screen, illuminating Abbey’s sleeping face in muted shades of blue and orange. She snores, slumped against Steve’s chest with her arms wrapped around his torso. You sit propped against the other arm of the couch watching them intently– trying to memorize the sight before you. You’ve never seen Abbey cradled like this before by anyone else except you. It wasn’t something you felt you craved until recently.

Steve turns, catching you staring but not calling attention to it. He can count on several hands the amount of times he’s done the same to you– Steve Harrington is many things, but he is not a hypocrite.

“Did you know the guy from Devo wrote the theme song for this?” He gestures towards the television.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he replies, “I can’t remember who told me that,”

After a few beats of hushed silence, you say, “Should probably put that one to bed– unless you wanna be here all night,” you try to joke but your voice shakes.

He would if you were sincerely asking. He’d stay right here on this uncomfortably worn sofa, with your daughter whom he has such an affinity for, sleeping against his chest for the next millenia. He’d fossilize here if he could– your presence beside him calm and grounding like an anchor in a storm.

He voices none of this. Instead he says, “Do you want to take her?”

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I’ll just come with you.” The three of you slowly make your way to Abbey’s bedroom, Steve carrying her bridal style against his torso and the door creaks on its hinges when Steve pushes it open with his hip. She stirs only a little when he sets her down, but is soothed quickly with a firm palm stroking her back a few times.

The door clicks behind you as Steve leads you both back to the living room.

“I should probably–”

“Do you want–”

You begin to speak at the same time, awkward chuckles leaving both of your nervous lips.

“You first,” he offers, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was– just gonna ask if you wanted some wine, but I know it’s late–”

“Wine sounds great.” His lips form a line across his face as he grins.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Half a bottle of wine split between the two of you, and your hands were tingling from the effort it was taking not to reach out and card your fingers through the hair of the man sitting across from you.

“How come you never called?” He asks suddenly, but not unkindly.

“Hm?”

“You never called– well, not til’ this morning at least,”

“Didn’t know what counted as an emergency, I guess,” you shrug, the alcohol shaking your nerves loose.

He must’ve been feeling in a similar way to you– speaking freely in a way he wouldn’t have before, “Just wanted to talk to you,” he smiles fondly.

“Oh,” you whisper, and when you don’t say anything else, Steve changes the subject.

“I like that photo of you on top of the entertainment center,” he says contemplatively, “you looked really…peaceful,”

“Well, raising a miniature version of yourself tends to age you a bit, I suppose,”

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, testing the waters.

“Always”

“Where was Jeremy in the picture?”

“We always talk about me,” you roll your eyes spiritedly and release a contented sigh, “Tell me why you really came to Maine,”

“Don’t deflect,” he teases.

“C’monnnn,” you draw out the last syllable, “answer,”

“I asked you first,” Steve chuckles.

“Jeremy wasn’t at Abbey’s birth,” you admit, it's immediately like an aching weight removed from the length of your spine– one that's been there consistently for years. “He didn’t even want me to have her,” you scoff humorlessly.

You had told almost no one this before. For the sake of keeping appearances, even after he passed, only your mother and sister knew that Jeremy had pushed for you to terminate your pregnancy when he’d found out; and that only once your daughter was actually born did he want to be involved in her life. The burden felt shockingly easy to lay at Steve’s feet, like someone might confess to a priest. This tender man sitting across from you– whether it was the wine or simply his presence, you aren’t sure– but it felt so effortless to be vulnerable right now. Your soft, white underbelly on display for him to do as he pleases, trusting him to have a gentle touch.

“That fucking sucks,” he knows you well enough by now to understand you’ve never cared for empty platitudes, so he doesn’t bother schooling his bitter, empathetic expression, “M’ sorry,”

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, you say, “Your turn,”

“My old man was an abusive, drunk asshole,” he says frankly, “I don’t know if I ever saw him sober,” he huffs a laugh but there’s no humor behind it. “I needed to get out– to see what else there was, you know?” He asks, and you nod, “He died in my sophomore year of college. Didn’t even go to the wake.”

“Well, I’m really glad you ended up in this shithole,” he laughs at that, “I think you’re pretty neat, Harrington,”

“Thanks,” he deadpans, “Juries still out on you,” he pokes your side and you giggle like you’re a damn teenager again.

You swat him lightly on his bicep in retaliation, and before you know it, you’ve both succumbed to a fit of contagious laughter. When it begins to die down, you’re closer to him than you’d been before. It steals the breath from your lungs and your heart thrashes inside your ribcage like a wild animal.

You’re gazing at each other now, heads light from the alcohol and dizzy with proximity. His heavy lidded gaze lands on your lips for a second too long, and then he’s pulling your face flush to his own by the sharp edge of your jaw.

It’s a soft kiss, but it’s maddening nonetheless. His lips are plush and smooth– malleable against yours. You huff a surprised breath of air, but don’t pull away. One of his calloused hands is resting firmly on your waist while the other one snakes up tenderly to hold the back of your head. You feel that familiar itch to bury your fingers in his brown tresses, so finally, you do. What realistically only lasts a moment, feels like hours before he’s pulling away, nearly frightened.

When he looks at you, his doe eyes are wide with fear, glassy with the impending fallout of what he’d just done. He stammers, “I’m sorry–that was–” he runs his hands down the length of his guilt twisted face.

“No– Steve, It’s okay, I–”

“I should go–” he says quickly as he slips his shoes and coat on, not even bothering to tie the laces, he grabs his keys, “I’m sorry I’ll– I’ll see you on Monday,”

He’s closing the door behind him before your mind gets the chance to catch up with your mouth. You wished to tell him that it was okay, that you liked it– that you wanted him to stay and never leave again.

But it’s too late. You’re left alone in the stifling air of your living room, half a bottle of wine on the coffee table and your heart on the floor.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383

divider cred - @cafekitsune

[kamospeach]

that smile on your face makes it easy to trust you .ᐟ

plot: tattooartist!geto wants his favorite canvas to show off his work.

content warning: oral f!receiving, choking, piv sex, fingering, praising, doggy, breeding, a lot of dirty talk

peachy's yap: wc 5.1k.ᐟ placed in Tokyo, but i didn't use conversions, and i specified that when speaking about money. i wrote this before i started writing on tumblr so it might be a lil bad.

"mmm, sugu..." you moaned, trying to stop the force of his thrust with your hand.

"be a good girl and take it all for me, okay?" he groaned out, intertwining your fingers behind your back and holding your hand in place.

now, you're probably wondering how you got here. hours before the incident you and your friends sat around on your bed. you all were scrolling through pinterest, trying to help your youngest friend build the courage to get a tattoo. you had friends of all different ages, races, and types since you transferred to a school in tokyo. your college in the us had an exchange program, which you were eager to sign up for. in all honesty, you were excited to meet the famous tiktok star satoru gojo.

living in tokyo was still new to you, and you had been going to school there for a year and a half. you made a lot of friends who were from the same program as you. you were the oldest and most obvious mom of the group. you treated the others like they were fragile babies, even though some of them were only a few months younger than you. one of your friends had just recently turned 19 and had never gotten a tattoo.

"come on, tattoos aren't that bad." you stressed to your friend. you were littered with tattoos, 25 in total, so of course, it seemed like nothing to you.

"that's not fair you have so many this will be my first one." he complained, and you laughed at his nervousness.

"what about your artist that did the majority of yours? can he do it?" another one of your friends asked, and you nodded at her statement.

"yeah, he's very gentle, so it won't be bad. i'll facetime him." you said and called suguru. 

the whole time you had been in tokyo, suguru had been doing your tattoos. out of 25, he did 20 of them, which made you get closer. sometimes, he did your tattoos when you just popped up or even after hours when he was fully booked. most times, you would call him and talk while he sketched a large tattoo for you. you guys had become friends and even got some tattoos for free, small ones, of course. it was also oddly convenient since you're a major fangirl for his best friend, satoru.

"you must need something." he blurted, answering on the third ring. you giggled at his assumption, looking at the way his phone was sitting.

"you're doing a tattoo?" you asked, slightly dodging his statement.

"yes, my only appointment for the day, you need to come by?" he asked, he never passed up a chance to take your money for something he loved doing. especially getting to see your pretty face sit in his chair and the look of satisfaction on that face when he finished the tattoo. 

"my friend wants a tattoo, and i recommended you because you're not too heavy-handed." you said, throwing in a smile, and he chuckled. he looked good to you, maybe better than usual. he had on a white shirt, which was different since he usually wore dark blue or black. you couldn't see his lower half, but you suspected he had jeans or sweats on. his long hair was in the usual bun at the top and hair down in the back.

"why do i feel like you're trying to sweet talk your way into my chair, kid." he joked, and you grumbled at the 'kid' nickname. 

"i'm doing it for my friend." you reminded him.

"oh yeah? so you're not doing it for the tattoo i sent you a couple of days ago." he raised a brow, and you laughed. he had sent you a very large sketch of a dragon that he said would look good on you. he offered to do it for 300 us dollars instead of 700 as long as you modeled it for him. you swore you would promote him on all platforms since you were pretty popular.

"if you want to do it today, we can." you offered, throwing the ball in his court.

"you guys can come i should be done in 30." he laughed, and you smiled, standing as all your friends began grabbing their belongings to leave. you walked away from them, noticing he had his airpods in his ear.

"i missed you, you know." you said lowly, not trying to draw attention to yourself. he glanced at you, and his eyes showed everything he couldn't say aloud.

"i missed you too; you'll hurry and get here, yeah?" he said, making your stomach churn from the naturally seductive tone he carried.

"we're 15 minutes away, but it might be some traffic." you informed him, and he nodded understanding.

𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩

"woah, it's nice in here." your friend said loudly, making everyone else agree. 

"sugu!" you yelled, seeing him grabbing the cash from the client. when the client left, you went to suguru, immediately hugging him tightly. 

"you act as if we haven't seen each other in months." he joked still returning the hug as enthusiastically as you.

"2 weeks is a long time." you huff, sitting in a chair next to him. all your friends followed behind you, standing at the end of the chair. your friend getting the tattoo sat in the chair and explained the idea to geto. he began to sketch as you scrolled through your instagram messages, responding to brands that wanted to work with you. before you knew it, you heard the buzz of the needle, and he began to work. "oh! sugu, i need to tell you about what happened last week."

"i'm listening." he said, yet you could tell in his voice that he was interested. he was focused, and that was when he looked the best. the right side of his lip was tucked between his teeth, and his eyes were low. the veins in his arm protruded due to his grip on the needle, and the vein in his neck that never went away was more prominent. you rested your chin on your palm as you talked to him and watched him work on your friend's arm.

"he's really good." a friend of yours complimented him, and you nodded.

"thank you." he mumbled out, still focusing on his work. after another 30 minutes, he was finished with the tattoo. it was a song lyric, so it didn't take long to finish it and wrap it up. 

"you guys don't have to wait for me; this tattoo is pretty big." you assure your friends.

"you sure? will you need a ride home? i can always come back and get you."

"i'll take her home," suguru interjected, and you smiled, nodding at my friends.

"okay then, bye, see you later!" they all said in unison, waving at you as you walked back to suguru's chair. suguru followed behind your friends to turn off the open sign and lock the door. he closed the curtains and turned off the main lights to ensure no one would assume they were open. he walked to his station and turned on the extra lights he had to brighten up the specific area.

"nobody's here today?" you asked a little late, but your mind was distracted by the white shirt he had on.

"choso only had one client, so he went to pick up yuji. yuki never came, and the other guys left early, too." he explained.

"so, where did you want to put this one?" you smile, looking down at him as he sits in his usual chair.

"your back." he said printing out parts of the pre-sketched tattoo.

"cool! i've been wanting a back tattoo it's so empty." you admit, look at his back muscles flexing as he cleaned his station. "why a white shirt today?"

"is it a crime to wear white?"

"i mean, it is when all you usually wear is dark colors." you smile, and he nods.

"laundry day." he admitted, and you chuckled.

"maybe next time i can get you to wear pink." you smirk.

"maybe not." he said blandly. suguru was an avid pink hater, and light purple came a close second. you always teased him about pink and light purple and even bought him a pink and light purple gift for his birthday (along with tons of black and dark purple gifts). 

"i'm nervous now," you said, taking off your shirt and holding your chest. you had become comfortable with being in minimal clothing around him. he was even there when you got your nipples pierced, which would make sense since he owns the place (you invited him back because you were scared).

"what happened to that kiss you promised me?" he asked, ignoring your statement as your face got hot. 2 weeks ago, geto and you had kissed for the first time. he asked for another, and you told him you would the next time you saw each other.

"you would ask that now that i'm shirtless." you roll your eyes, and he just chuckles. you walk to where he stands, and his tall frame leans down. his hands gripped your waist, bringing you closer, and he whispered in your ear.

"nothing i've never seen before." he kissed your neck under your ear, causing a shiver to run up your spine. goosebumps formed on your body as if you were cold, but his body kept you warm. the way he spoke about seeing your chest made it almost feel inappropriate, yet it was because of the body piercing.

"so lewd." you sighed as he grabbed your face, bringing it close to his.

"yeah?" he questioned.

"y-" as you began to answer, he cut you off, connecting your lips. your mouth open from speaking, let him insert his tongue in your mouth. forgetting you didn't have on a shirt, your hands went to his hair, slowly massaging his scalp. 

he moaned in the kiss from the feeling of your fingers, loving how it felt. his hands traveled from around your waist to under your breast. your tongues fought for dominance, and he inevitably won as he explored your mouth. without thinking, his thumbs began to lightly caress your nipples, which were sensitive from the piercings you had gotten not even a month ago. he pulled away, looking down at your breast that rested perfectly in his large hands.

"i'm sorry," he apologized breathlessly. he quickly moved his hands, and you tried to catch your breath.

"it's okay." you said honestly, sitting in his seat. your chest pressed against the cold leather. most of your sessions with suguru weren't sensual or sexual. to be honest, this was different for the two of you; you just couldn't deny your attraction to suguru.

"you comfortable because once i get started, you need to stay very still." he said, and you scoffed.

"i know suguru." you said as you heard him laugh. for a second, he paused, letting the soft r&b play through the speaker. you internally chuckled at him playing the shared playlist that was full of music you told him to listen to. he began to place the stencils on your back and draw with the pen to fill in the empty places. as he did these little movements, your eyes closed as partynextdoor 'no chill' played. per usual, your thoughts drifted to suguru. 

now, it hit you like a bullet train going close to a million miles an hour. those times he called while sketching and said he'd want to see you with a back tattoo. or those times he said tattoos would look good around your neck. you always frowned at the idea as he smirked, saying 'went right over your head,' and you cluelessly shrugged. his hand around your neck? he wanted to see you with an arch in your back that emphasized those tattoos? sneaky.

suguru's signature smirk as you talked about tattoos. it wasn't the only thing you had in common, but it was where he could throw in dirty jokes, and you not even notice. before you knew it, your breathing was steadied, and you had lightly dozed off. suguru noticed your breathing and removed the needle.

"hey, love, you need to wake up just in case you twitch." he said, lightly rubbing your hip near where he was working.

"mhm." you mumbled, waking up and looking at the tv that was muted but played a program that you'd never seen. two hours had passed, and you were trying not to nod off. "sugu, i'm sleepy." you told him, and he nodded. 

"we can finish it tomorrow you probably have an hour and a half left." he said, and you shook your head. 

"i have work tomorrow i can't come." you pouted look back at suguru, who nodded.

"okay, if you twitch, i'll stop, and we just gotta plan a different day." he warned you, and you tried extra hard to stay awake. "what has you so tired anyways?"

"had three classes today from 7 to 2." you explained, and he nodded. 

"and how are you doing in those?"

"i'm doing good, i promise, just stressed. this is making it better." you tell him, knowing he acts like your father when it comes to your grades. he chuckles, and he works diligently on the tattoo. although you did nod off a few times, you were still enough for him to finish the tattoo all in one day. 

"maschocist?" he asked, joking, and you laughed.

"a little." you played along.

"you did good, love." he said, and the butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"t-thank you." you stuttered, immediately embarrassing yourself.

"thank you because i did your tattoo or because i praised you?" he questioned, reaching a hand out for you to stand as your legs felt weak from sitting for such a long time (and definitely not because his voice was hot). he kept his hand in yours, and you both walked to the mirror to see what he had done.

"maybe both." you shrugged, turning around and looking at your back in the mirror. "sugu..." you gasped, looking at the tattoo that was beyond the word beautiful. 

"do you like it?" he looked up at you, and your jaw dropped.

"like it? i love it." you say as he laughs.

"you always make me feel good about my work, " he says, wrapping his arms around your waist as you look up at him. you look at his face, caught in its beauty, as he waits for your response. his teeth play with the hoop of his side labret piercing on his plump lip.

"people must tell you all the time how good your work is." you say and he smirks at your assumption.

"sure they do, but your opinion matters the most." he says as you begin to realize he's leaning into you. you summon all the positive self-talk you can to reassure yourself that you can handle this without embarrassing yourself. like you figured his lips crashed onto yours and the two of you began to kiss vigorously. your teeth touched here and there and his tongue was exploring your mouth all in a matter of seconds.

"sugu..." you hum as his lips leave your mouth and attack your neck. he began to lightly bite and suck at your neck as you let out a light moan from the feeling of his lips.

"yes, y/n?" he says, and you sigh at the feeling of his lips. "show me how much you love my work, baby. show it off to me, hm?" he says, and your heart begins to flutter at his words. his voice was smooth like silk and his words were sensual.

"okay." you say lowly letting go of your chest and putting your hands in his hair. it was your favorite place to put your hands, to busy yourself, and hearing his groans was music to your ears.

"this is what you want right?" he asks leaning back to look you in your eyes.

"yes, i want you, suguru." without a second word, he picked you up and placed you on the chair you had previously sat on. your hands quickly went to his belt to open it.

"slow down, let me please you." he whispered in your ear as he removed your hands from his belt. his hands slowly grazed your sides his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. he slipped his hand slipped into your shorts pressing your covered clit. your breathing became ragged, and you whimpered in his ear. he slowly rubbed your clit barely putting any pressure just enough for you to know his fingers were there and moving.

"sugu please." you begged looking him in his eyes and he smirked at your begging state.

"please, what?" he asked as your head began to spin. you didn't even know what you wanted from him at this point. you just knew that you wanted him.

"i... i" you started still lost in your words.

"you what, baby? you want me to touch that needy pussy for real?" he hummed, and just from the words, your hip bucked at his hands needing to feel him.

"yes, please touch me, suguru." you asked, and he smiled at you, finally being able to ask for what you wanted. he finally put his hands inside your thin undergarments, pressing his cold fingers directly on your warm cunt. you're insanely wet and would be dripping if your juices weren't restrained. his middle finger grazed over your core seemingly testing to see how aroused you were for him.

"you're so wet for me." he breathes out as he slips his middle finger in you without warning. you moan at the simple girth of his thick and long digits. he skillfully maneuvers his fingers as your cunt squelches. the only sounds in the tattoo studio are you and suguru's heavy breathing combined with the sloshing sounds of your juices. 

"fuck..." you moan throwing your head back and enjoying the pleasure that suguru was giving. although you imagined having him all for yourself taking his big dick up your tight virgin-like cunt. you never imagined it would feel this good just from one of his fingers.

"you can take another finger for me, right?" he asked, not awaiting an answer he added another finger searching for that rough and spongy spot in you. once he found that spot, he continued to simulate, rub, and push on that spot as you clenched around his fingers. he removed his fingers once he could feel you even getting slightly close to finishing. 

"hah... hey," you huff as a pout immediately finds its way to your face. without saying a word he put his fingers to his lips. he licked your essence off his fingers while maintaining that almost unbearable eye contact with you. "suguru..." you tried to warn him but it mainly came out in a whisper.

"i want you to cum on my dick not my fingers." he whispers as he leans down to suck on your right breast. you moaned loudly at the feeling since your nipple was still sensitive from the piercing. he rolled your left nipple between his fingers and massaged your tits. he let off with a 'pop!' switching to the left before repeating the process of giving your other nipple attention. once he felt he was done, he began to unbutton your pants.  seeing that as a green light, you rush to remove his shirt. "you can't be in that big of a rush." he teases.

"i been waiting a long time for this." you admit to crashing your lips to his so he can feel your urgency. he eventually gave up trying the slow approach and hastily helped you strip down. after you had finally got him to just his boxers you lightly pulled at the band and he smiled. "i can do it?" you asked shyly and he laughed.

"go ahead." with his permission, you pulled down his boxers, watching as his girthy dick slaps his stomach. he was unbelievably hard; his tip was bright red and dripping precum. you couldn't take your eyes off of it as you shamelessly stare at his throbbing dick in fear. "you ready?"

"yes." you squeaked, and he smirked, grabbing your legs and lifting them to your chest. unexpectedly, he leaned down, sending one singular lick to your soaking wet lips. your legs begin to tremble at the feeling while suguru sends kitty licks, purposely ignoring your clit. "suguruuu..." you whine, and he stands up, smiling as his lips glisten from the juices. 

"i got you." he says, putting his hands up to your mouth. "spit." knowing you were getting closer to the goal, you immediately spit in his hand. he begins to jerk himself with your spit eyes rolling to the back of his head from the feeling. 

he had to snap himself out of it, remembering that this was real he wasn't dreaming of you. he could really fuck you and feel the way your warm cunt feels around him. you both being too intoxicated by each other's scent threw caution to the wind and didn't even think of using a condom. he lines his dick up with your entrance slapping his tip on your clit a few times before slowly pushing his way in.

"oh my..." you both gasp in unison at the feeling, his head is pressed against yours as he continues to push his way into you. he had you in a mating press as he tried not to put his full weight on you. he filled you up perfectly you felt full and stuffed just from half of him. he continued to push himself into you until he completely bottomed out. you both took a second he was allowing you to adjust while he tried to not nut already. your breathing was matched and you both looked each other in the eye.

in. out.

in. out.

in. out.

in. 

and suguru slammed into you as you took a deep breath, knocking all the wind out of you. he smirked as you gasped for air, and he continued with his bullied thrust. he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in not even letting you catch your breath again.

"you hear that? you hear how wet you are for me." he whispered in your ear as you babbled out 'yes, yes, yes, yes' in response. your moans were loud and echoed around the tattoo shop. he leans up and begins to speed up his pace both hands on the back of your knees pressing them closer and closer to your chest as his thrust begins to get more and more ruthless. 

"s...s...s..." you tried to speak but you were so cock drunk you couldn't even get the words out. you were embarrassed and you couldn't even look at suguru who gripped your jaw roughly turning you to face him again. 

"spit it out." he says in a mocking tone, and you roll your eyes at him. "you want to roll your eyes?" he asked as you ignored him, gripping his forearm tightly at the pleasure. "answer me." he spat, and you whined shaking your head.

"no!" you moan out as he hit that perfect spot in you that had you almost ready to come undone. he rapidly pounded into you so hard that you felt the pressure in your chest. it almost felt as if his cockhead was poking at your heart begging you to love him and his dick. 

"can i leave marks?" he asked, remembering all those times you complained to him about men leaving hickeys on you without permission.  your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your moans became more and more guttural. 

"mhm," you hummed out, and he immediately began to work on your neck, leaving hickeys. once he felt he was done with what he called his 'masterpiece,' he looked at you. fucked out with his marks on your neck, collarbone, and chest. he laughed at you as he grabbed both of your legs and crossed your ankles. he placed your crossed legs over his right shoulder as he continued to watch your fucked out face. 

"maybe you should get my name on you." he says as he kisses your ankle making your eyes widen in shock. he couldn't mean what you thought he meant. "maybe a necklace?" he says as he gives you a forceful thrust that has you screaming out his name. "yeah, you like that?" he says as he wraps one of his hands around your neck squeezing lightly.

"yes, sugu i love it." you say not even realizing you admitted to loving the idea of having a necklace with his name on it.

"you love it? you didn't even... hah... hear my other ideas... fuck." he says as his statement is broken up with his moans and groans. he's in bliss loving the feeling of your warm gooey walls wrapped tightly around his cock as you clench and hold on to him with every thrust. "fuck baby, you feel so good. you're taking my dick so good. such a good girl for me." now it was suguru's turn to babble about how good you feel. his thrusts are getting sloppy as he feels you clench even tight.

"sugu 'm cumming." you whine out as he makes his thrust more pointed at the spot he knows drives you crazy.

"cum on your cock, make a mess on me." he coaxes you to your end as you moan your loudest moan of the night. "look at the mess you made." he instructs you as he keeps fucking you through you high. you looked down at the ring of cream that wrapped around his base. he slides out of you and quickly flips you over. "now that you're warmed up, you can show off that new tattoo, hm?"

"wait, i'm sensitive." you whine, and he doesn't say anything, just rubs his tip up against your entrance. he gave you maybe half a second if you were lucky and pushed into you again. "shit.." you mumble as he pushes himself fully in, your back naturally arched at the feeling. without letting you adjust to him, he begins to snap his hips into you quickly.

"you look so good taking me, sweetheart." he says as he watches the way your ass ripples each time it hits his pelvis. one hand was on your hip, and the other sent a hard slap to your ass cheek. his thrusts were relentless and your moans were getting louder and louder each time.

you grabbed his wrist as your face was squished into the chair. suguru didn't say much his jaw was slack hypnotized by your ass and the way you gripped him. he couldn't take his eyes off of you the way you looked under him was better than anything he could've ever imagined.

"mmm, sugu..." you moaned, trying to stop the force of his thrust with your hand. you were getting closer by the second and still sensitive from your previous orgasm. it was starting to become too much as tears spilled from your eyes due to the pleasure.

"be a good girl and take it all for me, okay?" he groaned out, intertwining your fingers behind your back and holding your hand in place. using your hand as leverage he gives you slower and longer strokes. slowly out and roughly back in, hitting that spot that made you mewl out. "are you close?" he asked as your body began to twitch from the feeling.

"so close, baby, so so close." you say and he grunts loving the way you sounded moaning out his name.

"where do you want it, sweetheart?" he asked and you being a fucked out mess yelped out without even thinking.

"inside me, please cum in me, fill me up, sugu." you begged, and how could he deny his beautiful muse what she desired? as both of your climaxes built up, he grabbed the front of your neck, choking you lightly as he pulled you up so that his chest was against your back. his free hand reached down to rub circles on your clit as he continued fucking you. "i'm cumming, shit."

"me too, cum with me." he whispers deeply in your ear as the both of you cum together. your body jerked as you violently came, and he continued to send sloppy thrusts, filling you up. he grabs your jaw, turning your face to kiss you sloppily. your tongues explored each other's mouths until you both decided to catch your breath.

"that was... amazing." you panted as he slowly slid out of you. the emptiness makes you whine and the sensitivity makes him shiver. 

"you were so good." he says, rubbing your cheek as you look away from him shyly. he walks away to get a wet paper towel. "this is as good as it's gonna get." you laugh as he cleans you both off and throws away the paper towel. he grabs your thong and helps you get dressed, sitting you back down on the chair. your legs were already getting sore, and you could only imagine how bad it would be tomorrow morning. 

after suguru got dressed, he double-checked the shop, making sure everything was good for him to leave. you just sat watching as he walked around, in shock that you actually got to fuck him. maybe the next time you should do it in the mirror, you thought to yourself as he handed you your purse. 

"ready to go?" he asked and you nodded walking alongside him. "now i'm going to have to take you on a date to ask the real question." he said raising his brow and looking at you.

"what question?" you asked, acting dumb, wanting to hear it now, but suguru wasn't falling for it. he opened the door, letting you out first as he hit a light switch.

"guess you'll have to find out during the date. how does friday sound?" he asked and without even thinking you obliged.

"friday is fine!" you say, concluding if you did have anything planned it would just have to be canceled.

"sounds good." he smirks, taking one final look around and turning off the final light switch. suguru locked the doors and thought to himself: i'll never quit. he wouldn't dare forget the memory of your fucked out face every time he'd do a tattoo on that same exact chair.

[snoopyiz]

‘ to all the girls I’ve loved before ’ feat. LARA RAJ & SOPHIA LAFORTEZA

─── ﹙📬﹚ In which yn writes about all the girls she’s loved, except she’s never ended up with any of them.

PAIRING(s): lara raj x ex!situationship!reader, sophia laforteza x ex!friend!reader

WARNING(s): slight angst, leading on, ghosting, and mentions of megan skiendiel x onesided!reader

A/N: wrote ts so I didn’t self sabotage 🙏🏽 I live to see another day

Yn has always considered herself a hopeless romantic, always throwing her heart in places that cannot be fathomed, with people who are less than deserving.

Whenever she had an intense crush she wrote it down, placing it deep within her closet— thankfully she’s only ever had to write about it twice.

The first one was for a girl who wasn’t even less than deserving, she was below that. Sophia Laforteza. The golden girl, one your feelings truly rooted deep for. It was always flirting with her, the pet names she used would always pull you in.

“yn my love,” Sophia said as she cradled your head to her chest. Sophia was affectionate through touch, that was how she expressed her love, so you thought.

As time went on and your feelings grew, things got more awkward between you two. One day she started talking about this guy— it made your heart drop the moment you heard it, yet you played it off.

“and I'm absolutely sure we’re gonna kiss when we meet up!” She beamed, even if the air was tense; she wasn’t. As time went on she got more distant, until you stopped talking. You hated it.

As you wrote about her, you’d think about texting her. Maybe she would respond? Or she wouldn’t. You convinced yourself you hated her, yet did you?

When you told Sophia about your feelings, the awkwardness only got worse. Your friendship was renowned to ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ texts. In the end, Sophia said she knew all along.

Ever since that day, you’ve let your friendship wither away, not willing enough to continue something that was hurting you.

The second letter was to someone who wasn’t half as bad, yet it hurt just as much. Lara Rajagoplan. Lara wasn’t as flirtatious as Sophia, yet she had her moments at times.

The only barrier between you and Lara was the fact you met her at some overnight art high school camp, yet you texted almost everyday.

She was never good at responding though, ghosting you for days on end. Until one day you decided enough was enough, you sent her a long paragraph about how if she didn’t care about whatever you two were, then it wouldn’t work.

Her response came two weeks later. Two weeks. To sum it up, Lara admitted to ignoring you. In her words, she wanted you two to work, yet refused to acknowledge the fact that ghosting you was wrong, so you ended up blocking her.

Whenever you thought of Lara, the lingering question of what you could’ve been always lingered.

You try not to dwell on the thought of the two, yet somehow they always come back— even when you’ve moved on. Your new crush, someone you’re infatuated with. Yet she has a boyfriend. Megan Skiendiel.

[meo-eiru]

Theo doesn’t talk to her.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he can’t.

Because every time he even thinks about opening his mouth, his throat closes up, and his hands shake, and he feels like he might just throw up on the floor.

She’s right there, inches away, talking to someone else, laughing like it’s nothing, like it’s so easy to be… perfect.

Theo grips the hem of his sweater and looks down, brown curls spilling over his face, hiding what he doesn’t want the world to see. His eye burns, his single, lonely green eye, the one thing that makes him stand out in all the worst ways.

She can’t see it.

She can’t see him.

He wants to be seen, but only by her. Wants her to notice, but not too much. Wants her to hear the words he can’t even say.

"Y/N..."

The name is a fragile thing in his head, something that might shatter if he says it too loud.

He watches from the corner of his eye as she reaches into her bag, fingers brushing against something, a pen maybe, and the thought of how easy it would be to hold that hand makes his chest feel hollow. He knows the shape of her hands better than his own. Knows the way her lips move when she’s lost in thought. Knows how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating.

But she doesn’t know him… maybe that’s for the best. Because if she ever really saw him, saw the way his fingers twitch when she’s too close, saw the way he lingers just a second longer in the places she’s been, saw the way his thoughts wrap around her name like thorns, and his eye—

She’d run.

They always do.

(Back with a short fic for my favorite cyclops)

I have to admit I was so immersed in this I actually tried to like it as if it was a post and not an ask in my inbox

My god op you write so beautifully, you really made me feel his loneliness.

Theo is indeed very lonely, he usually doesn't mind it. He made peace with the fact he would probably spend his entire life alone around elementary school. He's alright, it's not like he's jealous of the people who go out with their friends, do romantic stuff with their lovers or just... exist without the fear of the other person finding them disgusting.

But your sheer existence makes all his resolve crumble down. His sweet, beautiful, perfect y/n. Someone who can do wrong. Even if you did hurt someone you probably had your reasons.

He loves you. He loves you so much. For the longest time he couldn't even bring himself to think like that in his head because someone like him doesn't have the right to think of you in such ways.

But even as the monster he is Theo still has emotions. Some too strong for his weak body to handle, so he tries to make it better.

He sketches you as he secretly watches you from a few seats behind, he writes your name over and over again like a prayer, he secretly follows you home and takes you pictures. Sometimes he intentionally skips his lesson to go rummage your locker, if he's lucky he'll find a piece of clothing and will try to relive himself while hugging and smelling it for the next hour or so.

He doesn't want to be seen, but he wants you to see him. He doesn't want to be noticed, but he wants you to notice him. He doesn't want to be touched, but he wants you to touch him.

He often fantasizes about you catching him as he tries to steal one of your belongings. He wants you to make him regret it, but also become aware that he is there. He wants you to talk to him even if it's to call him a creep. Because Theo is a coward, he's a coward who pathetically stalks you instead of actually having to courage to speak up. So he wants you to do it. He wants you to one day turn around and see him, your eyes to meet his.

You noticing him, you knowing him, you insulting him, you loving him.

[dat-town]

p.s. but i like you

Characters: Taesan & female reader

Setting & genre: to all the boys i’ve loved before au; she fell first, he fell harder; fluff, comedy

Summary: When your love letters are sent out to your ex-crushes and you spend your last break before university trying to get them back, the last thing you expect is your neighbour tagging along.

Alternatively; you write love letters when you’re ready to move on from an all-consuming crush. There are four in total: Kim Donghyun from science camp in middle school, Park Sunghee’s older brother who tutored you once, Lee Chanyoung from the holiday resort last summer and Han Dongmin, the boy next door.

Warnings: MC is a bit chaotic, a bit of jealousy

Words: 10.3k

Author’s note: shoutout to the anonie who told me that the she fell first, he fell harder trope would fit Taesan because that’s so true. i hope i did it justice!

Letting your mother help you declutter your room before moving to Seoul for university was a big mistake. You realize it the moment you open your desk’s bottom drawer only to find it perfectly organized, colorful pens and highlighters in one corner, cute stationery in the other with stacks of important documents in the back, very unlike the usual mess you had in this exact drawer, the one you use to keep little trinkets like movie tickets and your old diary with lock and key you have been too embarrassed to throw out in fears of somebody finding it. You quickly scan the contents of the drawer, check all the others too, half-relieved when you find the diary with its lock secured but it doesn’t dissipate your nerves entirely.

“Mom...” You walk up to her where she’s currently sorting your clothes by color after you’ve already separated them by season. “Have you seen the envelopes in my drawer?”

“The letters? Ah, yes. I had to pick up a package from the post office today anyways, so I mailed them for you,” your mother says matter-of-factly, not noticing the way you’re biting your lower lip nervously.

“What?” You shriek, louder than you intended, in pure panic.

“Well, except for Dongmin’s, of course. I gave his to his mother,” she continues as if it was a light-hearted chit-chat, unaware of the storm clouds collecting over your head because she’s too focused on deciding whether to put your beige or cream colored sweater on top. “What’s with them by the way? Is it one of those letter chains we used to do when you were younger?”

“No. No, no, no,” you throw yourself onto your bed and scream into your pillow when you realize she’s totally serious. She found those simple white, addressed envelopes on the bottom of your drawer and took them thinking you just never got around to send them.

However, those letters were not meant to be sent. Ever.

The thing is: you write a love letter whenever you’re ready to move on from an all-consuming crush. So they are rather goodbye letters, your closure after spending days, weeks imagining your life with just another boy before realizing that it wouldn’t work out anyways. Not that you ever do anything about your crushes and you prefer it this way. In your head you can make up all these little scenarios about holding hands, amusement park dates, watching the stars together because at the end of the day you’re a hopeless romantic. You can giggle about seeing your crush smile from far away without the disappointment getting to know them could possibly bring. You have seen enough of your friends get rejected or dumped, so nah, you don’t plan to ‘put yourself out there’ anytime soon. Especially now that high school ended and you got your acceptance letter from your dream university in Seoul and you’re so ready to leave Gwangju behind.

But now the letters are out and it ruins all your plans of a peaceful winter break.

You’re knocking on the Han family’s door as if the building was burning down, tapping your house slippers against the corridor’s floor because you couldn’t be bothered to waste more time by putting on proper shoes and outerwear just to walk one door down.

You’re still going with the momentum and almost hit Dongmin’s lovely mother in the chest when she opens the door for you but you manage to scramble backwards and try to regain your composure by forcing a polite smile on your face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Han. Is Dongmin home?” You ask tentatively, hoping, praying that she would say no, so you could ask for your letter back from her by making up some excuse. Your smile almost falls though when the woman nods and looks behind her shoulder.

“Dongmin! Y/N’s here for you,” she shouts down the hall before turning towards you with a kind smile and ushering you inside like she has always done ever since your family moved in next door when you were fifteen. “What are you waiting for? Come in.”

You mutter out a quiet thank you and awkwardly wave when you see Dongmin’s younger siblings in front of the tv in the living room but no sign of the boy.

“He must have his headphones on like usual. Just knock loudly on his door,” his mother clicks her tongue in disapproval and puts a bowl of sliced fruits in your hands before gently pushing you towards the bedrooms inside the apartment.

You gulp and follow her instructions but even if you haven’t been there before, you would know which door is Dongmin’s because it’s full with stickers of his favourite bands and there’s the unmistakable sound of guitar playing resonating through the door when you get close enough, the same sound you hear from your own room because you (unfortunately?) share a wall with the guy. You knock on the wood three times, loud enough for the music to stop and one and half inhales later it swings open, revealing the tall boy with tousled dark hair, wearing an oversized The Beatles tee and sweatpants.

It’s been a while since you have seen him from up close, so for a moment you’re rendered speechless and a wave of self-consciousness washes over you due to the state of your homey clothes and messy bun but then you remember that he has already seen you taking out the trash in you pajamas and with greasy hair as well as with the braces you had back in freshman year. Not to mention, you have a bigger, more embarrassing problem at hand than how you look.

“What?” Dongmin eventually speaks up, raising an eyebrow in question as he leans his side against the doorframe and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Okay, if he doesn’t know what you’re here for nor he’s calling you out on your childish letter, he must not have read it yet, right?

“Uhm, did you perhaps get a letter today? From me?” You find your voice finally, albeit it’s more high-pitched than normally as you awkwardly choose your words to sound as vague as possible. Dongmin stares at you nonchalantly before reaching for somewhere behind his back and holds an envelope ‒ your letter! ‒ out for you.

“You mean this?”

“Yes, exactly! Can I have it back?” You get excited and relieved, reaching for the paper only for Dongmin to raise it higher, out of your reach. You pout as you pull your hand back and dare to look the boy in the eyes as you pose the question you’re afraid to hear the answer for. “Or… did you read it already?”

Dongmin looks at you impassively, eyes searching as if he’s trying to figure you and your intentions out. Then he shrugs.

“What? The part about my beautiful eyes or that I drive you crazy?” He asks with one corner of his mouth lifting cockily as he quotes your words and you are going to have to dig a grave for yourself. Especially because both statements are still very much true apparently.

“Shh!” You hiss and you don’t even know what comes over you when you push at his chest with enough force (and the element of surprise) to push him back inside his room and you slip in too, quickly closing the door behind you before his family could hear what you’re talking about.

A moment later you realize what exactly you have done and your eyes widen at your own brazen behaviour. Based on the confused, dumbfounded look on Dongmin’s face you managed to surprise him too.

“Uhm, your mom made this for you,” you clear your throat as you push the bowl of fruits into his hands and look anywhere but his face. Which in turn results in looking around in his room that’s very like him. Band posters on the wall, concert tickets half-filling a glass jar, a keyboard by the desk, CSAT preparation books on the shelf, clothes thrown on the bed…

“Look Y/N,” he starts, his voice deeper than you remembered. But again, when was the last time you had a proper conversation other than hellos when running into each other in the corridor? “About your letter. I'm flattered but…”

“Don’t be!” You cut him off before he could reject you. Even if it’s years late and you aren’t crushing on him anymore, it would hurt your feelings, so you would rather not hear it. “You’re not the only one. I’ve written four letters.”

“Damn, Y/N. Is this some kind of prank?” Dongmin furrows his brows. He looks like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or annoyed by the sudden turn of events. You’re not sure which would be worse.

“I wish it was. My mom mailed my deliberately unsent love letters,” you sigh, face buried in your hands while Han Dongmin has the audacity to let out a short laugh.

“So who are the others then?” He asks casually while sitting down at his desk chair, putting the fruit bowl next to his laptop. Then he turns to you and motions for you to sit down or whatever that vague hand movement is supposed to be but you’re too busy fiddling with your fingers while hovering by his door, half-ready to flee.

“Uhm, Kim Donghyun from a science camp back in middle school, Lee Chanyoung from a holiday resort we went to in Jeju last summer and Park Sunghee’s brother,” you list, counting each name on your fingers. You aren’t even sure why you’re telling him this. Maybe you just want to get this off your chest and it’s not like he would post about it on his social media for laughs. He rarely posts anything unrelated to his band anyways. Plus he doesn’t even know these guys…

“Park Sunghoon? Isn’t he too old for you?” Dongmin raises a brow and you want to smack yourself. Of course, he knows him, they went to the same all boys school. It’s the best high school in the neighbourhood after all.

“Yah! He’s just two years older than us,” you correct him, defensive.

“Whatever,” Dongmin shrugs. Then he eyes the envelope slipped under the fruit bowl and mortification washes through you again. You don’t even remember half the things you wrote but you certainly remember pointing out that you were sure his band’s popularity would get to his head and that’s why it was better for you to not like him anymore. You cringe at yourself because a year and half and a few dozen screaming girl fans later, Han Dongmin seems still as laid back as ever behind his Taesan persona. “So you came to take it back before I could read it?”

“Well, yeah,” you admit, not seeing a reason to lie. It’s not like this could get any more embarrassing. “Though honestly I wasn’t really thinking. I only noticed the letters missing literally ten minutes ago.”

Dongmin hums like he finds it interesting which is funny because most of the time he looks like he doesn’t give a damn about anything. Except when it comes to music. Shit, what if he’s thinking of turning this situation into a song? He should credit you for inspiration.

“And what are you planning now? Will you break down the other three guys’ doors too?” He asks and it’s teasing, taunting. You can tell he’s pretty much laughing at you behind his raised eyebrow and curious eyes.

To be real, you weren’t thinking that far ahead yet.

“How fast do you think the Korean postal service is?” You purse your lips.

“Wait. You don’t actually plan to steal the letters back from their mailbox, right?” Dongmin scoffs but you might be considering it, so your silence is enough of an answer. “Oh you do.”

“I don’t want them to read it,” you throw your hands in the air. Just thinking about it gives you a headache and anxiety. “It’s bad enough that you read yours and now everytime we will meet, I will overthink it because you know I used to have a crush on you but I’m still friends with Sunghee and it will be even more awkward if she gets to know I liked her brother. Gosh, I should have dated my letters. Now Donghyun will think I wrote it now and not when we were fourteen.”

The more you think about it, the worse the situation is. You shudder just thinking about how cringe your letters could be looking back. Especially the one you wrote at the prime time of middle school.

“You know, maybe instead of dating them, you should have not written down the addresses,” the boy across from you points out, oh so very helpful.

“Wow, good advice, thanks. I will keep that in mind next time,” you deadpan and decide that it’s been enough of an embarrassment for a lifetime in front of the neighbourhood’s resident cool boy. You need to come up with a plan on how to get the letter back from the Park family before they could open it or forward it to Sunghoon abroad. “Anyways, I’ll be going then. Can I, please, have my letter back?”

You hold out your hand, trying your best puppy eyes at the guy but Dongmin doesn’t budge.

“Nah. It’s my letter now.”

You scowl but after a few long moments of staring contest that has you hot in the cheeks, you let out a deep sigh. He has already read it, it doesn’t really matter anymore.

“Okay, bye then,” you roll your eyes and let yourself out of his room, bowing awkwardly to his mother when you pass by her and face plant yourself into your bed once you’re alone again. Stupid Han Dongmin and his amused crooked smile and pretty brown eyes. Why did he have to read it?

You plan to get back Sunghoon’s letter via Sunghee and it goes smoother than expected.

You text the girl asking about the letter and tell her not to open it or send it to her brother because it’s just a prank someone pulled on you. If Taesan gave you the idea, she doesn’t have to know nor about the white lie. It’s in the afternoon when Sunghee texts you that they just got the mail and you decide to meet up both to catch up and get the letter back. Like the sweetheart she is, Sunghee offers to throw it out but you don’t want to leave anything to chance, so you meet in a cute café, drink way too sweet winter lattes and talk about post-graduation plans.

You’re walking back to the apartment complex from the bus stop with your letter safely tucked inside your bag when you spot the unmistakably tall figure of your neighbour in the nearby park, playing football with his little brother. At least the younger boy wears a puffy coat, gloves and beanie all tucked in but Dongmin, who has always acted a bit like the street was his runway, wears jeans, a wool coat half open and only a long, fluffy scarf pulled up to half-cover his already reddened, cold-bitten ears, February cold be damned. He has his hands in his pocket as he lazily kicks the ball back to his brother but it passes him by. That’s when his eyes meet yours and you react a tad bit too late to convince him that you weren’t staring. Luckily, he doesn’t call you out.

“Mission success?” He yells over to you though and it’s so silly. Why does he even care?

“Yeah,” you nod anyway and you’re about to ask how come he’s not cold when his little brother tugs on his coat sleeve.

“Hyung, can we go back inside now? I'm freezing. Why did you even wante‒”

“Sure, back we go,” Dongmin cuts him off hurriedly and you pretend not to pay attention to their brotherly bickering. You’re surprised to hear that this time it was the older who insisted on playing outside because usually it’s the other way around based on what you have heard before but it doesn’t concern you, so you just follow the two boys, watching maybe a bit too fondly as Dongmin ruffles his brother’s hair when he takes off his beanie inside the building. On the second floor, the older boy steps to their door to key in the code and ushers (meaning: lightly push) his brother inside. Before you could do the same down the corridor, he turns to you after the closing beep of their door.

“So what’s next?”

Once again you’re taken aback that he seems so invested in the mess you've gotten yourself into but it’s not like you have anybody to tell about these things. Normally you would gossip about boy things with Sunghee but since she can’t know about her brother being concerned, you would rather keep it to yourself. Or well, since Dongmin’s asking…

“Well, Sunghee got the letter today on the other side of the town, so I’m assuming that Donghyun’s will arrive in Busan tomorrow. So…” You explain, running on the adrenalin of successfully getting back one of the letters.

“Wait, Busan?” Dongmin interrupts, furrowing his eyebrows, confused. Oh, right. You only told him about the science camp.

“Yeah, he lives there or at least used to, four years ago. So I’m thinking of catching an early bus tomorrow,” you tell him about the plan you made up during your way home from Sunghee. Taking an express bus is the fastest and cheapest way to get to Busan and make it a quick day trip. Even if the letter’s not there, you will just ask the person who lives in that house to mail it back to you when they get it. If you still have time to kill, maybe you can even go down to the beach to make it seem like you’re a sane person and you wouldn’t travel 3 hours back and forth just to get a letter back.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to look him up online?” Dongmin, the voice of reason as always, asks and you look at him unimpressed. Does he really think it didn’t cross your mind at all?

“I tried! He either has no social media presence or at least not with his real name,” you pout because seriously just how many Kim Donghyuns could there be for you to not find the one you’re looking for?

Your neighbour apparently didn’t run out of his questions though and you can see genuine, bewildered curiosity on his face when he asks:

“How do you even know his address still after four years?”

That’s a fair question (and you hate that all he asks are logical questions actually). Considering that you were fourteen when you wrote it, you should have long forgotten the exact address of your ex-crush but lucky for you, you have it written down in your dusty notebook under lock and key.

“Uhm, I might have it in my old diary. We were supposed to become pen pals after the camp but well, life happens,” you mutter, feeling a bit self-conscious admitting that yes, you are one of those girls who have written diaries. But Dongmin doesn’t judge, not for that.

“You mean, you never wrote to him,” he raises an eyebrow challengingly and it triggers a defensive reaction out of you.

“He never wrote to me either!”

“Well, good luck then, Miss Letter Thief,” he waves and slips inside their apartment before you could come up with a good retort and the way he always seems to have the last word makes you want to tackle him down in the old-fashioned kindergartener way just to shut him up. Jeez, good thing you got over him so long ago because he’s dancing on your nerves.

Even though your mother doesn’t try to hide the fact that she thinks you’re acting a bit too dramatic over ‘some letters’, she at least looks sheepish and doesn’t stop you when you tell her that you will go to Busan in the morning and come back in the evening. She even packs you snacks for the long bus ride and you throw a book into your bag as if you wouldn’t fall asleep ten minutes into the journey.

The Sun has been barely out when you leave the apartment, rubbing your palms together while you stand in the bus stop and wait for the local bus to take you to the terminal. A movement catches your eyes on the window next to yours but you think you just imagined it until the building’s door opens and Dongmin rushes out in his long coat that makes him even taller than he already is. You turn to him suspiciously when he stops a good two meters from you at the bus stop because what the hell he’s doing there at seven in the morning during winter break. You stop yourself from questioning him though because the bus pulls up in front of you soon enough and he sits behind you on the vehicle, so you don’t see where he gets off.

With upbeat music playing from your earbuds, you almost forget about him by the time you get to the bus terminal. Luckily the queue at the counter is not too long, so you manage to buy a ticket to Busan before the next one leaves. You barely get comfortable in your window seat when the aisle one next to you is taken even though there are plenty of available seats in the unreserved area due to the morning hour.

You look at the sudden occupant and your eyes widen in realization.

“What are you doing?” You shriek a little louder than what’s publicly acceptable, so you immediately apologize to the other, sleepy-looking travellers.

“What? Can’t a guy go to Busan to check out this one music store?” Dongmin shrugs nonchalantly and it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at his nonsense answer. He really doesn’t seem like the spontaneous type but admittedly, you don’t know him that well. You didn’t have to know him to catch feelings after all.

If you wanted to be honest, a few encounters around the apartment building was enough to get interested in him, even more so when you got to know that he had a band and your crush became embarrassing when you dragged your friends to the local festival where the band performed. Even though their music style isn’t really your go-to genre, he just looked so cool on stage, really in his element, very unlike the usual distant demeanor he greeted you with around the house. Then Minah started dating their drummer and you saw the band on stage a few more times, getting to love their music more and more, hanging out sometimes as parts of a bigger friend group until that one party where you saw your school’s most popular girl throw herself at Dongmin. The taste of unreasonable jealousy was all it took to snap out of it and forget about the boy’s pretty eyes, beautiful voice and rare smiles you treasured. Minah and Wonjin broke up around the same time, so at least you had an excuse not to see him more than necessary around the house.

So yeah, you probably talked more with him in the last two days than ever before and he has certainly never acted like this around you. It was getting suspicious.

“Han Dongmin… are you coming with me to make sure I don’t go alone?” You question because you really don’t know what to make of it and you can’t help but let your voice take on a playful tone.

“Pff…” The boy snorts and then looks at you with his practiced deadpan face. “I’m going, so I can laugh at how you embarrass yourself in front of this Donghyun guy.”

You roll your eyes at him. He thinks he’s so funny, huh?

“For real, why are you tagging along?” You try to come off as at least a bit authoritative with your crossed arms and serious face but it probably doesn’t work. Dongmin answers anyway.

“Because I don’t have more exciting plans for the break and it’s fun enough,” he shrugs as he slides down in his seat a bit to get more comfortable with his height. He fixes the hoodie over his head and turns his head against the backrest, looking like he’s about to go to sleep after telling you that while there you are with a hand over your heart. 

“Are my love letters funny to you?” You gasp, dramatic on purpose but a part of you really wants to shove him outside of his seat (of course, you won’t do it, not now that you’re on the highway already).

“I mean it was pretty funny that you misspelled the word gorgeous twice in mine.”

He says it so matter-of-factly but you desperately wish that he’s just teasing or else it’s mortifying that you couldn’t spell that correctly when you were almost seventeen.

“I was nervous! And it’s a difficult word to spell!” You splutter.

Seriously, what’s it about him that makes you so defensive all the time? Especially when he’s nothing but casual about your old love letter? Or is it exactly because of that?

“Do I make you nervous?” Dongmin raises an eyebrow at you with an almost smile on his lips and for a moment you’re speechless because you can’t tell whether it’s supposed to be teasing or flirty.

“I was once young and naive,” you tell him, refusing to answer because if you wanted to be honest (you don’t), then yes, he makes you very nervous, especially when he holds eye contact so long that you have to look away and stare out of the window instead.

“If you say so,” he hums and you refuse to give him the satisfaction of answering. You turn the music back on in your app and try to nap a little.

Dongmin must have the same idea because when you look his way the next time he’s peacefully sleeping. You know you shouldn’t but you can’t help but take in every small mole on his face and the curl of his eyelashes. Gosh, how is it possible that he’s even more handsome now than before?

When he stirs, you quickly look away and fish out the sliced fruits and hotteoks your mom prepared, offering to share them but Dongmin dismisses it with a shake of his head.

“What’s the order of the letters?” He asks instead when your cheeks are puffed with the sweet food but you decide to entertain him anyway.

“Donghyun’s the first, obviously. It was a two week long camp and he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. I knew I would never see him again, so I wrote that letter when I got back home. Then I befriended Sunghee in high school and met Sunghoon when I was over at hers. I had one actual conversation with him and imagined our entire lives together until he graduated and went abroad. Then I wrote yours in second year and I met Chanyoung last summer over the vacation my family went to in Jeju,” you list them off and it seems to put the boy into thinking mode because he’s quiet for a short while, letting you eat in peace.

“You don’t get crushes when there’s an actual chance of dating them? You barely interacted with any of these guys,” he points out and then gestures between him and you. “We never really talked either before this and then you stopped liking me because I ‘got too popular’,” he adds drawing ditto marks in the air probably quoting from your letter which makes you wince quietly.

You might have written to him that you got over your crush on him when their band started getting more attention, claiming that arrogant rock stars aren't your type. You certainly didn’t go into details about how their song about liking a popular girl made you feel stupidly jealous, especially after seeing him with Yein.

“It’s safer like this,” you shrug, casting your eyes down. “I like the idea of romance, like in books and movies, but not the reality of it.”

Real romance is scary. Full of rejection, heartbreak and embarrassment.

It might be the songwriter in him but Dongmin sounds intrigued to say the least.

“So you don’t actually have real crushes. You like the version of the guys you make up in your head,” he says like you’re a puzzle to solve and he’s slowly figuring you out. You don’t know how to feel about that.

“The way you say it sounds bad but… aren’t all crushes like that? You don’t have to know the person to like them,” you say and it’s funny because you never really thought about your feelings this way. But it’s true that even if you have had your fair share of crushes, none of them were very deep. You would never admit it to him but actually your ‘Dongmin phase’ was the longest but you can’t be sure whether it’s because he has been a permanent fixture in your life unlike the other boys or something else.

“I don’t know. To me, that’s just attraction. You can like them for who they are only when you get to know them,” he says and he sounds like he did think about it before.

“You don’t believe in love at first sight, huh?”

“Yeah, no,” Dongmin shakes his head and pops a piece of grape into his mouth from your snack box. You scoff but hold it closer to him and the rest of the ride is spent in relative silence interrupted by occasional short conversations.

This is how you get to know that the boy has been in Busan before with his family, so you pretty much let him lead when you get to the bus terminal in the coastal city because you’re not the best with direction. Dongmin has to stop you by holding on to your scarf when you almost get on the subway in the wrong direction and teases you about how you will get around in Seoul like that. You shrug, not worrying about it much since you will have enough time to learn getting around in a big city like the capital.

For now, you’re navigating through Busan on this impromptu day trip and you’re kind of glad you are not doing this alone. Not just because you would have most likely gotten lost a few times but because Donghyun’s address is almost an hour more away from the bus terminal and time flies faster while you talk with Dongmin. It’s nothing special, just your likes and dislikes, high school drama, sibling anecdotes and such but you find yourself smiling and laughing more often than not. When your shoulders brush at an abrupt stop of the subway car, you pull away shyly and something stirs in your chest, something familiar and almost forgotten.

By the time you get to the address written in your cute pink diary, you almost forget about the main reason why you’re here. You can’t decide whether fate is on your side or not when you manage to bump into a vaguely familiar figure on the ground floor of the building with a very much familiar letter in his hand among others.

“Donghyun!” You shriek in realization, resisting the urge to yank the letter out of his hand. He definitely grew up, almost as tall as Dongmin behind you, hair longer, covering his ears but his eyes are the same.

“Uhm… sorry, do we know each other?” He furrows his eyebrows, visibly confused. Dongmin tries to cover his snort-like laugh with a cough behind you which really doesn’t help with your embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m Y/N. From science camp four years ago,” you introduce yourself a tad bit awkwardly but luckily that’s all it takes for the boy to recognize you because his face brightens.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here? Came to check out the Sealife Aquarium?” He asks, almost excited, and you find it cute that he didn’t lose his childhood fascination with such things.

“Uhm, actually I came for that,” you point at the mail in his hands which leaves the boy confused once again.

“Our electricity bill?”

“No, dude, the prank letter you just got with her name on it,” Dongmin speaks up from behind you and you can tell just from his voice alone that he’s rolling his eyes. But it gets Donghyun to check out the envelopes in his hand and nonchalantly gives you the one addressed to him from you, like he doesn’t even care what’s in it. But when you actually take it, he leans in closer.

“You’ve got a scary boyfriend,” he whispers just as casually, so only you could hear it and you can only splutter in shock while he pulls back and jogs up the stairs with the other letters in hand.

“Thanks,” you clear your throat as you turn to Dongmin who looks as nonchalant as ever.

“For what?”

“For not telling him that it’s a love letter,” you explain, which makes the boy shrug. He opens the door for you and points towards the metro station.

“I’m choosing lunch then,” he says and you laugh at his logic, but follow him anyway. He still asks if you’re okay with Korean food and since you’re not picky, you let him choose whatever he craves.

You end up at a jjigae place, the warmth of boiling spicy soup filling you up and you blame the heat in your cheeks on it, definitely not in the casual way Dongmin serves you water or opens the hot rice bowl for you as if it’s nothing.

“So only Jeju’s left,” he comments between two spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae. Looking at you from across the table, he almost challenges you: “Tell me you’re not seriously considering flying there.”

“I mean there’s also a ferry…” You make a thinking face just for the sake of it but laugh at your own ridiculous idea and the face Dongmin makes. “Okay, okay, I know. He probably received the letter already anyway.”

You shrug casually and the boy seems surprised and maybe a bit impressed too. Getting back two letters out of four is actually a better ratio than you expected and you care surprisingly less about Chanyoung receiving his now. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Nothing much. Like Dongmin got his own and he doesn’t act weird about it. At least he certainly doesn’t avoid you or looks at you as if you were crazy like you would have thought so. He’s actually quite… kind about it. Without the letter you surely wouldn’t have spent this much time with him nor would he have joined you on this spontaneous day trip either. Speaking of which…

“Do you actually have a music store you want to check out here? We have time, so we might as well look for it,” you say, eyes on your food, blowing on the soup to make sure you don’t burn your tongue. When your suggestion is followed by silence, you look up self-consciously and fidget with a stand of hair hanging in your face. The look of surprise is clearly written on the boy’s face but when your eyes meet, he recovers quickly, shoving the rice sitting on his spoon into his mouth before taking out his phone and showing you the Instagram page of this cool store he found. You drop down your gaze from his face to his phone, feeling heat creeping into your cheeks once again as both of you lean forward over the table.

Luckily, in the winter cold outside it doesn’t stand out. Dongmin’s nose, cheeks and ears also redden by the time you make it to the music store by the sea. You look over the vinyl collection with him, asking about his favorites, inspirations and such, and while you don’t know half the bands he mentions listening to him talk has something special in it. It’s actually cute how enthusiastic he gets as he talks about music, like sure he’s all cool and nonchalant but still, you can tell he’s excited beneath that facade and…

Wait. Did you just call Han Dongmin, cool, mysterious, plays in a band neighbour, cute?

But how can you not when he walks out of that store with a new LP and a happy smile he tries to suppress when you look his way or when he’s like oh, yeah, sure, let’s go down the beach and there he is shivering from the wind like a rain-soaked black cat because he’s too cool to wear gloves even if he has ice americano in his hands unlike your hot hazelnut latte that’s warming your body and soul or the way he tries to secretly take pictures of you with your wind-blown hair in your face, laughing when you chase him down the waterfront or how he hesitates to accept the hot pack from you on your way back to the bus terminal but immediately switches places with you when a car passes by you a bit scarily close. It’s a totally new side of him that you’re discovering and you aren’t sure how to feel about it, about realizing that he isn’t the kind of guy you imagined him to be.

He’s so much more and so much better.

On your way back to Gwangju, he steals one of your earbuds and makes a comment on your music taste and you bicker about that half the journey but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your cheeks almost hurt from laughing so much when you notice new notifications on your phone and the device almost falls out of your hands.

chnyng_lee started following you. chnyng_lee hi yn! i got your letter…

“Oh my god!” You whisper-yell when you see the beginning of the message received, then quickly cover your mouth with your hand and pull the phone to your chest as if not seeing it would make it go away.

“What?” Dongmin asks with worry evident in his voice but you’re swimming too deep in embarrassment to detect it.

“Chanyoung just texted me,” you explain, still in shock and the moment it leaves your mouth, something shifts in the air. The previous light atmosphere turns heavier.

“Ah, Jeju boy?” Dongmin mutters, force nonchalance draped over his words as he turns to look ahead before silence settles on you both.

You take three long, deep breaths before unlocking your phone and opening the app to read through Chanyoung’s message properly. He’s so sweet, just how you remembered, telling you that of course he remembers you and he doesn’t think that your first meeting with you falling into the pool and him having to pull you out was awkward. He says it’s cute that you wrote to him even though you got over your crush and asks about your winter break. A sweetheart, really.

You find yourself chuckling fondly over his shy reactions and coo when he tells you about the group of elementary students he taught swimming that day. You want to show the video he sent to Dongmin too but he’s fast asleep next to you, so you spend the rest of the ride chatting with the cute boy who saved you back in Jeju.

Dongmin is quiet on the local bus too after you transfer in Gwangju but when you ask about it, he says he’s just tired, so you leave him be until you reach the apartment complex.

“Thanks for coming with me today. I… had fun,” you admit, more bashful than you would have liked to but the guy’s back to his distanced attitude, so he doesn’t even tease you about it.

“Sure, no problem,” he shrugs, seemingly eager to leave and you don't know why it bothers you so much but after everything that happened that day it’s his sudden change in behaviour that keeps you awake at night.

You wouldn’t say Dongmin avoids you. It’s more like things go back to normal. You have spent the last few years rarely running into him, so really, it shouldn’t annoy you. Still, whenever you leave the house, you find yourself looking for him and whenever you’re in your room you wait to hear his music through the thin wall between your rooms. 

It’s a random weekday evening when you run into him as you take out the recycled trash and he’s just coming inside the building.  It’s awkward, both the silence and the small talk idea but eventually it’s him who breaks the silence as he holds the door open for you:

“So how are things going with loverboy?” 

“Who?” You blink at him in surprise before realizing that he must be referring to Chanyoung with that weird nickname. “Oh, good. We’re thinking of meeting up in Seoul. He’s going there to uni as well.”

It’s actually crazy that in about a week you will be in the busy center of Seoul, getting ready for orientation week and trying not to get overwhelmed by everything that university life throws your way. You’re about to ask Dongmin when he will move to his dorm but before you could do so, he just hums and passes you by.

You refuse to think too much into it nor you allow yourself to mourn the closeness you unexpectedly found with the boy for it to turn out to be merely a fleeting experience. You cannot miss him suddenly, that’s ridiculous.

You can’t be desperate enough to wish it’s him knocking on the door two days later, can you?

“Uhm, hi!” You smile a tad bit awkwardly while looking down at Dongmin’s little brother standing on your doormat wearing a Kakao Friends Ryan patterned tee and a determined look on his face.

“Noona, can you please talk with hyung?” He asks and when he mentions his brother you can’t help but glance towards their closed door, chest heavy with unsaid feelings.

“Uhm, why?” You question curiously but keep your tone light and friendly, so the boy would know you aren’t dismissing his request, you just find it strange and unexpected. You aren’t that close to Dongmin after all.

“He listens to a lot of sad and angry music,” the boy sighs as if it was the world’s biggest problem and you have to fight a chuckle at how cute it is that he’s worried about his brother because of the music he listens to.

“Isn’t that normal for him though?” You find yourself asking because you do hear music through the wall between the two apartments from time to time and describing some of it as ‘sad and angry’ wouldn’t be far from the truth.

“Yeah, but even more than usual,” the little boy pouts and sighs again, all the world’s weight on his young shoulders. “And he says you can’t come over because you’re busy with your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you frown, confused where Dongmin got that from. Does he think that you texting with Chanyoung automatically meant you got yourself a boyfriend? Did he miss the fact that the letter for him was also written after getting over your crush on him? Oh come on, he knows you had four crushes over four years and never got a boyfriend, so what makes him think two days changed it all? And even if you had a boyfriend, what’s it to him unless… Wait, is he jealous?

“Then can you come over to play? We need four players,” Dongmin’s brother voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you let yourself be roped into a game of charades in their living room.

Needless to say your ex-crush is taken aback to see you there but he apparently doesn’t have the heart to say no to his siblings when it comes to playing a game. You pair up with his little sister who is seriously the cutest with her pigtails and excitement but her drawings are more postmodern than anything exhibited in galleries and you can’t for the life of you figure those out. Dongmin and his brother are a good team though but the eldest always makes sure that their little sister doesn’t feel bad about being on the losing team which in turn obviously means that he teases you about it instead. You still have a lot of fun though, so when you leave once it’s bedtime for the younger ones, you are giddy and high on sugar from Dongmin’s mom’s heavenly chocolate pudding.

“Sorry that my brother dragged you over,” Dongmin apologises once their entrance door closes behind him and you two stand in the corridor. You didn’t expect him to come after you despite his mother’s obvious suggestions because come on, you literally live next door, you don’t need him to walk you home. But you don't mind it because unlike your last encounter, he doesn’t seem to have his guards up making him much more approachable. Even if there’s nothing more to it, it would be nice to be friends with him, not just neighbours who pass each other by.

“No problem, it was fun,” you reassure him with a smile and don’t let the silence settle on your duo for too long. “Maybe we should make it a tradition in Seoul too, ask Chanyoung and Yoonah to join us.”

There’s definitely intent behind your words as you gawk at the guy’s reaction like a nature photographer waiting for something to happen in the wild and you can clearly see a bit of frustration blended with confusion on his face before he schools his expression back into cool nonchalance.

“Who’s Yoonah?” He asks predictably which makes your smile wider because being able to guess his reaction is almost like you know him.

“Chanyoung’s girlfriend! Didn’t I tell you? She’s so cool,” you chirp and pull up your Instagram app to show him a lovely picture of the two. Dongmin acts like he doesn’t care but he doesn’t stop you and somehow the air between you feels much lighter.

You tell him what you know about the couple’s plans in Seoul and somehow, in the middle of it all, you end up sitting on the cold concrete stairs right between your two homes and talk about the upcoming changes in your lives. You share how weird it feels to leave behind Gwangju, the only place you have really known in your life for an unknown city where you don’t know anybody. Sure, some of your classmates also move to the capital but none of your close friends, so it feels a bit like a fresh start which is both scary and exciting. He’s in similar shoes except that he has always had dreams of moving to a bigger, busier city, so he can’t wait to start his life in Seoul.

“As expected of Han Taesan. Fearless as always,” you note with a smile playing on your lips without thinking and you don’t even notice your slip-up until Dongmin points it out.

“You called me Taesan,” he says, his dark eyes wide and surprised.

“Ah right. Was I not supposed to?” You ask sheepishly because you have heard most of his friends call him Taesan as well as girls in your school who knew his band.

“No, it’s just…” The boy trails off, ruffling his hair, avoiding your eyes. “In your letter you said it’s cringe that I took up a nickname when we started the band.”

You wince audibly when he once again reminds you of a part of that infamous letter you don’t even remember and now you’re mature enough to admit that part of it was written out of petty jealousy due to his skyrocketing popularity among girls.

“I wrote that a long time ago. I got used to Taesan since,” you explain, drumming your fingers on your knee pads just to do something with them while the boy nods and seemingly contemplates your words. He sounds almost shy as he admits:

“I like it when you call me Dongmin.”

And if your breath hitches at that, it goes unheard by everybody but you because your upper level neighbour chooses that moment to arrive and complain about the two of you ‘barricading’ the entire staircase. Amidst polite apologies you say goodbye to each other and in the safety of your room, only one wall away from Dongmin, you can admit to yourself that maybe you’re not that over your crush on him as you thought.

Realizing that you still (or well again) have a crush on the boy next door doesn’t make things easier for you. Especially because in less than a week both of you are set to go to Seoul for different universities and if living next door with your schools across each other you managed to not interact all too much over these years, you fear being in the same city won’t make it easier to run into the enigma that is Han Dongmin.

It’s different this time though because you’re friends. Kind of. You text sometimes about random things like a black cat in the snow video that reminds you of him while he sends you music recs ‘to educate you on good taste’. You are over at his place every other day to play board games with him and his siblings or play snow fights in the newly fallen snow.

Like right now, when the two of you sit on one of the swing sets at the playground watching the two kids trying to build a snowman that will melt by tomorrow. It’s cold, you feel it sweep into your bones as your gloved hands hold the metal chain of the swing, barely swaying in place. It’s comfortable, sharing silence with Dongmin by your side but you like it better when he speaks, when he talks to you, when he looks at you which he doesn’t do, not now, not since he chased you down with a handful of snow only to drop it when you slipped and he caught you. Which eventually left you just chilling on the swings before either of you breaks a bone a few days before the semester starts.

“What are you doing tomorrow evening?” Dongmin speaks up in his usual, casual tone, the tone that’s passive enough for you to think that he doesn’t really care about the answer but you know it better now, it’s all just a facade.

“Nothing much, maybe watch a movie. Why?” You lean forward, holding your weight by the chains to be able to look at him even if he doesn’t turn your way.

“Would you like to come to the band’s last gig?” He asks eventually and your eyes widen, heartbeat starting to act up for no reason at all.

“Yeah, of course!” You answer, not even hesitating but you have to ask: “Last though?”

“Well, for now. We will be pretty scattered around the country once the semester starts,” Dongmin explains to your tentative question. You don’t even know how much of a relief it is until you hear it because somehow it’s hard to imagine him without music, without his band.

“Ah, okay, that’s good.”

Now that makes Dongmin look at you, all intrigued as if asking what’s it to you and it makes you flustered because heck now you have to explain yourself.

“It’s just… you’re good. You shouldn’t give up on music, especially when you like it so much,” you say, looking away, sitting back on the swing, kicking the ground a bit to give yourself momentum.

“Not worried anymore that I would become an arrogant all too popular rockstar?” The boy asks in a clearly teasing tone.

You sigh exaggeratedly and nudge him in the side but he just laughs. Of course he would use your letter against you, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you that much anymore and no, you’re not worried about that either. You’re more worried about moving to Seoul and drifting apart, losing the closeness you have now. Maybe that’s why he isn’t saying anything more either, that’s why you don’t address his unreasonable jealousy over Chanyoung or all those late night talks, the lingering looks and diverting glances. It’s not just a crush anymore, you’re one confession away from making it real because for the first time since you developed all those crushes you feel like it’s worth the risk. Dongmin is worth the risk of getting your heart broken.

The next morning Dongmin texts you to let you know that they will have a last minute practice with the band, so he just sends you the location of the local art café they will perform at on Naver Maps. You answer with a bit too excited ‘see you there!!’ which you immediately regret until he sends a heart reaction to the message. It has you squealing even when you see the icon turn into a simple like and he claims that his fingers slipped. Just to tease him, you tap a like on that message.  

You definitely make a bigger deal out of choosing an outfit for the gig than you probably should. You even ask for Sunghee’s opinion over a video call and in a weak moment of yours, you ask her to go with you but she just snorts and tells you that she doesn’t want to be stuck as the awkward third wheel when you eventually leave with ‘your neighbour boy’. You protest because why would you leave with him? But at the same time you kind of wish that you would. You live next to each other, wouldn’t it make sense? Are you too hopeful?

Scratch that! You’re young once and you swore to yourself that you won’t let insecurity or fears hold you back this time. You’re allowed to be a bit delulu sometimes.

You get to the café just in time for the performance to start. You’re still terrible with directions when it comes to new places but you calculated with that beforehand, so it’s all good. You order a dalgona latte, sweet on your teeth and warm in your hands, and settle down at a table close to the cozy winter-decorated stage where the band does last minute tuning and setup checks. You look around and see a few familiar faces from your school as well as some guys from Dongmin’s rare Instagram stories. They all cheer when the lead singer introduces the band and they start with an upbeat, alternative rock-style song. He might not sing the most but your eyes are glued to Dongmin behind the keyboard, at the way he is bobbing his head to the beat or the way he smirks when the audience reacts to certain parts, clearly enjoying it all and that’s what matters the most to you. They perform quite a few songs and you enjoy it thoroughly, regretting a bit that you stopped listening to their new stuff in the middle of second year, thinking it would be easier to move on from your crush like that. And look at how that turned out.

You have so much fun watching Dongmin perform that you aren’t even disappointed that you don’t get your own ‘Y/N moment’ by locking eyes with him through the crowd mid-song. At least not until it’s his turn to introduce the upcoming song after all the other members have already spoken between sets. 

“The last song we have for today is a new one. It’s called Just you and me and it’s a bit unpolished but I wanted to perform it tonight,” he says into the microphone propped above his keyboard and glances at you right when the audience starts clapping. You’re pinned to place by his gaze and can’t look away, not even after he does, not when he grabs the microphone and starts singing.

The song is not heavily instrumental, there’s only a soft guitar layer and a simple beat of drums from the chorus, but it stands out because Dongmin sings the whole thing and its lyrics are much sweeter than their usual songs. It sounds like a confession, echoing your own heartbeat.

When it ends, the band says thanks for all the support and drops their social media info, so fans can follow their journey along even when they are not active in Gwangju anymore. Some people, probably friends and family, go up to them to chat while they pack their instruments. You contemplate whether you should say hi to Dongmin or wait it out but you don’t have to worry about that for long because he soon comes to find you by your table.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you beam at him brightly despite the nervous butterflies in your stomach. “You were great up there. I loved the new song a lot.”

“That’s good,” he hums, looking just a bit shy with his downcast eyes and boxy smile, so different from the usual confidence he exudes on stage or when he’s teasing you.

Maybe that’s where the sudden courage comes from, the urge that prompts you to ask:

“Was it… a love song?”

Your tone is tentative, not too pushy, not too hopeful, but Dongmin’s gaze finds yours, earnest but amused, very much like him.

“Maybe. Somebody said she likes movie-like romance,” he shrugs, his smile turning smug when he notices the blush painting your cheeks. This time, you can’t blame it on the cold.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dongmin confirms and clears his throat, clearly out of his element a bit. “Are you heading home now? Cause if you wait a bit, we can go together.” 

You nod shyly and send him off to pack and say goodbye to his friends. Before you know it, you’re on your way back, talking about the band’s future plans, places he already knows he wants to check out in Seoul, how your dad plans to take you to move into the dorms by car and your mother is already emotional about it. You don’t talk about love songs and confessions, the possibility of a future together. However, you don’t want to say goodbye tonight without acknowledging your feelings out loud.

Dongmin unexpectedly beats you to it though. Once you’re in the corridor of the apartment building, he calls your name, reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wrinkled envelope, handing it over to you. You see your name scribbled on the paper and for a moment you’re taken aback because you expected his handwriting to be almost unreadable, rushed and messy but it’s so spacey between characters that it’s cute, especially if he made the effort to make it readable for you.

“To make it fair that I have your letter,” he shrugs oh so casually and scratches his nape. “Just… don’t read it in front of me.”

“You just sang a love song in front of a crowd,” you remind him of his previous bravado which makes him groan in protest and you get it now why he likes it so much, teasing you.

“It’s different!”

“Okay, I will read it when I’m alone,” you promise, holding the envelope to your chest, a part of you wanting to run into your home so you could read it as soon as possible, another part not wanting to part from the boy. But curiosity is killing you. “Bye then?”

You turn, ready to head inside but before you could change your mind and let overthinking ruin your sudden bravery, you turn back to face Dongmin and pushing yourself to your tiptoes, you peck him on the cheek.

“Kiss like we do, huh?” You ask playfully, quoting a bit of his new song and dash inside your family home before Dongmin could react or see how red you get.

If his letter is unlike what you expect it to be, you will probably dig yourself a hole in the playground and hide forever for this but you let yourself hope as you hold your breath and unfold the paper in the safety of your room.

Dear Y/N,

I can’t write sappy letters like you but I can try because you like this stuff. Romantic gestures or whatever.

I know it’s late, that it’s been almost two years since you liked me but I still want to get this off my chest. I don’t know what would have happened if you confessed in our second year because I didn’t really know you. I didn’t know how you ramble when you’re nervous or that you have this cute habit of brushing your hair out of your eyes even if it isn’t there or that you have the prettiest laugh. You’re a bit crazy because who writes love letters complimenting my gorgeous (that’s how you spell it by the way) eyes at the same time as accusing me of becoming arrogant? Who travels to the other side of the country just to get their love letter back? Who stays over playing charades with my siblings on a random weekday?

Half the time you don’t make any sense and ever since you showed up at my door asking for your letter back, you’re driving me crazy.

Sincerely, Dongmin

P.S. But I like you (if it wasn’t clear)

You squeal. Loud enough for the boy to hear through the thin wall between you. He has the audacity to laugh which makes you grab your phone.

you: don’t laugh!! you: btw i like you too! you: again you: still you: if it wasn’t clear dongmin: so unromantic you: ??? dongmin: write me a letter back you: on it! you: ♥️

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ jake pulls you into a kissing booth

would you kiss me? | sim jaehyun x male!reader

pairing: jake x male!reader genre: fluff words: 1.8k notes: my first jake fic! honestly wanted to write about him for a long time because he's one of the first guys i saw from enha ... he just has that hot popular kid vibe ... i HAD to make this ... AAAAA ALSO SHOUOUT TO @kaiyunsim! THIS ONE'S FOR YA BRUH

Your days at school began like any other student's. Each day was a repetitive cycle of subjects you had to endure until the semester ended. You had memorized these lessons long ago, yet still found yourself sitting in class, trying to absorb the material. It was exhausting, but deep down, you loved the thrill of academics. School was a place of peace for you, a welcome escape from home, which felt far away. It was a place you cherished, filled with the laughter of friends and the buzz of youthful dreams.

However, if you could choose to be anywhere else, it certainly wouldn't be your school, especially not during the school's founding celebration fair. To make matters worse, your friend had signed you up to help out at your class's assigned booth — the kissing booth.

You rested your head against your hand, manning the busy booth with an aloof gaze. It wasn't that you disliked helping; it was just that you hadn’t volunteered for this. You watched the chaos unfold around you, the energy of the fair buzzing like a live wire. Everywhere you looked, students were laughing, playing games, and enjoying the festivities. But here you were, stationed at the kissing booth, a reluctant participant in this social spectacle.

"Thanks again for helping out!" a classmate chimed in, trying to lift your spirits. His bright smile was infectious, but you only managed a half-hearted nod.

"Ugh... it’s not like I had a choice. Joey signed me up before I could protest," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"Joey did? She's a riot!" your classmate laughed nervously, glancing at you. Your glare silenced him. "Oh! I mean... she's just so... um, enthusiastic, right?"

"It’s for fun!" Joey interjected, crashing into the conversation, her energy palpable. The other student bolted away as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Aren't you allowed to have fun, Mr. President?" Joey turned her gaze to you as she held her hands onto your shoulders.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Making friends in high school was challenging enough, but when people clung to you like they were your lifeline, things got complicated. Joey had always stuck to you like glue. As you grew to tolerate her presence, she introduced you to 'normal high school things'—experiences you had only read about in books or seen in movies. You felt like you could only refuse her so many times before she'd throw a tantrum.

"Again, it's ACTING president. I've only been called that since the new semester started, okay?" you corrected her, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Yeah, right. You'll definitely win again if you ever run. It’s your calling!" she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That’s why I can't be here," you said, standing up, feeling the weight of tiredness settling on your shoulders.

Joey grabbed your arm, pulling you back down. You knew this would happen, but it never hurt to try and escape, right?

"Hey! Not again!" she sighed, exasperated. "You've only been here for two hours! I promised you food, right? Just help out at the booth."

You shot her a glare but couldn't keep the corners of your mouth from twitching upward. "Fine, but I can’t promise I won’t try to escape again. It’s exhausting watching people come in and out of this booth."

Joey looked where you pointed, a smirk growing on her face. "Why? Curious about what happens there?"

You shot her an incredulous look, but she only saw the red flush creeping across your cheeks.

"What?" she defended, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ding ding ding?"

"No one’s interested!" you exclaimed, covering your face in embarrassment. Joey just laughed, the sound ringing like music in the chaos around you.

"Sure! It isn’t a big deal. Not at all~" she sang, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth at her playful attitude.

As you chatted with Joey, a commotion erupted nearby, followed by a wave of cheers.

"Aahh! It's the soccer team!"

"The boys! The boys!"

The crowd erupted as the campus soccer team made their entrance, radiating an undeniable charm. With their impressive recent state champion title win for the nth time, and their unrealistic and striking looks, they were the stars of the event. You could see the excitement in the air, students gushing over their favorite players, the thrill of being close to someone so admired.

One of them, clearly the leader, locked eyes with you and bit his lip. "Hey~" he called out, confidence radiating like a warm sun on a cold day, having brushed his hair back, a gesture that seemed to send the crowd into a frenzy.

You blinked, looking to your side. "Uh... who are you talking to?" You felt your heart race, unsure if he was really addressing you. "Me?"

The guy grinned, stepping closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Oh definitely. You're really adorable up close, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, convinced this must be one of those pranks online. But he didn’t back down; instead, he moved closer to your ticket table, his presence both thrilling and intimidating.

"Ahem ... To purchase a ticket for the booth, please ensure you have your partner with you. All pairs come first," you stated, reading the fine print from the paper in your hands, trying to maintain your composure.

"Good then." He flashed you his ID. "Jake Sim."

"Jake Sim," you repeated, scribbling his name down. "Who would you be taking to the kissing booth?"

You looked behind him as his members stood still. "One of them?" You snickered.

"Kissing booth?" Jake's eyes widened in surprise, who seemingly haven't heard you talk for that second. "This isn't just a regular dating booth?"

You sighed, feeling an exasperated laugh bubble up. Of course, it isn't. The dating booth idea was scrapped due to budget constraints, leaving this more intimate alternative. There wasn't anything you can do at that point, even though you were the council's ACTING president.

"Yes."

"Shoot..." Jake checked his breath, a sudden look of concern washing over his face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden panic.

You laughed lightly. "Mint?"

He shot you a look, as if to say don’t look at me right now.

"Huh? I'm good!" he declared, spraying some fresh mist into his mouth. "See? Nothing happened." he smirked, spreading his arms wide, clearly trying to charm you.

"I still can't give you a ticket," you replied firmly, crossing your arms.

"Why?" he pressed, a playful challenge in his eyes.

"You have no partner—"

"I can take you with me, can't I?" he cut in, blunt and straightforward, his eagerness palpable.

It felt as if time had frozen. He looked at you with eager anticipation, and you could only respond with confusion, your heart fluttering unexpectedly.

"Me?" you stammered, flustered. "You can't possibly think of me as—"

Suddenly, you heard a whirlwind of chaos behind you, like a storm brewing in your booth.

"Two dollars, and he's yours!" Joey shouted, tossing you toward Jake with a mischievous grin.

"That's more like it!" Jake said, handing over the bills to Joey and waving goodbye as he led you toward the booth.

"Thank you for the donation!" Joey called after you, her voice fading as you felt your heart racing faster than ever.

"Two dollars?!" you exclaimed, shooting a death glare at Joey, who simply smiled and waved goodbye, leaving you feeling wronged yet slightly amused.

"Trust me! You’re worth more than that!" she whispered dramatically, retreating into the crowd.

You felt your blood boil at the suddenness of it all, yet something else stopped you in your tracks. It was as if time had paused again, leaving only the two of you in this moment filled with tension and unspoken words.

"This is ridiculous," you mumbled, avoiding Jake's gaze. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, and you wiped them away with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up.

Jake laughed, drawing closer, his presence overwhelming and oddly comforting.

"What?" You looked at him.

"I'm just trying to understand why you don’t want me kissing you," he said with that playful grin that made your heart skip a beat. "I mean, everybody wants a piece of me."

So bold?! You rolled your eyes at his audacity. "What an airhead you are..."

Airhead? I thought people liked confident guys. Jake pondered, trying to maintain his charming facade.

"Heh. Am I an airhead?" he scoffed, a playful smirk on his face. "Isn’t it just because I know what I like?"

"Ugh." You mimicked your friend's signature sassy move. "Do NOT tell me that."

Am I already screwing this up? Jake’s mind raced, unable to keep up with his facade crumbling under the pressure.

"Can’t we just enjoy this moment between us, babe?" Jake said, leaning in and pressing his hands beside your head. Your eyes widened in shock, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest.

That's it, look flustered… please? Jake thought desperately, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his bravado.

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. He was already making a move with something as cringeworthy as this? And calling you by such a boring pet name? You couldn't even imagine the other ridiculous things he might do. Maybe he would—

KISS YOU?! In a blink, his lips met yours, soft as a cloud brushing against your skin.

In that instant, something snapped within you. You tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, and you felt something strange sliding between your mouths.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, trying to pull away.

"What—"

"A tongue?!" you gasped, staring at him, bewildered. Jake chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What? I’m not doing anything," he smirked, knowing full well what he was doing.

"You snuck that devilish tip of your tongue into my mouth!" you accused, covering your face as heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your senses.

"Oh come on, you liked it," Jake teased, his confidence unwavering.

Did you? He wondered, feeling a mix of hope and doubt.

"That’s it! You had your time!" you declared, storming away, embarrassed and flustered. "Enjoy, then get lost!"

As you walked away, you shot one last glance over your shoulder, throwing out something Jake never thought he’d hear directed at him.

"Weirdo..." you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief, a mixture of confusion and exhilaration swirling inside you.

Jake stood there, feeling like a lost puppy searching for its owner. The thrill of the kiss lingered on his lips, but the sting of embarrassment washed over him.

Somewhere on campus, you could almost hear his loud screams of agony.

His friends rushed over, concern etched on their faces. "Hey, Jake!" a couple of teammates called, finding their captain lying on the ground, kicking his feet in shame.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Jake screamed again, all his efforts feeling wasted, his face buried in his hands as if he could hide from the world.

"Oh my god, he’s breaking down..." Joey remarked, stepping into the booth. She quickly closed the curtains, glancing at the curious onlookers, knowing too well the rumors that would fly around.

"Shh! People will get the wrong idea about our booth! This is NOT a screamo booth; the main stage is down by the garden pavilion."

Jake grabbed one of his larger teammates, his eyes wide with despair. "He looked at me like I was DIRTY!!!" he cried, trying to wipe away his tears, but failing miserably.

"Are you ... crying?!" Joey exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"Yes, I’m crying!" Jake declared, wiping his face in a panic, his emotions spilling over.

"Captain, your image—"

"Who cares!" Jake slumped back down, defeated. "He probably thinks I’m a loser at this point... What gives?"

A heavy silence blanketed the booth, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"It’s not like it’s the last chance you’ll ever get, you know cap?" one teammate said, trying to console him, though the words felt hollow in the air.

"But..." Jake murmured, his confidence wavering.

Another teammate stood up, raising his fist in determination. "You’re Jake Sim, our all-powerful soccer team captain! You can do anything!"

Jake slowly lifted his gaze, intrigued by their words, the fire within him beginning to reignite.

"And you can make up for it!" his teammates urged. "Then you’ll get that chance!"

He considered his situation. If he could somehow make up for what he did with you, it would earn him some serious brownie points, right? Maybe then he'd finally get the chance to ask you out.

"Okay!" Jake declared, standing tall and raising his fist triumphantly. "I’ll try better this time!"

"That’s the spirit, Captain Jake!" his teammates cheered, ending with a loud burst of laughter, their camaraderie lifting his spirits.

"Ugh... you guys are hopeless." Joey facepalmed, shaking her head in disbelief as she tried to suppress a smile. "Whatever... that’s not my business..."

As the fair continued around them, Jake felt a newfound determination swell within him. He couldn't let this moment define him; he had to make things right. With a deep breath, he plotted his next move, ready to win you over, one awkward attempt at a time.

I really wanted to make Jake someone who tries too hard to get someone's attention, only making himself a pitiful sack of potatoes by the end of the ordeal. DONT WORRY he should be able to get the guy right ...right?!

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv.

[aeolianblues]

Even as I write this all though, I am not a millennial. I did consider this 'my time' because it's the first one I remember. I was not around in the 90s, everything I know about grunge and 90s TV and Britpop and whatnot is secondhand. Often thirdhand. Books, magazine scans, interview snippets. But I remember the 00s. Many colourful glittery clips, that's how mum did my hair. The multiple layers of gaudy colours; skirts (even shorts!) over tights of a different colour and striped tops was how my mum dressed me. Like the Disney kids on TV. Everyone in your grade was into Hannah Montana (they made kids books out of the episodes, does anyone remember?) Blackboards in school. Chalky hands wiped on your school uniform. Sure, I was too young for 'Oberlin College in the early 00s in NYC', but I had still considered these very 00s 'my time'. I lived it, so it's mine.

But as I get older I slowly begin to feel now to be my time. And I hope that one day I'll look back at the '20s as mine too. I'd love to be old and write, what were the 2020s?

They were Grian Chatten's poetry, Charlie Steen's shiny golden underpants at Glastonbury 2023. It's My Lady Of Mercy and swooning over girls with Abigail Morris. It's embracing the rejected freak with Alt Blk Era, we don't give a damn if they like it, we're normally like this.

It's showing two fingers to the monarchy, shouting 'Brits Out!' with Kneecap, it's Mo Chara reaffirming 'we don't hate yous, it's the government and monarchy. We have much more in common with a working class unionist than some rich fellow from Dublin'. It's Cuntology 101 with Lambrini Girls, it's reminding people of all the Calvin Harris songs that The Dare ripped off word-for-word and the weird 00s nostalgia.

It's Ezra Collective being nominated for BRIT album of the year for Dance, No One's Watching. It's a blurry phone pic posted on English Teacher's Instagram of the free drinks they got at their table for being invited to the Mercury Prize 2024 (SO real of them).

It is lounging in chaise longues all day long in floppy hats in the Isle of Wight, it is being someone's Iced Tea Boy, it's night raves with Master Peace, it's brats on the dancefloor, it's Chapell Roan inspiring people to stand up for themselves and take no shit from anyone, bitch! It's just heartbroke bitches, high heels, six inch In the back of the nightclub, sippin' champagne; it's women artists winning back the rights to their own music and going on to win over the world! It's Phoebe Lunny scaling a 20 ft. pole in a Leeds festival tent in heels and a skirt to fly a Palestinian flag high up on the Reading and Leeds 'Festival Republic' tent.

It'll be okay, we just need to be weird and hife for a bit and eat an old sandwich from our bag.

It's going to see your friends' tiny bands covering the Strokes every two weeks and knowing none of them have a chance in hell of making it because the music doesn't pay and the rent's too damn high. It's Lily Fontaine giving evidence in court about how even succesful working class bands like English Teacher can't afford to go on tour. It's Carlos O'Connell calling out other artists at the Rolling Stone UK awards for their silence on Palestine, it's Kneecap's 'You can all stay just don't be cunts'. Saoirse don Phalestine, quoth Kneecap. It's oppressed languages breaking through into popular music, it's Alffa's Gwenwyn becoming the first Welsh language song to cross 1 million streams on Spotify.

It's Jocelyn Si rejecting the homophobes and declaring, let us be young! It's Cal 'your boyfriend was looking at my legs' Francis singing about the price to pay for being this way. It's CMAT not giving a fuck and tearing into racist country music, no matter of whether or not she'd ever be able to work in the genre again. It's Skinty Fia talking about the lived immigrant experience. It was Olivia Rodrigo 'reviving' 90s alt rock for the masses, it was 16-year-old rockheads calling Josh Kiszka 'pookie' on Instagram—something unimaginable in 2017. It was James Smith embracing that indie artists can indeed aspire — to make funky pop hits!

Who knows what else the 2020s have to offer us. The Grammys are on Sunday. In a fever dream, someone like IDLES or Fontaines D.C. could walk away with one. A truly indie artist. I'm so scared about that. I just hope that in 20 years, I will still be able to say things like this

‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was glued glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

[coichii]

winter ✭

—(🎧)—> when han realizes something’s wrong with you before you realize it yourself

pairing - newbf!han x fem!reader

genre - comfort, cheers to me failing a test !! ☻

word count - 0.8k

warnings - implied seasonal depression & post hiatus writing

Maybe it’s the winter air, maybe it’s the warmth of the beach being replaced with snow fall of small ice crystals in the sky. You don’t know, but it’s making you feel off.

It’s a feeling quite indescribable, but if there were a you could equate to it, it would be numbness. The source? No idea.

It always comes and goes during the cold, a shiver cold air radiating through your body as the feeling of winter does.

It’s hard to stick to a routine during the winter. Getting up at 7:00am, taking walks, exercising, drinking water? You can pretty much say those are all in the garbage.

The only sense of consistency left in your life is Han, and even that is a fairly recent addition. Knowing him isn’t, but kissing him and cuddling him? Yeah, that’s different.

It hurts so say the feeling doesn’t go away with him. It definitely gets lighter and fades away, but it’s still there lingering.

It could be school too, and you’ve already noticed the A’s slowly fading into B’s, into C’s, and slowly but surely, D’s.

To say it’s taking a toll on you would be an understatement.

< —— >

Fuck. No no no.

31% is what the computer screen infront of you reads. A final score for a critical quiz in your major class.

A buzzing starts in your head, one that rings your ears like a gong had just been hit next to them. One that is so heavy that it begins to blur your vision alongside the fresh hot tears in your eyes.

As if it couldn’t get worse, a faint knock is soon heard on the door of your college dorm room. You begrudgingly get up, groaning as you quickly shut your laptop and wipe the moisture from your eyes.

God I swear. I can’t deal with my roommates right n-

“Y/n? I’ve been wondering why you weren’t answering my text. It’s been days.”

Definitely not who you were expecting to be on the other side of the door.

“O-oh hi. Come in.” You usher, pointing him and softly closing the door behind him.

“I didn’t know it’s been that long, I’m sorry, Hannie.” You say half heartedly. You did genuinely feel bad, but you can’t muster up the energy.

You move to peck a small kiss on his lips, but he places his hands on your cheeks to stop you. He places his forehead on yours, eyes staring into yours as if he’s trying to read what your lips won’t give up.

“Is everything ok?”

You can feel a sting make its way through your body, but you ignore it. You have to ignore it.

“Yeah, I am. I promise I’ve just been b-“

“Baby, don’t lie to me. I’ve known you for long enough to know when you are. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been building up for so long, or it’s the look on his face or the tone of his voice. Whatever it is, it’s coming out.

“I-I really don’t know. I’m sorry Han, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.” You choke, a feeling of helplessness escaping its way from your heart.

“It’s like everything that I’ve been working for is falling apart in front of me, and it’s scary.” By now, he’s already wrapped his strong arms around your body, enveloping you in a comforting scent of lavender and love.

“I know. I know it’s scary. But you want to know something?” He proposes, and you sniffle and look at him, eyes filled to the brim with sincerity.

“You’re doing so well. You’re so smart, so strong, so independent. It’s okay to take breaks, it’s ok to struggle. Especially, it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to have moments where you feel like every thing is falling apart, but it’s important that you know it’s not.”

Have you ever felt a feeling like an immense weight being lifted off your shoulders? A feeling like a deep breath even though there’s no oxygen? If not, that’s surely what you’re feeling now.

“I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.” You sniffle, scrubbing dripping tears off with your fist.

“Don’t say sorry. I forgive you. Forgive me for not coming sooner.” He says, rubbing the silk of your hair in a comforting manner.

“You have nothing to be forgiven about.” You mumble, clutching a fist onto his shirt where you hold yourself, still in the same area from where he had come in.

“Now you know how I feel when you keep saying sorry.” He teases, a small chuckle coming out as well. “Cmon, let’s get you something to eat and I’ll help you with anything you need.”

“Ok” you nod, following him as he opens and walks out the door of your room.

That’s what it will be. Everything will be okay when you have him.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ worst logan - imperfect for you

chapter summary: You and Laura find yourselves in the void. A few months later, Wade—who claims to be from your universe, and a different Logan appear with a way out.

word count: 17.3k+ (31k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright! this is the second part, the first part was the logan movie, and while i recommend you read it, you don't necessarily have to.

most of this actually takes place after 'deadpool and wolverine.' surprisingly, i found this logan to be the hardest to write for, so i apologize if people think his character is wrong, i tried my best😭

also this is split in two parts! it's too long for tumblr to fit in one post!

(also, i know that it's 10 pm est, but i felt like i had to put this out now after watching lady gaga and bruno mars' performance at the grammy's)

warnings/tags: canon to 'deadpool and wolverine', black widow!reader, worst!logan, laura calls reader mom, violence, heavy angst, detached!reader, loverboy!logan, slow burn, fluff, wade wilson interruption, happy ending, not proofread

series masterlist - part 1 → part 2.5

“Laura!” You called out, your voice bouncing off the walls of the house. “Lau—”

“I’m here! I’m here.” Laura said, walking away from the staircase and to the front door where you stood.

You put your hands on your hips, “you know, you can try to skip school again, but I will find out. Like I always do.”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting her backpack, “yeah, you’re all-knowing Mom. Can we just go? I promise I won’t skip school again.” Laura walked past you, “even if it was just last period.” She muttered.

You leaned over her shoulder, “wanna say that again?” You asked with a smirk, as she sighed and shook her head before opening the door.

At least 5 people in black suits with orange accents. “Y/N Howlett? Laura Keen?”

Your hand reached behind your back for your hidden dagger as Laura clenched her fists, claws ready to come out.

“Yes?” You asked hesitantly.

“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline.” The man without a helmet said, “hands up.”

Both you and Laura moved at the same time, with you throwing your dagger into the chest of one of the men and Laura stabbing one of them with her claws. Before you could do much more, someone from behind grabbed you, pulling you backwards through an orange door, another man doing the same with Laura.

Immediately you were both in another place, it almost looked like a retro, but futuristic, office space. Laura growled at the man holding her, but his grip on her was surprisingly tight.

“You punched a hole in the timeline after that stunt. Now, you have to be terminated.” A woman said to you, as you tilted your head.

“Come again? Hole—timeline—what?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at you, “you gave your husband back his memories and caused a large anomaly, spreading you throughout the timeline.”

“You’re making no fucking sense. You can’t just take me and my daughter away from—”

The woman looked at one of the men who brought you and Laura here, “this is the one from Earth-100006, right?”

The man looked down at his small tablet then back up at the woman. “…No. They’re from Earth-100005.”

She sighed, waving her hand. “Terminate them.”

“What?” You growled, taking one step forward before a baton touched you, making you disappear.

“Mom!” Laura yelled. “What did you do to—” The baton touched Laura, making her disappear as well.

---

When you woke up, you were lying on sand, the sun beating heavily down on you. Every inch of your body felt heavy, and a searing pain radiated from where the baton had touched you. Blinking against the sunlight, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, sand clinging to your palms.

“Mom!” Laura’s voice snapped you out of the haze. She was stumbling toward you, her backpack missing, her hair wild from whatever had just happened. Relief coursed through you when you saw she was unharmed.

“I’m here,” you rasped, your throat dry as dust. You reached for her as she dropped to her knees beside you.

“What the hell just happened?” she asked, her voice trembling with anger. “Where are we? Where did they send us?”

You looked around, trying to get your bearings. The landscape was barren, a wasteland of jagged rocks, broken remnants of buildings, and endless dunes of sand stretching into the horizon. The sky above was gray and swirling, like the calm before a storm. In the distance, you could make out twisted shapes—structures or machines—but nothing alive.

“Not sure,” you said, pulling Laura closer for a moment, “but it’s not home.”

Laura’s claws slid out instinctively as she scanned the area. “This place… it feels wrong.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You pushed yourself to your feet, testing your weight against the burning ache in your muscles. You checked your back for your dagger, but it was gone. “First thing’s first: we need to figure out where we are, what those bastards did to us, and how to get out.”

Laura nodded, her fists tightening. “If they hurt you, I’ll kill them.”

You smirked despite everything. “You’d better get in line, kiddo.”

Before either of you could say more, the faint hum of engines reached your ears. You turned sharply, squinting against the haze, and saw figures approaching in the distance.

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling Laura behind you as the shapes grew clearer. There were three vehicles—ramshackle but armored—kicking up dust as they sped toward you. They screeched to a halt a few yards away, and several people jumped out, armed to the teeth.

“Don’t move,” one of them barked, pointing a rifle at you. He was tall, bald, and scarred, his pale eyes scanning you with a mix of suspicion and recognition.

Laura growled, her claws sliding out.

“Easy,” you murmured to her, raising your hands slightly. “We don’t want to start a fight we can’t finish.”

“Y/N Howlett,” a woman’s voice said from behind the group. She stepped forward, her piercing gaze cutting through you. Her presence was commanding, and her bald head and strange demeanor set her apart from the rest. “And Laura Keen. Interesting. We’ve been expecting you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not creepy at all. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Cassandra Nova,” the woman replied coolly. “And you’re in the Void. Welcome.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the warm reception,” you shot back. “Now tell me what you want before I lose my patience.”

Cassandra tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Fiery. I see why he loved you.”

Your chest tightened. Even though she didn’t say his name, the context was clear enough. “Don’t.”

“Oh, but I will,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ve lived so many lives, Y/N, and yet, every time, he’s there. Do you even know why?”

“Lady, I don’t have time for your cryptic bullshit.”

“Patience,” Cassandra said, raising a hand. “I don’t need to waste time with questions when I can just take the answers.” Her eyes began to glow faintly as she focused on you.

The sensation hit like a wave—cold, invasive, and sharp, as if someone were clawing through your mind. But as quickly as it started, Cassandra reeled back, her expression twisting in confusion.

“You…” she whispered, narrowing her eyes. “Why can’t I get in? What are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you shot back, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the pounding in your head. “You try that again, and I’ll show you exactly what I am.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but before she could respond, Laura lunged forward without warning, her claws flashing as she aimed straight for Cassandra’s throat. But before she could make contact, one of the armored figures moved in, grabbing Laura by the arm and throwing her back. Laura landed with a grunt, but she was back on her feet in seconds, ready to charge again.

“You’re wasting your time,” Cassandra said, her voice cold. “Surrender, or this gets much worse for you both.”

“Not happening,” you shot back, your grip tightening on your dagger.

Before the situation could escalate further, a deafening boom echoed from behind Cassandra’s group. Everyone turned just in time to see a massive fireball hurtling toward them. It slammed into the sand, sending a shockwave through the ground and knocking several of the armored soldiers off their feet.

“What the—” Laura started, but another explosion cut her off, this time from the opposite side.

Two figures appeared over the dune, running at full speed. One was a man engulfed in flames, flying just above the ground, while the other was heavily armed, his face hidden behind a tactical mask. The flaming man shot another fireball at the soldiers, while the masked figure opened fire with a barrage of bullets, cutting down two of the soldiers before they even had a chance to react.

“What the hell is going on?” Laura shouted, glancing at you.

“No idea,” you muttered, watching as the battle unfolded in a blur of fire and gunfire.

The flaming man soared over Cassandra’s head, sending another blast of fire in her direction. She dodged it easily, her eyes narrowing in anger. “Kill them!” she ordered her remaining soldiers, but they were already being overwhelmed.

The masked figure moved with deadly precision, taking down soldiers left and right with well-aimed shots. He was fast—too fast for them to keep up.

The fight was chaotic, but in the middle of it all, Cassandra’s gaze locked onto you again. “This isn’t over,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. Then, without warning, she disappeared in a flash of light, taking the remaining soldiers with her.

You and Laura stood there, breathless and confused, as the battle ended as quickly as it began. The flaming man and the masked figure approached cautiously, their weapons still at the ready.

Laura’s claws were still out, her stance tense. “Who the hell are you?”

The flaming man extinguished the fire surrounding him, revealing a young, blonde man with a cocky smirk. “Name’s Johnny Storm. And I think we just saved your asses.”

The masked figure stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal the grizzled face of a man you didn’t recognize. “And I’m the Punisher. You’re welcome.”

---

“So, you were all sent here. For ‘not playing nice,’” you said, crossing your arms and scanning the group. Johnny leaned casually against the wall, the cocky smirk never leaving his face. Frank Castle, aka the Punisher, stood nearby, stoic as ever, his arms crossed like a living wall. The new trio—Elektra, Blade, and a man Johnny had called Remy—watched you with varying degrees of suspicion.

Elektra’s eyes narrowed. “That’s putting it lightly,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The twin sais strapped to her thighs gleamed in the low light. “Apparently, stabbing the wrong guy gets you sent here.”

Blade snorted. “Wrong guy was a senator.”

Elektra’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “He deserved it.”

“Not the point,” Blade muttered, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was built like a tank, his presence commanding even in silence.

Remy, with his disheveled brown hair and glowing red eyes, let out a low whistle. “Look like we got new recruits,” he said, his Cajun accent thick. “You gonna play nice, chére, or you gonna cause trouble?”

Laura’s claws slid out with a snikt, her glare cutting through the room. “Try me.”

You stepped in front of her, placing a hand on her arm. “Laura. Not the time.”

Remy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy now, petite. Jus’ makin’ conversation.”

Johnny laughed. “Gambit’s harmless—well, unless he’s got cards in his hands.”

“You got a point?” you asked, turning to Johnny, your patience wearing thin. “Or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

“Both,” Frank said gruffly, finally speaking up. His voice was deep and gravelly, and his expression made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for games. “But Johnny’s right about one thing—we’re all here because the TVA didn’t like what we did. Same with you and the kid.”

You sighed, glancing at Laura. Her fists were still clenched, claws out, but she hadn’t made another move. “Fine. We’re all rebels. What’s the plan?”

Elektra’s smile turned sharp. “Plan? There’s no plan. We survive.”

“Survive what?” Laura asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Johnny leaned forward, his smirk fading. “The Void ain’t exactly Club Med, sweetheart. There are worse things out there than us.”

“Like what?” you asked.

Blade stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Alioth.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alioth?”

“A predator,” Blade said simply. “Consumes anything it touches.”

“Big purple smoke monster,” Johnny clarified, his hands miming an explosion. “Real nasty. You see it, you run.”

Laura scoffed. “We don’t run.”

“Then you die,” Frank said bluntly. “We’ve seen it happen.”

Elektra stepped forward, her gaze fixed on you. “This place isn’t just a dumping ground. It’s a death sentence. The TVA sends people here to get rid of them permanently. If you’re smart, you’ll stick with us. We know how to stay off the radar.”

“Why would you help us?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “You don’t know us.”

Remy grinned. “Maybe we jus’ like company.”

“Or maybe we want to see what you’re made of,” Elektra added, her voice edged with challenge.

Before you could respond, a loud crash echoed from outside the bunker. Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the door. Johnny’s hand ignited in flames, and Blade unsheathed his sword.

“Alioth?” you asked, your voice low.

“No,” Frank said, moving toward the door. “Too small. But it’s not friendly.”

Laura moved to your side, her claws ready. “Let’s find out.”

Elektra smirked. “I like her.”

Johnny opened the door cautiously, flames crackling in his palm. The rest of you followed, weapons at the ready. The landscape outside was as bleak as ever, the gray sky swirling ominously.

“Over there,” Blade said, pointing to a figure stumbling over the sand. It was humanoid but moved awkwardly, like it wasn’t fully in control of its body.

“TVA tech,” Frank muttered, his grip tightening on his rifle. “Looks like one of their enforcers.”

“Not anymore,” Elektra said, her eyes narrowing. “It’s corrupted.”

The figure turned toward you, its eyes glowing an unnatural green. Its body twitched violently before letting out an unearthly screech. Without warning, it charged.

“Move!” you shouted, grabbing Laura and pulling her back as Johnny hurled a fireball at the creature. The blast knocked it back, but it kept coming, its movements erratic and unnatural.

Blade stepped forward, his sword gleaming. With a swift, calculated strike, he severed the creature’s head. It crumpled to the ground, twitching before going still.

“What the hell was that?” Laura asked, her claws still out.

“TVA cleanup crew,” Frank said, kicking the remains. “Sometimes their tech gets left behind and... mutates.”

“Mutates into what? Zombies?” you asked.

“Close enough,” Johnny said, extinguishing the flames on his hand. “That’s why we don’t go wandering around unless we have to.”

Elektra looked at you and Laura, her expression unreadable. “Still think you can handle this place?”

You met her gaze evenly. “We don’t have a choice.”

---

It had been months since you and Laura entered the void. Frank had died a few days after you and Laura arrived, presumably by Alioth or what they call the ’Deadpool Corps’.

Since Johnny had left a few days ago and hadn’t returned, you and Laura decided to go out and look. There wasn’t any clues or leads until Laura came upon a Honda Odyssey with two men inside it. One in a red suit, tied up with seatbelts, and the other in a yellow suit with the same face as her own father.

She knew it wasn’t him, that he wasn’t their Logan, but it seemed like this was her only lead. She got into bloodied and wrecked car and drove it to base.

---

Wade finally woke up, sitting up on the bed, “where are we?”

“No clue,” Logan held up a whiskey bottle he was drinking from, “but I like it here.”

Rumbling came from outside the place they were in. Wade went to the entrance standing by it’s side when a woman came in and used her sai to knock Wade down.

Behind her a man entered, wearing black sunglasses, and after that was another man, holding a stack of playing cards.

“Okay, look at you… all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are one- ”

“Elektra.” She said.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget? And you, I was not expecting to see you here, thought you were… you know, retired.” Wade said in an accent.

“Retarted?”

“Retired.” Wade said again. “I’m already in the void. I’m not trying to get cancelled again.”

 Blade, or Eric, pointed his blade at Wade, “I don’t like you.”

“You never did.” Wade turned to the other man, “and who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

“The name’s Remy LeBeau. Le Diable Blanc, but you can call me the Gambit.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade hit me again.” Wade asked.

“They call me the Gambit.” Remy said again.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

Remy turned his gaze from Wade to Logan in the back, “you know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.”

“It’s a good think I don’t give a fuck.” Logan shot back. He went to take another drink from the bottle when Remy tossed a playing card, breaking the bottle in half, glass shattering to the floor.

Wade stood up and looked between Remy and Logan, before settling his gaze on the latter, who tossed the top half of the bottle on the ground. “So embarrassing.”

Logan grabbed another bottle from the shelf.

“Well, now that that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you three.”

“There’s five of us.” Elektra corrected.

“There’s five? Is one of them Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto, because with him- ”

“He’s dead.” Blade cut in.

“Fuck!” Wade yelled, “now Disney gets cheap? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

“Ooh, you nasty! Mon petit rouge. Laissez les bons temps rouler, huh?” Remy said.

“Not a single word, what do you do exactly?” Wade questioned.

“Charge the playing cards. Make ‘em go boom.”

“Your power is close-up magic, that’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So, who brought us here?”

“That would be me.” Laura said, as she walked down the stairs into the room. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Holy shit. Logan. That’s her. That’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.”

Laura looked at Logan, younger than the one she met years ago. Part of her wondered if this is how he looked before it all went to shit.

Wade looked to the others, “hey, how did you all get stuck in the void?”

“There was a knock at the door, TVA sent me here.” Blade said.

“Me too.” Elektra added.

“Maybe I was born here. It’s- it’s hard to know for sure.” Remy answered.

“TVA decided our universe was dying. And I never even got a chance to fight for it.” Blade continued.

Laura walked close to the wall, watching Logan continue to drink from the bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out.” Elektra said.

Wade kissed his gloved fingers and pointed it towards them, “the answer is yes. I’m in.”

“In what?” Blade questioned.

“A team. Me, you, you and me. All of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a fucking liar!” Logan called out.

“It was an educated wish!” Wade yelled back. Logan scoffed at him as Wade continued, “Look. We’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of the void is through her. She can get us home. She told us.”

“Wait a minute, you’ve been inside? And you made it out alive?” Blade asked.

“Bullshit.” Elektra commented, “nobody’s ever done that.”

“We did.” Wade answered.

“Every time one of us has gone up against her, they die. The Punisher, the Quicksilver, the Daredevil.” Remy started.

“Daredevil, I’m so sorry.” Wade looked at Elektra.

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

“Even that sweet, baby angel, Johnny Storm. He up and gone missing like, what, two days ago?” Remy said.

“Ah, that’s so sad. Wherever this Johnny feller is, I’m sure he’s thriving. Look, there’s strength in numbers. All right? Us, plus you guys. We can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of the void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all.” Elektra looked over at Blade.

“I’m good.” He said.

“Now, I get your gut like a coke duct tape worm.” Wade continued.

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul.” Remy said.

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. It’s what Johnny would have wanted.”

“Wait. You knew Johnny?” Elektra asked.

Before Logan could respond, you walked into the room, passing by Remy. “Yeah, he’s the reason Johnny is fucking dead.”

“Ah, ah. I’ll have you know that Cassandra killed him, not me. He was the one who ran his little mouth.” Wade said, throwing up his hands in mock defense.

You clenched your fists, holding back the frustration that boiled beneath the surface. “You didn’t help, Wade. You egged him on. You could’ve shut up for once.”

Wade waved a dismissive hand, leaning back against the wall. “I mean, that’s debatable. Can’t really shut up when you’re this charming.”

“Charming?” Elektra muttered, her eyes narrowing as she looked between Wade and Logan.

Laura’s gaze flickered between the two of them, tension evident in the way she crossed her arms.

Logan’s eyes hadn’t left yours since the moment you walked into the room. He stared at you, the bottle of Jack still halfway to his lips, forgotten. You didn’t look like you had aged, not that much anyway. It was a jolt to his system, like stepping into a memory. There you were, alive. In this damn place.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, and though you tried to avoid it, there was no denying it now. You had locked eyes with him, this other version of Logan. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to figure you out, but there was something deeper in his eyes—recognition.

“I have to go,” you muttered, stepping back outside.

Laura looked between Wade and Logan before following you. “Mom!” she called, her voice sharp and worried as she jogged to catch up.

You didn’t stop until you were a good distance away from the others, your back turned to her. You exhaled, your hands gripping the railing of an old platform overlooking the desolate landscape of the void. Laura slowed when she reached you, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel.

“Mom,” she said again, softer this time.

You closed your eyes, steadying your breathing. “I’m fine,” you replied, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you.

“No, you’re not.” Laura crossed her arms, watching you carefully. “That wasn’t him. You know that, right?”

You turned to face her, your expression conflicted. “I know it’s not him,” you said firmly, but the words felt hollow. “It’s just… he looks the same. Sounds the same. Even drinks the same damn whiskey.”

Laura studied you for a moment before speaking. “But he’s not the Logan you knew. He’s not Dad.”

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d had years to grieve, but seeing another version of him alive and well—so close yet so far removed from the man you loved—had ripped open wounds you thought had healed. You shook your head, trying to push it all away.

“I just need a minute,” you said, turning back to the railing.

Laura hesitated, glancing back toward the hideout. “Do you want me to…?”

“No. Go back inside,” you told her. “I’ll catch up.”

She lingered for a moment, clearly reluctant to leave you alone, but eventually nodded. “Fine. But don’t take too long. Wade’s already planning something stupid, and I don’t trust Blade not to stab him.”

You almost smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach your lips. “I’ll be there soon.”

Laura gave you one last look before heading back toward the others. You waited until her footsteps faded before letting out a long, shaky breath. You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles turning white.

---

Night had fallen in the void and Logan found himself outside sitting on a log, in front of a fire with a bottle of alcohol. He wasn’t allowed to think about this other version of you, or his own before Laura walked by him.

“Hey, hey. I’m not lookin’ for company. Get out of here.”

Laura sat down anyways, letting out a small chuckle. “You remind me of him. Angry. Drunk. Mean…”

“Sounds like a great guy—”

“Wasn’t finished.” Laura cut Logan off. “Showed up when it mattered the most. Couldn’t help it.” She watched as Logan sighed, his eyes still on the crackling fire. “You might not know it, but… you’re a good man, Logan.”

He chuckled, “you might not know it, but apparently, I’m the worst Logan.”

“I got to have a life because of you. I got to grow up because of you. A lot of kids did.”

“A lot of kids didn’t grow up because of me. Trust me, kid, I’m no hero.”

Laura looked over at him, her eyes trailing over the yellow suit. “That suit says different.”

“Yeah. Do you like it? Scott used to beg me to wear it. So did Jean, Storm, Beast. Y/N.” His voice cracked on your name, but he continued. “All of them. They wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t. Told ‘em they all look fucking ridiculous. I mean… I couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there. And then one day, while I was off on my own, the humans came… and went mutant hunting.”

“I can guess the rest.” Laura spoke.

“No, no, let me… Let me say it. I… I need to say it. By the time I stumbled home shitfaced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. Every…” Logan stifled a sob, his bottom lip quivering as he remembered the horror almost perfectly.

Scott and Beast’s bodies were at the front of the mansion, clearly trying to protect everyone else, while you and Storm were near the kids with Jean in front of you.

“This suit’s all I got to remind me of who they were. And what I did.”

Laura didn’t speak, just looked at Logan as he sniffled and took another drink of his whiskey. Finally, she spoke, “we’re headed to Cassandra’s at sunup.”

“Have fun. Not my fight.”

“We won’t pull this off without you.”

Logan briefly glanced at Laura before returning his gaze to the fire. Laura clenched her fists and stood up, beginning to walk away.

“Hey,” Logan called after her. “Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.”

She turned around to face him, “you were always the wrong guy.” Laura said, before returning on her way to base.

Logan watched Laura disappear into the darkness, her parting words echoing in his mind like a bad tune stuck on repeat. “You were always the wrong guy.” The fire crackled as he shifted on the log, the whiskey bottle in his hand feeling heavier than it should. He stared into the flames, his jaw clenched tightly, the weight of her words hitting harder than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t the right guy. He never had been.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He didn’t look up right away, figuring it was Laura again, coming back to throw another jab. But when the footsteps stopped a few feet away and silence followed, Logan finally glanced over his shoulder.

It wasn’t Laura. It was you.

The firelight danced across your features, casting shadows and illuminating the faint lines of tension around your mouth. Your arms were crossed, and your expression was unreadable, though your eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. Logan turned back to the fire, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, a practiced barrier meant to push people away.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly, your tone soft but steady. You hesitated before stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your boots. “Maybe to talk. Maybe to figure out why I feel like I already know you.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames. “Whatever you’re lookin’ for, you’re not gonna find it here.”

You didn’t move, just stood there, watching him. “Maybe not. But I can’t ignore it—this... whatever this is.” You motioned vaguely between the two of you. “It’s like looking at a ghost.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Funny. That’s what you feel like to me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, but you stayed quiet, letting the weight of them sink in. After a long moment, you spoke again. “Laura told me about what happened to the others. To… your version of me.”

He tensed, the grip on his bottle tightening. “Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I’m not trying to pry,” you said, stepping closer. “But I think we’re both avoiding the obvious here. In your world, I’m dead. In mine…” You trailed off, the ache in your chest making it hard to finish. “He’s gone.”

Logan looked up at you then, his sharp gaze meeting yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The fire crackled between you, the silence stretching until it felt like the void itself.

“Seems like we’re both ghosts,” Logan finally muttered, looking back at the flames.

“Maybe,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of a nearby log. “But ghosts usually have unfinished business.”

Logan smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah? What’s yours?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked up at the dark, starless sky, your hands resting loosely in your lap. “Trying to make sure Laura survives this hellhole. Trying to get us out of here.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying you in the flickering light. “She’s a tough kid. Reminds me of someone I used to know.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “She gets it from her father.”

He didn’t respond, just took another swig of his whiskey. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but heavy. You both knew what it was, even if neither of you wanted to say it.

After a moment, you stood, brushing the dust off your hands. “We’re leaving at sunup,” you said. “You should come with us.”

Logan shook his head. “Not my fight.”

You let out a murmured growl, “too fuckin’ stubborn.” You said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest and looking into the crowd of trees nearby.

But he heard it. He finally turned to face you completely, that one word throwing him off. It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard you curse before—he had, in one of your other lives—but it never seemed natural coming from you. Now it did, like it fit in a way it hadn’t before.

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to reconcile the you he remembered with the one standing in front of him.

You didn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze, or maybe you just didn’t care. Your arms stayed crossed, and your jaw was tight as you stared into the trees, the firelight flickering across your face.

“You done sulking, or should I give you some space to mope?” you asked, finally turning to look at him.

“Mope?” Logan echoed, an edge of irritation creeping into his tone.

“Yeah, mope. Sit here and feel sorry for yourself while the rest of us try to figure out how to not die tomorrow.”

“Not my fight,” he repeated, leaning back against the log and taking another swig from his bottle.

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Because it’s easier to sit here and wallow than to do something that might actually matter.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at you, his sharp gaze trying to pierce through the wall you’d thrown up.

“What’s your deal, anyway?” he asked finally. “Why the hell do you care so much what I do?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “I don’t care what you do. I care what happens to Laura.”

“She’s a tough kid. She’ll figure it out.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” you shot back. “And you know it. You’ve got this thing in you, Logan—this need to protect people, even if it’s buried under all the whiskey and self-loathing. You’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Logan snorted, the sound low and humorless. “Yeah? And what makes you such an expert on me, huh? You don’t even know me.”

You blinked, and he wasn’t able to tell if it was you holding back tears or clearing your face of your emotions.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you asked quietly. “You look at me like you don’t know me, but you do. I might not be her, or any of the ones you’ve met, but… I’m still me. And you’re still you. Still Logan. You just—”

Your voice broke, but you stopped yourself from letting it out. Crying wasn’t something you did, not anymore. You held your head high, jaw tight, and swallowed down the lump that threatened to rise in your throat. But Logan didn’t look up.

He kept his gaze firmly on the fire, his knuckles white around the bottle in his hand. His silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until you finally gave up. Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked back toward the base. Your footsteps echoed in the quiet void, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurt you.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t call after you. The only sound left was the crackling of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind in the trees. He stared into the flames as if they held answers he couldn’t find, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself. “I can’t do this again.”

The words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of lifetimes. He took another drink, letting the burn of the whiskey distract him from the ache in his chest. But no matter how hard he tried to drown it, your voice still lingered, cutting through the alcohol like a knife.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Because looking at you hurt. Because every time he did, he saw her—his version of you. The one he’d failed. The one he couldn’t save.

And maybe, if he admitted it to himself, because he was scared. Scared of letting you in. Scared of losing you all over again.

---

When you got back to the base, Laura was leaning against the wall, sharpening one of her claws with a whetstone. She looked up as you entered, her expression unreadable.

“Did he come around?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you sat down heavily on one of the benches. “He’s too stubborn. I should’ve known better.”

Laura snorted. “Stubborn runs in the family.”

You gave her a sharp look, but she just shrugged and went back to her whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filled the silence, but it didn’t do much to calm the storm in your chest.

“He’ll show up,” Laura said after a moment, her tone more subdued. “He always does. Even when he says he won’t.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “But it’s not my Logan.”

Laura paused, her hand stilling for a moment before she looked up at you. “He’s still Logan,” she said quietly. “And you’re still you.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say to that? She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make it any easier.

---

Logan stayed by the fire long after it had started to die out, the whiskey bottle empty at his feet. He should’ve gone back to the base, but the thought of facing you again felt like too much.

The truth was, he wasn’t sure he could do it. Not after everything he’d already lost. Not after what had happened to his world, to his team, to you.

But as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he found himself standing, brushing the ash from his hands.

Maybe Laura was right. Maybe he was too damn stubborn for his own good.

But if there was even a chance he could make this right, if there was even a sliver of hope that he could protect you—this version of you—then maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

---

“Ooh! Look at that there!” Remy exclaimed, looking ahead at Cassandra’s base. You see them biggum hands come closed. Ain’t not a wonna gettin’ up inside there.”

“I think what Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up at this… yeah. Tilt up to Blade.” Wade trailed off.

“Gun!” Blade called out, as he stood up in the car through the opening in the roof. You lifted the gun up to Blade, who took it and aimed at the base.

“Where’d he get that little beauty?” Wade asked.

“That’s Punisher’s AT4.” Elektra answered.

“Which Punisher? There’s been, like, five of them.”

“There’s only been one Blade, and there’s only ever gonna be one Blade.” He spoke, before shooting the gun. It hit the closed hands of the Ant-Man suit causing Elektra to speed up, driving through the fire from the explosion before turning the car to a halt.

Cassandra’s minions aimed their weapons at the group as you all exited the van. You and Laura stood in the back with Wade and Remy in the front, and Blade and Elektra to the sides. Wade looked up into the head of the enlarged suit to see Cassandra.

The Odyssey’s trunk opening caught everyone’s attention. Turning to look, you saw Logan exiting the van. His eyes instantly met yours before briefly glancing at Laura. He moved to the front beside Wade.

“Ooh, this is gonna be good.” Blade commented.

“You know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this? Whoo! I’m about to make a name for myself here.” Remy spoke.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this.” Logan commented.

“You just make sure people know what happened here today. And when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?” Remy finished.

“You just stay on our six and get inside.” Blad ordered, moving to the front. You, Laura, and Elektra moved with him, standing in front of Wade and Logan. “We’ll make sure you get the package.”

“And we’ll get our ending.” Elektra said.

You pulled out your batons, powering them on as they shone blue, the faint hum of their charge filling the air. Laura slid on her sunglasses, her claws extending with a metallic snikt. Everyone was ready—Blade with his katana, Elektra twirling her sais, and Remy flicking a charged card between his fingers.

Cassandra’s minions surged forward, a chaotic wave of bodies armed with guns, knives, and makeshift weapons. You took a deep breath and moved in sync with Laura and Elektra, forming the front line of the attack.

Logan hung back with Wade, his eyes narrowing as he watched you dart forward, your movements swift and precise. It was like a dance—graceful, brutal, and deliberate. Each swing of your baton hit its mark, dropping Cassandra’s soldiers with calculated efficiency. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the shy physics teacher he’d known. This wasn’t the you he remembered, who’d tucked herself away in a world of equations and theories. This version fought with a cold, detached precision that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You seeing this?” Wade said, nudging Logan as he ducked a stray bullet. “Your girl’s got moves.”

Logan grunted, not taking his eyes off you. “She’s not my Y/N.”

“Right, right, multiverse shenanigans. Still, if I were you, I’d feel a little insecure. That physics degree sure didn’t teach her how to do that.” Wade gestured wildly as you flipped over one of Cassandra’s soldiers, your baton cracking down on his skull mid-air.

Logan ignored him and started up the steps toward the lair, his claws unsheathed. “C’mon, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Ugh, fine. Leave the fun to the professionals,” Wade muttered, following Logan while tossing a grenade over his shoulder. It exploded behind him, sending a group of minions flying.

Meanwhile, you spun around, parrying a blade aimed at Laura before kicking its wielder into Elektra’s path. “We’ve got this!” you shouted. “Go!”

Laura glanced at you, her lip curling into a snarl as she slashed through another attacker. “Make sure they don’t screw it up.”

You smirked. “Like I’d let them.”

Logan heard you, but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t want to. Seeing you fight like this, kill like this, wasn’t something he could reconcile. In his world, you wouldn’t have hurt a fly, let alone taken a life. And yet, here you were, effortlessly carving through Cassandra’s forces like you’d been doing it your whole life.

“Seriously,” Wade panted as they reached the top of the stairs, “how are you not having, like, a major existential crisis right now? I mean, you’re watching your not-wife turn into a murder machine. That’s gotta mess with your head.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled.

Meanwhile, the five of you stood in front of the stairs, bloodied and battle-worn. Blade smirked, flicking blood from his sword with a casual shake of his wrist. “Heh. Some motherfuckers still trying to ice skate uphill.”

There wasn’t time for banter. Cassandra’s remaining minions surged toward you like a swarm. You darted forward, Laura beside you, the two of you moving as a deadly unit.

“On your left!” you shouted, swinging your baton in a sharp arc to deflect a blade aimed at Laura’s ribs.

“Got it,” Laura replied, ducking low and slashing through the attacker’s legs before finishing with a swift upward strike.

The chaos of battle roared around you, but your focus locked on the figure in the center. He was barreling through the fray, tossing bodies like rag dolls.

“Mom, we take him together,” Laura called, already moving toward him.

You nodded, gripping your batons tightly. “Go high; I’ll go low!”

As you charged, Juggernaut swung his massive fists toward you. You ducked under one blow, the force of it creating a shockwave that rattled your teeth. Laura leaped over the other, her claws slashing across his arm. Sparks flew as her adamantium claws met his reinforced suit.

“Damn it,” Laura growled, flipping back to avoid his retaliatory strike.

“Helmet,” you reminded her, dodging another swing.

“Working on it!” she snapped, lunging forward again.

You feinted left, drawing his attention, while Laura climbed his back like a feral animal, her claws digging into the material. Juggernaut roared in frustration, reaching back to grab her, but you jabbed your baton into the back of his knee, sending him stumbling forward.

“Keep him down!” Laura shouted, her claws ripping through the side of his helmet.

“Trying!” you yelled, slamming your baton into his other knee. The impact sent a jolt through your arm, but it was enough to drop him to one knee.

Laura didn’t hesitate. She yanked his helmet free and flung it toward you. “Catch!”

You grabbed it mid-air and shoved it into Laura’s backpack. “Got it!”

Juggernaut let out a guttural roar, swinging wildly in an attempt to regain control. Before he could stand, Laura’s claws flashed, slicing clean through his neck. His head toppled to the ground with a sickening thud, and his massive body collapsed seconds later.

“Nice work,” you panted, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Don’t get cocky,” Laura replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her face.

The two of you turned your attention to the giant Ant-Man helmet, Cassandra’s lair. Laura adjusted the backpack on her shoulders you handed her and glanced at you. “Boost me.”

You crouched, lacing your fingers together. Laura stepped into your hands, and you launched her upward. She caught onto the edge of the massive helmet, her foot claws extending as she began scaling the structure.

“Almost there,” she called down.

You stayed on guard, fending off any straggling minions who dared approach. Laura reached the top, pulling the backpack from her shoulder and tossed it into the lair where Wade grabbed it.

“Catch that?” she asked.

“Perfect throw,” you replied, knocking out a soldier with a swift elbow strike.

Before Laura could climb down, one of Cassandra’s soldiers used a psychic lasso, yanking her down. She fell, twisting mid-air to land on her feet, but more minions rushed toward her.

“Laura!” you shouted, moving to intercept them.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, slashing through one of the attackers. “Just keep them off me!”

The group fought with renewed vigor as the minions closed in. Elektra moved like a blur, her sais spinning with lethal precision. Blade fought alongside her, his katana carving through the enemy ranks. Remy flicked charged cards into clusters of soldiers, the explosions creating openings for you and Laura to strike.

The battle reached its peak when a low, rumbling growl filled the air. You looked up to see a massive dark cloud—Alioth. It loomed closer, its ominous presence sending chills down your spine.

“All clear!” Blade shouted as the last of Cassandra’s minions fell.

You exchanged a glance with Laura, both of you breathing heavily. “Let’s move!”

The air shimmered as a glowing portal opened above you. You watched as Wade and Logan jumped through it, disappearing into the unknown.

You felt a pang of something—loss, maybe?—as you saw Logan vanish, but you pushed it aside. There was no time to dwell on it.

Especially when not even moments later, orange doors appeared in front of you.

---

“So, how does it feel to be in the past, Sparky?” Wade asked you, putting an arm over your shoulder.

You promptly shoved it off, “don’t call me that, suka.”

Wade let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Ouch, that hurt, Sparky. Right in the feelings.”

You gave him a look. “Try again, Wilson.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed, adjusting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing was fast asleep, drooling all over Wade’s sleeve. “But you gotta admit, it fits. You know, because of the—” He made an exaggerated exploding motion with his fingers.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Can we just go? I’d rather not stand in the middle of a parking lot looking like a rejected Suicide Squad lineup.”

“I don’t know, I think we make it work,” Wade said, waving a hand between the three of you. “Got the grumpy old man, the feral murder daughter, and the ex—” He stopped himself, side-eyeing you before clearing his throat. “—the badass chick with secrets. Feels like a sitcom waiting to happen.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just get us where we need to go, Wilson.”

“Alright, alright. Welcome to Casa de Deadpool—where the beer is warm, the floors are sticky, and the roommates are blind. Follow me.”

Wade led the way, humming some off-key tune while you, Logan, and Laura followed. You glanced at Logan. His face was unreadable, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t said much since the fight, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He wasn’t your Logan. You weren’t his Y/N. But still… it was hard not to see the familiarity in his face, the way his brow furrowed just so, the way his jaw clenched when he was thinking too hard about something.

You looked away. No point in getting caught up in what-ifs.

“Alright, home sweet home!” Wade announced, throwing the door open.

The inside was… exactly what you expected. Empty pizza boxes, half-drunk bottles of something questionable, and the faint smell of something that had probably died under the couch.

Blind Al sat in her usual spot, her head tilting slightly in your direction. “Oh great, more people. Just what I needed.”

“Oh, don’t be rude, Al,” Wade scolded. “These are my very special guests. We’ve got Grumpy Claws, Murder Jr., and Timey-Wimey.”

“I’m not calling them that.”

“You don’t have to, but the audience will.”

Al sighed, clearly used to Wade’s antics. “Are they staying?”

“Just for a bit,” Wade said, tossing Dogpool onto the couch, where he immediately curled up. “Logan here needs a drink, and I’m guessing these two need a place to not be hunted by crazy bald ladies in giant Ant-Man skeletons.”

Al’s head tilted toward Logan. “You drinking my whiskey?”

“...Maybe.”

“Then you can sleep outside.”

Laura smirked, and you huffed a quiet laugh. Logan just shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

You leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed. “So what now?”

Wade clapped his hands together. “Now? We celebrate. We drink. We unwind from our very successful murder spree. And then, bright and early tomorrow—” He paused, leaning in like he was about to share some big, dramatic secret. “—we figure out what the fuck to do with you guys.”

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. I have some money stashed somewhere, I’ll go get it, come back, then me and Laura can leave so we never have to see your faces again.” You said.

Wade let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “Leave? Leave? Y/N, honey, sweetheart, my beloved time-traveling murder mom—why would you ever want to leave me?” He clutched his chest like you’d just driven a knife into his heart.

Laura crossed her arms. “I can think of about twenty reasons.”

“Okay, rude.” Wade pouted, shifting Dogpool in his arms. The little thing let out a content sigh, completely unbothered by the chaos. “But seriously, you’re gonna take off just like that? No heart-to-heart? No teary-eyed goodbye? No passionate ‘will-they-won’t-they’ moment with Grumpy Claws over there?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He wiggled his eyebrows, then pointed at Logan, who had yet to say a word. “Because that face screams tension.”

Logan let out a long breath through his nose, like he was physically restraining himself from punching Wade in the throat. “I’m not dealin’ with this shit right now.”

Wade gave him finger guns. “That’s a tomorrow problem, huh, bud?”

Logan ignored him. Instead, he looked at you. “This money you’re talkin’ about—where is it?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to go off alone, get it, and come back in one piece.”

Laura scoffed. “She can handle herself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Logan said, looking at her before turning his attention back to you. “But I ain’t gonna let you run off and get yourself killed when we just finished dealin’ with enough shit.”

You stared at him for a long moment. The way he was looking at you—it was careful, measured, like he was trying to keep himself in check. You knew that look. Your Logan used to look at you the same way. Like he was always preparing himself to lose you.

But this Logan wasn’t yours. And you weren’t his.

Still, you looked away first. “It’s in a lockbox at a storage facility a few miles from here.”

“Great,” Wade said, clapping his hands together. “Field trip!”

“No.” You turned to Logan. “I’ll go. Alone.”

“Not happenin’.”

“Logan—”

“No.” His voice was firm, final. “I’ll go with you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Fine. Just let me freshen up.” You walked off to where you hoped the bathroom was, but not before mouthing, “parar” to Laura.

You locked the bathroom door behind you, glancing around the small, cluttered space. Wade’s idea of ‘freshening up’ probably involved nothing more than spraying deodorant over questionable hygiene decisions, but you had other plans.

Stepping up to the sink, you turned the faucet on, letting the water run just to make it sound like you were actually doing something in here. Then, moving quickly, you flipped the lock on the window and shoved it open. The cool night air hit your face as you glanced outside—an alley, empty except for a couple of overturned trash cans.

Perfect.

You hoisted yourself up, slipping through with practiced ease before lowering yourself down onto the pavement below. The moment your feet hit the ground, you took off down the alley, keeping to the shadows.

Back inside, Laura leaned against the wall near Wade’s stained couch, arms crossed as she watched Logan shift impatiently.

“She takin’ a damn shower in there?” Logan grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“She said she was freshening up,” Laura replied casually, not looking up from the knife she was idly flipping between her fingers.

Logan huffed. “It’s been long enough. I’m gettin’ her.”

Laura didn’t move as he pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom. The moment he reached for the doorknob, she spoke.

“You should wait,” she said.

Logan shot her a look over his shoulder. “Why?”

Laura finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “Just ‘cause.”

That made Logan pause. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between her and the closed bathroom door. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Kid,” he said, his voice low and edged with suspicion, “where’d she really go?”

Laura met his gaze evenly. “She’ll be back.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “Damn it.” He turned, pushing the bathroom door open with enough force to slam it against the wall. The running faucet mocked him, the open window sealing the truth of it.

“She ditched us,” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

Wade peered in behind him. “Oof. Classic Sparky move. You love to see it.”

Logan turned on his heel, his glare cutting through Wade like a knife. “Where’d she go?”

Wade shrugged dramatically. “Beats me. But if I had to guess? Probably somewhere far away from your grumpy ass.”

Logan growled, storming back into the room. “Damn stubborn—” He turned to Laura. “You knew.”

She didn’t flinch under his stare. “Yeah.”

His fists clenched, frustration mounting. “And you let her go?”

“She can handle herself,” Laura said simply.

“That ain’t the point,” Logan snapped.

“Then what is?”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. What was the point? That he didn’t want her runnin’ off alone? That the thought of her out there, possibly in danger, made his gut twist?

“She’ll be fine,” Laura said again. “She’ll be back before you know it.”

Logan shot her a sharp look. “And you knew she was gonna pull this shit?”

Laura didn’t even flinch. “Yeah.”

Logan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn stubborn woman.”

Wade, now comfortably sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, wiggled his fingers dramatically. “Aw, look at you, all worked up. It’s almost like you care.”

Logan glared at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Wade gasped, hand over his heart. “Ouch! That’s no way to talk to your bestest buddy in the whole world. You know, if you keep scowling like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Logan ignored him, turning back to Laura. “Where’d she go?”

Laura shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

“Bullshit,” Logan growled. “She told you something.”

Laura arched a brow. “Even if mom did, why would I tell you?”

Logan stepped forward, voice dropping low. “Because she’s out there alone, and I don’t trust her not to get herself into trouble.”

Laura tilted her head. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Logan clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Damn kid’s just as bad as she is.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Wade, now peeling an old banana he found on the coffee table, piped up. “Look, let’s be real here—Sparky probably ditched us so she could do some shady, assassin-y, Black Widow type shit. Maybe she’s robbing a bank! Maybe she’s breaking into a top-secret government facility! Maybe she’s meeting a mysterious lover who—”

Logan shot him a look that could’ve melted steel.

“Or,” Wade continued, grinning, “maybe she’s just getting her money so she can take Little Miss Stabby Hands here and leave your grumpy ass behind.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

Wade snapped his fingers. “Ohhh, there it is. That realization. That little pang in your chest. That Oh no, I don’t want her to leave feeling.”

Logan ignored him. “She said somethin’ about a storage facility,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “A few miles from here.”

Laura sighed. “And now you’re gonna go after her?”

“Damn right, I am.”

“She doesn’t want you to.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Laura watched him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. But don’t get all dramatic when she punches you for following her.”

Wade sat up, tossing his banana peel over his shoulder. “Ooooh, I gotta see this. Road trip!”

Logan grabbed his jacket off the chair, shooting Wade a glare. “You’re stayin’ here.”

Wade pouted. “Rude.”

Laura smirked. “Good luck.”

Logan muttered something under his breath and stormed toward the door, already regretting whatever the hell he was about to do.

---

You hadn’t been at this storage facility in almost 2 decades, from before you joined the x-men. It was a standard procedure, you left large amounts of cash, fake id’s, and weapons hidden in almost every major city.

The lock clicked open with a soft beep, and you tossed it onto the floor, pushing the storage unit door up. The metal groaned as it rolled upward, revealing the small space packed neatly with everything you’d left behind years ago—cash, fake IDs, weapons, emergency supplies. It was all still there, untouched.

You exhaled through your nose. Good. This would be enough to get you and Laura far away from New York.

You crouched down, lifting a duffel bag from the pile, zipping it open. Stacks of cash, bundled and secure, sat inside. Grabbing a few more rolls, you stuffed them in before reaching for one of the smaller, locked cases in the back. Inside were passports, IDs, credit cards—everything you’d need to disappear.

Your fingers brushed over one of the old IDs. It was worn from time but still legible. A name you hadn’t used in years. A version of yourself that no longer existed.

“Never thought I’d see you here.”

The voice sent a jolt up your spine. You knew it before you even turned around.

Logan.

You let out a slow breath before standing, keeping your expression neutral as you turned to face him. He stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his gaze flickering between you and the duffel bag.

“Took you long enough,” you muttered, zipping the bag closed.

He stepped inside, boots heavy against the concrete. “Could say the same about you,” he replied. “Sneaking out like that. Real subtle.”

You slung the bag over your shoulder. “Wasn’t trying to be subtle. Just effective.”

Logan scoffed. “Right. And this little errand of yours—it’s just about gettin’ cash?”

“That’s exactly what it is.” You met his eyes, unwavering. “I came here to get what I need. Then I’m leaving.”

His jaw tightened. “And by ‘leaving,’ you mean what? Takin’ off across the country? Across the world?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he said sharply. “It does.”

You clenched your jaw, adjusting the bag strap. “Not to you.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, maybe something else. “You really think I don’t give a shit?”

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Logan—”

“No, you listen,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You don’t wanna stick around, fine. You wanna take off with the kid, start fresh? I get it. But you don’t get to act like I don’t care.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together.

“I know I ain’t him,” Logan continued, voice lower now. “And you ain’t her. But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna let you walk away without sayin’ a damn word.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. “Fine.” You walked out of the unit and picked up the lock you’d tossed to the floor. You threw it toward Logan, not bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice. “Mind lockin’ up for me? Thanks.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and headed down the narrow hallway, duffel bag weighing on your shoulder. You knew he’d follow. Hell, part of you expected it. Still, you kept your pace brisk, eyes forward, determined not to let him see the mess of emotions churning behind your calm façade.

Sure enough, you heard his footsteps closing in on you just a few seconds later. “Hey,” he called, his tone halfway between annoyed and concerned, “hold up.”

You didn’t stop. “I don’t recall askin’ for backup, Logan.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

Rolling your eyes, you quickened your stride. “This is none of your business. I just need what’s in that storage unit. Then I’m done.”

“Done with what?” He stayed right on your heels. “You keep sayin’ you’re leaving, but leaving for where?”

“Somewhere that isn’t here,” you shot back, pushing open the heavy exit door. The chill of the evening air hit you like a slap, but you welcomed it. At least it was better than the stale, fluorescent-lit corridor.

Logan grabbed the door before it slammed shut, following you outside. “And what about Laura?”

“What about her?” You spun around to face him, jaw tight. “She’s comin’ with me. That’s it. We’ve both been through enough.”

“Enough of what, exactly?” His gaze flicked to the duffel bag. “You got money, IDs, weapons in there? Where’re you even plannin’ on goin’?”

You tightened your grip on the strap, resisting the urge to throw a punch at the damn question. “Somewhere quiet. A place we can actually live. Maybe not a perfect life, but a life that’s ours, away from… all of this. Away from Wade and the insanity he brings. Away from you.”

Logan’s expression clouded, though he tried to mask it behind a scowl. “Could just as easily do that in New York. Wade might be a pain in the ass, but he’s not forcing you to stay.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “Because it’s so easy, right? Laura and I just hole up in some apartment, pretend everything’s normal when half the city’s got vigilantes flyin’ around? When there are still people lookin’ for us—always will be?” You shook your head, glancing at the ground. “No. We’re done with that.”

He took a step closer, voice lowering. “So that’s it. You’re gonna vanish and start over. Another new name, new ID, new everything.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the flutter of guilt. “Worked before. It’ll work again.”

For a second, you both fell silent. A car drove by in the distance, headlights flashing across the storage facility’s cracked walls. You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to look at him. The way he studied your face was too familiar, too painful.

Finally, Logan cleared his throat. “I know I’m not him.” His tone had lost some of its edge. “I’m not your Logan, and you’re not… mine. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stand here and watch you self-destruct.”

Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. “Self-destruct?” you echoed, voice trembling with anger. “That’s rich, comin’ from the guy who’s been drinking himself into oblivion every night since I laid eyes on him.”

He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t deny it. “I’m not sayin’ I got my shit together. I’m sayin’ you don’t have to do this alone.”

“How ‘bout you cut the crap,” you fired back. “We don’t know each other. We’re strangers. I’ve known you for, what, two days? I’m doing what’s best for my daughter. And if that includes taking her out of this state, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his patience fraying at the edges. “You really think you can just pack up and disappear?”

You tightened your grip on the duffel bag, your stance unwavering. “Worked before.”

“That’s not an answer.” He stepped closer, his voice low, edged with frustration. “You’re actin’ like I’m some kinda obstacle. Like I’m one more thing you gotta shake off before you can breathe easy.���

You huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what you are.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you cold.

“You’re runnin’,” he said.

You exhaled sharply, spinning back around. “I am not running.”

“Feels like you are.”

“No, Logan, you don’t get it.” Your voice sharpened, cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Wade. This is about Laura. About what we need.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “And what? You think ditchin’ the only people who’ve got your back is the answer?”

“I think getting away from this life—your life—is the answer.”

Something shifted in his expression, something bitter and tired. “So that’s it? You wanna go play house somewhere, pretend none of this ever happened?”

You squared your shoulders, forcing yourself not to flinch at the weight of his words. “No one’s pretending anything. I just don’t want to look over my shoulder every damn day.”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? And what happens when the past catches up to you? Because it always does.”

You stepped forward, closing the space between you. “Then I’ll deal with it. But I’m done doing it your way.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The night air pressed in, thick with everything left unsaid. Logan’s gaze burned into you, searching, waiting. But you didn’t give him the answer he wanted.

He exhaled, looking away. “You’re makin’ a mistake.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But it’s mine to make.”

Logan clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. You half expected him to argue, to push, to demand something from you. But instead, he just nodded, stepping aside.

“Fine,” he said, voice gruff. “Do what you gotta do.”

You didn’t linger. Didn’t give yourself time to second-guess. You adjusted the strap on your shoulder and walked past him without another word.

As you disappeared into the night, Logan stayed where he was, fists clenched, jaw tight. Watching.

Letting you go.

---

The car you bought from a used-car dealership was silent, other than the radio softly playing pop music that Laura liked as she stared out the window, her sunglasses over her eyes.

You had just exited the New York City traffic and were heading south—but other than that, you didn’t know where you were going. Maybe you would stop somewhere in Pennsylvania, or West Virgina if you were lucky.

Laura tapped her fingers against her knee in rhythm with the song playing on the radio, her sunglasses perched on her nose as she stared out the window. The highway stretched ahead, empty except for a few distant cars.

"You know where we're stopping?" she asked, her tone casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You kept your hands on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. "Not yet. Somewhere quiet, somewhere we can lay low for a bit."

Laura tilted her head slightly, still watching the trees blur past. "So, nowhere specific."

"Nowhere specific," you confirmed.

She nodded, letting a few moments pass before speaking again. "You think he's following us?"

You exhaled through your nose, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Probably."

Laura hummed. "You gonna punch him if he shows up?"

You smirked. "Maybe."

Laura smirked back, adjusting her sunglasses. "Can I watch?"

"If he pushes his luck, I'll make sure you get front-row seats."

Silence settled between you, only broken by the soft hum of the music and the occasional sound of the tires on the road.

Then, Laura spoke again, her voice quieter. "You sure about this?"

You glanced at her briefly before turning back to the road. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Just… we’ve been running for a long time. Feels like that’s all we ever do. What happens when we stop?"

Your fingers flexed on the wheel. "Then we figure it out."

Laura nodded slowly, like she was mulling it over. Then, after a beat, she said, "We’re out of snacks."

You snorted. "I’ll stop at the next gas station."

"Good." She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "But if he shows up, I’m picking the next destination."

"Deal," you said.

Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew Logan would catch up eventually. The only question was when.

---

“Whaddya think about Florida?” you asked, swirling your milkshake with the red-and-white striped straw. After two days of driving, you and Laura had landed in Nashville—not exactly planned, but necessary. The money situation was getting tight, and you had a stash here.

Laura sat across from you in the dingy diner booth, picking at the fries on her plate. Her sunglasses were still on, even though the place was dimly lit, the neon “Open 24 Hours” sign flickering against the window beside you.

She shrugged. “Kinda humid, isn’t it?”

You snorted. “That’s your issue with Florida?”

She popped a fry into her mouth. “I don’t like humidity.”

“Well, we’re runnin’ out of options,” you said, taking another sip of your milkshake. “I’d rather not head west, too many people I don’t wanna run into. And the north? I’m done with the cold.”

Laura considered that, chewing thoughtfully. “So, Florida.”

“Yeah.”

She tapped her fingers against the table. “Ever been?”

“A couple times,” you admitted. “But never long enough to get comfortable.”

Laura leaned back, arms crossed. “What’s in Florida?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Hopefully? A quiet place. Some space. Enough cash to keep us moving if we need to.”

Laura was quiet for a beat, then said, “And what if we don’t need to?”

Your hand froze over your cup. You looked up at her, but she wasn’t looking at you—she was staring at her plate, pushing a fry around in the ketchup.

You exhaled, setting your drink down. “Then we don’t.”

Laura didn’t say anything, but she nodded slightly, like she was mulling it over.

You let the silence settle for a moment before reaching into your jacket pocket and pulling out a small envelope. You slid it across the table.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Fake IDs. A couple different names for you, just in case.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s yours?”

You smirked. “I’ve been doin’ this longer than you, muñeca. Mine are already handled.”

Laura picked up the envelope, flipping through the IDs. Her lips twitched when she landed on one. “Carla?”

You rolled your eyes. “It was short notice.”

Laura shook her head, stuffing the envelope into her pocket. “How much cash do we have left?”

“Enough to get us a motel for the night,” you said. “Then I’ll hit the stash in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”

She tapped her nails against the table. “And if someone’s watching it?”

You took another sip of your milkshake. “Then I deal with it.”

Laura didn’t argue, but she gave you a look.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly. “You sure you don’t want him to come after us?”

You froze for half a second before scoffing. “Logan?”

Laura shrugged, popping another fry in her mouth. “I mean, it’d be kinda funny. Watching him all pissed off, trying to track us down.”

You smirked. “I’d give it a day before he gave up and found a bar instead.”

Laura chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah. Probably.”

The conversation shifted after that—lighter, easier. You finished your food, paid in cash, and headed back to the car.

As you pulled onto the empty road, Laura leaned back against the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard. “If we go to Florida, I’m picking the first place we stop.”

“Deal.”

The road stretched ahead, dark and open, with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional song crackling from the radio.

For now, it was enough.

---

The Florida heat wasn’t as unbearable as you’d expected. It was different from the suffocating summers in New York or the bone-chilling winters in Canada. Here, everything moved slower—the ocean waves rolling onto the sand, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the distant hum of cicadas at night. For the first time in a long time, you and Laura weren’t running.

The job at the high school had been a last-minute decision, something stable to keep you grounded. It wasn’t hard work—not compared to everything else you’d done in your life. Wrangling teenagers in gym class was nothing compared to dodging bullets or teaching mutant children to use their powers. And Laura? She was doing good. She got her GED, started talking about what she wanted to do next. It was a normal life, or as close as either of you could get to one.

You leaned back in your chair on the porch, the scent of saltwater drifting through the air. Laura was sitting across from you, flipping through a book while picking at the remnants of her dinner.

"You gonna eat that or just mutilate it?" you asked, raising a brow at the half-demolished slice of pizza on her plate.

Laura shrugged, still looking at her book. "Not hungry."

You snorted, reaching over and stealing a piece of crust. "Then quit wasting good food."

She kicked your shin under the table, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make a point. "I was getting to it."

"Sure you were." You chewed the crust, glancing out at the ocean beyond the dunes. The sky was starting to darken, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting everything in shades of orange and pink.

Laura shut her book with a soft thud. "You think he's still looking for us?"

You didn’t need to ask who she meant. "Probably."

She rested her chin in her hand. "You miss him?"

The question made you pause, your fingers tightening slightly around the crust before you set it down. "I don’t know."

Laura gave you a look. "Liar."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "It’s complicated."

"It always is with you two."

You huffed out a quiet laugh. "And how would you know?"

Laura smirked. "Because you get that look whenever I bring him up."

You frowned. "What look?"

"The one you’re making right now."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "Even if I did miss him—which I don’t—it wouldn’t matter. He’s not the same Logan, and I’m not sticking around to see if he turns into him."

Laura was quiet for a moment before she said, "He still came after us."

"Yeah, and?"

"And that means something."

You shook your head. "It means he’s stubborn."

"Or it means he cares."

You scoffed. "He knew us for two days."

Laura shrugged. "Sometimes that’s enough."

You didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, you picked at the label on your beer bottle, watching the condensation roll down the glass.

After a while, Laura stood up, stretching. "I’m going to bed."

You nodded, not looking up. "Night, muñeca."

She hesitated for a second. "You’d tell me if you wanted to go back, right?"

You finally looked at her, meeting her eyes. "I don’t want to go back."

Laura studied you for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

She disappeared inside, leaving you alone with the sound of the waves and the quiet hum of your thoughts.

You didn’t want to go back.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t expect him to show up.

---

He showed up.

You were walking out of the store, picking up some more food since Laura ate a lot, when you saw him across the street, talking to some guy.

It was clear he hadn’t seen you—if he did, it would’ve been a miracle, spotting you in a parking lot full of suburban moms and their SUV’s. You quickly put the final bag in the trunk and closed it, getting into the driver’s seat, glad that an SUV was blocking the window, and of course that you were wearing a wig.

You scrolled through your phone, quickly looking up plane tickets before purchasing two for Anaheim, California, which left in three hours. It would be a short trip, long enough to take Laura out to Disneyland—somewhere she wanted to go when she was younger, and maybe see the sights before coming back.

With the tickets secured, you tossed your phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. You could still see Logan across the street, standing near a bar, talking to some guy you didn’t recognize. His stance was the same as always—broad, solid, like he was ready for a fight even when there wasn’t one. You couldn’t tell if he was actively looking for you or if it was just dumb luck that put him in the same town. Either way, it didn’t matter.

You put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking lot with careful ease. No sudden movements. No panic. You were good at this—disappearing.

By the time you got home, Laura was already sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels with half a bag of chips resting on her stomach. She barely glanced up when you walked in.

"Got food," you said, setting the bags on the counter.

"About time," Laura muttered, grabbing another chip. "I was starting to think you got lost or arrested."

"Very funny," you deadpanned, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Pack a bag."

That got her attention. She sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. "For what?"

"California," you answered, twisting the cap off your bottle. "Leaving in a few hours."

Laura blinked. "Wait… what?"

"You heard me," you said, taking a sip. "Disneyland. Quick trip."

She narrowed her eyes. "You saw him, didn’t you?"

You paused mid-drink before lowering the bottle. "Doesn’t matter."

"That’s a yes," she muttered, tossing the remote onto the couch. "You’re seriously dragging me to Disneyland just to avoid him?"

"I’m taking you to Disneyland because I promised," you corrected. "Avoiding him is just a bonus."

Laura folded her arms. "You know he’s gonna find us eventually."

"Probably," you admitted, leaning against the counter. "But not today."

Laura exhaled through her nose, clearly debating whether or not to argue. Finally, she stood up, brushing chip crumbs off her shirt.

"I’m picking the first ride," she said.

You smirked. "Deal."

---

The airport was busy but not unbearable. You and Laura moved through security without issue, your fake IDs holding up just as they always did. It was second nature at this point. The two of you boarded the plane, settling into your seats with practiced ease.

Laura put her headphones in, shutting the world out almost immediately. You, on the other hand, couldn’t quite relax. You had that feeling again—that gnawing sense that you were being watched, even when you knew you weren’t.

Logan would look for you. You knew that much. But you also knew how to stay ahead of him.

For now, at least.

You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes. Just a few days away. That was all you needed.

Just a few days.

---

“Wade,” Logan growled into the phone. “Your contact was fucking useless. They’re not here.”

There was a pause on the other end before Wade let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh no! You mean my totally legitimate, not-at-all shady informant lied? Color me shocked.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his teeth. “You told me they were still in Florida.”

“Well, yeah, because I thought they were,” Wade replied, his voice way too casual. “Turns out, your little murder mom and stabby daughter are really good at vanishing. Who knew?”

Logan clenched his jaw, his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Did you actually talk to this guy, or did you just pull a name outta your ass and hope for the best?”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Wade said. “Second of all, I did talk to him. And third of all, I’m beginning to think you have trust issues.”

Logan let out a low growl, glancing around the dimly lit parking lot. He had been following a lead for hours, only to find himself at a dead end. Again. “You got anything else, Wilson, or am I wasting my time?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking me—”

“I wasn’t.”

“Fair,” Wade admitted. “But if I had to guess—and I am very good at guessing—I’d say Y/N is doing what she does best.”

“And what’s that?” Logan asked, already annoyed by whatever bullshit answer was coming.

“Running.”

Logan’s grip on the phone tightened. He knew it was true, even before Wade said it. He had seen enough of you to know your patterns, and disappearing was your specialty.

Still, something about it didn’t sit right. You had said goodbye. He just hadn’t wanted you to go.

“So what’s your next move, grumpy pants?” Wade asked.

Logan exhaled sharply, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, I do,” Wade said. “You stop chasing her like a crazy ex-boyfriend and let her live her life.”

Logan ignored the jab. “They ain’t safe on their own.”

“Oh, please,” Wade scoffed. “Y/N could take both of us in a fight with one hand tied behind her back. And Laura? That kid is a human blender with anger issues. What exactly are you worried about?”

Logan didn’t answer.

Wade sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. You’ve got feelings—gross. But maybe, just maybe, you should consider that she doesn’t want to be found.”

Logan clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“Or, you know, keep chasing her,” Wade continued. “Nothing screams ‘healthy relationship’ like stalking.”

Logan ended the call without another word.

He stood there for a moment, jaw tight, before slipping his phone back into his pocket. His eyes scanned the quiet street, but there was nothing. No sign of you.

Not yet, anyway.

---

It was the first time in a while—months—that you saw Laura this happy. Being in the Void had been hard on both of you, but now, as you walked around Disneyland with Mickey Mouse ears perched on your head and a churro in hand, things felt lighter.

Laura, wearing her own pair of ears, pointed toward one of the bigger roller coasters. “That one.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of your churro. “You sure? You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” she asked, arms crossed.

“The look you get when you won’t admit you’re nervous.”

Laura scoffed, turning toward the ride again. “I’m not nervous.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh.”

“Are we going or not?”

You chewed thoughtfully, glancing up at the towering structure of the coaster. “I dunno. I’m kinda enjoying this churro.”

Laura grabbed your wrist and started dragging you toward the line. “You can eat and walk.”

You laughed, letting her pull you along. “Pushy.”

As the two of you weaved through the crowd, the excitement buzzing in the air was infectious. Kids in princess dresses, parents trying to wrangle toddlers, and groups of friends laughing between bites of overpriced snacks. It was normal.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Laura was practically bouncing on her heels.

“You gonna scream?” you teased, nudging her.

She shot you a look. “No.”

You snorted. “We’ll see.”

The ride operator waved you forward, and you both climbed into the seats, pulling the safety bars down.

As the coaster lurched forward, Laura gripped the handlebar a little tighter.

You smirked. “Told you.”

She didn’t have time to retort before the coaster shot up the first incline. The wind rushed past you, the clanking of the tracks beneath adding to the anticipation. Then, the drop.

Laura let out a yell—not quite a scream, but close enough.

You threw your hands up, laughing. “Told you!”

“Shut up!”

The ride twisted and turned, the loops pulling at your stomach in a way that was both exhilarating and oddly grounding. For those few minutes, there was no running, no fighting—just pure, unfiltered fun.

When the ride finally slowed, Laura’s breathing was slightly heavier, her face flushed from the rush. You grinned at her. “Admit it, that was fun.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

As you stepped off the ride and made your way back into the park, Laura bumped her shoulder against yours. “Okay, you pick the next one.”

You took another bite of your churro, already eyeing the spinning teacups. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

---

The fireworks exploded in bursts of color, painting the night sky over Disneyland. The crowd around you and Laura watched in awe, gasps and murmurs of excitement filling the air. Laura sat cross-legged on the grass, her arms resting on her knees as she stared up at the display.

"You know," you said, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "when I was your age, I never got to do this kind of thing."

Laura glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Watch fireworks?"

"Have a normal night," you corrected. You leaned back on your hands, feeling the cool grass beneath your palms. "Theme parks, vacations, junk food... not exactly things you get when you're trained to kill people before you hit puberty."

Laura hummed in acknowledgment, turning her gaze back to the sky. "Guess we’ve got that in common."

You exhaled through your nose, nodding. "Yeah. But at least we’re here now."

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the fireworks crackle above her. Then, almost reluctantly, she said, "It’s weird."

"What is?"

"Not having to fight," she admitted. "Being... normal."

You tilted your head, watching her carefully. "Do you like it?"

Laura shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on her jeans. "Yeah. I think so."

You smiled, though she wasn’t looking at you. "Good."

The fireworks continued, shimmering reflections dancing across Laura’s sunglasses. The two of you sat in easy silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Eventually, Laura spoke again, quieter this time. "How did you and dad get together?”

You glanced at Laura, the question catching you off guard. She was still watching the fireworks, her expression neutral, but you knew her well enough to recognize when she was fishing for something.

You took a slow breath, leaning back on your hands. "That’s kind of a long story, kid."

Laura shrugged. "We’ve got time."

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I guess we do."

For a moment, you just watched the bursts of color in the sky, letting the memories settle in before you spoke. "When Ororo first brought me to the mansion I had heard stories of the X-Men—and of the Wolverine. I kinda hated them all at first, how they were able to live an almost normal life even though they were all mutants.”

You shrugged, “took me a while to get used to them—to tolerate them. Took me the longest to get used to Logan though.”

Laura glanced at you, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. "Why?"

You let out a short breath, watching the last of the fireworks fade into the sky. “From the second I arrived he was always… there. Not in a ‘grumpy old man’ way like I thought he would be, but he would save me a spot for dinner, did the chores I didn’t want to do that Scott assigned me. Hell, he was the first person to show me Star Wars."

Laura turned her head toward you, adjusting her sunglasses. “Wait. You had never seen Star Wars before?”

You smirked. “Believe it or not, I had other things to do growing up.”

Laura hummed in response. After a moment, she said, “So, was that when you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you loved him.”

You hesitated, watching as a little girl in a princess dress skipped past, holding her father’s hand.

“No,” you said finally. “Not then.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Then when?”

You thought about that for a second. “I don’t know. I guess all the gestures caught up to me. The way he wasn’t afraid to be around me like some of the others were. It wasn’t until one night when I snapped at him, asking him why he had been doing all this that he confessed.”

Laura shifted slightly, crossing her arms over her knees. "Confessed?"

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "Yeah. It wasn’t some big romantic moment. It was just… him being honest. Told me he wasn’t the type to say things out loud unless they meant something. Said he didn’t expect me to feel the same, but that he wasn’t gonna pretend he didn’t care."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And… I kissed him," you admitted, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Told him he was an idiot for waiting so long to say it."

Laura scoffed. "Sounds about right."

You tilted your head, glancing at her. "What, you expected some fairytale confession? A love letter? Logan wasn’t that type of guy."

Laura shook her head. "No, I just… I don’t know. It’s weird thinking of him like that. Like, all soft."

"He wasn’t soft," you corrected. "He was still stubborn as hell, still grumpy, still fought me on just about everything. But he never made me doubt how he felt."

Laura was quiet for a moment, looking back up at the sky. "Guess that’s what matters."

"Yeah," you said softly, following her gaze. "It is."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the last of the fireworks fizzled out, leaving nothing but smoke trails and the distant hum of the park.

"So," Laura said after a moment, "if he never said anything that night, do you think you would've?"

You thought about that, your fingers tapping against your knee. "Eventually. But he beat me to it."

Laura nodded, processing that. "Good thing he did."

You smiled slightly. "Yeah. It was."

Another pause. Then, in a quieter voice, Laura asked, "Do you think you'd ever—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.

You turned to her. "What?"

"Nothing."

You studied her for a second before letting it go. Instead, you nudged her shoulder. "C'mon, we've got one last ride before the park closes. You promised I got to pick the next one."

Laura groaned but got to her feet anyway. "If it’s the teacups, I’m never forgiving you."

You grinned, standing up. "Guess you’ll have to find out."

As the two of you made your way through the thinning crowd, Laura side-eyed you. "You know, for someone who says they don’t like talking about the past, you sure didn’t shut up about it."

You shrugged. "Maybe you caught me in a good mood."

Laura smirked. "Or maybe you just like remembering the good parts."

You didn’t respond to that. You didn’t have to.

Because maybe she was right.

---

After coming back from Disneyland the lightness didn’t leave. Maybe because it was the first ‘normal’ thing you two had done in months—maybe ever. Just a mother and daughter enjoying their time together.

The grocery store was quiet for a weekday afternoon—just the usual crowd of retirees, moms wrangling their toddlers, and bored cashiers going through the motions. You moved through the aisles quickly, grabbing the essentials: eggs, bread, milk, and way too many snacks to keep up with Laura’s ridiculous metabolism.

You checked your list, crossing off the last item, before making your way toward the checkout. As you tossed the groceries onto the conveyor belt, you let yourself breathe. Things were steady. Normal.

Laura was getting comfortable, and, for the first time in a long time, so were you.

It wasn’t permanent—you knew that much. But for now, it was enough.

You grabbed a carton of ice cream, but something made you pause. That feeling. The faintest prickle at the back of your neck. The one that always hit when someone was watching you.

Cautiously, you moved closer to a nearby Employees Only doorway, keeping your expression neutral as you reached for a yogurt on the shelf. You adjusted your grip on the container, using the reflective surface of the glass door to scan the store behind you.

There.

A figure standing near the magazine rack, pretending to skim through an issue of Sports Illustrated. Too broad-shouldered to be just any guy, too stiff to be casual. You knew that build. That stance.

Logan.

Your stomach clenched, but you kept your movements easy, natural. It didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t still be here. You had been gone for days—long enough that he should’ve moved on, left Florida entirely. You had given him nothing to follow. No trail, no leads.

So how the hell did he find you?

You put the yogurt back, pretending to consider a different brand. The reflection shifted—Logan wasn’t at the magazine rack anymore. He was moving. Closer.

Before you could react, a hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the Employees Only door.

Big mistake.

Years of training kicked in before you even thought about it. You twisted sharply, breaking the grip, and slammed the person into the wall inside the backroom. Your dagger was out in a flash, pressed firmly against their throat.

Logan.

His jaw was tight, eyes sharp but not surprised. He barely reacted to the blade at his neck, just met your gaze with that same unreadable expression.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered.

Your grip on the dagger tightened. “I should gut you for grabbing me like that.”

Logan arched a brow. “Go ahead. Might be the only way to get rid of me at this point.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pissed but not at him. At yourself. Because you should’ve known he’d find you. You should’ve been more careful.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, your voice low.

Logan smirked slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Lookin’ for you.”

“Try again.”

He held your stare, his throat moving slightly under the blade. “Not here to fight, darlin’. Just talk.”

You scoffed. “That why you dragged me back here? Didn’t exactly scream ‘peaceful conversation.’”

“You were gonna bolt.”

“Damn right I was.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his patience clearly thinning. “Can you put the knife down?”

You hesitated, then pressed it a little harder—not enough to break the skin, but enough to prove a point. “Give me one good reason.”

Logan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“That’s not a reason.”

He sighed, then, softer this time, “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Your stomach twisted, but you ignored it, stepping back as you lowered the dagger. Logan exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if he’d been expecting you to actually use it.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you shot back. “Because if you don’t explain yourself in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna drag your ass out of here and dump you in a very public place.”

Logan smirked, but there was something tired beneath it. “You sayin’ I can’t handle a crowd?”

“I’m sayin’ I don’t want to deal with security after I kick your ass in front of an audience.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Been lookin’ for you,” he admitted. “Figured you wouldn’t make it easy, but damn, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t know I owed you a trail to follow.”

Logan’s jaw flexed, something flickering in his eyes. “You don’t. But that doesn’t mean I was just gonna let you disappear.”

Your fingers curled against your biceps. “Why not? That was the whole point of leaving, Logan.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t think you actually wanna run.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t know me.”

Logan tilted his head slightly. “Really? ‘Cause anytime your frustrated with me you get this,” Logan gently traced your skin with his thumb, “little crease between your brows—”

You grabbed his wrist, peeling it away from your face, your grip firm but careful. Logan didn’t resist, just watched you, his expression unreadable. His hand was rough, calloused—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“You don’t get to do that,” you said, voice low.

Logan tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Touch me like that.” You let go of his wrist, stepping back. “Like you know me.”

Logan let out a short breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do know you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You know her.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he’d argue. Instead, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Maybe I don’t know this you. But I know enough.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think you know?”

Logan’s eyes flickered over you, his expression softer now, more cautious. “I know you’re scared.”

Your stomach twisted. “Of you?”

“No,” he said simply. “Of this.”

You swallowed, your nails digging into your arms. “You’re reaching.”

Logan’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “Am I?”

You shook your head, turning toward the exit. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Logan said, and you felt his presence behind you before he even moved. He wasn’t blocking your way, but he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the weight of his stare. “You can run all you want, sweetheart, but I’ll still be here.”

You gritted your teeth, turning on him. “Why?”

Logan held your gaze, his voice steady. “Because I don’t think you want to leave.”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t I?” He stepped closer, just enough to make your breath hitch. “If you really wanted to disappear, you would’ve done it by now. You know how. Hell, you’ve done it before. But you didn’t.”

“I took Laura to Disneyland,” you shot back. “Not exactly the best place to fall off the grid.”

Logan’s brow arched. “You sure that’s all it was?”

You hated how easily he was reading you—how he saw right through the excuses. He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve taken Laura anywhere. Could’ve changed your names again, disappeared into some far-off city where no one would find you. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed just close enough. Close enough for him to find you.

Logan’s voice softened. “You keep tellin’ yourself you don’t want this, but you’re still here.”

Your throat tightened. “And what about you?”

Logan’s jaw ticked. “What about me?”

“You followed me,” you said. “I told you I was leaving. I told you I was done. And yet here you are.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, his gaze locked onto yours. “Yeah. Here I am.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything you weren’t saying. You hated the way your chest ached, the way his presence felt—not just familiar, but right. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You should’ve left.”

Logan didn’t flinch. “So should you.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. This was dangerous. Not because Logan was a threat, but because he wasn’t. Because for the first time in a long time, someone had chased after you—and you didn’t know what to do with that.

Logan stepped back, giving you space. His expression was unreadable again, but his voice was softer this time. “I’m not gonna force you to stay.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t give a damn, either.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you turned, pushing the exit door open.

You didn’t look back.

But Logan didn’t stop you.

And somehow, that made it worse.

---

You brought the bags of groceries inside, the faint smell of lemon cleaner hitting your nose as you made your way to the kitchen. Laura was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through Netflix with the kind of lazy ease only she could manage.

“You clean?” you asked, setting the bags on the counter.

“Obviously,” she muttered, not looking away from the screen.

You arched a brow, glancing around. The place did look cleaner—the floors weren’t covered in her usual mess of books and abandoned socks, and the kitchen counter was actually visible.

“Wow,” you said, pulling out a carton of eggs. “Guess Disneyland really did change you.”

Laura scoffed. “I just got bored.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you started putting things away. “Whatever you say, muñeca.”

She finally glanced over, eyes narrowing. “You were gone a while.”

“Traffic,” you lied easily, shoving a loaf of bread into the cabinet.

Laura sat up, crossing her legs. “Liar.”

You shot her a look. “Excuse me?”

She tilted her head, studying you like she could see straight through you—which, knowing her, she probably could. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away, focusing instead on the milk you were putting in the fridge.

Laura sighed, rubbing her face. “God. And you didn’t deck him?”

“I didn’t exactly have time,” you muttered, shutting the fridge door with more force than necessary.

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you said, turning to lean against the counter. “He was at the store. He grabbed me. We talked.”

Laura’s brows lifted. “He grabbed you?”

You waved a hand. “Not like that. He pulled me into a back room.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It wasn’t.” You exhaled, crossing your arms. “He just… wanted to talk.”

Laura scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “Right. Because Logan’s known for his communication skills.”

You smirked. “Yeah, well. He tried.”

Laura studied you again, her expression unreadable. “And?”

“And what?”

“What did he say?”

You hesitated, running your tongue along your teeth before answering. “That I don’t really want to run.”

Laura huffed a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not that simple, Laura.”

She shrugged. “Never is.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here. He’ll move on.”

Laura hummed like she didn’t quite believe that. “If you say so.”

You pushed off the counter, deciding this conversation was over. “Go set the table. I’ll make dinner.”

Laura didn’t argue, just stood up and stretched before heading toward the kitchen. As she passed, she muttered, “You should’ve decked him.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Maybe next time.”

---

Logan was right—he didn’t leave. But he didn’t force you either.

You assumed he learned your schedule because for the next few weeks he was there, always in the background. After work he’d lean against his truck across the street from the school.

When you went grocery shopping he was there, following from a distance.

remember that there is a second part to this!!

[boybandbaby]

A Night To Remember (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 2267

warnings/tags: single mom reader, a child, v light angst, unspecified reason for father’s absence (let you mind run wild), as always if I’ve missed anything lmk

note: not entirely happy about this but I really wanted to do this concept also sorry if your name is Evie I tried to use a name I liked but something I don’t see most people have

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your daughter had hopped in the backseat without her usually greeting. With you she was a chatterbox, rambling about her day and what her friends did during school. With new people, she was shy. She’d hide behind your legs as you introduced her to strangers. She takes a while to open up but once she comes out of her shell, she’s a social butterfly.

You’re not sure why she’s so quiet now and she won’t tell you. She sits in the back seat, feet still as her favorite song plays, a pout on her lips as she looks out the window.

You’re worried. Worried that maybe someone had bullied her or that she’d gotten into trouble somehow. No, the school would’ve called.

You make your way home, opening her door to help her out. She hops out and doesn’t hold your hand as you make your way into the complex.

“Did something happen at school?” You inquire.

She shakes her head as you unlock your door. She runs inside and kicks her shoes off, creating a tripping hazard. You figure it’s better to not poke the bear right now and don’t remind her of the rules to put her shoes on the shoe rack.

“Can I do my homework after dinner?” She finally speaks.

“Are you sure? Buck’s coming over, I thought you guys were going to play that new board game he got for you?” You help her take her back pack off.

“I want to go to my room.” She mumbles.

“You don’t want your after school snack? I was going to make you some celery and apples with peanut butter.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” You kneel down to her height, brushing hair from her forehead.

“Nothing!” She pushes your hand and runs to her room, door slamming behind her.

You decide to give her some space as you take the groceries out that you bought for dinner. Your mind races with what you could have done to upset her.

Buck arrives about an hour later. His smile drops when he sees the stressed look on your face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You usher him in and pull him in for a hug. “It’s Evie.” You whisper though you know she can’t hear. “She was quiet the whole ride home and then when we got home, she bolted to her room.”

“Let me go say hi, I’ll be back to help set the table.” He smiles. He makes his way through the apartment to her room.

He knocks twice before opening the door just a crack. “Evie? It’s Buck. I just wanted to say hi and let you know dinner is ready.”

He hears her sniffles. “Come in.”

He smiles despite hearing that she’s been crying. When they first met, she was too shy to even look at him but over the last few months they’ve became besties. Buck of course spoils her and she loves it.

“Hey, you having a bad day?” He softly asks. She nods, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and putting her pencil down on her open folder which lays on her lap.

Buck gets onto his knees at the side of her bed. “Wanna tell me what happened?” He brushes her hair away from her face and pulls it back behind her shoulders.

Instead of talking, she pulls a pink flyer from behind the worksheet she was writing on. She hands it to Buck.

Elementary School Father Daughter Dance

Saturday February 1st at 6pm

Gymnasium

Please purchase tickets by January 29th. $15 per pair

Dinner | Dancing | Games

“You’re upset because you want to go to this?” He clarifies. She nods.

“My friend Tammy said she’s going with her daddy and my other friend Julie doesn’t have a dad like me but she’s going with her older brother.” Her lip wobbles. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Hmmm. And you don’t want to go with mom?”

“Mommy is a girl.”

“Some people have two mommies instead of a mommy and a daddy and some people have two daddies.” He informs her.

“How does that work?”

“Okay maybe I should let your mom have that talk with you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “How about we go eat dinner and we can show mom the flyer? And if she is okay with it and you’re okay with it, I can go with you.”

“You’ll go with me? Even if you’re not my daddy?”

“Yeah, I’d love to take you. I’m not a good dancer though.” He warns.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She squeals, leaping forward to hug him.

Buck rubs her little back, pulling her up as he stands. “You ready to eat?”

She nods and rests her head on his shoulder as Buck hands her the flyer to hold.

You’re already serving three plates when they come out. You’re smiling when you see that Buck’s gotten her out of her mood.

“Everything good?” You raise a brow at him as you set a fork down by each plate.

“Yes mommy. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” She wiggles down Buck’s front and runs to your side. She hugs your legs, the flyer crinkling against your thighs.

“What’s that you got there?” You point to the paper. She steps back and looks to Buck who nods at her, encouraging her to discuss the dance with you.

You read over the paper and look at her. “I want to go with Buck, pleaseeee.”

“So, this is why you were upset?” You place a hand, palm up, under her chin. “Did you ask Buck already to go with you?” She nods.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d be happy to take her.” He steps in.

“You’d do that?” You look at him, eyes glossy. “It’s not too much to ask?”

“Of course not. It’s important to her and you’re both important to me.” He opens the fridge and gets the juice and two water bottles out.

“Then I guess it’s a date.” You shrug, leaning down to kiss Evie’s forehead.

When dinner is over, Buck helps Evie finish her homework sheets. She’s too burnt out from excitement and her earlier crying that she heads to bed early.

She’s old enough to dress herself and brush her teeth, only asking for help putting the toothpaste on the brush.

After Buck helps her off the step stool, he helps tuck her into bed as you fix her nightlight. She falls asleep with a smile on her face, excited to tell her friends that she will be going to the dance.

You and Buck settle into your bed, changed into pajamas and comforted pulled down the bed.

“Buck?” You ask, nervously, as you slip into your side of the bed.

He hums, fluffing the pillow he always uses when he sleeps over.

“You sure you’re okay with taking Evie to the dance? I know we haven’t really talked about your role in her life. I’m not saying I’m expecting you to be her father or stepfather or anything like that and I know you said you were okay with me having a kid. I guess I’m just worried I’m forcing you to take on responsibility.”

“Breathe baby.” He leans into the bed, crawling closer to the middle. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I love being with you and being your boyfriend and yes you have a daughter but that doesn’t bother me. I love spending time with you both. I like being part of your family.”

“You’re so sweet. I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t even think like that. I’m honored that she wants me to go with her and I’m grateful you’re letting me part of her and your life. Okay?” He holds your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you. You’re too good to us.”

“Stop.” He feels a blush creeping up onto his neck.

Just days before the dance, you all go to the mall so that Buck and Evie can get matching outfits.

She’s very adamant about wearing a red dress and requires Buck to wear something red too.

Buck had decided to get ready before he came over for the dance. He also stopped to run some errands before coming over.

Evie had asked you to do her hair and if she could wear makeup. You settled for some sheer lip gloss to satisfy her.

She was pacing the living room. “Mommy! Buck is going to be late.”

“Babe, the dance is in an hour. He’s on his way.” You laugh, pouring yourself something to drink. “Just sit in the couch and relax.”

“I can’t relax! I’m so excited.” She jumps up and down. Buck knocks on the door and she runs. “He’s here! He’s here! Can I open the door?”

“Just this once.” You follow her, standing behind her.

When she opens the door, Buck stands there looking handsome as always. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, a pink heart balloon, and a small teddy bear.

“Ah!” Evie screams, holding her hands out for her gifts.

“Hi! You look so pretty.” He kisses her forehead. She giggles and runs to put her gifts on her bed. “She gets it from her mom.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Buck.” You grin at him. “And where’s my gift?”

“Right here.” He winks and pulls you into him by your waist. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. You only break away when Evie clears her throat.

“You should’ve seen her. She was more nervous than I was for our first date.” You laugh.

“Is that so?” He picks her up. “No need to be nervous little lady. We’re going to have a great night!”

“You’ll dance with me and my friends?” She pokes at his cheek.

“Of course, we’ll dance all night.” He kisses her cheek.

You kiss them both goodbye and assure Buck you’ll keep your ringer on in case he needs anything.

Buck is a gentleman as always as he opens the door for her both in the car and at the school. Her hand clings to his and he can see the nerves in her little eyes as she looks around the gym.

Her eyes widen and she taps Buck’s side, pointing at her friend Tammy who is sitting at a table with her father. Buck guides her over to the table and asks if they can join them. Buck makes small talk with the man as the kids show each other their dresses and sparkly shoes.

When it’s time, Buck helps serve Evie and helps tuck a napkin into her neckline. He’s at her beck and call, getting her cups of punch and cookies from the dessert table.

They end up winning one of the games due to Buck’s competitive nature. They win gift certificates for a local ice cream shop and promise to go next weekend. They then spend the night dancing (jumping and twirling) to pop music.

Buck’s burnt out, he thinks he might be more tired than a shift at the station. He’s sent you loads of videos and pictures throughout the night, even FaceTimed you to show you the decorations.

Your heart has swelled up with joy and love for your daughter and for Buck. It’s been hard for both of you without her father so her being able to have this experience makes you so happy. And Buck, I mean how could you not love him even more after this? He went out of his way to create a special experience for her without hesitation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the front door open, having just given Buck a spare key. You both shared an emotional moment when you gave it to him but it was bound to happen sooner or later and you felt the sooner the better.

You click the volume to mute and stand from the couch just as he’s approaching. He looks beat and tired with droopy eyes but he carries Evie’s sleeping form. Though she’s asleep, she holds onto him for dear life.

“Hey.” You whisper and lean up to kiss him. “I can take her.”

He shakes his head, “I got her. Let’s tuck her in. She’ll be too sleepy for a bath.”

You nod and plan to get her all washed up first thing in the morning. You help pull the blankets from her bed as Buck lays her down. You both take one foot each and unbuckle her shoes. He hands you the shoe and you place them in her closet.

After a kiss to the forehead and a flick of the nightlight, you both exit. Buck wraps his arms around you, his chest resting against your back. He tucks his chin into your neck.

“Sleepy?”

“Yes.” He groans. “I have not danced that much since I was a kid. But I had so much fun, she’s such a good kid. You’re such a good mom.”

You blush, cheeks flaming. “She is. Thank you for doing this.” You’re glad he can’t see your face. You’re about to burst into tears.

“I love doing stuff like this for her. And for you. You deserve a night for just you and to not worry about doing all this alone.”

“I love you, you know that?” You turn in his arms.

“Don’t cry.” He urges, hands rubbing up and down at your sides before his thumb wipes a stray tear on your cheek. “I love you. I’ll be here for you both. Always.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[dchuntress]

—

Subject: Re: Late submission | Where the Red Ferm Grows Essay

Hello Amandine,

First and foremost — are YOU alright? I am tremendously grateful to see that you’ve survived such an ordeal, I hope you’re safe and recovering. Please let me know if you need anything.

I’ve read your essay, and despite everything you’ve been through, I have to say it’s a solid analysis, Amandine. You did an excellent job discussing how Billy’s bond with his dogs reflects the novel’s themes of loyalty and perseverance.

There are some areas where you could strengthen your argument — especially in your analysis of the Red Fern’s symbolism — but I can see the hard work you put in.

I’ve left additional feedback in the scanned copy attached, so you’ll see my comments in red ink along the margins. Take a look when you have time.

I’ve given you a good grade, but let’s set aside some time to workshop your writing when you’re back at school. Not because your grade is in question, but because I want to help you improve your skills. I believe you can push your writing further, and I know you’re capable of it. Writing is a muscle — if you work on it, it’ll get stronger.

No penalty for the delay. Just take care.

Best,

Miss Bertinelli

[ Attachment: where_the_red_ferN_grows_essay_essay(3)_final_(1)_scanned.pdf ]

Helena winces as she carefully sets the laptop back down on the coffee table, no longer bothered about the blood spilling everywhere or the gashes left on her side from a knife fight with Black Mask’s lackeys — the first aid kit can wait.

She needs to ensure that Amandine can get to and from class safely first. Thankfully, someone owes Huntress a favour, and that someone also happens to know a thing or two about shutting up crocodilian bastards. It will be dealt with swiftly.

—

Subject: Re: batman arsonist extension ple ase

Hi Roberto,

I’m so sorry to hear about the fire, I hope you and your family are safe. Is everything okay?

Your well-being is far more important than schoolwork. Take all the time you need, okay? Your grade isn’t going anywhere, and neither is the assignment, do not even worry about it. Right now, focus on what matters: you and your family.

If you need anything — notes, resources, someone to talk to — I’m here, and I’ll do what I can to help. Be safe.

PS: If you’re looking for temporary housing, I strongly advise avoiding the Sionis Foundation Shelter. Just… speaking from personal experience. If you need help finding a safer option, let me know.

Love,

Helena Bertinelli

“You wanna talk to me about my kids—about so-called ‘collateral damage’, you BITCH!” Huntress yells, yanking a bloodstained Killer Croc’s claw from her shoulder and hurling it, aimed straight for Batman’s face. A series of cusses and curses escape her mouth before she storms out of the Batcave as abruptly as she had entered—not without kicking over one of his server racks along the way. Riddle her that for ‘collateral damage’, BITCH.

—

Subject: Re: Hospital + Assignments

Hi Jess,

First of all, do not apologize. I read your assignments, and I can see you weren’t in the best condition when you wrote them. That’s completely understandable, given what happened. Don’t stress about it — we’ll go over them together when you’re feeling better. Right now, you need to focus on getting enough rest and being there for your mom.

Let me know if you need anything. I insist.

PS: Mrs Schmidt works at the Gotham Subway, right? Please tell her to stay cautious, that is a dangerous area especially at night.

Warm regards,

Miss Bertinelli

Jess doesn’t know that Helena was in the hospital too — albeit not by her choice. Doesn’t know that her teacher yanked off the IVF, slipped on her purple mask, stole her wardmate’s jacket, leapt out the window — all without a care.

The subway is only twenty stones’ throws away, where the toxins still linger with an eeriness that was familiar to Huntress only a few hours ago.

Not her best work tonight, admittedly. But she trusts the police to carry on the rest when they come over and find the henchmen tied up in a corner — and antidotes on a counter, or whatever of them she thought she managed to salvage. Jess doesn’t know Huntress is feeling pretty garbage too, and praying Crane chokes on his own spit.

—

Subject: Re: CROC ATE MY HW W/PROOF! NOT CLICKBAIT! IT'S TRUE

Mr Dowd!

God, Remy — what happened to “Hello”, “Good evening Ms Bertinelli”, and “How are you”?

I would’ve fully believed you with or without photographic evidence — I mean it, I did not need to see that right before dinner — but nonetheless you have made a compelling case for an extension, kid. See me during office hours next Tuesday and I’ll see what can be done.

More importantly, are you okay? I don’t like that a rogue got close to you enough for that to happen, it’s worrying even if — and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but — Croc-related emergencies are very understandable in Gotham. Anyway.

Good night and stay safe, Dowd. Don’t let the Croc bite.

Never e-mail me again,

Miss Bertinelli

Helena wordlessly stares at the bite marks on Remy’s paper, then back at her shoulder, then back at Remy’s paper, then back at her freshly bleeding, stinging shoulder, already dissolving the thin layers of gauze.

“Jesus Christ.”

She resists the urge to send back a photo in the name of solidarity, and instead reaches for the wine bottle. Has Killer Croc been attending night school or what?

—

Subject: Re: Basement Situation, Not Good. Lost my book

Hi Miriam,

You absolutely should not go back there under any circumstances, your life comes first. I have granted you an extension, no questions asked, but please focus on staying safe — and far, far, far away from down there. Are you trapped? Are there safer exits? Never hesitate to call for help.

In the meantime, I’ve attached a PDF of the book here, and I’ll also have a physical copy ready for you by Monday. I insist, take no stress and be safe.

Hopefully, you won’t have to worry about the basement much longer.

Warmly,

Miss Bertinelli

[ Attachment: thebookfreepdf_obtainedbytotallylegalmeans.pdf ]

Miriam’s place wasn’t difficult to find and track down over the weekend.

Eyes locked on her target, Huntress cracks her knuckles.

By Sunday midnight, the rogue’s operation has gone up in flames — metaphorically, not otherwise. Huntress isn’t sloppy.

By Monday morning, the building is just a building again. It wasn’t Miriam who had to go down there and retrieve the book — albeit too tarnished for use. Not the worst news of the night, still.

one of helena bertinelli's students emailing her at 12:59 am asking if it's too late to submit their assignment now since their house got burned down due to gotham incidents:

helena bertinelli responding at 1:07 am after grading their work and reassuring them it's fine even though she's literally yet to take care of the third degree burns on top of 500 other fatal injuries she just got from her other job:

[wheeboo]

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan {TEASER}

SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, suggestive, hurt/comfort, college au WARNINGS (FOR THE TEASER). swearing, vaping and mention of weed, just silly banter between two "best friends" <3 WARNINGS (FOR FULL FIC). swearing, food and drinking mentions, suggestive, drug use (weed & vaping), so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader is quite literally me so self-indulgent maybe?, reader is an overthinking anxious burnt-out mess :((, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes (re: cough attacca dino cough), chan is a self-critical perfectionist oof, vague descriptions of minor injuries, mental health topics, medical terminology language, a scene of a panic attack WORD COUNT (FOR THE TEASER). 1.3k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). approx 20-25k

notes: hello, my little flowers! this is my teaser for the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab <3. I'VE BEEN BLESSED TO FINALLY WRITE FOR LEE CHAN‼️if you would like to be tagged when this fic comes out, please send an ask or comment down below! sign up for the taglist for the entire collab here! please send all your love to the other authors who are participating in this as well !!

“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”

“Nah, not that long. You actually came before Vernon𑁋he left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”

“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”

Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you.

“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”

Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?” 

You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”

Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”

You look down almost in guilt from his words, watching as you unconsciously play with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for the briefest moment, you feel the rush of everything you’ve been holding back𑁋the exhaustion, the frustration, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of weight these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.

“You’re gonna be a good doctor, you know?” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”

You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could. 

You feel your heart do that familiar flip again, but this time, you let it pass. Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t exactly pinpoint the moment these feelings shifted from friendship to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there. 

“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, feeling the heaviness in your chest ease just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”

Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”

“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”

When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, taking in the way your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skate park. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.

“You meant it though, right?” he asks.

“What?” You question, turning towards him. 

“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. “You meant it?”

Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now at almost midnight in the middle of the skate park. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?

“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a few moments, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now. 

Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.

“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?” 

“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”

“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully. 

Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.

Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down and gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a moment as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

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@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @gigification @ahuiahoe

@svtficsarchive @lllucere @reiofsuns2001 @imujings

[lilimaginebean]

reverse trope writing prompt pt.2

note: Dont ever do a course that last 8 hours in a day it’s horrible

REALLY NICE GUY WHO HATES ONLY YOU

MEGURU BACHIRA smiled at everyone but you. He always wanted to talk to everyone but you. You have gone mad. Every time you tried to talk to him, he gave you the dirtiest look. What could you have done? If you knew that he hated you because every time you were with him, his heart beat faster and he thought you were doing some voodoo shit on him to kill him.

TOO MUCH COMMUNICATION

SHEISIRO NAGI was a man of few words, who rarely spoke. But he was lucky, because so were you. Contrary to what others thought, the two of you communicated so well that it was almost as if you were telepathic. A raised eyebrow for 0.2 seconds? He wanted to take a dump. Staring at you in a meeting and squeezing your hand? He wanted to leave. You looked at him with a look of defeat? He hugged you to comfort you. Perhaps neither of you were talkative, but sometimes a sign is worth a thousand worlds.

SOULMATES WHO ARE FATED TO KILL EACH OTHER

MICHAEL KAISER looks at you with pity in his eyes. Oh boy, how did you get yourself into this situation? The two of you, pointing a gun at each other, daring to fire it to see what would happen. Apparently, your target wasn't just the prey, but also the hunter, the Emperor, your boyfriend of a month. "Oh my love, we were getting on so well, I was going to ask you to move in with me, and then it seemed like you wanted to kill me. Not cool, but I can't complain, I'm like you. I guess we will see each other in hell"

LOVERS TO ENEMIES

RENSUKE KUNIGAMI was no longer the man you knew in high school. He changed, his desire to be the hero everyone could count on turned into the most selfish self he could ever be. Those sweet hugs, lovely kisses and gentle demeanour turned into cold answers, no longer caring about your feelings or even loving you. When did this happened? Was it your fault? Why wasn’t he trying to fix things? Why was he letting you go and not fighting for you?You hate him, but as you said, he wasn't the man you knew at school.

TOO HOT TO CUDDLE

SHOEI BAROU who is caring, lovely, great player but all from the top, hot. His body and the way it hugs yours and covers you all from behind while you cuddle. You never thought you could get turned on while cuddling. But the way his hands caress your lower belly, the way he kisses you and the way his hands start to go even lower. Oh damn. He is just too hot to waste. “Again needy? Wow, what’s wrong with you” he said smirking to kiss you again

[undercvrfan444]

Shy!reader who wears a different uniform skirt in order to get Bully!Satoru’s attention and it works a little too well. He starts flipping up the back of her skirt when he walks past her to ruffle her feathers a bit. (he might have snuck a picture of two of what you looked like under that fabric.)

Bully!Satoru who continues to write you small notes and slip them in your bag but they’ve become nastier than before. Having things written on them like

“What a shame it would be for those pretty panties to be torn open with my cock stuffing your pussy to the brim.”

or

“Don’t you know prancing around in short skirts is just an invitation for me to do whatever I want to you?”

Bully!Satoru who continues tripping you when walking in the halls. This time though, it’s because he wants to press his hard erection into the plush feeling of your ass. He’ll lean down innocently so people don’t suspect him, “been thinkin’ of that gooey cunt all day bunny.”

Bully!Satoru who comes over occasionally to “help with homework” and always starts the session off with bruising the back of your throat so you can barely speak the next day.

This way he can purr nasty nothings into your ear and all you’re able to do is listen and take it.

Bully!Satoru who steals your lunch forcing you to come crying to him. “Beg me real nicely bunny, and i’ll give your lunch back.” But when you embarrass yourself by begging him kindly he gives you the box back to find it’s been eaten leaving you hungry and disappointed.

Bully!Satoru who is called out all the time for somehow finding a way to talk about you to his friends. Suguru teases you about it too when he can!

“So you’re the pretty little thing Satoru is hung up on?”

Two dark eyes rake over the little uniform that adorned your body. “He wasn’t lying about you.” And with that Suguru walked off, simply leaving you with a dumbfounded look.

Shy!Reader who stops Satoru in the hallway the next time you see him with an aggravated expression on your face. Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you pushed a hard finger into the man’s chest. “What did you say about me to Suguru?”

Satoru’s shocked face pulls into a coy smile, eyes narrowing so he can lean into your space. “Why? I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true.”

“What did you say Satoru!”

Hearing his name on your lips sends shivers down his spine, loving how upset you were. His voice dropped lower, seeing how many people were turning heads to see where the commotion sourced from.

His lips graze the thin skin of your ear. “I told him how good your pussy feels around my dick. Told him about the way your face would scrunch up when you were about to c-“

A sharp *Slap!* echoed between you. Tears pour from your eyes at the embarrassment, angry at the misogynistic things Satoru said about you. It was hard to think of all the things you’ve done with Satoru knowing he must’ve told Suguru at some point. It felt invasive.

Bully!Satoru who felt like shit after you left. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from your back as you hurried out of school, away from the staring eyes. He knew he fucked up bad when you refused to answer his texts over the next few days, leaving him either on read or delivered.

He couldn’t stand the distance any longer. Saturday finally rolled around after you missed two days of school. The two days that you were gone felt like hell to him, whispers about what might’ve happened to make you slap him caused a certain edge to stick around. Satoru made his way to your house, knocking softly on the front door hoping you would listen to what he had to say. He could hear your feet pad up to the door watching the knob turn softly.

“Satoru?”

“Hi bunny,” his words are sugary sweet. You’ve never seen such an apologetic expression on Satoru’s face and honestly it was shocking to see him so flustered.

Shy!Reader who lets the Satoru into your house, reluctant yet willing to hear what he has to say. Truthfully you miss the handsome boy more than you’d like to admit despite him embarrassing you.

Bully!Satoru who follows you up to your room, pulling you against his chest with an “ompf!” the second he heard your door close. He’d never tell anyone this, but seeing you so angry with him ate him alive. At first he thought it was cute! The little attitude you wore was adorable until it morphed into stomach-churning disappointment aimed towards Satoru.

“I’m so sorry bunny, I had no idea it would bother you so much that I said those things to Suguru about us. The last thing I want is for you to think all I want you for is some stupid shit, let me make it up to you.” Softly his fingers curl into the smooth fabric of your shirt attempting to squish you further into him.

Silence fills the room like a thick blanket. Your heart beat rapidly against Satoru’s own; thoughts running wild while his expensive cologne wafted in your senses.

“It’s okay ‘toru.” slivers off of your lips before you can think.

Bully!Satoru who spends the rest of his day with you. First going to watch whatever movie you want to, buying every snack he could possibly think of even if you didn’t eat it just because he can.

You wanted to walk in the park? done.

Go browse a book store? he bought everything you touched.

Tired of being social? Satoru walked you home as he listened to you talk passionately about the description of your new books.

Bully!Satoru who begs for forgiveness through pulling your panties to the side and pressing sloppy kisses to your pretty cunt. Respectful pecks turn into haughty thrusts of his tongue, pushing your sticky walls apart. His moans tickle your thighs fervently while you squeeze his shoulders attempting to ease the building pressure in your lower belly. Satoru was a man after all, and he knew the cherry on top to his apology would be eating your pussy until slick dripped down his face.

Shy!Reader whose head was so fuzzy from the multiple orgasms, you let Satoru guide you into bed as the sun set. Once he’d finally cleaned up there was no stopping the rain of smooth kisses on your face. “I love you, bunny.”

“I love you to ‘toru.”