#had this saved before the book so turns out i'm a genius

[mcrdvcks]

Oblivious, Baby, Oblivious

Summary: People would tell you that geniuses don't know everything, but you tell them that defeats the purpose of the word. Until one day you're proven wrong.

Word Count: 17.4k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: i came up with this idea a few days ago and had to write it down. basically reader is a genius and her mutation is controlling nature (her code name is 'flora' but it's not used often. and yes, it's a winx club reference, sue me)

i tried to make it as inclusive as i could, but i'm still learning since this is only my second reader fic.

i would like to turn this into a oneshot series, so don't be afraid to send in any requests!

warnings: few uses of y/n, logan uses a lot of pet names for reader, slight innocent!reader

You had only been at the X-Mansion for a year and yet all the students seemed to love you. At first, you thought that no teenager would want to come out to the large greenhouse you had set up, but you were proven wrong.

At the end of every day, right before dinner, dozens of kids would come out and help you water the plants and pull out the weeds.

It was certainly not what you expected to do after college, especially after only having your PhD’s for 2 years. It had all started when you met Hank McCoy at a science conference in New York City. You had graduated a mere few weeks ago and were out trying to network when you met him.

After that, Hank took you to meet Charles Xavier and he offered you a two-sided job, teach a few classes and be part of the X-Men, after you went through some training. You didn’t know how to fight at the beginning, but now you think you’ve got the hang of it.

You had just finished teaching your advanced physics class, standing at your desk gathering up the papers before going to your office to grade them, when someone knocked on the open classroom door.

Logan stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with that usual smirk tugging at his lips. “You done for the day, sweetheart?”

You looked up from the pile of papers, surprised to see him there, though you probably shouldn’t have been. Logan had this way of showing up whenever you least expected it, always with some sort of pet name that left your students giggling.

When you first arrived at the school and started your training, it was Logan and Ororo who helped you learn how to fight. You certainly were not on a level like Logan, but you now knew how to hold your own without completely relying on your powers.

Logan was probably the one you were closest to at the mansion, save for Ororo and Jean. You enjoyed his company, even in the late nights when you would tend to the plants and he would stand quietly nearby smoking a cigar.

“Just about,” you replied, straightening the stack. “I was going to head to my office and grade these. Why? You need something?”

Logan pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered toward you, his boots thudding lightly against the floor. “Can’t a guy just drop by and check in on ya?”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I guess, but somehow I doubt you’re just here to ‘check in.’” You shuffled the papers into a neat stack, slipping them into a folder. “So, what’s up?”

Logan shrugged, hands now in his jacket pockets as he stood a few feet away from your desk. “You’ve been buried in books and papers all week. Thought you could use a break.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be done grading these in like an hour. It doesn’t take me long. Unlike someone else.”

Logan snorted, a small smile forming as he tilted his head at you. "Yeah, well, not all of us have two fancy PhDs and can finish things in a blink, darlin’."

You laughed softly, putting the papers into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “You’re just mad because I keep proving I’m right.” You rounded your desk, smirking. “Plus, I’m having a movie night with Jean and Ororo. See? I can take breaks.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as he leaned in just a little, casting you that knowing look he always had when he was teasing you. “Movie night, huh? Lemme guess—something boring and science-y?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you zipped up your bag. “Not every movie night is a science documentary, Logan.”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, the teasing drawl in his voice making it clear he didn’t believe you for a second. “So, what are you watchin’, then? Some quantum physics thriller?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “It’s The Princess Diaries this time, actually. But I do like documentaries, so don’t knock them.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and deep, and for a moment it made you forget the pile of grading still waiting for you. “I’ll let it slide this time, darlin’. But if I hear you talkin’ about how accurate the physics are in some movie during your ‘break,’ I’m dragging you out of that mansion myself.”

You gave him a mock-serious look. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “And we both know I could.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t wrong. Logan had a way of just picking you up—literally—and dragging you away when he thought you’d been working too hard. Sometimes you suspected he enjoyed it a little too much.

Before you could retort, Logan's expression softened slightly. “Look, Y/N, I’m serious. You’ve been bustin’ your ass all week. Go take a real break tonight, will ya?”

There it was again. That rare softness he showed only to you, like the tough exterior melted away for just a second. You never really knew how to respond when he got like that, so you shrugged casually and smiled. “I’ll take it easy tonight. Promise.”

“Good,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. “’Cause I don’t wanna hear about you passin’ out from exhaustion or whatever it is geniuses do when they work themselves to death.”

You walked to the door and turned back to face him, “Einstein slept 10 hours during the night and took regular naps.” You gave him a wink and walked down the hall towards your office, a satisfied smirk on your face.

Logan watched you disappear down the hallway, shaking his head with a faint smile. He wasn't sure when it started, but something about your energy, the way you threw yourself into everything—whether it was the students, your research, or even the X-Men's missions—had caught his attention. And now, it was hard to get you out of his head, let alone his senses.

He could always tell when you were nearby or recently in an area—your perfume was inherently you, mango with an undercurrent of something woodsy. And you always looked cute, a word Logan thought he’d never use. You constantly wore colors, usually pastels in varying shades, whether it be a shirt, your shoes, or even accessories in your hair. It was almost ridiculous how someone with two PhDs and the kind of brain that could out-think just about everyone around her could be so oblivious to certain things.

And that was why he found you so fascinating.

You were brilliant, no doubt about it—always talking about equations, theories, and whatever else you’d been reading about. But somehow, you never seemed to notice when he was flirting with you, which had become Logan's new favorite game. He knew exactly what he was doing when he called you varying nicknames.

It wasn’t like it was a secret either; pretty much everyone at the mansion had picked up on it. Hell, even the students were in on it, giggling whenever Logan tossed a pet name your way or gave you one of those half-smirks that drove everyone else insane.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You walked down the hall, completely unaware of the looks you were getting, or the fact that Logan’s eyes lingered a bit longer than they should have as you disappeared around the corner. Shaking his head, he let out a low chuckle before heading toward the garage. Maybe a ride on his bike would clear his head, though it probably wouldn’t. You had a way of sticking in his mind, even when you weren’t around.

---

Later that night, you were sprawled on the couch in one of the common rooms, sandwiched between Jean and Ororo as the three of you laughed at the antics on screen. The Princess Diaries was playing, and though you’d seen it a dozen times, it never failed to make you laugh.

You had your hair tied up and off your neck, and you were dressed in one of your usual casual outfits—leggings and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to one of the guys in the mansion, though you couldn’t remember who. Logan’s scent faintly lingered on it, but you didn't think much of it.

You shifted comfortably, pulling your legs up to curl under you as Jean and Ororo sat on either side, each of you clutching bowls of popcorn and laughing at the antics in The Princess Diaries.

“I still don’t get how a movie about a teenager becoming a princess is this funny,” Jean said, shaking her head as she stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Like, shouldn’t it be cheesy?”

“It is cheesy,” you countered, laughing as Mia slipped and fell in the movie. “But it’s good cheesy. There’s a difference.”

Ororo chuckled, glancing at you with an amused smile. “You’ve seen this how many times now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased, tossing a piece of popcorn in her direction, which she easily swatted away with a smirk. “This is a classic.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, giving you a playful nudge. “More classic than, say, 2001: A Space Odyssey? That seems more your speed.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Not every movie I watch has to be some cerebral masterpiece, Jean.”

Ororo smiled knowingly. “Mmm, true, but you’re always spouting off facts about space or physics during random moments in these movies.”

“That’s because science is everywhere!” you replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can’t not notice when something’s wrong.”

Jean grinned. “Like that time you paused Star Wars just to give us a lecture on how light speed doesn’t work like that?”

You huffed a laugh. “Well, it doesn’t. It’s all—”

“Science, we know,” Ororo finished, sharing a look with Jean that made you roll your eyes again.

“Okay, okay,” you conceded, holding up your hands. “I’ll try not to nerd out tonight.”

“That’s all we ask,” Jean said, smirking as she leaned back on the couch, throwing a kernel of popcorn into her mouth.

For the next hour or so, the three of you watched the movie without incident, though you had to bite your tongue more than once. A promise was a promise, after all.

When the movie ended, Ororo stretched and got up from the couch. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

“Same,” Jean said, standing and offering you a soft smile.

“Guess I’ll get ready for bed too, then.” You replied. Each of you headed to your rooms, Jean shared one with Scott down the hall from you, and Ororo’s room was close by theirs.

Your room was full of plants, small vines on the walls and windowsills, along with potted flowers across the room. It had been habit ever since you learned about your powers to always be surrounded by them, it gave you a sense of peace.

Taking off your clothes you got into the shower, where more plants were, including a rhaphidophora tetrasperma and a maidenhair fern.

You smiled to yourself, relishing the small oasis you’d created in your bathroom. The plants thrived in here, the humidity of your showers mimicking their natural habitat. It was a simple pleasure to see something flourish under your care, which was probably why you always surrounded yourself with greenery.

You rinsed off, the water now lukewarm as it cascaded over you, and turned the shower off. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you stepped out, the cool air hitting your skin as you moved toward the mirror. You wiped a hand across the fogged glass, revealing your reflection. You took off your shower cap, letting your hair free from its constraints.

There was a faint knock at your door, and you glanced toward it, frowning. Who would be knocking at this hour?

“Y/N?” Logan’s voice came from the other side. “You still awake?”

Your eyes widened slightly. What was Logan doing here? You quickly pulled on some comfortable clothes—an oversized t-shirt and shorts—before cracking the door open to find Logan leaning against the frame, his usual smirk in place.

“Logan? It’s kind of late. What’s up?” you asked, holding the door open just enough for him to see you but not enough to fully invite him in.

He shrugged, his eyes briefly scanning you before locking on yours. “Came by to see if you wanted to take a walk. Figured you might still be awake.”

You blinked, taken aback. “A walk? Now?”

“Yeah,” he replied casually, as if asking you to go for a walk at nearly midnight was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re always sayin’ how you like the way the plants look at night. Thought maybe you’d want some fresh air.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering his offer. You had planned on heading to bed soon, but you couldn’t deny the appeal of a nighttime walk—especially with Logan. The mansion grounds were peaceful at this hour, and the idea of walking among the moonlit flowers sounded tempting.

“Alright,” you said, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “Let me put on some shoes.”

Logan nodded, leaning back against the doorframe as he waited, his arms crossing over his chest. You slipped on a pair of sneakers, quickly tying the laces.

“Ready,” you said, adjusting your shirt and stepping out into the hallway.

Logan pushed off the frame and started walking beside you, his steps easy and casual. The mansion was quiet, most of the students already asleep, and you could hear the soft hum of night settling in as you both made your way outside. The cool air greeted you as you stepped into the garden, and you couldn’t help but smile as the scent of flowers and earth filled your senses.

“So,” Logan said after a moment, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets, “how was the movie?”

You smiled, glancing at him. “It was good. A classic, really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Jean and Ororo didn’t give you a hard time?”

You chuckled. “Well, they did try to poke fun at my love for science, but nothing too bad. It was all in good fun.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah, they like to tease. Just means they’re comfortable around ya.”

You gave a small nod, your gaze shifting to the moonlit flowers around you. You loved the way the plants seemed to glow in the night, the way everything felt so peaceful at this hour. It was one of the reasons you often came out here at night when the mansion was quiet and still.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the soft sounds of nature surrounding you. Logan didn’t say much, but that was one of the things you liked about him—he didn’t need to fill the air with pointless conversation. He was just… there, steady and solid, like the trees you so loved to be around.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, taking in his relaxed posture, the way his jacket hung off his broad shoulders, and the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. You wondered briefly what he thought of these walks. He always seemed to show up at the right moments, offering his company when you needed it most, even if you didn’t realize you needed it at the time.

“So, Logan,” you started, your voice casual as you glanced at a cluster of moonlit lilies, “what’s the real reason you wanted to walk tonight? I know you didn’t just suddenly decide to take in the scenery.”

He chuckled, low and deep, as he shifted his gaze to the path ahead. “Maybe I like the scenery more than I let on.”

“Right,” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Because I’ve definitely seen you out here admiring the roses before.”

“Who says I’m talkin’ about the roses, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile played at your lips. “Uh-huh. Keep dreaming, Logan.”

There was that playful glint in his eyes again, the one you’d grown used to but never quite understood. He always had this way of teasing you—soft, subtle comments that seemed to amuse him more than anything else. It wasn’t like you minded, though. You liked the banter, even if you never quite knew why he seemed to engage in it with you so much.

You gave him a sidelong glance, but Logan’s expression remained as it usually did—a little cocky, a little mysterious, his hands resting casually in his jacket pockets as he walked alongside you. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the path, and you found your gaze drifting back to the flowers blooming in the gardens. The peace of the night wrapped around you like a soft blanket, and for a moment, you almost forgot Logan was there.

“Y’know,” Logan said after a stretch of silence, his voice low and lazy, “you really are a mystery, sweetheart.”

You blinked, turning to him with a slight frown. “What do you mean by that?”

Logan shrugged, his eyes briefly flicking to yours before looking ahead again. “You’re this genius, right? Got two PhDs, can out-think just about anyone in the room. But sometimes… you’re completely clueless.”

You scoffed, giving him an incredulous look. “Clueless? Me? I don’t think that’s possible.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that teasing smile. “Yeah, darlin’. Clueless. You know a hell of a lot about a lot of things, but when it comes to readin’ people? Not so much.”

Your frown deepened. “I think I read people just fine, Logan.”

He stopped walking then, turning to face you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Oh, do ya?”

“Yeah,” you insisted, crossing your arms over your chest. “I spend a lot of time around people. I know how to pick up on things.”

Logan’s smile widened, like he was holding back laughter. “Is that so?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “Yes, that’s so. What are you getting at?”

Logan’s grin widened as he saw you narrow your eyes, your arms crossed in clear frustration. There was something about how easily he could rile you up, how your normally sharp mind would stumble whenever he teased you, that made him enjoy these moments even more.

“You’re dodging the question,” you pressed, sensing that his silence was deliberate. “What are you getting at?”

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against the nearest tree, his usual smirk in place. “I’m just sayin’, for someone who’s supposed to be a genius, you don’t always see what’s right in front of you.”

You let out a huff, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “I see everything just fine, Logan. You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“Subtle, huh?” Logan echoed, his grin softening into a more thoughtful expression. “Maybe I’m not. Or maybe you’re just a little too focused on the wrong things.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but as usual, Logan didn’t offer anything more. He simply stood there, his eyes watching you carefully, as if enjoying the little mystery he’d planted in your mind. You could practically see the amusement dancing behind his gaze.

“This is just another one of your games, isn’t it?” you muttered, though there was no real bite in your tone. “You like keeping me guessing.”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “Keeps things interestin’, don’t ya think?”

You rolled your eyes again, turning away from him as you started walking down the path. You weren’t going to let him keep you on edge like this. You had better things to think about than whatever half-assed answer Logan was playing at tonight.

Logan fell into step beside you, his hands tucked back into his pockets. The two of you walked in silence for a bit longer, and despite the earlier tension, you found yourself relaxing once more. The garden was quiet, the night cool and calm. Logan’s presence, as always, was steady beside you, even if he did like to mess with your head sometimes.

“You know,” you began after a while, your voice softer now, “just because I’m a genius doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to people. I do pick up on things.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “I just… maybe I’m not as concerned with people’s motives as much as I am with facts and data. It’s different.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s part of the problem, doll. You think you can figure out everything like it’s a puzzle. But people? We’re a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, thinking about that. “I don’t see why it has to be complicated. People say what they mean, don’t they?”

Logan paused for a moment, his smirk turning into something more thoughtful. “Not always.”

There was a heaviness in his voice that made you glance up at him, but before you could ask what he meant, he turned his head away, eyes focused on something in the distance. The moment passed, and Logan was back to his usual self, his grin in place as if nothing had happened.

“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject, “how’s your latest project goin’? Still messing with those gadgets?”

You sighed, the shift in conversation allowing you to relax again. “Yeah, still working on a few prototypes. Hank’s been helping me out with some of the materials, but we’re having trouble stabilizing the energy output.”

Logan nodded, listening with genuine interest. “Sounds like somethin’ you’ll figure out soon enough.”

“I hope so,” you said with a small smile. “But it’s been a little frustrating.”

“Not used to runnin’ into roadblocks, huh?” Logan teased.

“Not really,” you admitted, a touch of sheepishness in your tone. “I’m used to things coming together quickly once I have all the information. This one��s been… tricky.”

Logan gave a low hum of understanding. “That’s the thing about science, sweetheart. It ain’t always predictable.”

“Yeah, but I like predictability,” you said with a shrug. “It makes sense. People, on the other hand…”

Logan laughed at that, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

The two of you continued your walk, the conversation drifting to lighter topics—projects, students at the mansion, the occasional prank pulled by one of the younger mutants. You liked how easy it was to talk to Logan, even when he teased you or left you hanging on a thought. He was always there, listening, offering his dry commentary when it was needed.

As you walked, you found yourself glancing at him every now and then, taking in the way the moonlight caught his features, the rough stubble on his jaw, the confident way he carried himself. You didn’t understand why he spent so much time around you, especially when he had no trouble being alone or doing his own thing. Logan didn’t seem like the type to go out of his way for someone, and yet… here he was.

“Logan?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, his gaze shifting to you.

“Why do you do this?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “Do what?”

“Walk with me. Spend time with me. You’re not exactly the most sociable guy around here.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Maybe I like your company, sweetheart. Ever think of that?”

You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t like Logan to be so direct about… feelings. You weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply looked away, feeling a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“I guess I never really thought about it,” you admitted after a moment.

Logan’s smirk returned, but there was something softer behind it this time. “That’s ‘cause you’re too busy thinkin’ about everythin’ else, doll.”

You didn’t respond right away, still processing his words. Logan wasn’t one to lay things out so plainly, but when he did, it always seemed to catch you off guard. He had this way of making you question things—yourself, your understanding of the world—without ever really giving you any answers. It was frustrating, but at the same time, it was… endearing.

As the two of you walked back toward the mansion, the quiet settling over you once more, you couldn’t help but wonder what Logan had meant earlier. About you being ‘clueless.’ It wasn’t like you didn’t notice things—sure, people had their layers, but you weren’t blind to them. So what was he talking about?

---

The next morning, you were back in your usual routine—teaching classes, working in the greenhouse, and helping the students with their studies. It was a busy day, but you didn’t mind. The students were eager to learn, and you found a sense of satisfaction in watching them grow and develop their skills.

After your last class, you made your way to the greenhouse, your favorite part of the day. The students had already watered the plants earlier, so you spent some time pruning and checking on the growth of the flowers and vegetables.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught your attention, and you turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, glancing up from the plant you were tending to.

Logan shrugged. “Figured I’d stop by. See how you’re doin’.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You checking up on me again?”

He chuckled. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on ya, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned back to your plants. “I’m fine, Logan. Really.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice closer now. You glanced over your shoulder to see him standing just a few feet away, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always seemed to have around you. “But it doesn’t hurt to check in every now and then.”

Logan looked over at a large strawberry plant in the corner, it seemed to have a lot of yield, bright red strawberries hanging from the branches.

“You ever try a strawberry with no pesticides?” You asked, standing up from the ground and taking off your gloves. You looked around the plant before pulling what you thought looked to be the best of the bunch, holding it out for him. Since it was August, the strawberries were soon going to go out of season, so this was the last good batch you were going to get.

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as he eyed the fruit in your hand. "I’ve had my share of wild strawberries, sweetheart, but never from your garden.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him with the strawberry still outstretched. “Wild strawberries? Really, Logan? This is organic, homegrown perfection. Totally different experience.”

He chuckled, finally taking the strawberry from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief second. It was so brief you didn’t think much of it, but Logan’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he popped the strawberry into his mouth.

“Well?” you asked, watching him expectantly. “What do you think?”

Logan chewed slowly, his eyes not leaving yours. “Sweet,” he finally said, his voice low. “Real sweet.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, though you didn’t quite catch the way his gaze lingered on you as he said it. “Told you,” you said, turning back to the plant to grab a strawberry for yourself. “Fresh strawberries are unbeatable.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched you take a bite. “You take real pride in this, don’t ya?”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at him between bites. “There’s something rewarding about growing things. Watching them thrive under the right conditions. It’s like… I don’t know, creating life.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he listened to you talk, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “You care a lot about the little det- ” He was cut off by surprise, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips wiping off some of the strawberry juice.

You seemed to not think much about it, nor did you notice Logan’s heart sped up with your simple touch. It was over quick, you let out a soft gasp and walked behind him, looking up at a vine at the top where you saw a few ripe kiwis.

You reached your palm out, focusing your energy on the vines at the top of the greenhouse. They shifted gently, as if responding to your silent command, dropping three ripe kiwis into your hand. You grinned, knowing Jean would appreciate the fresh fruit later. It wasn’t easy growing kiwis in New York, but your powers made up for the climate’s shortcomings. Nature seemed to bend to your will, a fact you took quiet pride in, even though you’d never flaunt it.

Meanwhile, Logan was still in slight shock from your gesture, he could almost feel the spot where your thumb brushed against him, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And you did it without thinking, in fact, you still didn’t seem to notice him looking at your back as you picked a few bunches of basil.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t just the way you talked about plants or how your hands moved with skill and grace—it was you, completely unaware of how you affected him. Completely unaware that his heart rate had spiked at the smallest, most innocent touch.

“Something wrong?” you asked, not even turning around as you picked at the herbs.

Logan blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Nah, just... thinkin’. You’re somethin’, you know that?”

You gave a short laugh, pausing to glance back at him over your shoulder. “If that’s your way of saying I’m a genius again, I already know.”

He chuckled, moving to stand a bit closer. “That’s not exactly what I meant, sweetheart.” His voice was low, with that familiar gravelly tone he used when teasing you.

But as usual, the hint flew right past you. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll take it as a compliment.” You plucked another handful of basil leaves, slipping them into a small basket on the bench. “And you should try to be more specific next time, Logan. It helps with communication.”

“Specific, huh?” Logan leaned a little against the workbench beside you, arms crossed. “Alright then, you’re smart, sure. But there’s more to it than that. You... you just do things without even thinking about it. Like earlier.” His eyes flickered briefly to your hand.

You frowned a little, confused. “Earlier? You mean the strawberry thing? Or when I wiped the juice off your face?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “That.”

You blinked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal of it. “Logan, it was just strawberry juice. You looked like you were about to walk into a meeting with half a fruit smeared on your face.”

Logan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, doll. I get that.” He watched as you turned back to your plants, completely oblivious to the fact that what had been a small, thoughtless gesture for you had stirred something deeper for him. He found it both amusing and frustrating—not in an annoying way, but in a way that made him want to get closer to you, to push the boundaries just a little more.

“So,” you said, shifting the subject as you snipped a bit more basil. “What’s got you wandering into the greenhouse today? It’s not exactly your usual haunt.”

Logan leaned back, watching you with those intense eyes of his. “Just felt like stoppin’ by. Spend some time with you. Ain’t that a good enough reason?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile was genuine. “I suppose. It’s just... you don’t usually care about plants and stuff.”

“Well, maybe I’m changin’,” Logan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” You paused, glancing at him as you picked up a watering can. “So... you wanna help?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Me? Helpin’ with your garden?”

“Why not?” you asked, stepping closer to him. “You’ve got hands, don’t you? It’s not all that complicated.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take the watering can from you, brushing his fingers against yours for a second time. “Alright, sweetheart, show me how it’s done.”

You handed him the can and pointed to a row of lavender plants nearby. “Just give them a little water. Not too much though—they don’t like it when their roots get too wet.”

Logan followed your instructions with a kind of amused curiosity, watching as the water trickled from the can onto the plants. It wasn’t the kind of thing he normally found himself doing, but there was something about the simplicity of it, something about you, that made it... well, not so bad.

“You really know your stuff, don’t ya?” Logan remarked after a few moments, his voice carrying a hint of admiration.

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to grab some tools from a nearby shelf. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Plus, it’s kind of in my wheelhouse, you know? With the whole ‘controlling nature’ thing.”

Logan smirked, setting the watering can down as he leaned against the bench again. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do some pretty wild things with those powers of yours. But you don’t talk about ‘em much.”

“I talk to them.” You said, hiding a grin from growing on your face.

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

You laughed as you stood up, throwing a few weeds in a separate basket. “No. I was joking!”

Logan let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head at you. “You got me there, sweetheart,” he said, still leaning against the bench, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.

You grabbed a nearby hose, turning the water on low to rinse your hands. "Can't believe you thought I was serious. I mean, I get along with plants, but I don’t have full-on conversations with them. That’d be weird."

"Wouldn't surprise me with you, doll," Logan replied, still watching you intently. "You seem to know what everything around here needs, even without talkin' to 'em."

You shrugged, drying your hands on a towel. "It’s just intuition, I guess. Plants give off signals if you know how to read them."

Logan gave you a long look, his smirk softening into something almost affectionate, though you didn’t notice. "You sure it's just the plants you read that well?"

You looked up at him, confused for a second, but quickly shook your head, dismissing his comment. "Are you gonna keep talking, or are you actually going to help me?”

Logan pushed himself off the bench, standing up straight. "Alright, alright. Where do you want me, doll?"

You handed him the basket full of weeds, “throw them out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “that’s it?”

You handed Logan the basket of weeds, his hand brushing against yours for the third time today. He smirked slightly, but you, as usual, were completely unaware of the subtle tension.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in response to his earlier question, balancing two baskets filled with freshly picked fruits, vegetables, and herbs in your arms. “I’m gonna lock up and bring these inside.”

Logan didn’t move for a second, watching as you turned your back and headed toward the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the greenhouse. For someone so sharp, so brilliant, you seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he enjoyed these little moments with you.

That small, unspoken connection you two had—the one where you never quite seemed to notice that he was flirting with you—had started to become his favorite part of the day. Even if it had been going on for 8 months, and yes, he was counting.

As you reached for the lock on the greenhouse door, you glanced over your shoulder. “You’re still standing there, Logan. Are you gonna help or just watch me carry all this stuff by myself?”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Oh, I was just enjoyin' the view, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, missing the deeper meaning in his words, as usual. “Right. Well, the view can help me with these baskets if it’s not too busy.”

Logan chuckled softly, walking over to you and easily taking one of the baskets from your hands. “You got it, doll. I’ll lend a hand.”

Together, you made your way toward the mansion, the quiet of the late afternoon settling around you. It was peaceful, in that way you liked—just the sound of your footsteps on the gravel path, the faint rustle of leaves in the distance, and the low hum of the cicadas in the trees. Logan had quickly thrown away the weeds and rejoined you, taking the other basket out of your hand, saying something about how he was ‘being a gentleman.’

You both entered the mansion from the back door, making your way to the kitchen where Logan placed the baskets on the island. Jean and Scott were already in there, Jean making her way over to the two baskets.

You, having an inkling for what she was looking for, reached into one of the baskets and pulled out the 3 kiwis. You handed the kiwis over to Jean, a smile playing on your lips as she quickly clutched them to her chest, almost like they were gold. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, and it always amused you. Scott, of course, tried to intervene, reaching out to snatch one, but Jean shot him a look that was part-serious, part-playful.

“Hey, those are for me,” she said, moving slightly to block Scott’s hand. “I’ve been waiting for these kiwis all week.”

Scott smirked but backed off, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, babe.”

Jean gave him a victorious smile, then turned to you. “Thanks, Y/N. You always come through with the best fruit.”

“Of course,” you replied, wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “You’ve been asking for kiwis since the season started, so I figured it was about time I delivered.”

Logan, still standing nearby, watched the interaction with a subtle smirk on his face. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking completely relaxed but attentive.

“You sure know how to make people happy, doll,” Logan said, his voice low but teasing. “Always goin’ above and beyond for everyone.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. “It’s just a few kiwis, Logan. Nothing special.”

Jean, now satisfied with her prized fruit, glanced between the two of you with a curious look, sensing something in Logan’s tone. She had noticed the way he’d been hanging around you more than usual lately, and it wasn’t hard to pick up on the little glances he threw your way when you weren’t looking. Of course, you remained blissfully unaware of it all, as always.

“You’re selling yourself short,” Jean said, throwing you a grin. “It’s not just the kiwis. You’ve practically turned the greenhouse into a mini-Eden. We all appreciate it, even if Scott can’t admit he’s jealous of my fruit.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the garden, Y/N.”

You smiled at the compliment, though it didn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary to you. Taking care of the plants, helping out with the students, it was all part of your routine. You liked it that way—predictable, manageable. You didn’t dwell on the subtleties of interpersonal dynamics the way others seemed to.

Logan’s smirk widened slightly at Jean’s comment, but he kept quiet, watching you interact with the others. There was something about the way you brushed off compliments so easily, like you didn’t quite grasp how much people appreciated you around here.

You had already put a few strawberries in a glass bowl, making your way out of the kitchen to Ororo’s office without saying a word, something they were already used to.

“You sure you’re not going to say anything? You know, that’s actually straight to the point?” Jean asked Logan.

Scott reached into one of the baskets, pulling out a few blueberries, “at this point, you’re like a love-sick puppy following her around.”

Logan let out a low growl, plucking a strawberry out from the basket. “Keep talking dickhead.” He threatened.

Jean raised an eyebrow as she leaned against the counter, her sharp eyes flicking between Logan and Scott. "He’s not wrong though, Logan. You’ve been spending more time with Y/N than usual. We’ve all noticed."

Logan grunted, pushing himself off the counter and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "She’s a good kid. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on her."

Scott smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Right, keepin' an eye on her. That's what we’re calling it now?"

Jean shot Scott a playful glare, but her attention quickly shifted back to Logan. “You know, you could just tell her how you feel. She’s oblivious, but she’s not stupid. Sooner or later, she’s going to notice.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he glanced toward the door where you had just left. His emotions were complicated—he’d never been one for opening up, and the idea of confessing anything, especially something as vulnerable as his feelings for you, wasn’t exactly in his comfort zone. He had been through too much, lost too many people, and the thought of letting himself get close to someone again... well, it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“She’s got her own life,” Logan muttered, his voice gruff but softer now. “I ain’t lookin’ to mess that up.”

Jean sighed, walking over to stand next to Logan, her tone gentle but firm. “Logan, you’re not messing anything up. In fact, I think you’d be adding something important to her life. She’s not the type to see you as a burden or a distraction. She probably wouldn’t even realize you were flirting with her until you hit her over the head with it.”

Logan huffed a half-hearted laugh, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “Maybe that’s the problem. She’s too damn focused on other stuff to even see it.”

Jean smiled softly, placing a hand on Logan’s arm. “That’s what makes her so special, Logan. She’s genuine, selfless, and probably the least manipulative person in this mansion. She doesn’t play games—what you see is what you get. And she likes you, even if she doesn’t realize it in the same way you do yet.”

Scott, still lounging in his chair, added, “Plus, you know, if you wait too long, someone else might catch her eye. Just sayin’.”

Logan shot Scott a glare that could have melted steel. “Ain’t nobody else gonna catch her eye, Summers. Trust me on that.”

Jean chuckled softly, giving Logan’s arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “Well, when you’re ready, just remember—it’s okay to take a chance on her. You might be surprised by how things turn out.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his mind already spinning with conflicting thoughts. He appreciated Jean’s support, but the fear of rejection, of losing someone else important to him, gnawed at his insides. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it again. And what if telling you how he felt ruined the easy, comfortable dynamic you two had? What if he lost the one person in the mansion who treated him like a normal man instead of a gruff, dangerous mutant?

Jean and Scott exchanged a knowing glance, but they let Logan mull over his thoughts in silence. They could push him only so far before it was up to him to take the next step.

---

You were walking down the halls with your bag in over your shoulder, all you needed to do was get to your office and take these heels off.

They looked cute online, not too tall or high, had some cushion on the soles, but wearing them was a completely different story. Which was sad because they were a cute baby pink which went well with your button up baby pink cardigan and white jeans.

But your office seemed so far away with the stabbing pain in your feet, luckily the halls were empty since most of the students were in their rooms doing homework or relaxing before dinner.

Having enough of the pain, you crouched down to unbuckle your heels, your bag moving down your shoulder to your elbow.

“Need any help, princess?”

You looked up at the sound of the voice, even though you knew exactly who it was.

Logan stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His eyes flicked down to your shoes before meeting your gaze again, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Need any help, princess?” His voice was low and casual, but that nickname—'princess’—it was just one of the many he’d taken to using when he spoke to you. Although you hadn’t heard this one before.

You shifted your bag back up on your shoulder and continued unbuckling the second heel. “I’ve got it, thanks,” you replied, not thinking too much of his presence. You’d known Logan long enough to realize he had a habit of showing up when you least expected him to.

He made a small grunt, as if to say ‘suit yourself,’ and watched as you continued to try and unbuckle the second one, but it looked like the strap was giving you a hard time.

Logan kneeled down in front of you without a word as you moved your hands away. You were smart enough to know that you weren’t exactly in the best position to unbuckle your heels, you usually did it when you were sitting down, not crouching in the middle of a hallway.

He easily unbuckled it and helped you slip out of the heels, your feet hitting the cool floor. You mumbled a thanks as his hand trailed up your calf with a feather light touch before standing up. Your heels were in one of his hands as he easily picked you up with one arm, carrying you bridal style.

You let out a small shriek of surprise, your arms instinctively going around Logan’s neck as he scooped you up with one arm, heels dangling from his other hand.

"Hey! I can walk!" you protested, more flustered than anything else. You were completely capable of walking, sore feet or not, but now you were cradled in Logan’s arms like a princess in some old fairy tale.

Logan's smirk widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Not fast enough, sweetheart," he teased, carrying you effortlessly down the hall. His voice was deep, a hint of amusement in his tone, and it made your cheeks heat up slightly, though you quickly tried to brush it off.

You rolled your eyes, not really sure how to argue back. "I’m pretty sure this is unnecessary," you muttered, though your voice didn’t sound all that convincing even to you.

"Necessary or not, you're gonna let me carry you," he shot back, glancing down at you with a playful gleam in his eye. "Besides, I don’t mind."

You huffed in mock defiance, but you didn’t exactly push him to put you down either. In fact, being carried by Logan felt…nice. Comfortable, even. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. And it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done this.

As the two of you continued down the hallway, you couldn’t help but notice the way his grip was firm but gentle, his arms strong and steady. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen how built he was, but somehow, it always seemed to surprise you.

"You know, this could’ve been avoided if I’d just worn normal shoes," you grumbled, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart was beating a little too fast.

Logan chuckled softly, that gravelly sound that always seemed to resonate in your chest. "Doll, I’ve seen you rock combat boots and still look like you’re ready for a photoshoot. But those heels…" He raised an eyebrow at the pink shoes still in his hand. "Yeah, maybe not your best choice."

You frowned slightly, glancing at the heels. "They looked good online…"

He grinned, amused. "You got catfished by shoes?"

"I didn’t get catfished!" you retorted, though you couldn’t help but laugh. "They’re cute! Just not comfortable."

Logan made a noncommittal sound, clearly not convinced by your argument. But he didn’t press it further, instead shifting you slightly in his arms as he approached your office door.

"Want me to break down the door for you, too, princess? Or can you manage the key?" he asked with a teasing glint in his eyes, looking down at you like you were some helpless damsel.

"I’ve got it," you replied quickly, reaching into your bag for your keys. "And stop calling me princess." The nickname felt weird, it made your heart beat faster and you skin flush more than the other nicknames he called you.

But Logan just smirked, clearly unbothered. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

You couldn’t stop the little sigh that escaped you as you unlocked the door and pushed it open. Logan stepped inside, gently setting you down on your feet.

As soon as you were standing, you felt the cool air against your now bare feet, and it was an instant relief from the torture those heels had put you through. You moved to put your heels down by your desk, but Logan still had them in his hand.

"You know I can take those now," you said, holding out your hand expectantly.

Logan eyed the heels for a moment, then handed them over. "You really should burn 'em, doll," he said in that same teasing tone, watching you place them on the floor.

"I’m not burning them," you replied, shaking your head. "They’re not that bad. I just…need to break them in."

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe now, watching you with that amused smirk still playing on his lips. "Or you could just stick to boots."

"Maybe I like being fashionable sometimes," you shot back, raising an eyebrow at him as you plopped down into your office chair. Your fingers brushed your hair back from your face, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh now that you were sitting down.

"Fashionable, sure," Logan said, his voice a low rumble. "But at what cost?"

You shot him a look but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It was hard to stay annoyed when Logan was like this—playful, relaxed, his rough edges softened just enough to make you feel like he actually cared.

"Anyway, shouldn’t you be out doing something more...Logan-like?" you asked, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"I don't know, brooding? Scowling at someone?"

His lips twitched, clearly suppressing a smirk. "Maybe I’m just waiting for you to ask me to carry you again."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth creeping into your cheeks. "Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath."

He chuckled, that deep, gravelly sound filling the small office. He didn’t say anything after that, just leaned against the door, arms crossed as he watched you settle in. The silence was comfortable, but it made you hyperaware of him—of the way his presence seemed to take up more space than it should.

You busied yourself with pulling out some notes from your bag, pretending you weren’t fully aware of how Logan’s eyes followed your every movement. It was strange, but also kind of…nice? Logan wasn’t like other guys. He wasn’t intimidated by your intelligence or the fact that you could talk circles around most people in the room. In fact, he seemed to like it, even if he teased you about it sometimes.

"Alright, well, thanks for the…uh, assistance," you said, breaking the silence and giving him a small, awkward smile. "I think I’m good now."

Logan didn’t move right away. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he pushed himself off the doorframe. "Anytime, sweetheart."

And with that, he turned and walked out of your office, leaving you with your thoughts—and the faintest trace of a smirk on your face.

---

Every so often, you would have a baking day to use up some of the fruits efficiently. Some of the students would join you in the large kitchen, doing their best to help you by carefully following your instructions.

Some of them, particularly the older ones, would cut up some of the fruit, like strawberries, apples, and peaches. The others would measure the ingredients and put them in a mixing bowl before combining it all together to make a dough.

This time, you were striving to make a few blueberry pies, a large dish of peach cobbler, apple strudels, and some strawberry puff pastries.

Baking was something you enjoyed, but never really did in college. You usually were busier with labs and theses rather than cooking or baking. You practically lived off take out and dining hall food. But since you’ve been here for the past year, you’ve already held 4 sessions, including this one.

“Careful with those strawberries,” you said to a student named Ben, who was chopping up the fruit with a little too much enthusiasm. “We need them in slices, not chunks.”

“Sorry, Y/N,” he mumbled, quickly adjusting his technique.

You smiled softly and moved to check on the other group, who were working on the dough for the pies. A girl named Emily was measuring out the flour, carefully following the recipe you’d written down.

"How’s it going over here?" you asked, watching as she sifted the flour into a bowl.

“Good, I think,” Emily said, glancing up at you nervously. “Is this enough?”

You nodded. "Looks perfect. Just remember to mix it slowly so the flour doesn’t go everywhere."

Emily gave you a grateful smile before continuing her work. You loved these baking sessions. It was a great way to bond with the students and also let them explore a more creative side outside of their classes. Plus, it gave you a break from the constant intellectual challenges of your usual work.

Logan wandered into the kitchen a little while later, casually leaning against the doorframe as he watched the controlled chaos. Ororo and Jean were already in the kitchen, watching from the sidelines nursing a glass of a bubbly pink drink.

He couldn’t help but think about how pretty you looked, you were wearing a pastel purple sundress with a light green apron with vines and flowers embroidered on it.

The sight made him smirk—something about you baking in a kitchen full of teenagers, in your floral apron, amused him. It was such a stark contrast to your usual intellectual, no-nonsense attitude.

“Whatcha got cookin’, sweetheart?” Logan’s gruff voice broke the bustling sounds of mixing and chopping.

You didn’t glance up, too focused on guiding Emily through making the pie dough. "Just baking some pies and pastries. Using up the leftover fruit. Do you want some?" you asked casually, not thinking too much about the fact that Logan was watching you.

Logan shrugged, stepping further into the kitchen. “Depends. Is it any good?”

You finally looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. “You doubt my baking skills?”

He chuckled lowly, leaning against the counter now, close enough to see what you were working on. “Wouldn’t call it doubt, doll. Just curious.”

You gave him a small smirk, hands moving skillfully as you finished helping Emily measure the remaining ingredients. "You’ll have to wait until they’re done to find out."

One of the students, Ben, interrupted, grinning as he wiped flour off his hands. "Y/N’s baking is the best! She made these strawberry scones last time—they were gone in like ten minutes."

Logan raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing glance. "Impressive, princess. Maybe I will stick around."

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but didn’t comment. Instead, you turned back to Emily, helping her roll out the dough. It wasn’t that you didn’t notice Logan's teasing, it was just that you didn’t think much of it. Guys didn’t usually flirt with you. At least not seriously. Most found your intelligence intimidating, or they simply saw you as ‘one of the guys.’ Logan’s pet names, in your mind, were just part of his rough-and-tumble personality, nothing more.

But Logan, on the other hand, found your obliviousness endearing. The fact that you didn’t seem to realize he was flirting with you only made him try harder, though he kept it casual enough not to push you away. He liked the challenge.

“You need any help?” Logan offered, gesturing toward the fruit Ben was chopping haphazardly.

“You’re not gonna burn the kitchen down?” you teased, wiping your hands on your apron before reaching for a bowl.

“I think I can handle it,” Logan said, a grin tugging at his lips.

You handed him a knife, showing him how to properly slice the strawberries. “Here, like this. We need them thin for the pastries.”

You held out the knife for him, and instead of coming up beside you like you assumed he would, he stood behind you, his chest against your back, practically caging you in between him and the counter.

He could hear your heart beat faster as he cut a few slices of the strawberry, asking, "That good enough for you, sweetheart?"

His voice was low, and you could feel his breath near your ear, but you were too focused on the task at hand to fully process the closeness. You glanced at the thinly sliced strawberries, nodding absentmindedly.

"Yeah, that’s perfect," you mumbled, moving slightly away to give yourself more room to breathe, though you didn’t realize why. "Just need a few more for the pastries."

Logan continued slicing, his movements precise, though his presence remained solid and grounding behind you. You were used to people standing close when you worked in the lab or in class—tight spaces, shared equipment, it came with the territory. But this was different. Logan’s proximity felt… intense in a way you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"So, how long you been doin' this?" Logan asked casually, his voice breaking through your thoughts as he finished up with the strawberries.

You blinked, taking a second to register the question. "Baking? Oh, I don’t know… when I was a kid? I just started because it’s a nice break from… everything I guess.”

Jean and Ororo continued to drink their glass of champagne when Scott walked in, placing an arm around Jean’s waist as they watched the scene. “Think she’ll finally realize,” he asked.

Ororo gave a small grin and shrugged, “who knows? But Logan’s certainly getting bolder.”

Jean shook her head, “I told him to talk to her and say exactly what he was feeling, but turns out he still hasn’t taken my advice.”

Ororo chuckled as she took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze flicking back to the kitchen scene unfolding in front of them. "Well, you know Logan. Subtlety isn’t exactly his strong suit."

Scott smirked as he stood next to Jean, his arm still comfortably draped around her waist. "Yeah, but subtlety doesn’t seem to be the problem here," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Logan hover around you. "He’s not exactly hiding it."

Ororo tilted her head, amused by how oblivious you remained despite Logan’s efforts. It wasn’t that you were unobservant; you were incredibly sharp—when it came to science, mechanics, and even battle tactics. But personal matters? Especially the ones involving yourself? Not so much.

"Poor girl," Ororo mused, shaking her head. "She’s a genius, but this…" She waved a hand in Logan’s direction. "This seems to be one thing she’s totally clueless about."

Jean smiled sympathetically. "She’s not used to people flirting with her. I mean, guys either get intimidated by her brain, or they just see her as a fellow intellectual, not… you know, a woman."

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Logan clearly sees her as a woman. He’s made that much obvious. But I wonder how long it’ll take for her to figure it out."

Jean laughed softly. "At this rate? It might take a while."

The three of them watched with growing curiosity as Logan stood there, his broad shoulders and rough demeanor somehow fitting perfectly in the domestic scene of baking pastries with students. You, on the other hand, were entirely focused on getting the strawberry puff pastries just right, completely unaware of how closely Logan was watching you—or how he lingered longer than necessary when he handed you the knife, or how his teasing nicknames held a deeper meaning.

"She’s too smart for her own good," Scott added, shaking his head with a chuckle. "But when it comes to this, she's got blind spots."

Jean nodded in agreement. "Y/N is convinced she knows everything—and to be fair, she does know a lot—but she’s missing the whole picture here."

---

After Logan’s stunt on baking day, he wondered just how much further he could go. Sure, he could take Jean’s advice and outright tell you, but he also liked seeing you riled up and confused by his words and actions.

Like a few days ago, all he did was pull out your chair at dinner with the rest of the group and you just stood there, confused by the gesture. It took a few moments for you to understand and finally sit down before he pushed the chair closer to the table for you.

Or now, they were having a briefing, or meeting, about God knows what, most of everybody seated. You and Ororo were the last people to come in, aside from Charles. Ororo went to sit down at an open seat and as you looked around you came to the conclusion that there weren’t any other chairs available.

You were content with the fact that you were going to stand for the short meeting, as you found a spot to stand at the opposite end of the large round table, close to Logan.

“C’mere doll.” Logan said, lazily gesturing for you to come closer.

You hesitantly did, stopping next to his chair, your knee brushing his thigh. “What?”

He patted his thigh, “I don’t bite.”

Your eyes widened, a cute, innocent expression that he enjoyed seeing on your face, as you looked around the room. “I, uh- ”

Logan’s smirk widened, clearly finding your hesitation endearing. He patted his lap again, his eyes glinting with a teasing light. “C’mon, doll. Don’t be shy. There’s a perfectly good seat right here.”

You hesitated, your brain racing to process the situation. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for a professional setting, but you were running out of options. The only other seats were either taken or a bit too far from the discussion table. With a small sigh, you decided to give in. You didn’t want to stand for the entire meeting, and it was just one of those moments where you had to roll with it.

“Alright,” you said. You shot a glance around the room, but most people were already absorbed in their conversations or taking notes. You gingerly sat down on the edge of his lap, trying to maintain a sense of propriety despite the awkwardness of the situation.

Logan’s arm naturally wrapped around your waist to stabilize you, but he didn’t say anything as you settled. You could feel his warmth radiating through his leather jacket, and it was strangely comforting despite the unusual circumstances. He leaned in slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “You alright there, sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the meeting but acutely aware of how close he was. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, though you could feel your cheeks warming slightly. “Just trying to get comfortable.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest and making you shift just a bit closer. His hand rested lightly on your hip, not too firm but enough to make you acutely aware of his presence. You tried to ignore it and concentrate on the meeting, but his proximity made that task rather difficult.

The meeting continued, with Charles and the others discussing various topics related to ongoing projects and missions. Logan’s hand on your hip was a constant reminder of his presence, but he remained quiet, only chiming in occasionally with his usual gruff comments or suggestions.

---

At breakfast one day, you were sitting with Hank talking about the project you two were working on that was finally getting somewhere. You had finally been able to stabilize the energy output and now you two were talking about what to do next.

Logan sipped his coffee, looking at your from afar. As always, you were dressed cute today. You were wearing a light blue sweater with a pair of your skinny jeans and white flats, paired with matching drop earrings.

Ororo and Jean came up beside him, the former tsking. Ororo gave Logan a knowing look, crossing her arms. "You still at it, huh?" she teased, nodding in your direction.

Logan grunted but didn't respond immediately, sipping his coffee as he watched you and Hank animatedly discuss your project. You were explaining something with such enthusiasm, using your hands to gesture wildly, that it made him smirk. The light blue sweater you wore today only added to the adorable vibe you unknowingly radiated.

Jean nudged him lightly. "Nine months, Logan. Nine months of flirting, and she’s still completely oblivious." She shook her head, amused.

"She’s a genius, remember?" Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "She’s supposed to know everything."

Logan snorted, finally setting his coffee down. "Well, she clearly doesn’t know this. And I’m in no rush to tell her." He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. His eyes didn’t leave you, even as the conversation between Hank and you grew more intense.

Jean chuckled. "It's kinda cute, though. Watching her get all flustered whenever you call her those names, like she’s completely missing the point."

"I know," Logan muttered with a grin. "She gets that little furrow in her brow, like she’s trying to figure it out, but then brushes it off. She’s too wrapped up in all her fancy projects and theories."

Ororo shook her head in disbelief. "You’ve got the patience of a saint. Most people would’ve given up by now."

Logan shrugged, glancing at Ororo. "Ain’t in any hurry. She’s worth the wait."

Jean smiled softly at that, then sighed. "Well, good luck. Maybe one day she’ll actually catch on."

As if on cue, you let out a triumphant laugh from across the room, and Logan’s attention immediately shifted back to you. You had a bright smile on your face, clearly excited about whatever breakthrough you and Hank had just made.

"You’re like a moth to a flame," Ororo muttered under her breath with a smirk, walking off with Jean to sit down.

Logan ignored her, his eyes still locked on you as you gathered up some papers and started to walk toward the exit. As you passed him, he casually stuck his leg out just enough that you had to stop short to avoid tripping.

“Logan!” you exclaimed, looking down at his leg and then up at him with confusion.

He raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his coffee. "Mornin', sweetheart."

You blinked at him, clearly thrown off for a moment. "Uh, morning." You shifted the stack of papers in your arms. "Why’d you—"

"Just wanted to say good job," he interrupted, nodding toward the papers in your hand. "Whatever you and Hank were talkin’ about over there seemed pretty important."

Your face lit up at the mention of your project, and you immediately launched into an explanation, completely forgetting about Logan's odd behavior. "Oh, yeah! We finally stabilized the energy output! It’s been driving us crazy for weeks, but we think we’ve figured out how to—"

Logan barely paid attention to the technical jargon that followed, more focused on the way your eyes sparkled as you talked, your excitement contagious. He gave a few gruff nods, pretending to follow along, but it was the way you lit up when you were passionate about something that kept him hooked.

"You’re incredible, you know that?" he said once you finished, his voice low and serious.

You blinked, taken aback. "Uh, what?"

"I said you’re incredible." He repeated, his gaze locking onto yours. "Smart, talented, and cute as a button. Gotta give credit where it’s due."

Your cheeks flushed pink, and you quickly looked down at the papers in your arms. "Oh, um, thanks, Logan," you mumbled, completely missing the deeper implication of his words, as usual. "I... I should probably get these to the lab. We need to review them before the next phase."

"Of course," Logan said, his smirk widening as he watched you stumble over your words. "But don’t forget to take a break, doll. All work and no play ain’t good for anyone."

"Right," you said, nodding as you hurried off, your mind already shifting back to your project, completely oblivious to the playful grin on Logan's face.

---

“You’ve never even been clubbing!?” Ororo exclaimed, holding up a finger to stop you from saying anything. “And you know I’m not talking about something like a ‘gardening club’.”

“And you have?” You asked, sitting on your bed as Jean looked through your closet.

Ororo laughed, shaking her head at your naivety. “Oh, Y/N, honey, I’ve been out dancing plenty of times. Clubbing is one of those things you just have to experience.”

Jean, still rummaging through your closet, chimed in, "She’s right, Y/N. It's fun to get out of the lab once in a while and let loose. You spend so much time buried in your work. You deserve a break."

You sighed, sinking back onto the bed. "I don’t know… It just seems like a waste of time. We could watch a movie, drink some wine, and call it a night."

Ororo leaned against your dresser, crossing her arms. "You can’t hide behind your projects forever, Flora. You need to socialize, let your hair down." She smirked, looking at you pointedly. "You never know, maybe someone will finally catch your eye."

You furrowed your brow, unconvinced. "Like who?"

Jean shared a knowing look with Ororo before turning to face you, holding up a dress you’d forgotten you owned. “Who knows? There could be someone at the club. Or maybe someone you’ve been completely blind to.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow and added, "Someone who’s been giving you attention for months, perhaps."

Your eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Jean grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she held up the dress in front of you. "Nothing, just an observation. Now, come on, put this on. Let’s see how it looks."

You sighed, getting off the bed and taking the dress from Jean’s hands. "I still don’t get what the big deal is. I’m perfectly fine without this whole clubbing thing."

Ororo smirked, stepping toward the door. “Trust us. You’ll thank us later.”

---

A few hours later, you found yourself standing outside one of the busiest clubs in the city, feeling slightly out of place in the dress Jean had picked out for you. The music thumped from inside the building, the bass reverberating through the sidewalk as people lined up to get in. You stood between Jean and Ororo, who both looked far more comfortable in their outfits than you felt in yours.

"I can’t believe you guys convinced me to come," you muttered under your breath, shifting on your feet as you glanced at the line of people ahead.

Jean grinned, looping her arm through yours. "You’re going to have fun. Trust me. It’s a nice change of pace."

Ororo nodded in agreement. "Plus, you deserve a night out. You’ve been working hard."

As you were about to respond, the doors of the club swung open, and you were hit with a blast of cool air mixed with the sound of thumping music. The bouncer waved the three of you in without a second glance, and before you knew it, you were inside, the lights flashing and the crowd buzzing with energy.

You followed Jean and Ororo through the throngs of people, weaving through the packed dance floor until you reached the bar. The atmosphere was unlike anything you were used to—loud, chaotic, and a little overwhelming. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet.

Ororo leaned against the bar, ordering drinks while Jean turned to you with a grin. "What do you think so far?"

You shrugged, glancing around. "It’s... different."

"Just give it a chance," Jean said, patting your arm. "Once you get a drink in you and loosen up a bit, you’ll feel better."

The bartender handed Ororo three drinks, and she passed one to you with a wink. "To new experiences, Flora."

You hesitated for a moment before raising your glass. "To new experiences, I guess."

The three of you clinked glasses, and you took a sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol start to settle in. Maybe this night wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---

An expensive Uber trip later and you three were back at the mansion at 4 in the morning. Luckily it was Friday, or Saturday now, so there was no need to worry about being hungover for classes.

You don’t think you’ve ever drank that much alcohol, but to be fair, you must have a really low tolerance since you never partied in college, other than the occasional glass of wine.

So, drinking around 5 or 6 fruity cocktails surely made you see things differently. Maybe just a tad bit too blurry and clumsy.

You fumbled with your keys at the mansion door, Jean giggling behind you. “Here, let me help,” she offered, her hands steadier than yours as she took the keys and unlocked the door with ease.

“I’m fine, Jean!” you protested with a laugh, swaying slightly as you stepped inside. You weren’t used to feeling so... unbalanced. Everything seemed lighter, funnier, and a little more ridiculous after the alcohol. You were starting to understand why people did this more often.

Ororo walked in behind you, shaking her head but smiling. “Maybe next time we won’t let you have quite so many drinks,” she teased, gently guiding you toward the living room. “You’re gonna feel this tomorrow.”

“I’m a genius,” you declared, holding your head high in mock dignity, “I’ll be fine.”

Jean snorted, flopping onto the couch. “Oh yeah? Even geniuses can’t outsmart a hangover.”

You waved her off, settling into a chair, only to realize it was far too squishy, causing you to slide right down onto the floor. You stared at it for a second, then burst out laughing. “Who put a trap here?”

Ororo and Jean were in hysterics now, and even though your head was spinning, you couldn’t help but join in.

“You know,” Ororo started between giggles, “for someone who knows everything, you sure don’t know how to handle a drink.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, or at least tried to. “It’s... an anomaly. Unpredictable variables.”

“Right,” Jean said, leaning back with a grin, “just like Logan’s flirting.”

You blinked, the name snapping you out of your drunken haze for a second. “Logan’s what?”

Ororo and Jean exchanged glances before looking back at you, their smiles widening.

“His flirting,” Jean repeated slowly, as if explaining a simple concept.

You squinted, feeling like your brain was moving through molasses. “Flirting? Logan? With me?”

Ororo rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Y/N. For months. You seriously haven’t noticed?”

You stared at them both, utterly lost. “Flirting? Logan? Are you guys drunk too?”

Jean sighed dramatically, standing up. “I think you’re too far gone to process this tonight.”

You shook your head, still trying to wrap your mind around what they were saying. Logan? Flirting? With you? It didn’t make any sense. Logan was... well, Logan.

Ororo pulled you up from the floor, patting your arm. “Let’s get you to bed. You can overthink this tomorrow.”

---

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach that felt like it was doing somersaults. Groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed, making a mental note to never drink that much again.

As you made your way to the kitchen, hoping to find coffee and maybe something greasy to settle your stomach, you tried to remember the details from last night. Jean and Ororo had said something about Logan... flirting with you?

You shook your head. That couldn’t be right. Logan wasn’t the type to flirt. He was gruff, tough, and mostly kept to himself. Sure, he called you pet names, but that didn’t mean anything. Right?

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you sat at the kitchen island, still groggy. You were about to take a sip when you heard the familiar sound of boots approaching.

“Mornin’, doll,” Logan greeted as he walked in, his voice a low rumble.

You looked up at him, your brain still foggy, and for some reason, the word ‘flirting’ popped into your mind again. You stared at him for a moment longer than necessary, your head tilting slightly.

“Uh... morning,” you replied, your voice a little more unsure than usual. You couldn’t stop replaying what Jean and Ororo had said last night. Was this flirting? You eyed Logan, trying to decipher his expression.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, taking a sip of your coffee. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Logan chuckled, that deep, rough sound that always sent a weird shiver down your spine. “Guess you didn’t take my advice about not overdoing it, huh?”

You blinked. “What advice?”

“Last night,” he said, smirking, “told ya not to have too many drinks, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrowed. “Wait, you were there?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, clearly amused. “Passed by when you three were heading out. You looked excited about... whatever the hell it is you get excited about.”

You frowned, trying to remember him saying that. It was all so hazy. Then you shook your head, deciding to just drop it. “Well, I’ll survive.”

Logan gave you a lazy grin. “Tough as nails, aren’t ya?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “I guess so.”

There was a moment of silence before Logan pushed off the counter and moved closer. He reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek for just a second too long. “Good thing. Wouldn’t want ya to break, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat. This was... different. You felt your face heat up, and you quickly turned your attention back to your coffee. “Uh... right.”

Logan’s smirk didn’t fade as he stepped back. “See ya around, darlin’.”

You watched him leave the kitchen, your heart pounding in your chest for reasons you couldn’t quite explain. What was that? Was that what Jean and Ororo had been talking about? Or was it just him being old-fashioned, after all he was over 200 years old, and you were a mere 25. He was the Wolverine, and you were just a young teacher that happened to be an X-Men.

---

It had been a week since you had gone out clubbing with Jean and Ororo and you were too far gone in your own mind. You started observing things more carefully, the way Logan would rest his hand on your lower back when he was walking you to your next class, how he occasionally brought you snacks when you were in the lab, telling Hank that they were only for you, and finally, how he really only called you nicknames.

Ever since that realization, you tried to keep it hidden, to process it on your own. After all, guys didn’t like you. You weren’t exactly the kind of girl they wanted.

Logan noticed how you got more nervous around him, your heart beating faster, how you seemed to stumble over your words more often than not around him. At one point, he asked Jean about it, to which she revealed her and Ororo did what he couldn’t.

He ended up outside of your office, hearing you talk to one of the senior students about which colleges were the best for his major. You assured him that just because it was September, doesn’t mean he’s too late to apply.

Logan knocked on the door as you said that the door was unlocked. He hadn’t seen your outfit today, a white pencil skirt paired with a skintight, long sleeve peach colored shirt. Your hip was leaning against the front of the desk next to where the student was sitting.

Kean looked between the two of you, before quickly gathering his things and the brochures you gave him for various colleges.

"Remember to look into some engineering programs! I’d think they’d be great for you!" You called out after Kean, watching as the student hurried out of your office. The door clicked shut behind him, and you sighed, thinking of the next round of paperwork waiting on your desk. You were about to walk around your desk to sit down when you noticed Logan still standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes focused on you in that intense way he often did.

"Sweetheart, got a minute?" Logan's voice was rough, familiar, and held that signature casualness that made it feel like he wasn't really asking.

You blinked, startled for a second before nodding. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Logan. What's up?"

Logan stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning you briefly. "You looked pretty wrapped up in your work. Thought you could use a break."

Your mind raced, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, I’ve been helping some of the seniors with their college stuff," you explained, motioning to the brochures still scattered across your desk. "It's that time of year where they start panicking about applications."

Logan smirked, his arms crossing over his chest. "You always keep yourself busy, don’t ya, doll?"

You rolled your lower lip while humming as your answer. You crossed your arms, watching as Logan came closer to you, standing almost toe to toe with your pointy short peach colored heels.

“You finally figured it out then, didn’t ya?” He asked.

“I- well, uh…” you stammered, suddenly feeling heat rush to your face. Why was Logan looking at you like that? And what did he mean by ‘you finally figured it out’? Were Ororo and Jean right?

Logan’s smirk deepened, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched you fumble over your words. "You’re a genius, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now."

Your heart raced, and you felt your palms start to sweat. Why was he so close? You tried to focus on the conversation, on anything other than how your body was reacting to his presence. "N-noticed what?" you managed to get out, your voice sounding way less composed than you intended.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this far more than you were. "How I’ve been flirtin’ with ya for months now," he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Your brain short-circuited. Flirting? Logan? Flirting? With you? That didn’t make any sense. Logan flirted with women who were… well, not you. He was the rough-around-the-edges kind of guy who went for women who were confident, flirtatious, and knew how to handle someone like him. You were the awkward  genius who spent more time in the lab than anywhere else. Guys didn’t flirt with you.

"You’ve been—wait, what?" you asked, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "You’ve been flirting with me?"

Logan chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, doll. Pretty sure everyone at the mansion’s noticed by now." His smirk returned as he added, "Except you, apparently."

Your face burned, and you tried to think back. Had he been flirting? The nicknames, the snacks, the casual touches… it all seemed so… normal for Logan. You thought he was just being friendly, maybe a bit protective like he was with some of the younger students.

"I—" You started to say something but stopped, unsure of what exactly to say. You felt like the ground had shifted beneath you. "Why didn’t anyone tell me?"

Logan shrugged. "Didn’t think it was their place. Figured you’d catch on eventually." His gaze softened, and he added, "Didn’t expect you to be this oblivious, though. Kinda cute."

You were sure your face couldn’t get any redder. "I’m not… I’m not oblivious," you mumbled, crossing your arms defensively. "I just didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me."

Logan’s eyebrows shot up. "And why the hell not?"

"Because I’m… me!" You motioned to yourself, like that explained everything. "Guys don’t flirt with me, Logan. They’re usually intimidated or just… I don’t know. I’m not the kind of girl guys like."

You didn’t have any friends until you came here, which was sad because you were 24 when you finally had some.

Sure, you tried to make some during college, joined the gardening club and the astronomy club, but whenever you talked people would never really listen to you.

You even tried going on a few dates with some guys from online dating apps. They were your age, but they were in their third year of college while you were already working on two master’s degrees. You even had similarities with a few of them.

One guy liked Star Wars, and you went into a short rant about how the physics of it was wrong and even talked about a bunch of the lore behind it. Same with the other 2 dates you went on, they were all one and done.

Guys didn’t like you. That’s just the way it was.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, doll. You think guys don’t notice you?”

You crossed your arms, feeling defensive again. “I don’t think, I know. Trust me, I’ve tried.” You paused, hesitating before you added, “I’m not exactly… good at this kind of thing. Social stuff, I mean. I’m better at figuring out equations than people.”

Logan stepped closer, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You’re wrong, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You’ve got this idea in your head that no one’s gonna want you because you’re too smart or too different, but that ain’t true. Not even close.”

You blinked up at him, unsure of how to respond. The intensity of his gaze made your stomach flutter in a way that felt both exciting and terrifying. “I just… I don’t see why you’d be interested in me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re Logan. You could have anyone.”

Logan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I don’t want just anyone.” His eyes locked onto yours, his tone becoming serious. “I want you.”

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest. You had no idea what to say. Logan had been flirting with you—Logan, the gruff, no-nonsense guy you’d come to admire over the past year—and you’d been completely clueless. How could someone like him, someone who seemed so out of your league, be interested in you?

“I… I don’t understand,” you mumbled, still struggling to process everything. “Why me?”

Logan sighed, as if he had been waiting for this question for months. “Because you’re brilliant, Y/N. You’ve got this fire in you, this passion for everything you do. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and you don’t let anyone push you around. And you’re so damn kind, even when you don’t have to be.” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell you, but… well, you’re not exactly the easiest person to talk to about feelings.”

You blinked. “I’m not?”

Logan smirked. “No, sweetheart, you’re not. You overthink everything. Makes it kinda hard to tell you I like you without you analyzing it to death.”

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, not really knowing what else to say. “I just didn’t think you… I didn’t think anyone would… you know.”

Logan stepped even closer, so close that you had to sit on the edge of your desk. “Well, I do,” he said, his voice low. “And I’ve been waitin’ for you to figure it out.”

You stared up at him, your mind still reeling. All this time, Logan had been flirting with you, had liked you, and you hadn’t noticed. And now, here he was, standing so close you could feel his breath on your skin, telling you exactly how he felt. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

"Logan, I…" you started, but the words got caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like this. Part of you wanted to brush it off as some kind of misunderstanding, but the way he was looking at you, the way he had always looked at you, made it clear that this wasn’t a joke or a misunderstanding.

He really liked you.

Logan smirked at your silence, clearly amused by how flustered you were. "Speechless, huh? That’s a first," he teased, his voice low and rough in that way that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "It’s just… I didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me. You’re Logan, and I’m…" You gestured to yourself awkwardly. "Me."

Logan frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. "What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

You shrugged in response, turning your head downward to look down at your lap. It didn’t last long, because Logan put his thumb on your chin, turning your head upright to look at him.

He noticed your expression change, you were someone who was easy to read, never really kept her emotions hidden well, or at least not to him. You went from big doe eyes and sad, pouty lips to flustered. Your eyes were curious and almost nervous and your pink lips, courtesy of the colored lip balm you always wore, were slightly parted.

Logan held your gaze, his thumb gently resting on your chin, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken under his touch. He was so close now, close enough that the musky scent of him was filling your senses, making it even harder to think clearly.

"You really think I’d waste my time on someone I didn’t want?" Logan’s voice was low, gruff, but there was a softness to it that you hadn’t heard before.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The words were jumbled in your mind, and all you could focus on was the way his rough fingers were still holding your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. The confidence he exuded was overwhelming. How could he be so sure, so calm, while you felt like your brain was on fire?

"Logan, I…" you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his hand, the warmth of his body so close—it was too much.

He let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused by how flustered you were. "Doll, you’re overthinking again."

Your lips pressed together into a thin line as you tried to get a handle on your spiraling thoughts. "I’m just… surprised. I didn’t think…" You hesitated, the words feeling clumsy in your mouth. His thumb moved slightly up, still holding onto your chin but now brushing against your lower lip, making it more difficult to concentrate or come up with a single coherent thought.

No one had ever treated you like this, so kindly and… normally. You thought back to the only 3 dates you had ever been on during college, how none of them ever really tried to get to know you, or peel back the layers behind your smarts.

Because you weren’t just smart, you loved gardening, and baking, hell, you even liked to dress cute. And out of all the guys, Logan never treated you like someone different. It was nice to be around someone like that, who embraced who you were rather than try and get you to bury it. Maybe it was his age? You remember reading an article from a psych organization about how younger women like older men because of emotional maturity-

Rough hands cupped your face, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Hey, stop thinkin’. What the hell could you be thinkin’ about right now?”

You gave a shy smile and shook your head gently, his hands still on your face. “Nothin’,” you mumbled, your voice softer than you intended. You tried to play it off like everything was fine, but Logan wasn’t buying it.

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing your cheek now. "You’re a terrible liar, sweetheart." His voice was low, that gravelly tone sending shivers down your spine.

You swallowed, your mind still racing as you searched for the right words. "I just… I don’t get why you’d want me," you admitted, your eyes flicking away from his. "You’re this… badass, Logan. You’ve been through so much. You could have anyone."

His hands stayed where they were, his touch gentle but firm as he guided your gaze back to his. "I told you, doll. I don’t want anyone else. I want you."

You blinked up at him, still unsure of how to respond. It felt like your heart was beating out of your chest, and your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts. On one hand, Logan was the last person you ever thought would have feelings for you. On the other hand, here he was, being painfully honest, and you couldn’t deny the sincerity in his voice.

"I just…" you hesitated, biting your lip, "I don’t know how to do this, Logan. I’m not… I’ve never been good at… people. Relationships. I mean, I’m good at math, science, and solving problems but not—this."

Logan chuckled softly, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You don’t gotta be good at it, Y/N. You just gotta be you." His voice softened, the teasing tone dropping away as he said, "That’s all I’ve ever wanted."

Your breath caught in your throat. He made it sound so simple, like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was a big deal to you. You hadn’t dated much—hardly at all, if you were being honest. Relationships felt like another complex equation you couldn’t quite solve.

"Logan, I…" you started, but he cut you off, his hands dropping from your face to settle on your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

"You overthinkin’ again?" Logan smirked, one eyebrow raised.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. "Maybe a little," you admitted, your voice quiet. It was hard to concentrate when he was so close, his hands resting on your hips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"That’s what I thought," Logan muttered, leaning in just enough that his forehead almost touched yours. "You don’t gotta figure everything out right now, doll. Just… let it happen."

You stared at him, your mind whirling. "Let it happen?" you echoed, trying to wrap your head around what he was saying.

"Yeah," Logan said softly, his voice rough but soothing at the same time. "Stop tryin’ to solve it like it’s some kinda problem. Just be with me."

You blinked, your heart doing that weird fluttering thing again. Be with him? It sounded so simple when he said it like that. But you couldn’t help the flood of doubt that kept creeping into your mind. What if you screwed it up? What if you weren’t good enough at this? What if—

Logan’s hands tightened slightly on your hips, and he pulled you closer, cutting off your spiraling thoughts. "Y/N, you’re doin’ it again," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble in the space between you. "You’re thinkin’ too much."

You sighed, biting your lip again. "I can’t help it," you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. "That’s just how my brain works."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "I know, darlin’. But you don’t gotta do that with me."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself staring at him, completely unsure of what to say next. No one had ever spoken to you like this before. No one had ever made you feel like it was okay to just… be. You were always the smartest person in the room, always expected to have the answers, to be the one in control. But with Logan, it felt different. He didn’t expect you to be anything but yourself.

"I…" You trailed off, your throat tightening. "I don’t know how to not overthink things."

Logan’s smirk softened, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes warm as they met yours. "Then I’ll just have to distract you, won’t I?"

Before you could even process what he was saying, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in the softest, most unexpected kiss. It was like everything around you froze for a moment, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to catch up with what was happening.

Logan was kissing you.

Logan.

Was kissing.

You.

Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back. It wasn’t what you expected—nothing in your life had ever felt like this. The warmth, the softness of his lips against yours, the way he held you like you were something precious… it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

If you would’ve told your past self from five years ago, hell, even two months ago, that your first kiss would be with the Wolverine, you would’ve thought it was some grand, cosmic joke. But there you were, hands fisting into Logan’s shirt, his lips gently pressing against yours like this was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first kiss would go. Not that you’d spent a lot of time imagining it—honestly, you’d been too busy with equations, papers, and research to even consider the prospect of someone being interested in you. But if you had pictured it, this wouldn’t have been it. Not with a man like Logan.

His rough hands held you in place, strong but careful, as if he was hyper-aware of how delicate you felt in his grasp. You, who could bend nature to your will, whose intelligence far surpassed anyone’s expectations, felt completely and utterly vulnerable in his arms.

When he pulled back, it wasn’t by much. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and slightly uneven. Logan’s lips curved into a smirk, one you could practically feel against your skin.

“Well,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, “that didn’t seem too bad, did it?”

You blinked up at him, still trying to recover from the shock. “I… I don’t—what just happened?”

Logan chuckled softly, his thumbs brushing small circles into your hips, keeping you grounded when your thoughts were spinning out of control. “I just kissed ya, sweetheart. And unless I’m readin’ the situation wrong, you didn’t mind too much.”

Your mind raced, heart hammering in your chest. “No, I—” You paused, biting your lip as you tried to form a coherent thought. “I didn’t mind. It’s just—”

“Just what?” Logan’s voice softened, his expression growing more serious as he studied your face.

“I wasn’t expecting it.” You swallowed, looking away from him for a moment before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “I didn’t think someone like you… I mean, I didn’t think you would- I didn’t think anyone would- ”

Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish, but when you didn’t, he took a step closer. His hand was still resting on your hip, keeping you anchored to him, and the heat of his body was impossible to ignore. “Didn’t think what, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question press down on you. It was like all the words in your head had turned to static, and you couldn’t figure out how to string a coherent sentence together. "I just… I don’t know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, but his eyes stayed serious. "You don’t know, or you don’t wanna say?"

You bit your lip, your mind still reeling from the kiss. The memory of it—soft, unexpected, but not unwelcome—was playing on a loop in your head. You hadn’t been kissed much, if at all, and the idea that Logan was the one to give you your first real kiss was still something you were trying to process.

But you couldn’t lie, it was nice. You were 25, just had your first kiss, and suddenly you felt like a teenager in a Disney movie.

A grin slipped past your lips. "I just wasn’t expecting you to kiss me, old man," you finally replied, your voice teasing but soft.

Logan’s eyebrows raised, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Old man, huh?" he murmured, his voice dipping into that gravelly tone that always made you feel a bit flustered. "Pretty sure that kiss just proved I’ve still got it."

You laughed softly, your hands still fisted in his shirt, though he didn’t seem to mind at all. Logan’s smirk widened at the sound of your laughter, and you could feel the tension in the air start to ease, just a little.

"Yeah, maybe you do," you replied, your voice soft but teasing as you looked up at him, your heart still beating a little too fast from the kiss. "Guess you're not as rusty as I thought."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. "Rusty?" he repeated, his voice low and playful, with that gravelly edge that made your stomach flip every time. "You seriously thought I was rusty, sweetheart?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite how close he was and how easily he seemed to get under your skin. "I don’t know. I mean, you’re a couple of hundred years old. Thought you might’ve lost your touch."

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as he leaned in just a little closer. "Oh, darlin'," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I ain't lost a damn thing."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Logan’s confidence was overwhelming, but it wasn’t just that—there was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, a softness in his touch that made your chest feel tight.

"Okay, okay," you finally muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to deflect some of the attention. "Point taken."

Logan grinned, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. "Good," he said simply, his thumbs brushing lightly over your hips where his hands still rested. "’Cause I don’t wanna hear any more about me bein’ rusty or old. Got it?"

You nodded, biting your lip as you tried not to smile too much. "Got it."

chapter 3 of Sweet Dreams will be up tomorrow!

[reiderwriter]

For some reason my comments don't come through on your posts, but I want to first say I absolutely love your writing and I'm so happy your requests are open!! 🥰😭 So I've had this idea of a fluff mixed with spencer angst where reader is maybe interning at Diana's facility (not a dr yet, studying) and becomes close with Diana by reading, chatting, etc and Spencer over hears it from time to time and the dialogue between spencer and reader gets too close for Spencers comfort, but Diana wants her around more. Thank you again for your hard work okay bye!

A/N: I've never written a fic with Diana in it before, so this was a bit of a challenge for me, bit I enjoyed writing it a lot! Hopefully, this is somewhat like what you wanted!! ❤️

Warnings: Spencer is a bit dense (real) and puts his foot in his mouth (metaphorically, of course).

Diana Reid's son was exactly the way she described him, down to the tiny curls at the base of his neck and the glimmer of intelligence in his eye. 

After four weeks interning at the care facility while working on your medical degree, you'd spent a considerable amount of time with your favorite patient, and her stories about her son were legendary. 

At first, you weren't sure whether to believe the woman when she said her son was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs, and a job in the FBI. She wouldn't be the first schizophrenic patient to muddle up her facts, but she certainly was the sweetest. 

So when you recalled your conversation with the head nurse later that day, she laughed and confirmed every story about Doctor Spencer Reid. Your mouth hung open in shock because surely nobody that incredible could just be out walking the streets. 

Another month of conversations about the man, and you were half in love with him. He wrote his mother letters every day - hand wrote them, even - and she's shown you a few. He'd talked about his friends, his team, his jobs, and how he was saving lives. And when one of the latest ones dropped in the news that he'd be free for a visit soon, you found yourself overflowing with anticipation. 

Of course, you felt like you already knew the man. You knew what his first words were, what his favorite toy was growing up, and even about the exploits of his first date, as pitiful as it was. What you didn't know was if Diana was passing along similar information about you. 

The day Spencer Reid finally showed up, he took your breath away. You were mostly in awe of Diana's ability to describe her son perfectly, though you'd grown fond of her perfectly professional English Lecturer tone of speaking over the last few weeks. She was practically lyrical when talking her son into existence. 

“His hair curls beautifully. He's my little adonis. He keeps it too long though, I'm always telling him he needs to cut it because it hides too much of his face,” she'd told you one day before picking her book up and ignoring you for the next half hour. 

“My Spencer is delightfully tall. He's a little bit spindly like a spider. He's not the most grateful, that's for sure, we used to call him crash because he was always bumping into things. Poetic, right?” 

You knew from the second he walked through the door that this man was him. 

Tall, slightly hunched, clutching his satchel strap in his hand, terrifyingly handsome and making your hand jump into your throat. Definitely him, and definitely a problem. You'd have to check the code of conduct about falling hopelessly for a patient's beautiful son. 

If you had any doubts, this was Spencer in front of you though, when he bumped into a chair just as he was about to reach his mother, it was confirmed. 

“Diana, I believe your Crash is here,” you smiled and giggled, watching her turn quickly to greet her son. 

You, too, gave him a warm smile, but he seemed a little hesitant to return it, instead greeting his mother softly and sitting with her while you retreated slightly to give them some privacy. 

You hovered in the space, as Diana had been talking about introducing the two of you all week, and you didn't want to distress her if she couldn't find you close by. 

But though Spencer was closely attentive and soft with his mother, he took brief pauses to stare almost frustratedly at you. You weren't sure what it was, but something about you was setting Spencer on edge, and that in itself was unsettling you as well. 

“Oh, Spencer, you must meet our Y/N. Y/N, come here, this is my son, Spencer.”

Slightly more apprehensive now, you held out your hand to shake his, “I've heard so much about you  it's nice to finally be seeing you in person, Doctor Reid.” 

He didn't shake your hand, though, but awkwardly waved it off quickly, leaving you to awkwardly replace it by your side. 

“Nice to meet you. Are you a new attendant? I asked all updates about my mother's companions to be confirmed and passed on to me, patient and carers included.” 

His tone was business-like and clipped, and you could see a gentle annoyance settling on his features. 

“I'm sorry, Doctor Reid, I thought Diana would have told you in a letter, or the administration would've passed it on. I'm a medical student on an internship.” You felt like you'd been chastised by an irate parent though he'd at no point raised his voice or indicated in his words any sense of anger at all. His eyes burned across your skin, though, and you felt a flame heat your skin under the weight of his stare. 

“You're mother has told me a lot about you though, she reads me your letters sometimes, between our discussions of Marjorie Kempe.” 

“My letters? Mom, we've talked about this. Those are private.” You looked at the quiet disappointment on Diana's face and felt protective over the woman all of a sudden.

“Please, I'm sorry for overstepping, but your mother is just very proud of you. She talks about you a lot actually, and your job-” 

“With all due respect, Y/N, the last time my mother talked to a new friend about me, he traveled to Virginia and shot one of my friends, so this really is a conversation I'd rather not be having.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as he turned back to his mother and started talking to her gently again about personal security, effectively dismissing you from the conversation. 

You'd had stupid hopes for Spencer Reid, and that's all they would ever be. 

Reid talked on, and you left him alone with his mother, though she seemed distracted by your departure. 

“Spencer, that wasn't nice. Look at that poor girl. She's close to tears.”

“What? Mom, are you even listening to me?” 

“No, and I likely won't until you go and apologize to Y/N. She's a pretty girl, Spencer, and she was very excited to meet you.” 

“Pretty…. Mom, please.” 

“What, do you disagree? You think I don't know you well enough to know when a girl would suit you well? Or do you think I'm blind to the fact that you were stealing glances at her before she introduced herself.” 

Spencer went quiet at having been caught, and he hated to accept that maybe his mother was right. 

It was true as well that the care facility had informed him of medical interns coming and going in the next few months, and really, she wasn't to blame for his mother being fond of him. 

He was glad, though, that neither of them had noticed the ten minutes he'd spent just outside the large sitting area watching them talk. He'd been obviously taken aback to see someone new so close to his mom and his mom similarly comfortable. He felt even worse for the fact that for a solid minute and a half, he'd stared at the girl with no other thought in his head than the sound of his heart skipping a questioning beat. 

He'd pulled himself out of it eventually, but only when another nurse had come along to ask him if he'd actually be visiting his mother today or just dropping in to check on her. 

And then he'd bumped into that infernal chair when he was so fixated on getting to them, and she'd opened her mouth and called him crash, and his heart had sank. 

He reminded himself it was neither of their faults and inwardly cursed himself for being so unfriendly with someone who'd taken such good care of his mother recently. 

He promised himself that he'd talk with his mom and then go and find the woman, and apologising for being such a brute. 

“Spencer, are you listening to me, or are you busy daydreaming about my nurse?” 

“Mom!” 

“You're plain as day, kiddo, you'll never get anything past me. Now please, leave me be, I'm reading. Come back later if you must, but for now, take this to Y/N for me, please. She left it with me to read this morning, but I'm not in the mood for Medieval Romance right now.” 

It was a blatant lie, but a dismissal nonetheless, and Spencer quietly took his chance to search for you in the halls. 

The head nurse humorously pointed him in the right direction without him asking, much to his annoyance, but he persisted and lightly tapped on your shoulder to greet you. 

“Oh, Doctor Reid, hello again.” You smiled a little smaller this time, still polite, but he watched the way it didn't reach your eyes and felt like a jackass all over again. 

“My mom told me to come return this book to you.” He held out the book, and you quietly took it, folding it into your arms and hugging it tightly against your chest as you both stood there silently after the exchange. 

“I'm sorry, as well. I wasn't exactly very friendly back there, because-” 

“It's okay, Doctor Reid, you really don't have to explain. I overstepped, it's my fault and it won't happen again.”

“Are you kidding? My mom hasn't looked that relaxed in years. Please keep overstepping.” 

Your smile widened slightly at the compliment, and Spencer's tongue kicked into hyper drive immediately at the sight, even as his brain powered off. 

“You're pretty,” he blurted out, stopping only as his brain caught up with his tongue before firing off again. “My mom said you're pretty. I agree as well, though, you have a nice smile, and it's better when you don't force it. Not that I'm telling you how to smile, though. I don't know why I'm telling you this, but my mom made me come over here and talk to you, even though I'm pretty sure that's her book and not one you loaned her.” 

He took a moment to catch his breath as you blinked at him in confusion, heart beating rapidly even as you heard the blood rushing through your ears. 

“If you're free now, would you want to grab a coffee? Unless you have a boyfriend. Or husband. Or girlfriend or wife, I guess, I don't mean to presume. But if you're free, as in time, and free as in, like, relationship wise, I'd like to buy you a coffee to thank you for listening to my mom.” 

He finally stopped, and you stared wondrously at the reddened skin of his cheeks as he held his breath, waiting for your reply. 

“You want to take me out for coffee to thank me?” 

“Yes.” 

“And on a separate note, I'm pretty, and you want to know if I'm in a relationship?” 

“I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'll just see myself out. It was a stupid idea anyway-” 

“No, wait, Spencer! Let me… let me grab my coat. My lunch break is in half an hour, and I'm sure it'll be okay to take it early.” You held his arm for a second, stepping slightly too close for comfort before realising yourself and taking a tiny step back.

He stood and blinked in your direction, as though wondering seriously for a moment what your lunch break had to do with him. 

“Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are we going to go out?” 

“You're serious?” 

“I guess…. I guess I am.”

“And you're… you're single.” 

Your mouth went dry as his skin finally completed its transformation from vampiric to tomato red. You desperately hoped your own embarrassment wasn't equally as readable on your face. 

“Quite single. Medical students don't have that much time to date.”

“Neither do FBI agents.” 

“Perhaps a subject we could talk more about later?” 

“Definitely.” 

[lanawinterscigarettes]

poly!Nancy Downs and Jennifer Check x reader Headcanons?

*takes you by the shoulders and gently shakes you* anon. ANON. this is exactly the kind of thing I've been needing to write, you gorgeous genius, you

Poly! Nancy Downs x reader x Jennifer Check general dating headcanons

Warnings: swearing, mentions of jealousy/possessiveness, some suggestive content

This is going to be set in a college au since I'm pretty sure the places where they went to high school are on the opposite sides of the country mkay

They both kind of kept to themselves, but in different ways. Jennifer was the hot and popular one that everyone wanted to get close to but never could and Nancy was the scary alt loner who people swore up and down was a witch (ha, if only they knew)

Because of their major social differences they didn't cross paths until you came along and brought them together like a pair of really fucked up magnets

They both went out of their way to impress you while simultaneously trying to knock each other down a peg in the process

Everywhere you went, there they were. Trying to get to class? Nancy shows up to help you with your books. Eating alone in the cafeteria? You're in luck, because Jennifer saved you a seat

You thought it was kind of cute at first but after a while it just became annoying, especially when they started getting into fights in the middle of the school day

Jennifer knew there was something occult like going on with Nancy, and Nancy could tell that Jennifer wasn't a normal college student, which did nothing but make their feud worse

Eventually you got sick of it and basically told them they needed to resolve whatever sort of homo-erotic sexual tension they had going on before you'd consider dating either of them

Surprising, it seemed as if they took your advice because when you saw them on campus the next day they were both slightly calmer and had the hickeys to prove it

It wasn't long after that the three of you officially got together (you found it easier to be stuck in a room with them after they finally got rid of whatever stick was up their asses that made them hate each other in the first place)

Both of them are extremely protective over you and almost never let you out of their sight. They both know just how cruel people can be (especially boys) so they're extremely hesitant when it comes to you going off to parties or something by yourself

On a much lighter note, you know you'll never have to worry about anyone hurting you, and if they ever do they will quickly get taken care of by your demon possessed and spell casting girlfriends 🤗

I hope you like possessiveness because that's what you'll be getting from these too. They both tend to get jealous easily, even when it comes to each other especially when it comes to each other

If one of them sees hickeys/bite marks or something that they know they didn't leave you'll soon find yourself covered in even more of them in turn

They don't get into serious fights often, but they do bicker and squabble a lot more than normal people, which is most likely due to how their dominant personalities seem to clash with one another

Usually whenever they start fighting with each other you lock them in a room by themselves until you hear the shouts turn into moans because they started having sex

Most dates are spent with the three of you together because all the times you've tried to go on a date with one of them the other "accidentally" happens to show up

Jennifer loves to take you shopping at high end boutiques whereas Nancy prefers to check out second hand thrift shops, so if you don't find something you like at one place there's a chance you'll find it at the other

(There's also a big chance you'll be forced to carry their bags for them unless you openly complain about it, so just keep that in mind)

Makeovers!! Jen dresses you up to look like a y2k baddie and Nanc turns you into a goth in the making. By the end of it you look like Regina George got into Elvira's makeup supply

Shared playlists between them are so funny because of how often the artists will switch between say Ayesha Erotica and Rob Zombie lmao (one time Jennifer caught Nancy singing the words to Emo Boy and teased her for it so she blasted Living Dead Girl for hours on end as payback)

You're not allowed to share a bed with only one of them btw. It has to be both of them or you're not sleeping at all

They can and will fight over who gets to sleep where so your best bet is just laying in the middle and letting them figure out the rest themselves

Neither of them are morning people so if you think you can get up at a reasonable hour you're sadly mistaken unless you're somehow able to untangle yourself from the mess of limbs (or if you just sleep on the couch)

Also they both look like absolute MESSES first thing in the mornings but I'll save my morning routine headcanons with them for another time hehe

They're not perfect, but considering one of them has a demon infesting her body and the other uses magic on the daily things could be much worse, so you've gotta work with what you've got when it comes to them

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | The Craft masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @theonetruepotato87

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convinced he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

@twsssmlmaa @evansflowers @sourskywalker @butterflylilacsverse @acornacreacure @yourrrrrprefffffect @shadowhuntyi @valenftcrush @n3x5t3rra29 @wittlewowa @slay-hamster2006 @ceruleanrainblues @sad-ass-hoe19 @dezibou @starksfavouritedaughter @lexie0037 @beautyb1ade @spencerzakwrites @thataltdisabledgirl @wannabecoolakid @cassiestars777 @min-jianhyung @lazylexiiii @convolv0 @laurenofatlantis @golden-guide @olive-gb @thebiggestscamislife @wyrdxwitch @rizosrizos26 @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @frogers @sun-fiower-seed @dancinwyourghost

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #14

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You try to move on after the Universe has been saved.

Word count: 4,700

Warning: Angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You're standing in the middle of your old apartment.

The same apartment that had a helicopter crash into it and left nothing but rubble, ash and melted cement in its wake. Except now it's restored, like nothing ever happened.

Your rickety dining table sits in the middle of the room, propped up by a hardcover book to make up for the fact that one leg is crooked. Your tiny double bed with your lumpy mattress is pushed up against the wall. The usual piles of clean and dirty laundry indiscriminately mixed together sits unattended on top of the unmade covers.

You don't understand.

Why is it all back to normal?

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it.

Miguel… You need to get back to him and you don't have time for this right now.

"Lyla," you summon. A warm ping vibrates against your inner wrist as Lyla appears. "Take me back to the void."

Lyla shakes her head firmly. "I'm sorry I can't do that."

"What do you mean? Of course you can, you've brought us there twice. You did it when Miguel commanded you."

She peers up at you through her pink heart-shaped glasses, with a solemn look in her holographic eyes.

"The first time was a miscalculation. The second was to eliminate the continued threat to your life."

Her words stop you cold. 'Continued threat...' Is she referring to Miguel?

"Lyla, please. Stop messing around. Take me back to Miguel."

Lyla's eyes go blank, no longer the flippant expression you are so used to seeing.

"Request denied. My programming does not allow me to expose you to danger."

"He's going to die if we don't do something Lyla!" You shout at her.

There is a tremor in your hand. Your nerves are shot, exhausted and tired from everything that has happened in the last 24 hours and you can feel the tears pushing up against your throat.

"Isn't it part of your protocol to protect him?!"

"I was built to protect you. My primary directive is to make sure you're safe above all else. That is my purpose."

She recites the words as if she's reading from a manual. It's flat and emotionless in a way you've never known Lyla to be before. Like the line is hardwired into the very core of her basic coding. There are no funny jokes. No sass.

"Lyla, please," you beg.

She doesn't answer you. That same impassive expression as before is still on her face.

"Lyla..." you try again.

You scramble to think of your options. To devise a plan B. But to your horror, you can’t think of anything.

What are you meant to do? You’re not a super genius who can build source code out of thin air that can break the laws of physics. You have no superpowers. No magic that allows you to travel to other dimensions.

The only thing you know how to do is file claim insurance applications. You’re useless.

There's nothing to be done.

It's over.

Your legs give in from the oppressive weight of your realization. You slump to the floor, unable to hold yourself together as the hard wooden floor hits your knees. You fold in two, hunched over the floor and you let the ache inside your chest break and pour over and you cry.

When you come to some time later, you find yourself curled up on the floor. You don't know how long you must've been crying for. But it must’ve been long enough for you to have cried yourself to exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling, shivering from the cold breeze of the evening coming through the window.

Your limbs are cramping from exhaustion. You're dehydrated. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with dried tears. There's a deep-seated headache burrowing into your skull. It's a struggle for you to get up from the floor into a seated position, as you properly take in your surroundings.

At first glance, this version of your apartment looks identical to yours, but on closer inspection there are some stark differences.

By the window, there are black out curtains hanging from the ceiling to allow for sleep-ins during daylight hours.

On your bed, amongst the mountain piles of laundry strewn haphazardly, there are items you don’t recognize. Oversized hoodies that are big enough to fit a bear. Male sweatpants. Socks so big they look like they're Christmas stockings.

Walking over to the kitchen area, there's a distinct lack of coffee. It's been replaced by expired Reese's Peanut Butter cups, milk duds, and Hershey bars that fill every corner of your kitchen cupboards to the brim, stuffed haphazardly on the upper shelves that you could never reach. They have even made their way into your nightstand and stuffed and hidden between books on the bookshelf.

Lyla doesn't even have to tell you where you are. You already know.

This is your home. In your other self's dimension. It belongs to Miguel's nena.

Miguel sent you here, the closest universe he knew of that was identical to yours, so that you could live out your days in safety, without him.

Fucking idiot.

This is not what you wanted.

Days pass.

It's an odd and empty existence, you've beaten the impossible odds and won against the universe itself and made it out alive. Yet you're not sure that anything about this truly qualifies as a victory.

For all you know, the world that is your home may have been destroyed.

After all that's what Stark said: there is no guarantee that just because you left, everything would go back to normal.

And who are you to argue with the (second) smartest man on earth?

There's no way of you knowing what the outcome was, and Lyla refuses to transport you out of this current dimension.

You spend most of your days curled into a ball in bed unable to summon the strength to keep yourself upright or awake for more than an hour at a time, haunted by the knowledge that your escape from your death might have doomed trillions to theirs.

In the hours in between, when that inescapable guilt doesn't eat into your mind, the only thing you are left with is replaying the moments of your life in the past three months.

It flits through your closed eyes like an old film reel and in every one of those moments, Miguel is there, reminding you of what you have now lost.

You feel hollowed out, scraped out and empty like there's nothing inside. The only time you manage to feel anything that resembles an emotion is when you clutch onto whatever piece of oversized clothing that once belonged to Miguel. The only physical trace you have to prove to yourself that he existed and it's not just some fantastical made up story in your mind.

Miguel once told you that anyone who gets lost in the void gets erased. Their very existence scrubbed from the records of the world. Does the fact that you can still remember him mean that he's still there? And if so, how much longer will you be able to mourn him before he's faded entirely in that space. Before your very memory of him and the love you have that sits inside you with nowhere to go is gone too?

Nothing about this feels like a happy ending.

In the first few days, you don't leave the house. You tell yourself that it's better that way. Now that Miguel is no longer here, the idea of walking out in into open streets in broad daylight seems strange to you.

Lyla tries to tempt you with exotic holidays.

“Bali, India! The world is your oyster, we can fly out first class tonight and do an Eat Pray Love for as long as you want to!” Lyla’s voice sings in your ear. "Thailand is lovely this time of the year, barely any tycoons."

Most of the time, you ignore her presence, burying your head into the pillow, pathetically hugging onto one of the oversized shirts that’s been left behind.

Everytime you hope to catch a whiff of the remnant traces of Miguel’s presence there. But there’s nothing. It just smells of stale detergent.

After surviving the end of the world, a lot of things that used to be important seems meaningless to you now.

Alive as you may be, there’s no real purpose for you carved out in this dimension. You don't go to work in the mornings, because the you of this universe died years ago. Showing up at your office at the Chrysler building would likely induce heart attacks amongst your old co-workers.

You could scour Careerbuilder for job ads, but there's a sour pit in your stomach that hugs tightly around your guts everytime you think of the prospect of having to speak to job recruiters.

You don't think you have it in you to lie to some stranger at an interview and pretend that being in front of a white screen poring over excel sheets 8 hours a day is the way you want to spend the rest of your life until you hit retirement.

Besides, rent is not an issue anymore. Nor is money when Lyla is there to take care of you and act as your digital sugar momma. A standing order for any and all bills needed to maintain this home had already been set up long before you arrived.

You feel sorry for Lyla. She's been programmed to take care of your mental and physical well being and you know she is at wit's end with your listless behavior.

She pulls out all the stops. Lyla orders take out for you, delivered right to your door to try to get you to eat. If she had a physical body, you think she would hold you down and force feed you.

But something is wrong with you, because even though every dish is your favorite, rounded up from your favorite restaurants in the city, for the first time in your life since you were born, you no longer have much of an appetite.

You usually only manage mouthfuls just to keep Lyla from constantly nagging, before you shove the take-out box back into the fridge and then crawl back into bed.

Everything tastes bland and grey. Everything around you seems to have lost its color and shine. Was the world around you always this dull?

On the fifth day, there is a familiar baby-pink box with Gladis' logo printed on the lid arriving at your doorstep.

“Surprise!” Lyla announces. “It’s your favorite! I ordered the luxury box with the elderflower lemon flavors, as well as the lychee-raspberry jello!”

You sit down by the table, staring at the beautifully adorned cupcakes in the box. Spirals of white and pink frosting with petals of edible flowers. There's freshly cut strawberries and blackberries and chocolate shavings on op.

Picking one up, you cram the whole cupcake into your mouth, trying to cling onto the memory of that first time when the flavor of lemon zest bursting on your tongue had made you squeal with happiness.

That doesn't happen.

This time, as the sugar hits the top of your mouth, all you can think about is how much you miss him. How things will never be the same without him.

How you'll never get to have him sit next to you, smiling softly as he watches you eat. That you'll never get to see him demolish a cupcake in one bite and leave frosting on his nose.

It doesn't feel the same, you just feel hollow. Wetness spills across your cheeks, and snot clogs your nose and throat. You must look like a looney, ugly crying with your mouth stuffed full of cupcake, barely swallowing.

After that Lyla doesn’t order them for you anymore.

It's morning you think, judging from the bright sun pouring in from the blinds.

Lyla is buzzing near your ear where you've taken off the watch and placed it on the pillow next to you for company.

"You need to get out of the house. You're turning into a social recluse. It's not a good look," she says, as she peers down at you over her pink-tinted glasses.

"How about I get a date for you? Have a fab night out on the town? I have a roller-dex of the top bachelors in New York. I'm happy to hack into their calendar!"

You ignore her, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hugging Miguel's worn hoodie tighter to your chest. You pull the cover over your head, but you can still hear her babble on through the thin separation of fabric.

"What's your type? Oscar Isaac? He’s hot– No, no you're right he's happily married and we don’t wanna be homewreckers here. What about Lenny Kravitz? Doesn't get cooler than Kravitz and he’s long divorced."

"Lyla stop," you groan, poking your head back up above the covers. You just want quiet. Just want to stay here cocooned in this space that is the closest you'll ever get to Miguel for as long as you can remember him, until that too is taken away from you.

"I'm fine. I don't need a date."

"You're not fine though. You've only eaten a box of cupcakes in the last week. You haven't showered and you look like a mess. Your hair is greasier than the BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico. My purpose is to keep you safe, and that includes your mental and emotional levels, which are... " she stops, throwing up some diagnostics boxes in floating holograms, then makes a face. "Yikes."

She’s doing this on purpose. Talking incessantly, so that she can nag you into doing what she wants. Suddenly you gain newfound sympathy for Miguel. You used to think it was funny when she nagged him and got on his nerves, but now that you're on the end of it, you see how he must’ve suffered when Lyla was in one of these moods with him.

"Will you stop if I step out of the house for a walk," you offer as an olive branch, hoping for a little peace and quiet.

"How long of a walk?"

"Five."

"Minutes?!" Lyla screeches with outrage. "The general recommendation is 150 minutes of weekly exercise, I'm going to need at least an hour's walk from you boss-girl."

"Twenty minutes."

"Forty!"

"Half an hour, or I'm going back to bed and wearing earplugs."

Lyla grins. "Deal".

The streets here look the same as the ones in your dimension, down to the Bodega owned by the old Korean couple around the corner. This version of earth is identical to yours in almost every way you know of.

Except in this New York, instead of Matthew Ellis, a man named Biden who is apparently over 100 years old (give or take a few years) is president.

In this reality, Leonardo Di Caprio apparently won an Oscar, while Amy Adams still hasn't, which is nuts to you.

The Avengers also don't seem to exist here. Though Superheroes still seem prevalent. A group of misfits that refers to themselves as the Fantastic Four seems to dominate the news cycle more often than not.

Ahead of you, the street splits into two paths and you take a corner into the smaller street that you know should cut through to a dog park.

But it doesn’t. Instead of green grass fields and park benches, you end up in a small narrow dead end of a street. Somehow you're lost. Shit. You should've paid more attention.

Looking up, you turn your head left and right to try to make sense of where you could be. You’re just about to pull up google maps, when the flickering light of the one sole streetlamp illuminating this alley catches your attention.

You're 12 blocks from Chinatown, but you recognize this alley even though it shouldn't be here.

From a distance, you spot the familiar red stall. The same small rickety table. The same red cloth draped on top. The same old lady with her abnormally large shiny head, comically large sunglasses and white-blue robe. The same giant sign spelling out: Fortune teller.

Only this time, there's only one folding chair set up in front of it.

She takes one look at you, as you sit down with a look of familiarity in her milky-white eyes.

"Your bad luck is gone," she says.

You should be more surprised that the scam fortune teller from another dimension seemingly remembers the conversation you had with her other self. But it doesn't. You've learned by now that nothing is as it seems.

Random near death accidents are not just due to bad luck. A superhero that repeatedly saves you isn’t just doing it out of sheer goodwill and duty. A starmap is not just a starmap, and you’re willing to bet your life that this fortune teller is not just a fortune teller.

“Who are you?” you ask her.

“Is that of importance to you?”

“Yes.”

She takes off her sunglasses and stares directly into your eyes. Without the obstruction of dark tinted lenses, you can see that it's not glaucoma causing the whiteness in her pupils. In her eyes, there are galaxies, millions of tiny dots of glowing stars, endless and mesmerizing as you stare back into them.

"My name is Ulana. I’m a Watcher. My role is to observe the Multiverse from the Nexus of all realities.”

There’s no longer that harmless demeanor and friendly smile that makes you drop your guard. She holds herself with reverence as she speaks, with the aura of the divine.

“Does that mean you are able to observe every reality in this moment?” you ask.

“Yes.”

The image of your New York with its pink cracked sky and the chaos you left it in crowds your vision.

"Can you tell me what happened to my old world after I left? Is it still there?"

"Your old home is intact and safe."

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you had been holding all this time.

Thank god.

Relieved tears spill from your cheeks. Somehow you haven't single-handedly caused the destruction and death of whole worlds and countless lives.

Even if you can never go back there, that place will always be your home, and your chest warms at the thought that even without you it will always still be there.

You take a moment to gather yourself, to wipe the errant tears that are welling up with the back of your hand.

Then you take a deep calming breath before you ask her the question that has been plaguing your mind since you arrived in this reality.

"Is Miguel still alive in the void?" you ask her.

"Your husband is still alive. But he doesn't have much time left. He's fading."

Your fingers curl into fists on top of your knees, "How do I save him?"

"I couldn't tell you.” She shakes her head sadly. "My kind is not allowed to intervene. We are only meant to observe the ongoings of the universes. I've already meddled too much.”

Ducking down, she reaches under her desk, sorting through the pile of junk paper, before she leans back up over the table.

"This is the only help I can give you," she says, reaching over to place something into your hands.

You look down to see a familiar bright yellow Star Map.

"He'll be home this time," she tells you.

You're standing on the doorsteps of the old brownstone on 177A Bleecker Street, staring up at the old ornate wooden front doors.

Unlike last time you were here, there's no hesitation in you anymore. It doesn't matter that you've come alone with no other superhero to validate your mad and fantastical story about the Cosmos that was out to kill you.

You don't care if Strange thinks you're a random crazy from the streets.

If he doesn't believe you, then you'll make him believe you. If he tries to have you hauled out, you'll kick and drag and scream at the top of your lungs, and chain yourself to his front door if that's what it takes.

You bring your hand to the door knocker and tap it three times. Then you wait.

Nothing.

Didn't the fortune teller say he was going to be home this time?

Goddamnit, was she a scam after all? What kind of name is Ulana for a celestial being anyhow? Did you end up wasting another ten dollars?

You grit your teeth and step forward again, grabbing the door knocker to pound it down against the front door, even harder this time and you don’t stop at one or two, you keep slamming it down fervently.

Mid-knock, the door creaks, swinging open, as an exasperated voice greets you.

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. There's no need to knock that aggressively, I'm not going to come to the door any fast–"

He stops mid-sentence as he looks at you. For a man you've never met, Dr. Strange's eyes go wide at the sight of you standing on his doorsteps. His eyes are filled with the disbelief of a man who's seen a ghost.

"You're alive," he says.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Strange says as he hurriedly pulls out a chair by the old oak table in his dining room.

“I’ll make us some tea,” he says.

He waves his cape with a dramatic flare in the empty space, and from a distance you hear a small click, before you realize that he must’ve used magic to put on the kettle.

For someone that’s supposed to be a sorcerer, you don’t know why the hell he bothers having a kettle. Seems a bit redundant, couldn’t he just use magic to instantly heat water?

You sit down as instructed, hands folded in your lap as you try not to fidget.

There’s a prolonged and uncomfortable silence as you both wait for the water to boil.

Strange opens then closes his mouth, as if he’s unsure of who should speak first. In the end though, he doesn’t say anything at all, he just drums his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface as he smiles politely but awkwardly at you. Across the room, the water starts simmering to a boil.

This wasn’t what you had expected. You had counted on him to try to kick you out and you having to make a passionate plea for him to listen to you. Instead he’d opened the door and insisted on inviting you in and now the two of you are drowning in a sea of uncomfortable silence.

There’s a tinny whistle from the kettle, and Strange darts up from the chair, as if the interruption was a godsend. He rushes over to pick it up, before walking back to the table with it at a much slower pace.

Then he stands next to you, tilting the snout of the kettle into your small tea cup.

Strange stares intently at your face as he pours the boiling water into the cup. So focused on you that he doesn't pay any attention to the level of the hot water, until it spills over the rim and onto the table surface below. Then he seemingly snaps himself out of it.

"Shit! Sorry," Strange begins. He wipes up the spillage with his robe, even though there are perfectly good paper towels behind him, even though he could’ve just used magic to make it vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You look exactly like her," he says, then he stops himself.

Strange considers the statement and does a curt little nod at himself as if berating himself for how stupid that comment sounded. "Which of course you do. You are her, just… from another dimension."

From your time with Miguel, you’ve been able to glean from his childish rants about the man’s “ugly” and “useless” and “impractical” cape that there’s a hostility there towards Strange that goes beyond just Miguel being Miguel.

Judging from the guilt in this man’s eyes as he looks at you from across the table, you can guess that there is a complicated history between Strange and Miguel and you.

“Did you know me?” you ask.

“Yeah, we were friends. Good friends,” Strange corrects himself. Then a sadness seeps into his eyes as he stops wiping the table and pulls back his robe close to his body. “Although I supposed I wasn’t a great friend to you near the end of things.”

He places the cup down on the table in front of you, the rising steam wafts through the air, smelling of mint and honey as he drags out the chair and sits himself next to you.

"Why don't you tell me everything from the start," Strange asks you.

So you do. You tell him of that first day when you fell out of the Chrysler building and was saved by Miguel. Tell him about how Miguel saved you again and again and how you tried to trap him with cookies and how you fell out of the Chrysler building a second time on purpose, which makes Strange laugh that sounds fond and warm.

You tell him of the void, the fortune teller, the Avengers and everything in between, and how despite surviving all of that Miguel had exiled himself to the void and sent you here by yourself, with each event you tell him his eyes grow sadder.

When you're done, Strange nods solemnly. He picks up his cup and takes a small sip of his tea to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. Then he finally speaks again. "What can I do to help?"

"Miguel is still in the void. I need your help to send me there so I can get him back."

Strange frowns, then goes entirely quiet as he stares out of the window in deliberation. It takes several moments before he speaks again.

"The void is a dangerous place, stay too long and you will be erased from existence. If you go in you may not be able to find your way out and I wouldn’t be able to help you from here."

“That’s fine, I just need your help to get there” you say.

He sets down his cup as he continues. "I can’t in good conscience send you back out there. I've already broken my promise to keep you safe once."

Frustration brims in your chest. As flattered as you are over Strange’s concern over your safety, you bristle at the fact that there seems to be none extended to Miguel’s. Every second you spend here is another second wasted.

“Miguel is there. If I don’t save him, he’s going to be erased from existence.”

That doesn’t seem to move the doctor in the slightest.

“For Miguel, his own life is a small price to pay in exchange for yours. He’d sacrifice the whole world for you to live.”

“That’s not a choice for him to make.”

Strange scratches his thumb over his bearded jaw, as if he's trying to figure out how to solve a puzzle, before speaking again.

"Right now with Miguel gone, the volatile cosmic energy surrounding you is stabilized. The version of you in this universe died and is viewing your presence as an equivalent exchange. You could stay here. You'd be safe. Miguel would've known that. That's probably why he sent you here.”

"I don't want to stay here if Miguel isn't here," you counter.

Leaning back in his chair, Strange up at the ceiling in deep thought.

"It's risky, if I sent you there, you may not even be able to find him. He might not even have his physical shape anymore, he’s been there too long by now."

His head ducks back down as he looks at your face, observing you for long moments.

You don't know what it is he sees, but a small amused smile quirks at his lip as he shakes his head again.

"But... I think you already know the risks and nothing I can say will dissuade you will it?" he says.

You nod.

It's not that you've stopped being scared of the void. It's not that the very thought of it doesn't fill your stomach with a cold dread. It's that Miguel is there, and there is no risk you're not willing to take to have the chance to see him again.

You square your chest and confidence swells inside you with your answer.

"Send me there."

~ Next Issue

Credit and Dedication: We're almost there guys! Next issue is going to be the final one. Thanks to everyone who has been with me on this ride! I cannot wait to share the final conclusion with you all.

Special thank you (as always) go out to my bestie: @thirstworldproblemss who is a big reason this story even lifted off the ground in the first place.

Big BIG BIGGEST thanks to my muse @guruan who has gifted me with so much inspiration be it thirsty twitter art of our favorite rude spider or her own insanely gorgeous art. Have you seen this heartbreaking beauty?!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[billyshakesp]

If I had a nickel for every time two lesbians got into a fight after one of them tried to commandeer a futuristic ship, and one of the lesbians was a dumb idiot jock with a good heart who does not remember her past, only that she came from some distant place in deep space, and the dumb idiot jock lesbian was raised by an old-ass woman with scars completely covering her face, and she has a sword which serves as her weapon and her hand and possibly her cuddly toy, and the one of the lesbians was an evil genius who is also an idiot, but only when it comes to feelings, and has trauma as deep and dark as the chasm she was raised in (which is very deep, and very dark!), and harbours the world's saddest, most all-encompassing crush on the dumb idiot jock lesbian which everyone, quite literally everyone knows about except for her, gasp for air–

And the lesbians get really angee at each other, so they other friends, and the DIJL (take a wild guess as to what that stands for) makes friends with a bunch of really kind and really powerful people, and the idiot is confused because she never felt this "love" thing before, and the evil genius/sapphic mess befriends a dude (gender-neutral) who sold their innocence and childhood to the devil for books! (relatable)–and that person is a genius with the social aptitude of a cantaloupe, except later we find that they actually do know what's going on around them, they're just so deeply incredibly nerdy that no one notices that they are totally badass and will fuck you up, deep inhale–

And then the lesbians attend a formal event where they are friends with sexual tension for a bit, and then they go back to being angee until, Oh no!–the world is now Weirdmaggedon, which results in the death of an actually mature adult woman who we thought didn't have issues, but actually is deeply fucked up inside, and the idiot lesbian has to stop the apocalypse, but this only further increases the rift between the two, but then the evil genius/soft whimpering mess is lifted into space, away from the love-of-her-life-whom-she-doesn't-even-know-she-likes-but-would-actually-fall-on-an-iron-spike-for, but she would actually prefer said spike over ever coming to terms with her feelings, and the evil genius now works with an intergalactic super-empire which rules the observable universe, but she has hallucinations from her childhood (if you could call it that), and she then realises that, shit, I'm just maybe a little bit of a soft, sad, hopeless disaster for one dude (gender neutral) waving a sword around, dramatic gulp for air–

Meanwhile said lesbian with a sword finds out that she is only one piece in a grand plot to harness the ambient energy of her planet, a plan which has been stewing for actual millennia at this point, and it turns out that she's been systematically lied to by the people around her, which makes her big mad, so she starts thwacking her sword at the weird, vaguely animal-looking soldiers sent down by an unfathomably powerful space monster, wheeze–

Meanwhile meanwhile in space, the evil genius/soggy kitten (figurative and literal) actually finds out that oh, it's not actually normal that every time she sees the idiot lesbian, she gets the overwhelming urge to spit in the idiot's face, then lick it off, because bbygirl is disturbed and affection is difficult, okay?–so she almost, almost properly reunites with the other lesbian, but then our hearts are once again torn, still beating, from our ribcage and impaled with a rusty iron spke when, oh no! they have to save the world again...

Meanwhile meanwhile meanwhile in a far-off planet the smart one, their bestie, and another person with a weird gender situation work to raise their family and kill god.

I would have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[nocturnesmoon]

You could dream

A/N: Lil short story based on a concept I dreamt about, I have no clue if this makes sense, also I wrote and edited this with a massive headache so excuse the mistakes- I just had to write about it before I lost the train of thought about it.

The soft click of him opening your door, stirs you to life. Feeling the alcohol swirl in your stomach, your head barely keeping up with the spinning room when you try to push away from him.

"Let me go Simon," you slur your words, yelping when he does as you ask, and you crash against the back of the couch. You groan trying to find your balance, using the armrest to keep you upright.

Despite your intoxicated state, you felt your mind clearing up little by little now that you realized you were home. Even with your blurred memory, it wasn't hard to remember the surprise you had felt when Simon had shown up to ruin your little night out with yourself.

It was a bit ironic in reality, you had gone out to forget about him, your pathetic attempt to stop your weary mind from thinking about him. It had worked wonderfully together with the alcohol until the bastard himself showed up.

"Ugh, I can't believe you," you mumble drunkenly in his direction. You grimace at the feel of your stomach protesting, the predictive feeling that you might soon throw up. You try to hold it back, not wanting to throw up on your carpet once again, you doubted you would feel good enough to clean it up.

You find his silhouette in your swaying vision, suddenly moving forward with a determined haste. He catches you before you collide against his chest, loose fists trying to push him backwards, but there wasn't much strength behind it. "You can't just…just….just do that," you stutter through your words, jabbing a finger right in the center of his torso.

"You can blame me all you want, but I wasn't going to let you go home drunk with some bloke you don't know," he says harshly to get his point across to your wracked brain. He was being mean, not the first words he's said to you tonight, but the only ones you're going to remember, "And I'm not going to apologize for saving you from a situation you know you would have regretted." You still against him, trying not to think about the heat he radiates, the presence that was once yours to bask in.

In your mind, he had come between you and a potential good time, but it didn't take a genius to see that he didn't feel the same in that aspect. The guy you had met that evening filled all the criteria, stronger, broader, taller. A figure fit for the military, and a nasty, brooding personality you could just get behind after he bought you a few drinks.

All in all, not a bad choice for your drunk brain.

Feeling a flare of anger give your energy back, makes you push yourself a few steps away from him once again. "What if I didn't want to be saved, huh!? You think about that?!" You're being loud, but the part of you that would've stopped yourself from yelling left when the buzz got to your head.

He lets you stray away, out of his grasp, like you did a few months ago. You hate the prickling feeling on your skin from the loss of contact, the way you ached for him to touch you again, even if innocent and brief.

You didn't want to admit that you were happy to see him, because why would you be. He cast you out, he was the one to say you were too much. He distanced himself, got himself hurt and you in turn. He had enough of you, right? That's why he left you, why should he care now what you did to sabotage your own life.

"You mean to tell me you wouldn't have a panic attack from regret when you wake up tomorrow in a bed you don't recognize?" he crossed his arms as he looked at you. His scars tugging on his skin when he raises a knowing brow. You wanted to slap him, run your fingers over his face to force his eyebrow back down, to make him stop looking at you like you were an open book to him.

It was one thing to be tossed aside by the only person who had truly cared to get to know you, but when that person came back and still pretended to know you so well, it only measured to piss you off. This time you wanted to yell at him, you wouldn't care if you screamed so loud the neighbours would be concerned.

Yet nothing comes out of your mouth as you stare at him. He takes the breath from your lungs just like he always does, he renders your brain useless, and he steals the words that wanted to come off your tongue.

"Look I know you don't want anything to do with me," he speaks, and you scoff because of course you want everything to do with him, yet also nothing at all, "but I saw you and while we aren't together anymore, I still care for your safety."

You imitate a shocked laugh, "Me? Wanting nothing to do you with you, Simon, you're the one that wanted me gone!" He flinches at that because he knows you're right. He was the one to get rid of you, the one to tell you to stop contacting him, that there was nothing left to find in him.

He says your name, in that soft, quiet way that used to get you weak in the knees. It doesn't fail to do the same now, but the weakness is filled with disdain of its usage. "That's not fair love…" he sounds hurt, confused, and you don't understand why.

"Not fair? Not Fair!?" you feel your own sobriety come from how appalled you are from him. His entire presence is not fair, what does he mean you aren't being fair?! "Simon, I have been trying to move on from you for months now! The first time I actually found someone that even bothered looking my way, you show up and ruin it all!!"

He stands quiet as he lets you yell, he lets you get your emotions out of him, he stands and takes all of your hurt, all of the pain he unintentionally caused you. "I know dove…" he tries to speak, but you make it known you're not done.

"Do not call me that!! I am not your dove, I am not your love, you made it clear you didn't want me anymore, so don't even pretend to care that someone else might want to do what you couldn't!!" you promptly shut up when he stalks forward, grabbing hold of you by your elbows.

You don't know what he wants, what he intends to do, but the action alone makes you keep shut, staring up into his eyes that show more emotion than you've seen from him in so long.

"I'm not pretending," he sighs as he looks at you, "but we're not having this conversation while you're intoxicated." His thumb rubs tentatively into your exposed skin, a soothing action he doesn't think is working.

You dig your nails into his skin subconsciously, your brain works hoops trying to comprehend what he just told you, what the tone of his voice and what his body is trying to tell you. "What? No, what does that mean, Simon, you can't just-"

"Look I…" he sighs deeply, "I've had a lot of time to think when we were apart, I meant to call you up earlier, explain myself, at least give you the chance to make your own decision instead of me making it for you." He looks you at you so tenderly, but you don't fail to see the anxious desperation.

"I'm a coward, love…"

You stare at him dumbfounded, trying to see what he meant by those words. Was he seriously suggesting what you thought he was? Was he really about to make all the time you had spent crying over him for nothing, that he didn't have to leave you thinking you weren't worth the time of day.

Or was he just saying that he had come to his senses, that he realized things in your absence that he wouldn't have otherwise? You feel your mind overload with questions and information that you're in no state to handle. It hurts to speculate, prodding and digging to try and find a meaning. Fat tears start to pool in your eyes as you stare at him, his hand coming up instinctively to wipe them away as they fall.

"That's not fair" he frowns gently, looking on quietly to see if you would elaborate. Though he knows you're confused and emotional, thinking too many thoughts that does nothing but ruin you further.

And when you don't come with an explanation, all he finds himself muttering is the soft assurances.

"I know"

"You're not being fair" you continue, hiccuping in-between your choked back sobs. You don't want to fall apart in front of him. A part of you doesn't think he deserves it. Why should he get to see your tears when he caused them. That's not right, none of this feels right.

"I know"

Yet you can't help but want to crash in his arms because you know he will catch you. No matter what he's said in the parts, not even when you guys used to fight, he would never shut you out should, you need him. He has always been there at the ready for whatever you need from him.

"I hate you" you utter the lie in hopes you can hold onto the last of your resolve, but it quickly disintegrates when you curl yourself around him, and he accepts it like no bad thing has happened between the two of you. He holds you close like he used to, giving you that old nostalgic feeling of when he used to promise to never let you go. But he let you go, didn't he?

"I love you" the words are no longer hollow in your ears; his voice vibrates in his chest against you. His warmth engulfs you, his scent, his being surrounds you in a way that was once suffocating, but now the nicest blanket you've ever had. Maybe you could dare to dream, that he has an explanation, that there were reasons for his behaviour, that it's not all lost.

You could dream.

[mashup-writing]

Backstage Brainstorm (Resident Lover; Cassandra Dimitrescu)

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Requested? ❌

"Hurry home, let's never leave the house."

Summary: It hasn't even been a week since the Romeo and Juliet play had It's closing night but Cassandra, the ever sky-reaching star, is already trying to think up her next play that will be shown on the Campus theatre next year. It's up to you to convince her to get some much needed sleep.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Resident Lover Masterlist

01-11: I swear, there was someone who asked me to make a Cassandra fluff fic but I can't find it in my inbox so now I'm not sure if I just accidentally deleted it or if it was in the RL Server that someone asked..

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Light assaults your eyelids and you can't help but groan in sleepy annoyance. It's not bright enough to feel like sunlight, plus there's a lack of warmth in the air. You're forced to slowly blink your eyes open as your mind starts to wake itself up in the attempt to decipher what the light source is.

You turn in the bed, arm extended to reach for...

Cold sheets?

You crack one eye open to find the culprit behind the brightness: Cassandra's over on her writing desk, with the night lamp turned on as she types away on her laptop, occasionally turning to a book by her hand before turning back to her laptop.

You untangle yourself from the sheets before slowly getting up and walking over to where the theatre director is.

"Hey there."

The clicking of the keycaps stop as you place a soft kiss to the top of Cassandra's head, keeping a hand buried in her hair even when you've pulled away. She tilts her head up to meet your gaze, and a sheepish smile grazes her lips as you raise your eyebrows at her. A silent question of "What are you up to?" conveyed clearly enough by your expression.

Cassandra sighs, taking your free hand in her own and placing kisses on each of your knuckles. It puts a smile on your lips, it was a habit Cassandra has developed ever since the two of you had started officially dating which she does whenever you're in very close proximity and she's gathering the words in her head before letting them leave her lips.

"A rough script draft of the play that I'm thinking of bringing from pages to a theatre stage. For this incoming year I was thinking Frankenstein, The Shadow Over Innsmouth, or Faerie Tale- I'm thinking Innsmouth but I still have no idea how we'll be able to set the stage for the parts that require an oceanic backdrop.."

The Actress has looked back over to the book on the table and her eyes skim the pages with a very focused look in them which you would have found cute if not for the very dark bags underneath.

"Incoming year."

Cassandra looks back over to you with a raised brow. "Huh?" is the only sound that leaves her mouth. You shake your head in fondness, how she's both basically a genius and a dumbass all in one is something that will never cease to surprise you. She offers no complaints when you take your hand out of her hair and go about saving the file on her computer before shutting it down. The look you sent her when she tried to start complaining was enough to shut her up.

You take both her hands in yours, gently pulling her up from her seat before leading her back under the blankets. Cassandra settles into your arms, head tucked underneath your chin. The sigh of contentment she lets out results in a chuckle from you.

"Much better than hunching over a desk isn't it?"

There's a beat of silence before Cassandra begrudgingly agrees with a muffled "I guess so." that could've been mistaken as nothing more than a grumble. But you know better.

"Vacation's just ended, Cass. I know you're in love with the Theatrical Arts, but now's the time for you- For us to catch up on sleep and take the breaks that we deserve."

She places a kiss to your collarbone, agreeing with a hum before nuzzling back into her comfortable position being tucked underneath your chin.

"You've got a point that I refuse to argue, and that's coming from someone in pre-law so you know you've won big time."

You both laugh, and the air in her room is filled with the essence of comfort. There's no place you'd rather be and even if you can feel that sleep is starting to creep up on the both of you, you can't help but try your best to delay it in favor of hearing Cassandra's voice for just a little longer.

"How come The Shadow Over Innsmouth was your first choice?"

"Well, the book literally starts off from the point of view of this traveler in a bus who ends up in an almost-abandoned village off a coast. He's heard stories about his destination but he's also very skeptical cuz most of the rumors legitimately sound like the story-tellers are off their fucking rockers-"

Cassandra's words start to slow and slur, and you're having difficulty in stopping her words from blurring together.

There's faint traces of bright sunlight peeking through the curtains of Cassandra's room, but it bothers neither Juliet nor her Romeo as the two both start succumbing to the inescapable pull of sleep.

The only sound that can be heard within the room is the faint synchronisation of the lovebirds' breathing.

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01-11: Cassandra fluff!! Cassandra fluff!! Cassandra fluff!! I still can't believe that this Campus heart throb has the "Tamest" cult ending possible.

[sungbeam]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐖 — 01

part one: heaven only knows where you've been

nonidol!lee sangyeon x fem!reader

2.1k words, est. relationship au, fluff, romance, swear words, low-key just ooey-gooey, proposal au; sangyeon knows that you're the one, and he's ready to run headfirst into forever with you.

a/n: this was supposed to be a full oneshot LMAO but i'm trying to see if people like it enough for me to continue (_ _;) the motivation has been very low lately y'all

IT was the summer after his senior year of university that Lee Sangyeon knew he was going to marry you.

He was among the few out of your big group of mutual friends to graduate this year, and instead of a high school-esque grad party, all of you decided to book rooms at one of the fancy ass hotels downtown and live like royalty for a weekend.

It had been in the maknaes' room that everyone gathered round to play a game of One Night Werewolf, armchairs and desk chairs and pillows dragged over toward the couch in the living room of their suite. Jacob's phone sat in the center of the glass coffee table, silenced now that the round had ended in an explosion of disbelief.

"NOOOOO!"

"I knew it! I fucking knew it—"

"I cannot believe she pulled a Chanhee."

All of the commotion was directed toward you, who sat innocently on the couch, squeezed between Jacob's and Younghoon's partners. Your cheeks were flushed and your skin glowed with a beautiful, warm flush, your grin lighting up the room. Victory sang loudly in your eyes, and goddamn, if Sangyeon didn't find you so alluringly attractive even if you just fooled the entire group to win the game.

You could only shrug, fiddling with your Tanner card. Even your inherent modesty couldn't suppress the smile on your face. You tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Look, you guys know I can't lie to save my life," you said, "so this one's on you for just assuming I was a werewolf."

Sunwoo and Eric grumbled their reluctant agreement, followed by everyone else.

Sangyeon didn't know what it was about you tonight—or rather, you every night, every minute of every day—but if he could spend the rest of his life chasing that beautiful smile, then he could die a happy man. There was something so attractive about the simple, yet genius way you knew how to manipulate your own weaknesses into a strength, to wield it like a blade. It was effortless.

Changmin was groaning again, bickering back and forth with Chanhee about "influencing your tactic", mainly because Chanhee had committed a similar act to you in the very first round (except, Chanhee was actually a very skilled liar, unlike you). Somebody was going around collecting everyone's cards to shuffle up and start up a new game, and in the midst of all the madness, you felt a pair of eyes on you.

You turned your head, mid-laugh, and met Sangyeon's pair of shining crescent moons. Your posture and gaze softened, but your smile widened. It had been three years (and counting) since he first asked you out, since he asked you to be his. He'd been relatively quiet this round, and so you mouthed to him with your head tilted to the side, 'Everything okay?'

A smile pressed into his cheeks. 'Everything's perfect.'

It wasn't until two years later that Sangyeon announced to Jacob and Kevin that he was going to propose. The three of them had been hanging out at Kevin's place watching a baseball game on TV, their bodies lounging on recliners with drinks in their hands.

Kevin fell completely out of his chair at the news, while Jacob's eyes went comically wide. "FINALLY!" Kevin squawked from the floor, grunting as he hauled himself back up into his chair while massaging his sore backside with a grimace.

Sangyeon raised his eyebrows, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. "What's that supposed to mean?" He laughed nervously. Had you said something to Kevin before?

Kevin deadpanned at him. "Dude, respectfully, if you weren't going to wife her up anytime soon, I was gonna do it for you!"

Sangyeon's mouth opened to retort, quite furiously, he might add—but Jacob wisely put both his hands up to physically step in for damage control.

"What he meant to say," Jacob said with a pointed look at a sheepish Kevin, "was that we are very happy for you, hyung. When's it happening?"

Ah. Well… Sangyeon winced to himself, knocking back a bit of alcohol. "Okay, I don't have all the details worked out—"

Kevin slapped his hand to his forehead. "You don't even have the ring, do you?"

"No—"

Even Jacob covered his mouth. "He doesn't even have the ring."

With a melodramatic whimper, Kevin shook with a feigned sob. "If you liked it, then you should've put a ring on it."

Sangyeon sighed, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. To be honest, he thought telling Jacob and Kevin first was the smart choice, but then again, if he went to any of his friends and told them that he didn't have the ring yet, then he'd receive reactions similar to this one. Even if he went to their partners, he might get smacked around. It was simply the fate of being the eldest.

Moreover, he had only just decided he was going to propose to you. You graduated a year after him, and now you both had stable jobs. The two of you had moved in together awhile ago, but it was only at this very moment that Sangyeon let his mind wander to the "next step". Coming home to you every evening and waking up to you every morning had become his status quo, one that he was infinitely blessed with. He couldn't imagine starting and ending his days with anyone else, and perhaps both you and him had been so busy lately that neither of you could really sit down and talk about beyond.

Sure, the topic of marriage and kids had come up at some point. Sangyeon had even seen a glimpse of your wedding Pinterest board once, and you even knew the exact way he wanted to renovate your future home together. And two kids—you both wanted two kids and a dog.

Okay, so maybe the topic hadn't just come up. But it was about time that the ball kept rolling, no matter how much Sangyeon wanted to take his time with you. A part of him couldn't wait to get to 'forever' with you. No, all of him couldn't wait, not anymore.

The next day, Sangyeon went ring shopping with Kevin and Jacob in tow. Both of the latter's partners were also told to be close to their phones to give their opinions on each design choice.

Sangyeon had never thought about the ring. There were vague options that cycled through each imagined proposal concocted in his head, but none of them had stuck. It had to be perfect, though, that was all he knew and the very thing stuck at the front of his brain as he and his friends hopped from jeweler to jeweler.

Three hours, six shops, and two iced Americanos (each) later, Sangyeon hunched over a case of diamond-topped white gold bands. He wasn't very optimistic at this point, and even Jacob and Kevin had wandered over to a different section of the store to try on bracelets.

Sangyeon's eyes swept over the vast sea of sparkling jewels, each more radiant than the last. They were all either too expensive, too cheesy, or just not the one. There was also the option of going with a rock that wasn't diamond, but Sangyeon always drew himself toward the diamond section, unwilling to look anywhere else.

From his pants pocket, his phone buzzed the familiar ringtone he had set for your specific call. He dragged a hand down his face, but he couldn't help the soft, happy sigh from his mouth as he picked up. "Hey, baby. What's up?"

He nestled his phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued to judge the rows of rings in the case below.

"Love, I'm picking up dinner!" Your voice came out in sharp, strained huffs as if you were running and trying to catch your breath. "Almost missed… almost missed the train! Whoo—holy shit, I'm out of shape," you hissed.

Sangyeon chuckled when he heard you curse again and yell at someone to hold the door for you. Only when you were safely on and vocally announced that you had your butt in a seat, did he reply. "Glad you made it."

"Me too," you panted. "This is why I don't go to the gym; this is so embarrassing."

"I thought you don't go to the gym because you'd just stare at me the whole time," he teased, the corner of his lips lifting into a smirk.

You stammered on the other end of the line. "You're—you can't just say that to me in public."

He laughed a little more at that, eyes flickering around him to make sure no one was giving him a glare in the quiet shop. His attention swiftly went back to the jewel case with his eyebrows creased together. This time, however, his eyes caught the glint of one ring in particular. It was one of the many diamonds seated upon white gold bands, but this one was cut in a marquise style: a slim oval at the center with smaller diamonds branching out to create a sort of floral shape around it. There was something so simple, yet elegant about its look.

Sangyeon felt his heart leap in his chest. This one. This was the one.

"—Sangyeon? Honey, you there?"

He cleared his throat, his eyes searching the store for a sales clerk and curling his fingers toward him to signal him to come over. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Jacob and Kevin catch on and begin to make their way over, too. "Yea—yeah," he grappled, "sorry, babe, thought I saw something. What were you saying?"

He licked his lips, straightening, and grabbing the phone with his non-dominant hand so he could point out the ring to the three others surrounding him.

Jacob and Kevin could hardly contain their squeals as they grinned at each other, their hands slamming together so they could grab each other and shake the other's body.

"Oh, uh, nothing. You were just quiet for a bit… where are you, by the way? Should I wait to get dinner?"

Sangyeon mouthed, 'This one' to the sales clerk, furiously jabbing his pointer finger down at the glass case. "Uh," he winced, palm coming to his forehead as he racked his brain for a sensible answer, "I'm out with Kev and Cobie right now, but I'll be home in time for dinner. I'm okay with anything you're craving."

The sales clerk quietly retrieved the ring from the glass case, the diamonds glinting like rainbows in the shop's lighting. Sangyeon's eyes went wide as he gently took the ring in his fingers and inspected the piece.

It was gorgeous. Holy shit.

"Kev and Cobie?" You parroted. "Oh, say hi to them for me! And I'll just grab something from the Thai place down the street."

"Sounds great, baby." Sangyeon bit down hard on his lower lip as he broke into a wide, almost hysterical grin. He mouthed to the jeweler your ring size, a number he had memorized for an embarrassingly long time now. After handing the ring back over, he turned slightly away from everyone so he could finally focus on you. "Sorry, I've been a little distracted, but did you have a good day?"

He could hear the sounds of the train's robotic lady voice announcing the stop for home. Shuffling from your end, then, "That's okay," you chirped, your voice growing soft as you walked further away from hustle and bustle, and closer to the quieter street your apartment complex was on. "I know you were probably busy when I called. My day was okay, but I just—" you sighed as a door thumped closed, "—I'm just happy to be home now. Can't wait to see you."

Sangyeon could feel the tug in his chest, as if the connection between you two was pulling him, urging him home to you. "Can't wait to see you, too, Yn," he replied softly. He knocked his knuckles against one of the glass cases. "Tell you what? If you place the order, I'll just pick the food up on my way home, how's that sound? You should just rest, love."

There was another door slam on your end. "I love you," you breathed in relief.

His heart sputtered in his chest, a small laugh falling from his lips. "You know I love you more."

He could hear the smile in your voice. "This isn't a competition, Mr. Lee."

"Who said I'd ever want to compete with you?" He mused. "But just so you know, I do love you the most."

tbz m.list | possible part two?

permanent taglist: @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @vatterie @yogurteume @hyunjaespresent-deobi @justalildumpling @hongyangi @pxppxrmint @nerdypastacalzonespy @jcmdoll @zhaixiaowen @wtfhyuck @winterchimez @sodafy @fluorescentloves @tinkerbell460 @kflixnet

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 6!!

Not much to say here this time. I'm glad you all are enjoying this. I'm having a blast! :D

Beginning || Previous || Next

*****************

After a while you speak.

“Well,” You say, “I can tell you what we’re not doing. We are not going to see Mr. Gaiman. Honestly, Crowley, the man is a genius, but he is also a troll. He doesn’t give away plot – if anything he gives the most chaotic response he can think of, and then tells you to wait and see. SO, that wouldn’t help us at all.”

Muriel is the next to speak.

“Um, also I don’t think those other angels are on earth?”

“Would we know if they were?” You say, looking to Aziraphale. The principality shrugs.

“To be honest, I really don’t know. It was such a long time ago.”

“Okay,” You say, “So we call up Anathema, and we go to America to look for Jesus. I mean...the things that Neil and Terry plotted out did happen, even if they weren’t all identical to the book. So it’s probably safe to assume that the pattern will continue.”

“Right,” Aziraphale says, reaching for his rotary phone, “I’ll call Miss Device.”

“Hold on,” Crowley says, “Who’s this we who’s going to America?”

“You, Aziraphale, Anathema, Me,” You say, “Muriel needs to stay here and look after the bookshop. Maybe Newt could --”

“And what makes you think you’re coming?” The demon presses.

“The fact that I dropped in from another reality, know everything that has happened so far, and is the only one with half an idea of what’s going to happen next. Also Anathema is going to need help wrangling the two of you.”

“Whassat supposed to mean?”

“You’re a pair of Disaster Puppies.”

Crowley opens his mouth again, offended.

“Trouble does seem to find us an awful lot,” Aziraphale says. Clearly he’s decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. You make a mental note that he is not upset with being called a Disaster Puppy for some reason. Priorities maybe?? You let it go.

“Great,” You say, “So it’s settled.”

------------

All things considered, it doesn’t take very long for Anathema and Newt to arrive. Apparently they happened to be visiting London. What are the chances of that? It’s almost like this is a work of fiction that I am writing and so I can make things surprisingly convenient if I want to. Now, let’s continue.

It takes longer to answer Newt’s questions than it does to fill Anathema in on the situation. You’re grateful for her sharp mind and willingness to accept things that are...well...difficult to just accept. Probably comes with being a witch/occultist. Once they both know the full story, and Newt’s curiosities are satisfied, Anathema nods.

“Okay,” she says, “Right. So we need to save the world again, and we’re hinging all of our bets on finding Jesus and successfully convincing him to help us? Seems...like a long shot. Like, a really long shot.”

“These two have managed to succeed with implausible plans before,” You point out. Anathema hums. She doesn’t seem convinced.

“I mean, it’s not that I mind helping you. Jesus probably has the kind of aura that I could find and track without too much trouble. I would just...really have appreciated that if you were going to interrupt our getaway that you would at least have a backup plan. Or, maybe some intel that’s actually intelligence instead of guesses. Like if Aziraphale had actually been in Heaven as the Supreme Archangel, he could have been feeding us information and instructions. And then we would know for sure where to go and what to do.”

Oh. A rock sinks to your stomach. And you suppose that after making them ward the bookshop like that then...needing to leave it...you just might have accidentally put a target on your backs. Whoops. Turns out saving the world one step at a time is really, really hard.

“That would have been way too dangerous though!” You say, desperate for your own defense, “I’m not putting these two in anymore danger than absolutely necessary. I….” You look over at your beloved angel and demon, then turn back to Anathema. “I need them to be okay,” You admit quietly. That’s what it’s all about for us, isn’t it? All the theories, all of the South Down Cottage manifesting. The fanart, the fanfiction, the edits and animatics. We love them and while we understand that they need to go through angsty things to grow, in the end we need them to be okay.

Well, most of us anyway. I can’t speak for everyone.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Aziraphale is there once again.

“And we will be,” he says softly. You hear Anathema sigh.

“Right,” she says, “okay, so we head to America. I need to go home first and get my supplies. Newt will stay here with Muriel and help them hold the fort.”

“Um...this is a bookshop?” Muriel adds uncertainly.

“I bet,” Newt says slowly, “That if I help a few people around here with their computers, I might make enough mischief to convince Heaven that there’s still a demon around here. Then that looks almost like you’re still here, right? Might buy you some time at least.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Anathema says. Muriel practically glows.

“Oh! I get to live with an actual human! You can teach me human things!”

“Oh, uh yeah,” Newt says, “I don’t see why not. It’ll be fun.”

Anathema agrees to return with Newt in two days. She expects you lot to sort out the plane tickets “Because,” she says, “I am not having you fly me over, or poof me over, or whatever it is that you do.”

“I am a demon! I do not poof!”

“I don’t care. I want plane tickets.”

“Ooh!” You say, raising your arm in the air with a jump. “Can they be first class? I’ve never flown first class before!”

Crowley groans. Aziraphale sighs.

“We are not genies,” Aziraphale says, “Or banking machines.”

“No, but you do have unlimited resources so in a way,” You say, pausing for dramatic effect, a mischievous smile spreading from ear to ear, “You are like Santa Claus!”

You make a fast exit from the room before Aziraphale can say anything. Crowley is laughing and you hear what you think is a chair falling over.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

[yostresswritinggirl]

TCG - Chase The Mirage

pairing -> Cyno x Adventurer!Reader x Tighnari; poly

word count -> 1.7k+ words

themes -> fluff, established relationship, scenarios and headcanons, lots of card game terminologies

(masterlist) (previous) The two Kings of Invokations, infatuated and hooked to a simple adventurer from the Adventurer’s Guild. Thankfully, in this universe, there is no need to duel each other for your heart.

"What a peculiar move, especially this far in the game already." Looking up from the light novel you picked up from Inazuma in your last trip, you shift your attention to the playing field before you.

"We're testing your new deck, I think it's only appropriate to see how well it works against slow build up players." Tighnari would notice your stare and send you a smile, before concentrating once again to observe Cyno's turn.

Shaking your head with a smile, you go back to reading as their chatters and occasional bickering turn to background noise.

It's one of those rare days where the three of you had the 'day-off' to enjoy time together. Emphasis on day-off seeing as your two lovers are still technically on the clock due to their positions, but here under the shade of a tree in the forest, only you three matter.

And for today's date, Cyno eagerly challenged Tighnari to a Genius Invokation TCG duel to try out his new deck. And the latter decided to humor him.

When it comes to his favorite card game, the General exudes the same seriousness when he deals with Matra work. This thought passes you as you sneak a glance at the way he strokes his chin with squinted eyes.

So focused in fact that he didn't see your hand approach his face until you're shoving the apple slice between his lips. He says a muffled thanks as he eats the slice whole, mirth in his eyes at your antics.

"Hey, why does he get hand-fed when I'm the one winning here?" Tighnari looks at the two of you with a mock glare and pout, prompting you to throw a grape at his face which he expertly evaded with a laugh.

"You're not a winner until you defeat all my charac- oh." Looking at the field, Cyno realized that all of his character cards are indeed defeated. "Must you really finish me with my own card?"

Unlike Cyno, however, Tighnari simply plays the game for fun (or when his lovers ask for a game) while being good at it still. The forest watcher only shrugs in response as he cradles the fruit bowl.

Thinking that would be the end of their game, you yelped when Cyno suddenly yanked you to his side to sit between his legs, book pried out of your hands and laid pages down to save your progress. "What the -"

"Since I lost, then it should be (Y/N)'s turn to duel you, right?" Cards upon cards fall into your grasp in your still confused state. Tighnari who now sits across you scowls at the man behind you. "Don't worry, I'll be assisting you the whole time since you're using my cards."

"And they say I'm the sly vixen here." Tighnari scoffs as he shuffles his deck, this time he seemed to be sitting up straight to show how he's taking this game more seriously now.

"I didn't even-" Your words were interrupted at Cyno's hands offering the 8-sided dice to you. You sigh. "I hate you two." And your hand throws the die to start your turn.

With your combined powers (aka Cyno's relentless backseating), you managed to defeat Tighnari with a score of 2/3. But when he then pulled you to his lap to assist YOU on defeating Cyno, you doubt that you actually won that last round.

"You two are such idiots." You grumbled as you draw the exile artifact card.

"You're also an idiot by association."

You throw the die to whoever said that.

About TCG: Introduction

It was inevitable that you got wrapped up on the TCG scene too when you have Tighnari and Cyno as lovers.

Like some kind of initiation, prerequisite to your relationship, the game was the first thing you were taught after you became official.

However, that doesn't mean you're good at it - then again, those two aren't really the best comparison to your beginner skills. There's just a lot of mental gymnastics involved that you can't keep up with.

So no, just because you're in a relationship with the kings of invokations doesn't guarantee that you're immediately a pro.

Your first deck was actually given to you by their combined cards. Extra cards they pulled or cards that don't fit their meta, it looked like an absolute mess when you knew better.

But it was endearing inheriting their cards, especially when you can see their genuine desire to share this hobby with you. Well, obsession for Cyno.

You realized this as the one who runs into Cyno a lot due to your wandering occupation, he would ALWAYS ask you if you want to play a round whenever you cross paths.

At first, you can't find it in your heart to decline since you're still learning. It wasn't until Tighnari caught wind of what Cyno was doing that he pulled you off to the side, lecturing you and reiterating that you CAN say no.

Turns out Tighnari also deals with Cyno's dueling addiction, and that if he doesn't decline, it would end up with him skipping important forest watcher duties.

To think you were lectured about the importance of consent over a trading card game.

The first time you opened a pack of cards was also a memory worth remembering.

While on a date in the city, Cyno pulled you and Tighnari to Dori after hearing that the merchant had a new batch in stock.

Paying for your respective packs, the three of you made a whole fuss to open up your cards at the same time. Somehow, while their packs were full of mediocre cards and duplicates, when they turned to you -

"What god did you sell your soul to?!" "What?" "This is the first time I've seen three meta cards in one pack!"

As a beginner, you only look at what design looks good or shiny, so you did not understand why they're breaking down on the floor then.

Dubbed as their archon of luck, it became tradition that if you were in the area, they would force you to open their pack for them.

You wish this luck of yours were for something else, honestly.

About TCG: Habits

Before you got into the game, they would always show you their new packs, showing off the beautiful designs and the rarities. At that time, you didn't know how expensive or 'meta' each card was. If it's shiny, it's probably good.

When Tighnari lets you peruse through his deck of unused cards, he would pay great attention to the cards that you took interest in even just by design.

And then he'll let you keep it! Doesn't matter if it's shiny or a really good card, you can have it, keep it in your home or in your wallet if you want.

Even if he only has one copy of a particular card, seeing you happy makes the sacrifice worth it.

It was also hilarious to see Cyno make a fuss about seeing said cards on your person when you catch up when crossing paths.

He'll look at your tiny but growing collection and throw in random facts here and there. "Ohh, you even have this card? What else do I expect from my lover, such good taste." He praises with a nod, exaggeratedly.

They both have their personal playing mats that matches their aesthetic greatly, and one that has the the limited edition Adventurer's Guild design because it reminds them of you! It's not the best looking one out there, but it's special to them.

Mats are pretty bulky so you don't really like bringing one around so when a game is expected, they bring their spare for you to use like the sweethearts that they are.

Cyno, still with his absurd spending habits when it comes to Genius Invokation, commissioned someone for custom deck boxes as a gift to you and Tighnari. It was definitely expensive seeing as he had to save up for it.

When Cyno is crafting a new deck, he urges you to do the same. Spice things up, you know? He likes to hear your opinion despite knowing more than you, to the point that he made a whole other desk made with your favorite cards and play style.

He uses that deck for casual games with the Matra, and they don't fail to notice how he seems to have a wisp of a smile on his face the whole time he plays.

Tighnari, on the other hand, is a meticulous player with a penchant for detail.

All of his cards have sleeves!!!! He likes taking care of his things and that includes his cards, some of them even have double sleeves! You can find him taking his sweet time putting each card in sleeves on a slow day.

Sometimes, you join him on putting sleeves if your hands aren't dirty, at least.

"Do you have a favorite color?" The next time you see him, he gives you a pack of sleeves in that color for your own deck. Do you want him to help you with that, actually? I think he finds it relaxing.

He also has fancy dice of his own which he changes around depending on his mood. Of course, you also get your own! There's a marbled set, a set that's galaxy-themed, oh oh this one refracts light to make a rainbow -

You don't participate in tournaments unlike your boyfriends, but they always encourage you to play with other players besides them for practice.

Tighnari doesn't give Cyno one tho, he's sure that he can buy it himself. Or lends him a set at least, one that's violet with gold accents, and had since 'forgotten' to take it back from him.

But if there's one habit that they share, it's that whenever you're around during a game, they are always guaranteed to win. It's because you're their lucky charm, they say, but it's as simple as wanting to show off when you're cheering for them so supportively.

"No, you shouldn't expend all your energy cards this turn." Your fingers twitched before moving to an artifact card instead.

"Are you sure you want to pull that out now? You're not really attacking this turn."

Your opponent, Amir, stares at you in sympathy as you pinch the bridge of your nose. Behind you, Cyno and Tighnari started a whole new conversation about strategies and what your next move should be.

"Um, do they even realize that they pretty much revealed your hand to me?"

"I think we should reschedule."

Amir let out a horrified gasp when you turned around and smacked your beloveds over the head with your deck box.

Maybe he should exercise how to say no to an invitation, too.

My TCG knowledge from my card game enthusiast seniors back in college has finally been put to use

@chuusposts @ireallylikehamsters @maehemthemisfit

[osapril]

GACHIAKUTA ONE-SHOTS

ZANKA

"Wow!"

"Spectacular!"

"They must be a genius."

Day in and day out, I get called a genius. There's nothing that special about me. I'm good at fighting and that's pretty much it. I don't think I have ever met an actual genius in my life. I want to see the pedestal people put me on, I want to know why they stop and stare. I have never really been good at handling praise. The next day came around. As I arrived back at HQ from another mission, I saw one of my coworkers sitting outside on a bench, reading a book.

Who was it again?

"Zanka, is it?" I asked him.

"Hm... yes, can I help you." He inquired.

"No-no, I don't need anything," I said waving my hands side to side. "I just saw you and wanted to say hi."

"Well, hello..." he replied. He didn't seem like he wanted to chat at all as he went back to reading.

Feeling awkward, I decided to leave. I was just about to walk away, but then I was blocked by a big red bow. Moving my head to the side, I saw two little kids holding what seemed to be a gift basket. Confused, I moved to the side thinking I was in their way, but they followed me as I turned.

"This is for you!" they said in unison.

"M-me?" I said, confused as to why I'd receive such a gift. They passed me the basket, smiling and giggling as I held it.

"We wanted to say thank you for saving our farm!"

"Your farm?" you asked, remembering your previous mission.

"Well, more like a garden. But we worked hard to grow stuff. Those trash beasts have been messing things up for so long." One of the children said.

"We made this gift for you to show our appreciation." The other added.

The kids went on about how cool you were fighting the trash beasts, even going as far as to recreate the moves you did. As blood started to rise to your face, you started feeling sheepish. You looked around for help and landed on the boy you talked to earlier, Zanka. He happened to be watching the conversation between you and the children. You tried to signal for help, but he ignored it by looking in the opposite direction. Sighing, you realized you had to wait for them to finish.

One of the children jumped up in excitement, "You were amazing out there, like, like... like you were some genius!"

A jagged smile formed on your face, feeling embarrassed by what you have been called. "Please don't call me that."

"Why not! You are." One of the children proclaimed.

"I'm, I'm really not." You said, scratching the back of your neck, feeling a sweat coming down.

"It's getting late, I think you kids should head home." You shooed away the children.

As the kids left, you rested your hands on your hips, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "What is all this genius talk about..." You mumbled.

You looked back to the coworker you supposedly called for help still reading his book. You walked up to him, taking a seat next to him on the bench. You tried to make eye contact with him, but his eyes were still focused on the book.

"Thanks for the help back there." You sarcastically said.

No answer from him. Again, feeling awkward, you decided to leave but was stopped when you heard his voice.

"Did those kids call you a genius?" He asked.

"Huh, y-yeah, I guess they did." You replied, still feeling awkward from earlier silence.

The boy softly closed his book and placed it down in between us. He looked over to me with a neutral frown. Our eyes locked together; his eyes sent a slight chill down my spine. It seemed like he was analyzing me.

Before I could say anything, he spoke.

"You don't look like a genius."

"Huh..?" You felt muddled by his statement, not expecting that to come out at all.

"You seem completely average to me." He continued, resting his head on his hand. You wanted to say something but kept silent due to the shocked from his comment. Silence filled the area again, but the two of you were just staring at each other instead. You felt tied as you were trying to come up with something to say. The boy, Zanka, just kept staring at you as you fiddled with your thoughts.

"No need to feel awkward. I don't like geniuses, and it doesn't seem like you do too," He spoke, breaking the silence. "Knowing your average and being average ain't so bad." 

"I guess..." you replied. "You call yourself average?" 

"I used to think I was a genius. I was better than everyone else until someone came and disrupted that." 

He continued to speak to me, explaining in detail how he use to feel about such things, how he got his Jinki, and how he fell from his pedestal. The talk was long and entertaining to listen to. I finally found someone I could relate to, and possibly confide in. 

The two of you continued to talk for hours, not even noticing that the day had become night. After some time, the two of you finally noticed. You offered to continue the conversation as the both of you walked back to HQ. 

Weeks have passed since the two of you met, causing the both of you to get closer. Zanka seemed more and more open about besting geniuses as an average person. You have never felt concerned about geniuses, never even met one. The two of you had met up and continued to chat on the bench where you met.

"Have you met a genius? What were they like?" you asked him.

"I have, and I was completely outmatched. I sat at the top of my class for so long before they came. I got quite the reality check because of them." He said, chuckling as he remembered. 

You smiled as he quietly laughed. You stared at him, admiring his features. You liked and idolized his resolve to become better, and yet remain humble. 

'Geniuses have it easy, but who am I to say.' You thought. 

You placed your elbows on your thighs, resting your head on your hands, cupping your face. You thought momentarily about why you cared about knowing what a genius is for so long.

'It must be because I've been called it for so long. I don't have much of a reason other than that. It must be nice having other reasons for it.'

Getting lost it thought, you hadn't noticed the blond poking your cheek, eventually pinching it. 

"Ouch..!" You squealed, rubbing your cheek. You looked at him, seeing that his face was still, though forming a small smile. You puffed your cheeks, frowning your eyes. You flicked the hand he used to pinch you. He flinched, taking his hand and rubbing the area.

"What's gotten you lost in thought?" He asked.

"I don't know, guess. Maybe I was thinking of you." you joked.

A tint of red formed on the boy's face. He took his hands and covered his face, turning around. A look of surprise appeared on yours. You haven't seen him this flustered before, he always looked professional. You grabbed his shoulders and tried to turn him around, failing. Eventually, he ended up turning on his own, his expression back to his normal calm exterior.

"What could have you thinking of me." He asked calmly.

Wanting to see if you can shake his calm composure, you said, "You seem to want me to think about you. I never said I was, I said guess."

A faint, hardly noticeable blush crept on his face, "Don't be mistaken. I would have never thought that."

"Come on, we've practically been attached for weeks now, it not at all weird to think of each other," You said, shifting closer to him, placing one hand on his shoulder. You pulled him in, catching him in a hug. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were thinking of me." You patted his back as you laughed. 

"Wouldn't be surprised? By the thought, or how much?" He quietly said. 

Hearing this, a blush emerged on your face. Feeling embarrassed, you instinctively covered your face, now hiding yourself from him. Uncontrollable thoughts swarmed your mind, making it harder for you to regain composure. 

How much?

How Much?

How MUCH?!

You drowned away in your thoughts, oblivious to all that's happening. Zanka took a means and placed your head on his shoulder, making sure you were comfortable. He brushed your hair, tucking it behind your ear to clearly see your face. A distinct smile appeared on his face, not the giddy one he makes when Enjin compliments him. A smile that you missed, and may never see again. 

Who knows when he'll show it again?

[cienie-isengardu]

Cracked Mirror of Black, Cold Soul [Chapter 2]

Author notes: Continuation of this, formely posted just as "MK1 Fanfiction".

I'm writing it as Shang Tsung & Bi-Han's sort of friendship but if anyone like it as Bi-Han/Shang Tsung then that's great too. Also, nothing dark/graphic so far, but maybe in future I will go more into Shang Tsung's experiments, poverty and probably a bit depression. Just saying in advance as I'm aware my idea of "not graphic" may vary from other people's.

No enemy has come that day or another nor the next week. Shang Tsung fell back into his routine - studying, training, experimenting, once in a while getting the needed supplies, and then studying more, training more, creating more devious traps to apparently keep a certain cryomancer amused. The books and scrolls kept disappearing and showing up a few days later, even if he did not see Sub-Zero for weeks. 

Sometimes there was a note attached to returned volumes. Usually short messages, about Li Mei’s search for him or General Shao’s impatience or a new bounty on their heads or to avoid a specific place at certain times. He read the notes, mesmerized its contents, then burned the paper to not leave any unnecessary loose ends if he ever was forced to abbadon the fortress in a hurry.  

Sometimes the note said trivial things. Like under any circumstances do not eat those mushrooms you moron! - and indeed the mushrooms he found in a nearby field disappeared without a trace from his kitchen. Which was truly a shame, for if those truly were toxic he could at least study them to make a new poison or maybe even magic potion or two. More often than not though the message was clean up the mess! which did not amuse him at all. A bit of blood here and there and a misplaced organ or two and everyone was a critic these days. Like it was his fault the creative process at times got messy. No genius was even truly understood and in such moments he did miss Damashi, her kind hand on his back, the melodic voice encouraging him to transcend the boundaries of already possessed knowledge.

Sub-Zero sounded more like a mother hen than a deadly warrior and Shang Tsung for sure did not need anyone mothering him. He was a grown up man, he survived living in Outworld’s wild, uncaring hinterlands alone for hundredth of years, he did not need anyone’s help nor care. It was a matter of pride but also the bitter taste of betrayal that held him back from trusting anyone ever again.

He left his own notes then.

Stop fussing, I knew the mushrooms were poisonous, even though he had no idea, as he had never heard of poisonous mushrooms before. There were plenty of dangerous places in Outworld yet not many uneatable things to worry about. And sure, the fungus looked funny, with nice red caps and pretty white dots, like snow that embellished blood pool, which was specifically a reason why he picked it up in the first place. But why should he not, if the island was part of the Edenia realm and the mainland not so far away? The climatic zone was correct, the ruins were covered with Edenian letters even if the words made little sense to him. As far as he managed to check, he did not find any unusual plants here, no new animal species. Up to this moment, he had no reason to worry about flora and fauna surrounding him as nothing stood out… well, maybe beside the one white pigeon that so eagerly cooed at the sight of him and as it turned out, the funny mushrooms he found by accident and collected on impulse. The sense of danger did not cross his mind and if not Sub-Zero’s warning, he would eat the mushrooms soon. Maybe the edenian blood would neutralize the toxins that Earthrealmer was so concerned about, or maybe not. Now, he had no means to test it one way or another. Begrudgingly he accepted that Lin Kuei potentially saved, if not his life from food poisoning then at least his dignity, but the man did not need to know that.

The note disappeared the day he wrote it, alongside a few scrolls. A week later the paper showed up in the same spot with additional DID YOU?, and even the carefully calligraphed few edenian letters sneered at him mockingly. The rush of blood burned his cheeks and he did not need the mirror to know how red his face was. Out of anger, pure anger, not embarrassment, he told himself firmly while the note turned into ash in his hand. He wanted to burn much more and he would do so, if not the book on which note was left.

Shang Tsung stared at the thick book with a deeply red cover, pondering whether he should open it and bear the reason why the annoying Earthrealm left it there or just fed the flames of hearth with that blasted thing. It didn't matter what was inside the book, only how to not lose the weird game they played for weeks, with no rules and no clear idea who was actually winning. Losing never sat well with him and yet he couldn’t help himself than take a chance, any chance, to prove how better, smarter he was compared to others. And Sub-Zero clearly was exploiting that weakness, slowly and deliberately with each little note, each little sharp remark and additional subtext hidden in black ink, in elegant shape of letter. 

The man mocked him and challenged and Shang Tsung loved that game and cursed it in the same breath. The island was a wonderful sanctuary as much as a lonely, dark place and Sub-Zero, whatever the man knew or not, brought so needed entertainment to keep the sorcerer from going mad. Not that Shang Tsung would ever admit that aloud but fact remained a fact, whether he liked it or not.

The book was definitely not made in Outworld. It was not even a matter of unfamiliar letters but the whole texture of deeply red cover and snowy-white pages inside. Once opened, it smelled of ink but not like the yellowed, hand-written books did. To his own surprise, the smell reminded him of freshness, something new and still unspoiled, so it couldn’t be a second-handed volume either. This pleased him, more than it should. Before Damashi walked into his life, he rarely could afford to buy good quality items; the tailored robes and beautifully illustrated books were always out of his reach. How many times he stared at the richness of colors, how many times inhaled the storm of unique, unknown smells when he passed the small town’s market only to turn away from each stall? When a person needed to choose between food or new shoes for he could afford only one, it was no choice at all. The basic needs always processed anything frivolous, for luxury was nothing more than just a sweet dream to lull the poorest to sleep and torment them by day. 

Shang Tsung now had the money and means to spoil himself with the best; the finest food and sweetest wine, the most soft fabrics and tailored robes, the expansive magic ingredients he dreamed of having as a child. So of course fate spit into his face, as now the gold meant nothing. Only the power he held mattered. The same power now threatened by Fire Lord and Empress Mileena and even by his maybe-still-maybe-not allies.

A warmth spread through his cold, bitter soul at the mere thought the book was brand new and brought specially for him. Even if Sub-Zero did so only to scoff at him, to mock, he still went with the finest gift and not some rubbish. The gesture touched him, surprisingly deeply. Not many people these days bothered to spoil him a bit here and there.

Encouraged by the treacherous feeling, he opened the book on the first page and slowly started examining its content. He couldn’t read it though, as Damashi taught him only how to speak Earthrealm’s most common languages - the one similar to Edenian and the so-called English that tasted weird on his tongue whenever he was forced to use it. Damashi promised soon it would be irrelevant knowledge anyway, so he did not bother learning the unfamiliar letters. Like all other promises of hers, this one too turned out to be a false prophecy. With each passing day, the choking realization hurt a bit less. Each passing day also proved how much she witholded and weakened him on purpose, how much he needed to learn all those supposedly meaningless little things anyway.

Looking back, how he admired the mysterious woman, how he desired her praise and smile, was such a laughable memory. What an ally she turned out to be! And yet, Damashi taught him everything he knew about true magic and above all else, the final lesson will forever stay with him: to never trust anyone, especially those kind to him.

But… Sub-Zero wasn’t necessarily nice to him and he took as much as he gave, considering the rate at which books and precious scrolls disappeared all the time. There was no promise of great power, no sweet praise to make Shang Tsung starve for more attention. The man barely interacted with him in person, more interested in knowledge hidden between yellow pages than what Shang Tsung could do for him. A fair deal, a secret for secret, as apparently Sub-Zero liked to collect those, even the most trivial ones and he did bring a lot of important news to the sorcerer in exchange. 

It wasn’t a kindness, Shang Tsung hummed to himself, just the fairest deal he ever made. 

And who could know where this little deal will take them in future? Honestly has never been his forte while Lin Kuei Grandmaster was as straightforward as a killer could be anyway. And yet so far they balanced well between a little sweet lie here and brutal truth there. No matter how many times he asked, Sub-Zero did not reveal how he found the island nor how he got in and out of there, the same as Shang Tsung never spoke about his experiments done in the laboratory. They just accepted the unspoken agreement as it was, for now at least, and he cherished the weird comfort of having someone around while also not being directly questioned with the endless list of why, when, if.

The book felt heavy in his hand - heavier than it had right to be for with offered knowledge came a pitiful hope.

Maybe Sub-Zero could, if not outright teach, then at least help him to learn Earthrealm letters… if the words found a way to slip through the tight throat and clenched teeth. Asking for help was, in his experience, a sign of weakness he couldn’t afford. Yet he couldn’t afford to stay ignorant either, and the beautiful book held in hands tempted with promises of great knowledge - if he could read it.

Not for the first time he wondered why Sub-Zero wrote all the little notes left for Shang Tsung in the sorcerer’s own language. After the first time seeing the familiar letters of his native dialect in elegant yet unknown handwriting, he figured out that Lin Kuei already checked out his background and gathered all that was out there to learn from; to steal secrets and maybe even blackmail him if needed. Shang Tsung was not concerned about it, as there was not much to collect. A pitiful life of a lone salesman left little to remember about in the minds of common folks. Even if Lin Kuei managed to track down his former clients, those naive, desperate fools from all Outworld hinterlands, all they would learn was the obvious truth: the old-him was a fraud, a cheater, a loser never loved or missed even by his own folks.

Lin Kuei could learn more from his time at Sindel’s court, however Empress Mileena waged war on them. Not that it stopped Sub-Zero and his men from slipping into capitol, in her own palace, but some secrets still were out of their reach, at least for now. 

The only question left was if Sub-Zero knew the sorcerer couldn’t read Earthrealm’s letters and indulge Shang Tsung out of pragmatism? Or was that matter of courtesy, some good manners that mattered to Grandmaster enough to bother? The sorcerer did not like the uncertainty but he couldn’t ask, not yet, for asking meant admitting great lacking in his worldly education. Even worse, admitting the Lin Kuei Grandmaster - anyone - was better than him, and it didn’t matter how trivial such superiority was. 

Shang Tsung could bear Royal Family and Liu Kang’s Champions mockery and hate without blinking an eye, but he would faster swallow his own tongue than allow his maybe-maybe-not ally to think he was the lesser one in their partnership.

But why Grandmaster didn’t just write the next messages in English or any other Earthrealm’s language to test Shang Tsung and then to mock his illiteracy? Why not push and push, until he couldn’t lie anymore and needed to admit defeat? Why did the man spared him the humiliation when even his own, godly-self had no mercy?

It was the riddle that bothered Shang Tsung the most. Not the uncertainty itself, but faint yet no less warm hope that, despite bitter memories, filled his cold, black soul. 

Kindness was a dangerous, treachery tool that could hurt much more than open mockery. He did not want to feel that pain ever again. And yet, like a fool he was, Shang Tsung craved it more than the finest food or wine. To be acknowledged as something more than just a pitiful, poor copy of another, greater sorcerer - to be treated like his own entity worth someone’s time and effort. 

He craved it and how could he not, when the book, though definitely of Earthrealm origin, didn’t feel like a cruel joke? 

Yes, he could not read it, as the letters were unfamiliar, but there was a mark in each corner and, as he guessed, the skull placed there meant he was not allowed to eat the mushroom present on the page. Yes, he could not learn the secrets hidden between letters, but each page had its own stunning illustration. The pictures were so realistic, like he was looking at mushrooms just found in the forest or an open field. He had no idea what magic it was, but the illustrations were so gorgeous and bright with colors he had never seen in any Outworld book before. It needed to be magic, for those couldn’t be drawn, as the texture of the paper was... slippery under his fingers, but in a nice way.

The book was only about mushrooms, and yet each new page made his blood rush faster through the veins, heart beating strongly. When did he feel so good holding a book last time? He could not remember.

(A lie. He did remember. It was the same excitement he felt when Damashi for the first time showed him an old volume about elements to explain what magic is, how to draw it from the world around. It was also the first time she mentioned cryomancers, that they were real people and not some demons from old, almost forgotten legends. When he asked, intimidated by his own boldness, if he would have a chance to meet any, Damashi laughed, a sparkling laugh full of approval that he fell head over heels in love with. She promised he will, soon, and it was one of few promises she kept.)

Somehow halfway through the book, the red capped, speckled with white dots mushroom proudly showed up on page. Oh, he knew that one pretty well now, even if he had no idea how Earthrealm’s fungus got so far away from its native environment... But that thought faded right away, as the thing that held all his attention now was a small note stuck to the paper under the illustration. The elegant, familiar letter said ARE YOU STILL MAD? 

Yes, he wanted to say, to write it back on paper and stick to their usual place for notes. But the treacherous chuckle broke free before he could do any of it. To know how well Sub-Zero knew him despite barely talking to each other should freeze his blood. Yet all he felt was the weird warmness. Cryomancer should not make one feel cozy, not when a mere hour ago the bastard mockingly questioned his knowledge.

Was that… apology? 

No, it didn’t feel like that. For apology meant regretting and he still wasn’t sure if the man was capable of feeling guilt. Anger? Yes. Excitement at a challenge? Definitely. Regrets? Even if so, Shang Tsung did not notice that and he was usually good at exploiting such weakness in people around him. 

Maybe it was just cryomancer’s way to… well, Shang Tsung had no idea. It made him feel better though. So no, he was not mad anymore even if he probably should be at least annoyed.  

He knew though from on, whenever he would see the red-capped mushroom, he would always think about this book, the little note and one cryomancer that made him laugh despite himself. 

The little skull in the corner stared at him all-knowing. Thoughtlessly, he touched it with his finger, enjoying the cold, slippery feeling of paper. He liked skulls, always had. Maybe he should figure out how to reshape his magic blasts to resemble the skulls? Wouldn’t that be something unique, just his and only his?

Suddenly, the book was a thousand ways better than it was already. What else could Earthrealm offer him? What secrets and inspiration was there to seek and use for his gain? 

He grinned, all sharp teeths and gleam in eye. Maybe, if he played their little game well or bargained enough, Sub-Zero could bring him a similar quality atlas but for Earthrealmers’ anatomy? All he needed was the stunning, colorful illustrations and for sure he could figure out everything else on his own. He always wanted to study their enemy’s anatomy but sadly Liu Kang’s pets ran away and trashed his laboratory along the way.

“Are you again thinking about murdering Liu Kang’s Champions?” 

If there was one thing about Sub-Zero that annoyed Shang Tsung more than the man’s cold, rude way of speaking, it was the Lin Kuei habit of sneaking on him. It wasn’t annoying just because Sub-Zero caught him doing things that spoil his carefully cultivated image of a devious and powerful sorcerer - like smiling because of book he can’t even read or returning to fortress all wet and miserable when catched by heavy rain or his not best morning moments when disheveled and still sleepy he wanders through the corridors. No, the worst part was how easily the man walked the shadows, like the darkness was his to command. 

There was something terrible off about that, even if he couldn’t point down why. 

“Maybe” Shang Tsung answered with a bright smile plastered on his face. No reason in admitting to the man how correctly he read his thoughts. Small victory was still a victory and if he was not the winner, he did not like it at all. 

Sub-Zero’s left eyebrow rose up, but the man did not comment nor asked about the book in the sorcerer's hands. So their little correspondence about a deadly mushroom was a closed up matter and not worth dwelling on. For now. 

Since he rarely had a chance to see his maybe-yes-maybe-not ally these days, Shang Tsung looked him over from head to toe. The man had no visible new scars, nothing to indicate an injury or that he was in any fight at all - even if the sorcerer knew from others that Sub-Zero’s brothers, those pathetic idealists, looked out for him and hunted Lin Kuei like mad dogs. So far to no avail, what pleased him greatly. Cryomancer was playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and his foolish brothers still did not figure out who had an upper hand in that strife. 

What however didn’t please Shang Tsung, was the bag on the cryomancer’s back. Full of his books. He knew the man was borrowing his precious volumes from the first day Sub-Zero showed up in his new home, but to see him actually taking out the entire stack at once? That was something new.

The saddest thing about the books collected here was their amount. As much as Shang Tsung hated to admit it, for months he barely managed to look through the shelves in his laboratory and there were more rooms, bigger rooms, from the floor to the ceiling, from one wall to another filled with books and scrolls. He had no idea what Sub-Zero was carrying in his bag this time, and even less what the man appropriated already. There was no point in pretending otherwise, as both knew well there were too many books to keep a track on all of them. A truly bothersome problem that cryomancer exploited without a grain of regret. 

Like always, the bastard ignored his outraged face, then adjusted his bag and walked away without even saying a goodbye or fuck you. The nerve of this man knew no bounds. 

“If you have time to steal my precious books then you could at least bring me something nice to eat!”, he shouted after the man before Sub-Zero disappeared in the shadows enveloping the cold corridor. Not because it could change anything but to have at least the last word.

Out of the darkness flew something small. He catched it without thinking, all reflex and curiosity. It was an apple, red and fresh, definitely not plucked from a tree on the island. Cold to the touch but not cold enough to frostbite his fingers. 

On one side bitten.

He should be mad at Sub-Zero, and yet the laugh filled his lungs. Well, at least the bastard did not ignore him completely. 

It was indeed a great progress.

(In the deepest part of the soul, where bitterness lingered like venom, Damashi’s voice mocked him how weak he was, how needy to cling to cold, uncaring Sub-Zero. How stupid to think anyone could bother to deal with him out of sympathy and not to use him like the pitiful tool he was. How despite everything, Shang Tsung learned nothing.

The bitterness choked him whenever he read left by Lin Kuei Grandmaster notes, whenever the man warned him about danger awaiting beyond the island’s boundaries or complained about the mess, even now, when the beautiful, deeply red covered book weighed in his hands. It was hard to ignore Damashi’s voice when it sounded like his own. But a snake should not choke on its own venom, shouldn’t he?)

Author notes#2:

Like the last time, it is mainly my character study of Shang Tsung and I'm on purpose not writing him how I would normally write one from previous timelines. I enjoy to explore how Damashi and her betrayal had a great impact on him. He is the "in progress" version, not yet the savvy, brilliant sorcerer but trying hard to be seen like that. Bi-Han so far is there mainly for the books XD

I also like to imagine there is some connection between Edenian language and one of Chinese dialect, while English and its letters is totally something new for Shang Tsung. Just solely to avoid everyone speak the same language despite living in different realms. Lin Kuei were taught Outworld language(s) so they could do the dirty job better. Hopefully I did not bore you too much.

This part was about the mushroom note. Next one should be about the mess called Shang Tsung's laboratory :)

[practickles]

Rough (Day) - Featherary Day 7

Fandom: Project Sekai

Lees: Akito Shinonome, Toya Aoyagi

Lers: Toya Aoyagi, Akito Shinonome

Romantic AkiToya

Word Ct: 1.7k

Warnings: Tickles

Summary: After the day Akito has had, all he wants is some playful affection from his boyfriend. Luckily, Toya is more than happy to both give and receive.

Yet another draft I dusted off and finished (read: finished, not polished/fixed/edited) for a birthday. Happy birthday Akito. Enjoy. You all can have some AkiToya as a treat.

----

Akito stormed into the living room, tossed his bag on the ground, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh.

"Hey." Toya greeted softly from his spot on the other end of the couch. He placed a bookmark to save where he was reading and set the book on the coffee table, giving his boyfriend his completely undivided attention. Toya knew he could be oblivious when it came to social situations but he prided himself in his astute ability to tell when Akito was upset. "Rough day?" 

Akito sighed again. "You wouldn't fucking believe it." He, with little grace, clambered across the couch to sit against Toya’s side, earning a slight, closed lip smile of both endearment and sympathy from the other. 

Toya was never certain how to comfort his partner in times like this but was glad to know Akito felt comfortable enough to initiate even a small action like that. Following his lead, Toya hesitantly guided his boyfriend's head onto his shoulder and ran a hand through his soft orange hair in a gentle, repetitive motion. "You want to talk about it?" 

Akito leaned into the touch and shut his eyes with a contented hum. "It's just dumbasses at work. Not much to talk about." 

"Ah, okay. If you're sure." Toya was concerned and couldn't help but feel a bit helpless. He couldn't stand to see the man he loved so stressed out. "Anything I can do?"

After a beat, Akito went slightly pink, burying his face into Toya's neck. Something clearly came to mind at the question and he seemed hesitant to share it. "No. No, just this is fine." He mumbled. He sounded as if he were trying to convince not only Toya, but also himself. It's a given that he utterly failed at both. 

Toya frowned. He knew when it came to affection, Akito had trouble asking for comfort. Still though, he couldn't help but hate it when his boyfriend was dishonest with him, especially about this. He only wanted to help however he could. "Hey." He turned his head to look at the man on his shoulder and squeezed his hand. "Kito? You know you can tell me anything? You don't need to be so embarrassed. It's just me."

The redhead flushed at how he was addressed. Toya wasn't typically one for nicknames, only resorting to them in moments of vulnerability. That genius idiot probably didn't even notice how the pet name made him want to spill his guts. He was far too weak to him. He took a deep breath, Toya would back off if he asked but that felt wrong. He wanted to be open. Unfortunately, open is hard to achieve when the subject is so... embarrassing. He opened his mouth, and closed it. "Yeah, I know. It's just that- well... Ugh." 

"Take your time. It's okay."

"I just... could you.. help me take my mind off it? With that dumb thing where we both... you know.... with the laughing?" Akito, the color of a tomato at this point, turned his face deeper into his partner to hide it.

Toya looked confused only for a moment before smiling fondly. "Oh. You mean you want to have a tickle fight?" 

The way he said it so casually rendered Akito speechless. He could only nod shyly. 

"Of course," Toya placed a gentle kiss on Akito's temple. "See? Nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm going to tickle you now. You can get me back if you'd like. Is that okay?" 

Akito, again, only gave a nod. 

Toya, not wanting to overwhelm him, wrapped an arm around the ginger and started to slowly trail his fingers over his sides. He was rewarded with little happy snickers slowly trickling into the room.

Akito felt a sudden burst of confidence overtake him through his laughter, energy flooding his chest like wildfire. His giggles seemed to melt away the tired frustration plaguing his heart and its place, an intense desire to get back at his boyfriend. He couldn't just sit here and take it. He wasn't going to let himself lose. He was going to turn that smug, stupid, beautiful smile into a panicked grin and make him scream in laughter. He did have permission after all. 

With no effort at all, Akito easily jerked himself from his boyfriend's clutches, flipped him onto his back, straddled his hips and began to claw wildly on his sides. 

"HAHAHA! AKIHITO!" Toya protested, immediately going limp at the surprise attack. "I- NAHAHAT- FAHAHAH!" He could barely even speak through his own wild peals of laughter.

"Not what? Not fair?" Akito grinned with a sense of satisfaction. "Hate to break it to you, hon, but life isn't fair." He leaned down close to Toya's neck, his breath making the pale skin tingle.

Time moved in slow motion for Toya as he felt his nerves light up in the brightest little firework explosions. If Akito managed to get his sides and neck at the same time, they both knew he was absolutely done for. He initially was unsure of how Akito was going to react to the tickles and, consequently, wanted to take it gently, at least to start. However, it seemed like his boyfriend had other plans, in a cruel betrayal leading him to his current predicament. He didn't have much time. All he knew was that he had to think of a way to get his boyfriend off of him and fast. He used the last of his strength to force himself forward enough to make a desperate grab at Akito's calves, dragging his short, blunt nails across them, just controlled enough not to scratch. 

The effect was immediate. Akito jerked back in surprise with a squeal, halting his attack on the soft sides in front of him just long enough for Toya to squirm out from under him, red faced and panting, and scramble a few feet away. He looked Akito in the eyes from their positions across from each other, eyes shining with pure mirth and adoration. "For someone who plahays so dirty, you're a bit ticklish yourself." He giggled out. 

"Oh you are so gonna get it now!" Akito yelled with a playful grin as he made a dive for Toya. "Come back her-HEHHE!"

He was cut off by ten fingers wiggling quickly into his tummy with the precision of a well practiced musician, targeting the carefully studied spots Toya knew would get him flailing and squealing like there's no tomorrow. Still tickling, Toya carefully pushed Akito onto his back, laying his own body on top of him. He was so weak from his still ongoing laughter and thrashing, Akito had no choice but to let him. 

Before he even had the chance to fight back, Toya readjusted himself and burrowed his head under his shirt, punctuating the movement with a large raspberry directly onto the unprotected belly. If Akito was going to go for his worst, he didn't see why he couldn't do the same in return.

“NOHOHOT THEHRE! SHIHIT TOYA!” His pleas fell on deaf ears as he felt Toya take in another breath of air to torment him with. “NAHAHAT AGAHAIHN! PLEHEHASE!” 

The next raspberry from hell was accompanied by Toya shaking his head back and forth like a wet dog trying to dry itself off. Akito had no time to dwell on the absurd juxtaposition that was his loving boyfriend acting even remotely similar to such a filthy creature; The soft blue locks of hair now adding to the sensation on his most ticklish spot served as quite the distraction. Akito threw his head back in shrieks of laughter and kicked with every scrap of remaining movement in his legs. He begged and shouted profanities that lost more and more clarity by the second. Damn Toya and his damn breath support. 

By the time Toya finished his raspberry, his partner had long since been reduced to no more than a babbling mess of insults and giggles. He panted desperately, thanking whatever was out there that had granted him freedom from his merciless boyfriend. The boyfriend so horrid and unjust that his gaze upon emerging from under his shirt was nothing but… soft. Toya looked at the other with nothing but love and maybe a hint of concern in his gray irises. He sat back on Akito’s legs, giving him room to sit up and breathe against the arm of the couch. 

“My apologies Akito. I didn’t mean for that to be so.. Intense. I hope I didn’t go too far.” He seemed shy. Embarrassed. He avoided direct eye contact. Good thing there was an easy fix for that. 

“Oh-” Akito gasped, still exhausted and taking in all the fresh air he could. “That was too far alright-” 

Toya’s face hardened with guilt. 

“-because you are so dead now. I hope that little stunt was worth it.” He smirked. 

Guilt turned to confusion. Confusion turned to realization. Realization turned to panic. Panic turned to whatever happens when embarrassment, dread, and unadulterated love for another mixed together in one large cocktail of red faced emotion. 

Akito,still laying down, pulled him close into what those unacquainted to Akito-typical ticklish revenge may have mistaken for just an innocent hug. Toya, however, knew better. That particular strain of naivete thinking had been ruined a long, long time ago. He giggled nervously, knowing full well what was about to come. 

“Any last words?” Akito teased directly into his ear, “Wanna apologize yet?” 

The defiant proclamation in return was said through a growing fit of anticipatory giggles. “I refuse to apologize for anything that makes you smile.” 

“Oi. Shut up, you.” Those were the last coherent words Toya would process for a while as his partner’s hands retreated from their gentle grasp on his waist to drilling deep into his hips. Though it was impossible to say Toya was wrong. This did make Akito happy. He loved the laughing and how distracting everything was and how he could make his stoic boyfriend squeal like a little kid. 

Toya thrashed and laughed his hardest at the tickling but none of it even came close to the warmth he felt looking at Akito’s mouth curled into a smile. Smug and determined of course, but happy nonetheless. 

Bad moods and worse days were always going to be inevitable, but with just as much certainty to the young couple, there was always the other waiting at home to make it all go away. 

----

We're going to collectively pretend that 9 months after a prompt list is an acceptable time frame to continue to work on said prompt list. Okay? Okay.

[i-want-my-iwtv]

hi there, the delusional anon again lol I'm really lighting candles hoping we can finally get the deleted scenes 🕯️

I really wanted to see Louis shooting Lestat and the whole scene they filmed with the first makeup, just out of curiosity. The Trial™, and the scene with louis in the church, killing the priest

and TC as the marquis is GENIUS !!!!!! The tvshow has already made so many references, I would like other actors to appear even for a second! Even the young fop actor (btw did you saw his interview on youtube with a fan?); and jokes aside, I have a lot of fun whenever someone says they would like to see Nicole Kidman in the show as Gabrielle, it's kind evil tbh BUT yet would be cool

I've already spent HOURS on your blog just looking at the deleted scenes, I don't understand why Warner Bros just doesn't release it

anyways, THANK YOU! love your blog 💕

I've already spent HOURS on your blog just looking at the deleted scenes, I don't understand why Warner Bros just doesn't release it anyways, THANK YOU! love your blog 💕

Aww thank you! 😍 That means a lot. I collected this stuff for ppl to enjoy, if Tumblr ever goes down and we lose this archive, I'll definitely be sad. It's too large for me to download 😂 So definitely save stuff for yourself.

Light your candles, Anon 🕯️, but don't hold your breath. Truly, if we were going to get deleted scenes from the '94 movie, the golden opportunities (the 10th and 20th anniversaries 😂) for that have passed. This year will be the 30th, can you believe it?? If anyone is connected to the powers that be, TELL PPL WE WANT THIS STUFF. I'm sure it exists somewhere.

I think those cut scenes could have been great, but I suspect, other than being cut for time, there were good reasons to cut them from a writing perspective.

They may have been too cheesy for what the movie was going for?

Or they might have slowed down the action or detracted from the story?

--- Louis doesn't shoot Lestat that night in the book; Lestat gets shot at the Theatre de Vampires (before it's called that) in the Vampire Lestat, so it's possible that it was filmed, and then cut from the IWTV '94 movie with the intention to include it properly in the sequel TVL (not that Lestat can't get shot twice! but still! Getting shot on stage in front of an audience rather than in a bedroom with no other witnesses is, debatably, more shocking).

I felt like there was a somewhat feverish pace with Lestat coming to Louis at his bedside, that scene went by pretty quickly, it made it more vibrant and precious. In the book, Louis had been in poor health and then ppl had bled him to try to "cure him of his madness," so Lestat really didn't have the luxury of waiting too much longer to turn him; Louis could have died 😭. And maybe the whole Louis-shooting-Lestat might've killed the mood Lestat was aiming for, which was seductively offering Louis the Dark Gift. Shooting Lestat might've been more than a little off-putting in that moment 😂 Do you really want to turn someone into your immortal companion after they've JUST SHOT YOU? It might not kill Lestat, but it would still hurt!

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I mean I LOVE Tom!Lestat, and this is one of the few BTS pics we have of the Trial scene (you can see the theatre crypts behind him 😭)... it's charming to me bc I love that movie, but it might have been cut bc in a way it's more painful to excise the whole trial. Like barely seeing the shark in JAWS. With no trial, it would mean that Louis and Claudia had absolutely no chance; it was all up to Santiago's (or Armand's) whim 😭 Lestat wasn't even there to try to advocate for either Louis or Claudia (or maybe he WAS there, but locked in a cell somewhere and unable to help them!).

and TC as the marquis is GENIUS !!!!!!

Right?? That could be amazing.

The tvshow has already made so many references, I would like other actors to appear even for a second!

I haven't heard of that happening... don't hold your breath there, either, I think they would have done it already if they intended to do so. My guess is that AMC really wants to do their own thing apart from the 1994 movie (other than rewriting a few scenes), so I don't think there will be any cameos in the future, but maybe I'm wrong!

Even the young fop actor (btw did you saw his interview on youtube with a fan?);

I didn't see the video, but I met that actor, Lee Scharfstein, IRL in NOLA in 2022, he was lovely!

and jokes aside, I have a lot of fun whenever someone says they would like to see Nicole Kidman in the show as Gabrielle, it's kind evil tbh BUT yet would be cool

That is kind of evil haha but Nicole has been a favorite of fanartists and roleplayers for years, that's not a hot take. If I had to choose Tom as the Marquis OR Nicole as Gabs... bc putting them together would be A LOT to ask... I think I'd prefer Tom, because of the deliciousness of having him play his own father... but we have a better chance of getting Nicole so I would LOOOOVE to have her as Gabs paired w/ Timothy Omundson as the Marquis.

Oh and BTW since you've read this far, I accepted the headcanon that the Marquis' name was Valere de Lioncourt, as per the legendary @gairid/ @vampchronfic 😭💕

[adell032]

Lover Boy Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Warnings: None Prompt: The team meets the girl Rossi and Hotch saved a few years back, little do they know she's Spencers childhood friend (I hate using Y/N so I'm giving her a random name) -------------

"Rossi I'm telling you, I will be fine, I'll have you and Hotch by my side, I can handle the BAU."

"It's not you I'm worried about kiddo, we've already got one genius on the team, now we'll have two!"

You laughed at Rossi, knowing he was just trying to calm both of you down, it was your first day officially working for the BAU, alongside the two men who had saved you 8 years ago. "Audrey, remember, if at any point it feels like too much you can step out, Hotch and I will be right here." "I'm not a little 16 year old anymore, old man, I'm 24, I can do this." "I know you can."

Rossi opened the doors for you, letting you walk in first, Aaron had gave you your credentials and gun yesterday, the rest of the team were at home on their day off, but he had dragged you in to do introductory paperwork. The whole team were waiting for you and Rossi, as you could see them through the glass window, all their backs turned so they couldn't see you, though it looked as if Hotch was giving them a scolding, "he's probably just telling them to be nice, don't worry." Rossi messed your hair up, and you rushed to fix it as Prentiss turned around, quickly tapping JJ on the shoulder as you pushed the door open. The rest of the team turned to you, but you could only focus on one face, "Spencer?"

"You know Spencer?" "You know Audrey?"

The boy genius stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he finally found the courage to speak, "what are you doing here?" His voice cracked as you slowly walked towards him, watching in confusion as he took a step back when you reached out to him, "Spence?"

"I- I can't do this right now." He turned away from you, speeding towards his desk and burying his head in the first book he grabbed, you looked to Rossi, "you didn't tell me he worked here."

"We didn't know that you two knew each other."

"I grew up in Vegas, we went to the same school until he went to college at 14 and I, well you know." Hotch and Rossi nodded, "just give him some time, kiddo." Rossi patted your shoulder, walking off to his own desk as the rest of the team crowded around you.

"I'm Emily, this is JJ, Morgan, and Garcia." Emily pointed to everyone as she said their names, your gaze stopping on Garcia, admiring her clothes, she shrunk back under your stare, "she's so intimidating for a short person." She whispered to Morgan, not very quietly as you had heard her, "sorry, I love your dress, where'd you get it?"

Garcia copied your excitement, "I bought it at this little store in the city, I love your dress, you look like a barbie doll!" You were wearing a long pink dress, pink flats, a white bag and a white blazer, you looked like the lawyer version of barbie if her hair was black. "Thanks! Haley bought me this dress for Christmas, said it suited me perfectly."

"You've met Haley?"

"And Jack," you nodded your head at Morgan, "I spend Christmas and my Birthday with them and Rossi."

"Do you not spend it with your family?"

"My family aren't exactly alive, Morgan. Well except my brother, but we haven't seen him in 7 years really, not since Hotch and Rossi found us. It's weird really, one second he was in our hotel room and the next he was gone, haven't heard from him since." You rambled as you stared at Reid, he looked so much different now, his hair was curly, he no longer wore glasses, he was a lot taller, he was hot.

"Pretty Boy will get over whatever that was soon, I promise."

"Well when your childhood friend who went missing 10 years ago shows up at your workplace, you'd usually be happy they're at least not dead." You mumbled, pushing past the team to walk over to Spencer, staring down at him as he continued ignoring you. "Can we talk?"

Spencer didn't even look up, instead he flipped the page of his book, aggressively, "I know it's weird for me to just show up here Spence, but please." He let out a sigh, putting his book down, "we can talk at the round table."

He walked you to another room, taking a seat at the round table, you left a few empty seats between you, "I didn't just leave, Spence, I promise. I didn't just stop responding to your letters."

"Then what the hell happened Audrey? Because last time I checked friends don't ignore each other."

"My parents were killed, Spence. And whoever did it kidnapped Lucas and I for two years, Rossi and Hotch found us 8 years ago, I wanted to reconnect with you I really did, but for my own safety the BAU brought me here."

Reid looked at you in shock, his face full of guilt, "Audrey.."

"That's not all, Lucas left the hotel room we were staying in 7 years ago and he hasn't come back Spence. None of us have seen, or heard anything, I was staying with either Hotch or Rossi for at least 3 years before I moved out after finishing college. I truly did try to find you, but I guess all I had to do was ask the people I was living with, I'm truly sorry."

Spence stood up from his seat, "and they still haven't caught the guy who did this? He's still out there?" You nodded your head, "I'm sorry for assuming, I shouldn't have, fuck." Reid tripped over a chair leg as he tried to walk towards you, falling on his back with a loud bang, "fuck!"

You let out a laugh, "it's nice to know you're still the same Klutz you were 10 years ago," you walked towards Reid, offering him a hand, he grabbed your hand, acting as if he was pulling himself up before pulling you down on top of him, the two of you face to face.

"Reid?" You whispered, staring at his lips as he licked them,

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Before he could answer, Reid's hand made its way to your head, pulling you towards him, your lips connecting in a sweet kiss. It was like you were made for eachother, the way your lips moved together slowly, the kiss getting more and more eager as Spencer slowly sat up, his hand on your waist to steady you.

The room was dark, but the light coming from the door opening startled you both apart, Morgan stood in the doorway, "yeah pretty boy, get it on!" He laughed, wincing when Emily slapped his head, grabbing the door and slowly closing it.

You and Spencer looked away from the door staring at each other in silence for a moment before bursting out laughing, hearing Morgan shouting for Hotch outside the door.

You both were smart enough to stand up, sitting two chairs apart as Hotch and Rossi slammed the door open, "everything alright in here?" Rossi asked slowly as Hotch stared at your faces.

"Yep, just catching up on the last ten years."

"Okay.." The two of the slowly closed the door, and you and Reid listened for the sound of receding footsteps before looking at each other again, laughing quietly when you heard Morgan shouting, "they were making out on top of each other!"

"They said they were catching up, Morgan." You heard Hotch scold him. "Don't believe me? Check the cameras!"

Your face turned red as you stared at the camera in the corner of the room, Reid following your gaze, "we're fucked."