#he’s witty and we’re here for it

[tojiscrack]

OMG reader being inspired by you and some things having actually happened in your childhood is actually soooo crazy why are you like the most cool and iconic and funny person ever😫😫😭😭 i fr love liar liar so so so much ughhh and i’m amazed how you manage to make megumi do silly shit but it doesn’t seem ooc at alllll!!!! i love sassy porcupine

stawwwwp you’re gonna make me blush in the comfort of my own room (how dare you 😟💞) !!!

your love for the story is GREATLY appreciated, you have no idea <3

as seen in canon, megumi is not easily influenced but tends to be dragged in situations that he doesn’t start (his friends do 💀). why not have a horrifically troublesome childhood friend who he follows around but will completely deny it if you mention that to him? 🤭

this gave me the motivation to write again, ty anon! <33

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: ???

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[pucksandpower]

Smooth-Talker

Lando Norris x press officer!Reader

Summary: in which Lando has a pick up line for every occasion

“Did it hurt?” Lando asks, leaning casually against the wall outside the McLaren garage.

You glance up from your clipboard, raising an eyebrow. “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven,” Lando says with a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. As one of McLaren’s press officers, you’re used to Lando’s constant stream of corny pick up lines and good-natured flirting.

“You know, I think that line was old even when my grandpa used it.”

Lando clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch, straight to the heart!”

You laugh and continue reviewing the schedule for the race weekend. Lando falls into step beside you as you start walking towards the paddock.

“But seriously,” Lando says, “You should be arrested.”

You glance over at him. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“For stealing my heart,” Lando says with a wink.

“Mhm, nice try,” you reply dryly, though you feel your cheeks flush slightly.

“Hey, are you religious?” Lando asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Not particularly, why?”

“Cause you’re the answer to all my prayers,” Lando says earnestly.

You bite your lip to hide your smile. “That one was pretty good, not gonna lie.”

Lando pumps his fist triumphantly. “Yes! I knew you’d like that one.”

You reach the motorhome and pause, checking your watch. “Okay Casanova, I’ve got to prep for the press conference.”

“Before you go, quick question,” Lando says, gently catching your arm. “Do you have a map?”

You frown in confusion. “A map? What for?”

“Because I keep getting lost in your eyes,” Lando says softly, gazing at you.

You feel your heart skip a beat as you meet his own warm eyes. You open your mouth but no witty comeback comes out.

Lando grins and releases your arm. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.” He winks and saunters off towards the hospitality tent.

You watch him go, butterflies swirling in your stomach. You’ve always thought Lando was cute, with his curly hair and infectious smile that lights up any room. But since joining McLaren, your feelings have slowly deepened into something more. And based on his incessant flirting, you’re starting to think maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way.

Shaking your head, you refocus on the task at hand — prepping talking points for the upcoming press conference. Still, you can’t stop thinking about Lando and the way he always seems to make you blush and smile, even with his cheesy pick up lines.

Over the course of the race weekend, Lando continues his campaign of corny pick up lines and flirtatious banter. Between FP3 and qualifying, he sidles up next to you in the garage.

“You know what you would look really beautiful in?” He asks.

You glance over at him. “Hmm?”

“My arms,” Lando says with a cheeky wink.

You bite your lip, feeling your cheeks flush. “Lando, I’m trying to work here.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lando says, though he’s clearly not sorry at all based on his impish grin.

Following qualifying, Lando scrambles out of his car after setting the fastest lap. He makes a beeline over to you through the celebrating crowd of papaya.

“Do you have a Band-Aid?” He asks urgently.

You frown, instantly concerned. “Are you bleeding? What happened?”

“No no, I’m fine,” Lando assures you. “I just scraped my knee falling for you,” he says with a roguish smile.

You cover your face with your hands to hide your blush. “Oh my god, Lando, that was terrible!” You try to look disapproving, but end up laughing.

“Worth it to see you smile,” Lando says warmly before darting off again.

On race day, you’re feeling anxious. As you pace around the paddock, you literally run into Lando.

“Whoa there!” Lando says, catching you by the shoulders. Concern flickers across his face. “You okay?”

You nod, acutely aware of his hands still resting on your shoulders. “Yeah, just nervous I guess.”

Lando rubs your arms reassuringly. “We’re gonna do great. And you know what else is great?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“The view,” Lando says, gaze locked on you. “Pretty spectacular from where I’m standing.”

You duck your head, heart pounding. When you look back up, Lando is watching you closely. He seems to be debating saying something else. After a moment, he just squeezes your shoulder gently. “We’ve got this,” he says sincerely, before heading off to get ready for the race.

You take a deep breath, feeling bolstered by Lando’s encouragement and flirtatious comment.

The race gets underway and immediately descends into chaos. Multiple collisions on the first lap bring out the safety car. You watch anxiously from the garage as the pack circulates behind the safety car for several laps while the debris is cleared.

Finally the message comes across the radio - the race is going green again on the next lap. You glance at the screens and see Lando lining up in P3 for the restart. You cross your fingers and silently will him to have a clean restart.

The pack accelerates for the restart and manages to get through the first few corners without incident. Over the next 20 laps, Lando battles fiercely to maintain his podium position. Other drivers try to challenge him but he holds strong in P3.

With 10 laps to go, you’re on the edge of your seat watching Lando defend P3 with everything he’s got. Suddenly over the radio you hear Lando’s frustrated voice. “Something’s wrong with the car, it’s down on power.”

Your heart sinks as you listen to Lando’s increasingly concerned radio calls about the lack of power. He’s slowly losing positions as the laps tick down. By the last lap, he’s fallen from 3rd to 7th from the sudden power loss.

As Lando’s car limps across the finish line, you hurry down to meet him. He pulls off his helmet and balaclava, looking weary and disappointed.

“Lando, are you okay? What happened out there?” You ask worriedly.

“I’m fine. The car is just a bit banged up,” Lando says with a tired smile. “Not sure what happened with the engine yet though.”

You hesitate, then wrap Lando in a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” you murmur.

Lando seems surprised but hugs you back firmly. For a long moment, you stand there just holding each other, the sounds of the paddock fading away.

Finally you step back, smiling shyly up at Lando. “So, P7. Could’ve been worse I guess, considering the issues you had.”

Lando nods, scrubbing a hand through his wild curls. “Yeah, could’ve been much worse. I’ll take the points.” He smiles ruefully. “Not quite the podium I was hoping for to impress you though.”

You bite your lip. “Lando ...”

Lando rushes to fill the silence. “You know what’s on the podium of my heart?”

You sigh, though you feel your pulse quicken. “What?”

“You,” Lando says softly, gazing at you with open affection.

You stare at him, heart thumping wildly. Before you can overthink it, you grab his race suit and pull him in for a kiss. Lando makes a surprised sound before wrapping his arms around you and kissing you deeply. For a blissful moment, everything else fades away and it’s just the two of you.

When you finally break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Lando has a dazed, elated look on his face. “Wow … so does this mean all my cheesy pick up lines finally worked?”

You laugh and smack his chest playfully. “I don’t know if I’d say they worked … but they did make it very clear someone has a crush on me.”

You smile up at Lando, enjoying the faint blush on his cheeks.

Lando grins. “Maybe just a small one,” he teases. His expression turns more serious. “I really care about you, Y/N. And I’d love to take you on a proper date, if you’d like?”

Your heart swells and you nod. “I’d really like that.”

Lando’s answering smile is bright enough to outshine the sun. He squeezes you in another quick hug. “I better go debrief about the race. But I’ll come find you after?”

You nod, giddy butterflies taking flight in your stomach. “It’s a date,” you say with a smile.

Lando heads off looking like he just won the championship, with a spring in his step and grin on his face. You brush your fingers over your still-tingling lips, scarcely able to believe that really just happened.

After Lando finishes his lengthy post-race debrief, he finds you packing up for the day in the paddock. “You ready?” He asks, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Ready!”

You head out of the paddock hand-in-hand, both still riding the high of finally admitting your feelings for each other.

“Sooo, what exactly did you have in mind for this date?” You ask Lando curiously.

Lando grins. “Well first, how do you feel about Ferris wheels?”

You smile slowly. “I think Ferris wheels have potential to be very romantic.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Lando says with a wink.

You spend the evening strolling around the nearby funfair, enjoying the lights and sounds. Lando wins you an oversized stuffed teddy bear playing carnival games. You share candy floss and corndogs while taking in the sights.

Finally, you hop in line for the Ferris wheel. When it’s your turn, you settle into the seat across from Lando. As the wheel lifts you into the night sky, you take in the sprawling city views.

Lando slides closer and slips his hand into yours. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”

You smile, loving how he still seems nervous even after kissing you earlier. “Smooth line, but I’ll allow it,” you tease gently.

Your Ferris wheel carriage reaches the top and pauses, giving you a panoramic view of the city at night. The lights twinkle like stars around you.

It’s magical.

Lando’s arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you closer. Your heart races as you turn towards him. His eyes reflect the dazzling lights as he gazes at you. He brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch igniting sparks along your skin.

As he leans in, you let your eyes flutter shut. His lips meet yours and the rest of the world fades away. Up here above the world, wrapped in Lando’s arms, you feel like you’re flying.

By the end of the night, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lando walks you to your hotel room, fingers intertwined, reluctance slowing your steps.

Outside your door, you turn to face Lando. “Thank you for tonight, it was perfect.”

Lando smiles, tracing patterns on your palm with his thumb. “So I did alright for a first date then?”

You laugh. “You far exceeded expectations.” Your smile softens. “I’m really happy.”

“Me too,” Lando says, eyes shining. He takes a deep breath, looking uncharacteristically nervous again. “So, I was wondering … and feel free to say no obviously! But, um, I have two tickets to the Arctic Monkeys concert next weekend and was hoping maybe you’d want to ...” he trails off, biting his lip anxiously.

Your smile widens and you squeeze his hand. “I’d love to be your date to the concert.”

The answering grin that lights up Lando’s face is breathtaking. He punches the air, looking adorably excited. “Yes! This is going to be epic.”

You giggle at his antics. “Well this was a really fun first date. I can’t wait to see what other surprises you have planned.”

You lean in and kiss Lando softly. As you pull back, Lando clears his throat.

“Y/N, can I tell you something without you getting mad?”

You raise an eyebrow curiously. “Umm sure, I guess?”

Lando winces slightly. “I was wondering if you could give me directions ...”

You look confused. “Directions? To where?”

“To your heart,” Lando shoots you a cheesy grin.

You stare at him for a beat, then burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Lando, that was so corny!”

Lando just smiles unrepentantly. “Maybe, but did it work?”

You continue giggling and shake your head. “I don’t know why I find your cheesy lines so charming, but I do.”

You lean in and give him one more quick kiss. “Goodnight, Lando. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lando’s eyes shine happily. “Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he says, squeezing your hand before slowly backing away towards the elevator.

You watch him walk down the hallway, giddy butterflies still fluttering away in your chest.

You have a feeling this is the start of something special. A lifetime of cheesy pick up lines sounds pretty damn perfect.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crashed

Word count: 876

Pairing: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Lando Norris' peaceful Sunday brunch with his girlfriend Y/n in Monaco quickly turns into chaotic fun

______________________________________________________________

Lando Norris and his girlfriend, Y/n, were enjoying a peaceful Sunday brunch at a cozy little café in Monaco. It was one of those rare, perfect mornings: the sun was shining, the coffee was strong, and they had no plans except to relax. Lando was mid-sip when his phone started buzzing incessantly on the table.

"Group chat," he mumbled, glancing down with a sigh. Y/n smirked knowingly. The Formula 1 drivers' group chat was infamous for being total chaos, and it seemed today would be no different.

Charles Leclerc: Oi, Lando! Where are you? We’re all in Monaco, and you’ve gone radio silent. You ghosting us or what?

George Russell: Bet he’s with Y/n. You know how he gets. Suddenly, we're not cool enough for him. It’s all brunch and romantic walks now.

Charles Leclerc: Right? Ever since he started dating Y/n, he's become so… couple-y.

George Russell: Proper couple vibes. They’re probably sitting there, sipping overpriced coffee, talking about feelings.

Lando smirked, typing back as Y/n giggled next to him.

Lando: Confirmed. We’re having a romantic brunch without you peasants.

Y/n leaned over, chuckling as the messages flooded in.

George Russell: Whipped. So whipped.

Max Verstappen: He probably ordered avocado toast. That’s peak Lando.

Lando let out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t even eat avocado toast!”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You literally had it last week.”

He shot her a look but couldn’t argue. Before he could come up with a witty comeback, more messages lit up the screen.

Carlos Sainz: Leave Lando alone. He’s probably just trying to enjoy some quality time with his girlfriend while you lot are sitting alone in your hotel rooms watching Netflix.

George Russell: How is that any worse than watching him awkwardly try to impress Y/n with random facts about coffee beans?

Pierre Gasly: Bet he told her something like: ‘Did you know this is a single-origin Ethiopian roast?’

Y/n burst into laughter. “Okay, that does sound like something you’d say.”

Lando’s eyes widened. “I don’t—well, okay, maybe once! But it was a fun fact!”

Suddenly, Carlos chimed in again.

Carlos Sainz: Real talk though, why wasn’t I invited to brunch? I’m in Monaco, too. You didn’t even text, bro.

Pierre Gasly: Same. Feel the betrayal. I’m coming to crash it. You owe me.

Lando quickly typed: Lando: Please don’t. Seriously, we’re fine. I’ll catch you later.

But it was too late. Y/n giggled as they saw Pierre’s typing bubble pop up again.

Pierre Gasly: Nah, I’m close. Be there in 10.

Lando groaned, throwing his phone on the table. “Of course, he’s coming.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Pierre strolled into the café like he’d planned to be there all along. With zero hesitation, he sat across from Lando and Y/n, grabbed Lando’s plate, and took a huge bite of his toast.

“Are you serious?” Lando asked, glaring at him as Y/n laughed beside him.

Pierre grinned, chewing thoughtfully. “You didn’t invite me, so I invited myself. This is what you get.”

Y/n covered her face, laughing. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Just as Lando opened his mouth to protest, his phone buzzed again.

George Russell: Wait for me. I'm on my way too. I can't miss this.

Charles Leclerc: Me too. Lando’s face must be priceless right now.

Y/n leaned over to read the messages and giggled. “You’re going to have the whole grid here by the end of brunch.”

As if on cue, George and Charles soon arrived, each pulling up chairs as if they were part of the original brunch plan. George waved casually as he slid into a seat.

“I told you,” George said, smirking. “You can’t have a romantic brunch without us. We’re like your annoying little brothers.”

Lando slumped in his chair. “This is not how I envisioned today going.”

Y/n chuckled. “You should’ve known. It’s never just ‘us’ when you’re involved.”

Carlos arrived next, holding up his hands like he was walking into a crime scene. “I didn’t want to intrude, but since everyone else is here…”

Lando shook his head, trying to contain a smile. “Of course, you’re here too.”

Carlos sat down and grabbed the menu. “So, what’s good here? You guys ordering pancakes?”

Finally, Max strolled in, looking entirely unsurprised by the chaos. He glanced around at the full table and shook his head. “This is why we can’t have nice things, Lando.” He grabbed Lando’s coffee without hesitation. “I’ll just take this.”

Lando threw up his hands in mock defeat as Y/n tried not to burst into laughter. The entire grid was now surrounding their table, chatting and making themselves at home. What was meant to be a quiet, romantic brunch had turned into a full-blown Formula 1 summit, with Y/n as the honorary member.

Charles grinned at Lando. “So, how’s your romantic Sunday brunch going now?”

Lando glanced around at the chaos, George making jokes, Pierre stealing more food, Carlos debating whether or not to order a mimosa, and Max texting under the table while sipping his coffee.

“Just perfect,” Lando deadpanned. “Exactly what I had in mind.”

Y/n squeezed his hand, smiling sweetly. “You love it.”

Lando sighed dramatically but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

[crescenthistory]

Totally Just the Fifth and Sixth Wheel

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

Summary: Your and Regulus' private study session is interrupted by one Barty Crouch Junior who is inviting you on a triple date. You remind him for the thousandth time, that you aren't dating.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: not proofread (who's got the time), fem!reader, longing, barty being barty, featuring wolfstar, rosekiller and james, fluff, sitting/half-cuddling without leaving space for god, typical marauders cursing and banter, me attempting to improve my dialogue and comedy, unresolved mutual pining, light discussion of black siblings drama, reader and regulus are teased relentlessly

Note: part two & part three

***

The Hogwarts Library was always slightly more still and calm on Saturdays, a luxury you made sure to never miss out on.

In a hidden-away corner, you and Regulus sat crammed into the same overstuffed emerald armchair. He sat normally, though slightly squeezed to the left, while you had your back to the right arm, leaning into his side with your legs sprawled across his lap. He evened the score by lolling his head gently against your shoulder as you both tried to focus on the parchment before you. It was an awkward fit – Regulus was all angles and sharp lines – but you never really cared, and neither did he.

"You know, if you had actually studied for Potions last night instead of playing chess with Barty," Regulus began, his voice a teasing whisper, "you wouldn't be stuck relying on me to help you through this essay."

He didn't bother lifting his head as he drawled, so you felt his breath on your skin. His dark hair, always perfectly in place, had fallen just enough to shade his eyes and tickle your neck.

"You're the one who insisted on going over three different ways to brew Amortentia, which, mind you, wasn't even required for this essay," you countered, smiling for no one to see.

He snorted softly. "It was for educational purposes. Not my fault you’re hopeless at memorising–"

"Not hopeless," you interrupted, smirking at him as he sat up straighter and fixed you with those cool, swirly eyes. "Just resourceful. Why bother memorising when I've got you?"

Folded in the crevices of his eyes and your words, there was that gentle push-pull between the two of you, a habit developed over years of being each other's only real reprieve. Your families were pressure cookers, a constant source of demands and expectations, of screaming and fears. It had tethered on explosion many a time, but through your years-long friendship, you had been able to make it a bit lighter together. Regulus had his complicated relationship with Sirius, but other than that, no one really knew how heavy it weighed on the both of you – just each other.

And then there was Barty, of course.

“Oi!” The familiar, obnoxious voice you somehow loved rang through the – thankfully nearly empty – library, making you tense for a split second before you exhaled. “Merlin’s bloody balls, you two are stuck in here again?”

Barty Crouch Jr. strode in, tossing himself onto the sofa opposite you and Regulus. He stretched his long legs out like he owned the place, flinging an arm across the back of the cushion.

“We’re not stuck,” you corrected him lazily, shooting him a glance from beneath your lashes. “We’re enjoying a bit of quiet. Something you might want to as well, seeing as we're in a library, Junior.”

Barty raised an eyebrow and then snorted, “Quiet? More quiet? You two sit in silence more than any couple I’ve ever known.”

You rolled your eyes, but Regulus – who you now, with the added presence, noticed was more tired today than usual – shot him a look that could have frozen hell over. As per usual. Barty, being Barty, didn’t care of course, just snickered for himself. He was the only one who could get away with constantly poking at Regulus, at both of you, with no more than witty quips thrown back. Maybe because he had been the one to pull you out of your shells, dragging you both into the light when you would have otherwise spent your time locked in your shared solitude and messy brains. Or maybe because he had been able to weasel his way into your hearts before you were old enough to realise he's a bit of an arse. By then, he was your arse.

"We're not silent, dear, we just aren't obnoxiously loud," Regulus hinted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, you do sit around whispering all the time. One would have thought you were spellbound to your books – and each other." Barty grinned, not even a little apologetic. “Or maybe just by each other."

"Oh shut up, Barty," you scoffed, though not without a slight smile.

"I’m just sayin’!”

Regulus leaned back against the chair, his elbow brushing your arm. "You’re always just sayin' something,” he said, eyes flicking toward the fire. “And you’re always wrong."

Barty’s eyes lit up, leaning forward with a grin that could only mean trouble. “Oh, come on, Reg. It’s been years. You two, together all the time, acting like no one else exists. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t killed each other or, better yet, finally gotten over yourselves and just snogged already."

This has always been Barty’s favourite game, teasing the two of you relentlessly, but it felt more pointedly overt tonight. Yet it didn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. Just because he's so very ridiculously wrong, of course.

“We have not–” Regulus began, but Barty cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Right, right, you’ve never even thought about it." He makes an, arguably poor, attempt at imitating Regulus' tone. "But let’s be real, everyone else think you're shagging, so maybe you should too– oh, speaking of–" Barty had a poor habit of cutting himself of when a new train of thought entered. "Guess who finally asked Evan out?"

The shift in the conversation barely registered with you; you are very attuned to rolling with the Junior way of conversing, but Regulus shook his head in surprise.

"You? And Rosier?" Regulus asked, staring Barty down with more interest than he had shown the poor sod all evening. "Are you serious?"

Barty gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, but the grin never left his face. “Took him long enough, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought he was avoiding you after that time you hexed him in Transfiguration–”

“Self-defence,” Barty cut in, giving you a wink. “He had it coming.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Didn't he have it coming for trying to ask you out, Barty?”

“Like I said. Self-defence. Son of a witch should let me be the one to make the first move.”

You shook your head fondly, happy for your second-oldest friend. "What a gentleman you are, Barty. Happy for you though, finally the pining and drunken hookups have led to something of sustance."

Barty nodded gravely, in faux seriousness. "Exactly! And that says something, coming from the Queen of pining."

You kicked his shin under the table and he laughed a bit too loudly for the library, evidently pleased with himself.

"I do no such thing, thank you very much."

Glancing sideways at Regulus, his expression was carefully neutral, though you could tell he was happy for Barty. Though, you were sure, he would never say that out loud.

Barty, ever the troublemaker, wasn't finished yet. “Which reminds me,” he said, leaning forward again with that dangerous glint in his eye, “We’re all going out this weekend. You lot, me, Rosier... oh, and your brother too, Reg.”

Regulus stiffened slightly beside you, just enough for you to notice and Barty to ignore. “Sirius?”

“Yep,” Barty said cheerfully, “and his boyfriend, Lupin. They're finally official as well, trying to steal my spotlight it seems.”

You and Regulus share a glance, trying to take it in. Sirius and Remus had been dancing around each other for what felt like ages, but apparently, they had finally made the leap. Regulus' jaw tightened slightly. His relationship with Sirius was still relatively uneasy territory for him, but they were making an effort to heal it together. You moved on from him, focusing your attention on Barty, so Regulus could process undisturbed.

"Since when do you and Big Black keep tabs on each other, let alone plan a double date?" you implored, genuinely confused.

"Well, firstly, Treasure," Barty drawled. "I always keep tabs on my best friends' sometimes-shitty-sometimes-good-always-complicated siblings. Secondly, as I said, they're stealing our spotlight, so of course I got involved."

"Ah, so it's not voluntary?" You quirk a brow at him, jokingly challenging him.

"Is too! The bastards are lucky I even suggested it."

"Riiiiiight," you dragged out, cocking your head at a huffing Barty.

You rolled your eyes laughing, then glanced over at the boy whose lap you were partially sat in. His gaze had trailed off into his lap, thoughts clearly elsewhere. You and Barty made eye contact and he sent you a look that clearly said his involvement with Sirius was for Regulus and not actually to bother him. Over the years, you had developed almost a form of telepathy with Barty, always seeing the aggressive loyalty behind his actions.

You placed a hand instinctively on Regulus' elbow and he seemed to come back down to reality.

"Anyway, the six of us are headed for Hogsmeade next weekend for our triple date. You better schedule us into your shared calendar." Barty went straight back to teasing.

"There is no shared calendar."

"And there is no triple date," you added.

Barty’s grin widened, and he flicked his eyes between you and Regulus. “What do you call a date with three couples? Regulus and Treasure, me and Evan, Sirius and Lupin. That's three. Three Broomsticks, that's a date. Triple date! Or do you prefer French, Reggie, un triple rencard? More romantic for ya?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Regulus beat you to it. “We’re not a couple, Junior, would you just knock it off."

“Well, someone should tell the rest of the castle that, mate,” Barty said, smirking. “Everyone else seems to think you two are already married."

Before you could continue the seemingly never-ending argument with the grinning black-and-green-haired rascal before you, you heard footsteps and chatter approaching. Regulus whispered something in your ear about none of these buffoons respecting the quiet in a library as Sirius, Remus, and James appeared from around the corner. Sirius’s eyes flicked over the three of you, his gaze landing on Regulus, and giving a rather genuine smile.

“Greetings baby brother, sister-in-law and unfortunate acquaintance. What’s this I hear about a triple date?” Sirius asked, sauntering over like he owned the place, ignoring Regulus' groan.

If offended by the less-than-affectionate greeting he received, Barty did not show it as he grinned even more maniacally at what he likely saw as back-up in his torment of you two. "Good afternoon to you too, Big Black, we're just discussing the wedding colours. I am in support of emerald green, and I will listen to no other opinions as I know them best."

"No fair, I've known Reg the longest!"

"I do believe they would look lovely in a red," James teases as the group settles down around the table.

Regulus groaned softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For the love of–"

"You guys can walk around in whatever colour you'd like – we aren't getting married." You tried to set a stop to the conversation now. The jokes didn't roll as comfortably off you when in larger company. Though you and Remus had become quite good friends through class and you were seeing Regulus through his healing friendship with Sirius, you still weren't entirely accustomed to the bunch up close all at once.

"Well, surely not now, but the day will come and it's never too early to start planning," Sirius quipped, his grin matching Barty's perhaps a bit too much. "I will be best man, yeah?"

"Absolutely not, I will!" Barty butted in before you had the chance to reply.

"Wouldn't you be her best man? Or man of honour or whatever?" James raised an eyebrow, trying to pick up on the dynamic.

"Of course I will."

"Then Padfoot can be Regulus'?"

"I have no idea why you are talking about pads and feet, but no, I will be best man and man of honour thank you very much."

"That's no fair!" Sirius cried.

"Shouldn't this be a decision the lovely couple makes?" Remus chimed in, trying to calm his partner with a smile.

"For Salazar's sake – we are not dating!" You cut the whole conversation off, emphasising your point with hand gesticulations. The table actually went quiet for a moment, the newest additions sharing confused looks.

"What?" was all James could say.

"We are not together," Regulus spoke up for the first time, rolling his eyes in true Regulus-fashion. "We're just close friends."

Barty snorted at that.

Sirius looked absolutely floored for once. His eyes flick between you and Regulus in genuine surprise. “Wait– you're serious? You aren't dating? Since when?”

"Since forever?" Regulus questioned right back at his brother, finding his groove in the sarcastic exchanges. "Can two people not be close without having to be shagging?"

Sirius and Barty both chimed a "no" at the same time, though Barty was finding much more humour in it all than the other. He added, "Well, Treasure and I can. Evan and Reg can. You two on the other hand..."

You felt heat rise to your face, Regulus' leg shaking you slightly as he began to bounce it. "Where did you all even get that from?" you questioned, looking at everyone but Barty. You were well aware of why he thought what he thought.

“I mean–” Sirius spread his hands, gesturing towards how the two of you were sat, as you suddenly became aware that most of your body was touching Regulus' in some way. "Look at you! You’re always together. You act like an old married couple half the time. And you basically let each other get away with murder. I'm still not entirely convinced Trouble here won't kill me if Reggie ever asks."

"Don't call me that."

"I probably would."

Sirius was unaffected by both comments. He look towards James for support, who was nodding emphatically, clearly shocked too.

"Yeah, no, I thought it was just, like, common knowledge that you have been dating for years," James said, raising his hands a little at the look on Regulus' face. "No offence, just how it seems from the outside, 's all."

"Not to mention you look at her like–” Sirius started.

“Like what?” Regulus cut in, his grip on you loosening, just a little.

Sirius blinked, still thoroughly confused. “Like you’re bloody in love with her.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Remus suppressing a smile, engaging in some stare-down with his brother. You worried your voice would fail you, so you just shook your head disapprovingly.

Barty, never one to leave well enough alone, leaned back with a smug grin. “Told you tossers. The whole castle thinks you're dating, so you might as well get on with it."

"Well, we're not and we won't, so can you guys please just shut up." Regulus' jaw was still tight, scouring at his friends as he debated if that term was still one he wanted to use about them.

Sirius just shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, Reg, whatever you say. But you’re both coming, yeah?”

You turned more into him as you scanned his face for an answer. Regulus held your gaze for a long moment, and you could see the wariness flickering just behind his eyes. You smiled, quirking a brow at him as if to say it's up to you, babe. He sighed and then said a low fine.

With a dramatised sigh, you turned back to Sirius and Barty and their expectant looks. “It’s not a triple date,” you said firmly, lifting your chin just slightly. “But we’ll join you as... I don’t know. Fifth and sixth wheels.”

Regulus grip on you tightened again as he settled back into his seat. “Exactly. Fifth and sixth wheels. Sure.”

Barty threw his head back and barked out a loud, unrestrained and frankly unnecessary laugh. “Sure thing, sweetcheeks,” he teased, grinning from ear to ear. “Whatever you need to tell yourselves. I’ll make sure Rosier knows it’s not a date.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, mumbling some indelicate words under his breath that only you could catch. You stifled a laugh, at which Regulus’ lips twitched – just the slightest hint of amusement given to you.

Sirius, still grinning, clapped his hands together like this was some great victory. “Brilliant. Can’t wait to see you both there. It’ll be... enlightening.”

Remus, who had been watching this whole exchange with thinly veiled amusement, leaned in closer to Sirius and muttered, “Enlightening? You've spent too much time with McGonagall.”

"Yeah, in detention," James muttered, evidently a shared trauma.

Sirius nudged him with his elbow, snickering. “Shut up, Moony.”

"Oi, that's no way to speak to your fresh boyfriend, is it, Black?" you teased, glad to have some revenge.

"Firstly, my darling not-quite-sister-in-law, you may refer to me as Sirius," he drawled with a lazy grin. "Secondly, I'll have you know he enjoys it when I'm a bit rude."

"Did not need to know that," Regulus mumbled with shut eyes as Remus swatted at his boyfriend to get him to behave.

"Anyway. We are happy for you." You smiled warmly, missing the shared glance between Remus and Sirius at your use of we. Regulus hadn't seemed to notice either, used to it.

"You won't be as happy when you have to see them sucking faces at this triple date." James' voice was laced with faux annoyance. You didn't bother correcting his use of the term triple date. Regulus scoffed, but it seemed to be more aimed at the idea of his brother sucking faces with anyone.

"You're just upset Evans isn't willing to suck faces with you yet, Prongs." Sirius' comeback caused a groan from James as his head thumped on the table – clearly he was right.

Barty made an ooooo sound, leaning in closer to poke at James, wanting to know all the hopefully-gory details.

With a tired sigh, you shifted back into the chair, pulling the Potions book from the table onto your lap once more, determined to return to your homework. You still had an essay due tomorrow, and Merlin knew Slughorn wasn’t going to accept any excuses, even from his favourite students. Regulus, sensing the shift in your focus, followed your lead, picking up his quill with a kind of forced determination. Your eyes met and you smiled at each other, back in the comfort of your little bubble, even with the overflowing table.

The chatter around the library became a dull hum as Sirius and Barty went from interrogating James to discussing the specifics of their plans for the weekend with Remus and James chiming in here and there. You didn’t need to listen – Barty would tell you all the ridiculous details later, no doubt with some embellished commentary on how hopelessly “in love” you and Regulus clearly were. He loved pushing his narratives, ever the comic.

But now, as you tried to force your attention back to your notes, the exhaustion that had been creeping up on you all evening settled in. You had barely slept the night before, and after a more exerting conversation than you had prepared for as you entered the library, you were reaching your limit.

Unconsciously, you let your body lean further into Regulus’s side, your shoulder pressing against his more firmly, your head coming to rest against the crook of his neck. It was such a small movement, something you had done hundreds of times before, but it felt more loaded in these surroundings. You could have sworn you felt Regulus' breath hitch. Nevertheless, your body naturally relaxed into his warmth.

Regulus tried to relax his posture to make it more comfortable for you, and let you rest against him without complaint. His quill hovered over the parchment for a moment, forgotten, as he swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his heart had started pounding in his chest. It did every time. It didn't seem like you had noticed before, so why worry about it now?

He told himself it didn’t mean anything – he said it a thousand times, you were his best friend. You had always been close like this. But Merlin, if his skin didn’t burn oh so deliciously where you touched him. If his mind didn’t wander to how you smelled, to the warmth of your body pressing against his. If he didn't savour the moment as if it would never happen again, as he felt so damned lucky that he knew it would.

He fought to keep his expression neutral, forcing his gaze back down to his notes, but the words on the page were little more than a blur now. He let his head drop onto yours as he kept rereading the same sentence.

Remus had drifted away from the conversation, eyeing the two of you. The others had – thankfully – moved on by now, but he risked elbowing Sirius slightly to point out how comfortable you two had grown together the second the attention was off you. Sirius had an eyebrow raised, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes were glinting with that same, familiar mischief. Remus shot him a knowing glance, as if to say don’t push it.

Sirius didn’t say anything, knowing Remus was unfortunately right as usual, but the look he gave his brother spoke volumes. Despite what Regulus may want to think, he knew him. And he knew for a fact, that his little brother was in love. He smiled.

Barty and James had begun to bond over some grand plan to prank Evan during the supposed "not-date" this weekend. You had half an ear in the conversation, trying to catch on to whether you should warn Evan beforehand. But none of that really mattered to you at the moment. Not to you and certainly not to Regulus, who was trying desperately not to give in to the warmth spreading through him as your sigh fanned his skin.

You let your eyes drift close, just for a moment, feeling the weight of your pull at your consciousness. Caught somewhere between exhaustion and peace. Regulus noticed immediately and rubbed soothing circles on your back as he began to plot your escape to the dormitories.

You could have stayed like that forever. And maybe, Regulus thought, as his other hand brushed against yours where it rested on the armchair, he wouldn’t have minded if you did.

[wandascosmic]

just maybe (9)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part nine of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3193

tags: swearing, playful mention of sex, an office fire drill, best friends to lovers, idiots already in love to lovers, reader having an insane amount of self-control as always, jealousy jealousy from our favorite sokovian

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts @sheriffhaughtearp

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda introduces as she answers the receptionist's phone. Upon hearing the voice, Wanda furrows her brows. “Sure, can I ask who’s calling?” The person responds with their name. “Just a second.” Wanda turns to hit a button on the phone. 

Suddenly, your phone begins to ring. ��Y/N L/N,” you state, picking up the call. You laugh, hearing that it was your current almost girlfriend. “What, how did you get this number?” You mock with a grin. “Stalker,” you shake your head. 

Wanda’s not sure how she feels as she watches the happy expression on your face from her desk. You seem content with Valkyrie, but something about her just made Wanda feel uneasy. She’s come to the conclusion that she’s probably just protective of you, since you’ve always been her best friend, and since knowing you she had never really seen you in any serious relationships. She simply cared for you, a lot. 

“So we’re still on for lunch?” you ask Valkyrie. “Are you meeting me here? Okay. Great. See you later. Bye,” you finish with a smile, hanging up. 

You were about to get back to work when Wanda calls out to you from across the room. “Hey,” she says, causing you to turn your head towards her, and gives you a small smile. “You can just give her your extension.” 

“Sure,” you nod, before returning to the papers on your desk. 

Wanda frowns. 

***

There was a deafening loud sound reverberating through the entire office. The smoke detector, of course. 

You sigh. You just wanted to get through the day uninterrupted, not including the lunch you had planned with Valkyrie. And, of course, spending as much time as you could with Wanda. Just one normal day, please.

And right on time, Sam begins to shout. “Okay, people, this is not at test! Everybody make your way to the exits!” He calls out. 

“Do not panic!” Tony yells alongside him. “Everyone, just get up from your desks, arms at your side!” 

“This is not a drill, move quickly, everyone, this is a paper company, come on!” Sam screams at the top of his lungs, rather dramatically. If you weren’t at a risk for being set on fire, you would’ve had a witty sarcastic remark ready on the tip of your tongue for him. “This whole place is a tinder box, it’s ready to blow!” 

You’re making your way out the exits, when suddenly Wanda immediately runs towards you and meets the rhythm of your stride, holding your hand. 

You give her a confused look. “Nat says we should have safety partners,” she responds with a shrug. 

“I didn’t hear that–” you begin to say.

“Clear out, stat!” Sam interrupts, sprinting past the two of you and clearly out of breath after screaming out fire safety laws for the past 10 minutes. 

Forgetting your previous statement, you turn to the brunette beside you once you’ve both made it safely to the parking lot outside. “Please tell me we can prank Sam after this,” you tell Wanda, bringing out a huge grin on her face.

“Oh, for sure,” she responds immediately. “In fact, I’m drafting up about 5 plans right now in my mind.” 

You laugh. “Of course you are, Maximoff.” Wanda squeezes your hand in return. 

***

“Okay, you know what?” you call out to the people around you. It had been ten minutes, and you were thoroughly bored of standing around. “I think Wanda and I are gonna set an agenda around here.” 

Wanda nods with a grin. 

Clapping your hands together lightly, you call towards the rest of the office staff. “Can everybody gather up, please? Important announcement.” You say. “I think this is a perfect opportunity for all of us to participate in some really intense,” you pause, “psychologically revealing conversations.” 

You give Wanda a look to finish the rest of your announcement. “So,” she turns to face the crowd. “We’re gonna be playing Desert Island…” 

“”Who Would You Do?” you continue, making Wanda snicker. 

“And, “Would You Rather?”” Wanda finishes. 

“Would You Rather,” you agree. 

You’re about to start the first game, when suddenly, the fire trucks pull in and the firefighters run through the office crowd to get into the building. 

“What’s up, guys, long time no see,” you greet slightly, making Wanda smack you playfully on the arm. “What?” you laugh. 

She rolls her eyes in response. “You’re a dork.” 

You stick your tongue out at her in return, and turn back to the crowd once all the firefighters have made their way through. 

“Okay, so, first, three books on a desert island,” you look around, trying to pick the first person to go. “Nat,” you point. 

Nat squints her eyes suspiciously at the interaction in front of her first, before answering. “The Hunger Games, and a Russian dictionary, to make sure I’m not out of practice.” 

“Okay, you have one more book though,” you say. 

“Rather not,” Nat responds. 

“Okay,” you say with a shrug, and turning towards your best friend. “Wanda, next person?” 

Wanda nods, looking around to pick the right person. “Peter!” she says. 

“Oh,” Peter responds shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, Death by Black Hole, Nonlinear Dynamics and Chaos, and one of the scientific journals I read a while ago but I can’t remember the name.” 

“Alright, that’s pretty cool,” you say. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam retorts immediately. “If he burned them, he would only be warm for like seven seconds. Question, is there firewood on the island?” 

“I guess,” you shrug. 

Sam scoffs. “Then I would bring an axe. No books.”

“That’s actually pretty practical, Mr. Sam,” Peter squeaks out. 

“Peter, you don’t need to agree with the guy,” you reassure. “I never do.” 

Peter nods, shifting his weight on his feet instead. 

You look at Sam once more. “You can’t bring an axe, Sam. Just books.” 

Sam narrows his eyes at you. “Fine, then. Physician’s Desk Reference.”

“Nice. Smart.” 

But unfortunately, Sam continues. “But hollowed out. Inside, waterproof matches, iodine tablets.” Wanda turns to you with an expression that tells you she’s trying not to laugh. You roll your eyes playfully in response. “Beet seeds, protein bars, NASA blanket, and, in case I get bored, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. No, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” Wanda finally can’t help herself and lets out a small snicker. “Question, did my shoes come off in the plane crash?”

***

Unfortunately, the books don’t last very long since it appears that people don’t read too much in the Shield Industries office. However, you’re definitely remembering Wanda’s answer for her next birthday. 

“Okay, DVDs, five movies, what would you bring?” you ask the crowd. 

Bruce immediately raises his hand. 

“Yes, Bruce?” 

Bruce starts naming all of his guilty pleasure movies, and you and Wanda look at each other while struggling not to laugh. 

“Wow,” you whisper quietly to her as Bruce continues naming his choices. 

“Well, I kind of like–” Wanda whispers one of the movies to you through her quiet giggles. 

“Wanda, you’re misinterpreting this,” you tease gently. “These are desert island movies, you know? Not guilty pleasure movies. These are the movies you’re gonna be watching for the rest of your life! Forever!” 

“I take it back,” Wanda grins, facing you. 

“Unforgivable,” you shake your head. 

“I take it back!” Wanda wraps her arms around yours. 

***

“Wanda,” you turn to the brunette so she’s facing your front. “Your turn, five movies, go ahead.” 

Wanda groans, looking at you with a hopeful expression on her face. “Does it have to be movies? What about sitcoms?” she asks excitedly. 

You hum thoughtfully. “What do you guys think?” you turn to the rest of the staff.

“To be fair, I don’t think Maximoff has seen a single movie in her life, so for her, it should be allowed,” Nat says. 

“Hey!” Wanda says, slightly offended. “I’ll have you know, when I first came here, Y/N took me to see a bunch of your classic American movies.” 

“Oh, did she now?” Nat responds back sarcastically. 

“Okay, come on, guys,” you say past the slight blush in your cheeks. “No need to be hostile. Wanda, go ahead and name your top sitcoms you’d bring to the island.” 

Wanda immediately forgets about the interaction with Nat and starts naming her favorite shows. “Okay. The Dick Van Dyke Show, of course, I Love Lucy, Malcolm in the Middle, Bewitched, Family Ties…Wait, can I bring one more? I love–” 

“Sorry, Maximoff,” you cut off with a grin, causing her to frown. “Five per person, max.” 

“But-” she tries.

You shake your head. “Play by the rules, Wanda. Play by the rules.”

“I’m gonna get you back,” she says, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms tightly. 

“Don’t doubt it,” you respond cheekily. “But, I’ll get you a donut later to make up for it. How about that?” 

Wanda nods, satisfied with your answer and moves to stand next to you once more. 

***

“All right, moving on to the main event, Who Would You Do?” you announce.

“Present company excluded?” Bucky asks. 

“Um, no,” you shake your head. “Not necessarily.” 

Suddenly, a chorus of “Wanda” is heard from the entire crowd, and you look at the recipient seeing how uncomfortable she looks. 

“Okay, um, how about I finish explaining the rules first? Let me explain first–” you try to ease Wanda’s embarrassment, but suddenly, you’re interrupted by something you could have never anticipated. 

Well, who could ever anticipate Sam’s…colorful personality. 

“Everybody Hurts” by REM has begun to blast from Sam’s car, and you look to see him slouching completely lifeless in his driver’s seat.

You try your best to continue past the music. “Yeah, so we’ll get right to— you know what? I’ll be right back. Steve, can you take over for me? Thanks.” 

You run off in the direction of Sam’s car, ready to confront him with Wanda trailing beside you. 

“Sam?” You ask through the open window. Sam simply turns up the music in response. “Sam! Come on, Sam, use words.” 

Sam turns off the music aggressively. “Why didn’t I go to business school?” he asks angrily. 

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Who goes to business school?” you ask, looking over at Wanda who shrugs at you in response. 

“The intern,” Sam says venomously. 

“Peter? He does?” 

“Yeah,” Sam responds scornfully. “It’s all him and Tony talk about now. Tony saw a stupid yellow business school book in his car, swiped him from your game, and now Tony’s completely obsessed with him.” 

Wanda looks at you before speaking, “you know, I bet Peter thinks to himself, “I wish I were a volunteer sheriff on the weekend.”” 

You bite your lip to hold back your laugh. 

“He doesn’t even know that I do that,” Sam rolls his eyes. 

“You should tell him,” Wanda says. 

“Oh, yeah, Wanda. Right. That’s gonna help things, just talk it out,” he scoffs. “I hope the war goes on forever and Peter gets drafted.” 

“Sam,” Wanda states gently.

“What?” you mouth to her through a smile.

She shakes her head at you with an equally amused grin. 

Sam puts his head into his hands. “Fine, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t— just part of me meant it, okay? Besides, he’d end up being a hero, anyway.” 

You duck your head slightly to hold in the laugh that’s dying to come out. Wanda starts to smile too, looking away slightly to prevent being obvious. 

“You know what you should do,” you say past your grin, an equally amused expression on Wanda’s face. “You should quit.” You cover your mouth with the top of your fist slightly to hide your smile. “And then,” you turn to face Wanda, “that would stick it to both of them.” 

Wanda bites her lip tightly, trying her best to prevent from bursting out into laughter alongside you.

“No, Y/N, I’m not gonna quit,” Sam says completely monotone. “Then Peter wins.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, facing Wanda who’s eyes are sparkling with amusement.

Sam puts his hand on top of both yours and Wanda’s, giving you both a grateful expression. “Thanks, you guys. I just need some alone time.” 

“Okay,” Wanda says softly, slowly backing away from the car. 

“Everybody Hurts” starts blasting again from the speakers, and Sam rolls up the window, slouching once more. 

You and Wanda slowly walk back to the group together, laughing loudly together as you finally release the pent-up hysterics you had both been trying to hold back. 

“God, he makes it so easy,” you exclaim. 

“I know,” Wanda grins. “But, we’re definitely still pranking him! I’m so looking forward to it, I have so many ideas I need to share with you. But, you know, after he gets over his breakup with Tony,” she starts giggling again. 

“I can’t wait, Maximoff,” you start snickering loudly alongside her once more.

But suddenly, your moment is cut short, as the source of your unhappiness makes its way in front of you two, and you both stop laughing slightly. 

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” Vision asks, immediately slinging his heavy arm around Wanda’s shoulders.

“Nothing much,” you respond, shrugging as you put your hands in your pockets, feeling a bit out of place. 

“Hi, Vis,” Wanda says with a smile. 

“Can I hang with you guys for a bit?” Vision asks you both. “The warehouse guys can really be jackasses sometimes, you know?” 

You included, you think to yourself. 

But if he makes Wanda happy, then you’re happy.

***

Much to your secret dismay, you and Wanda have joined the group once more, along with her fiancé. 

“Come on, guys, you know the rules of the game, it’s called “Who Would You Do?”” Steve says in a bit of a frustrated tone. 

“Oh!” Tony claps his hands together. “Awesome, I play this game with my friends all the time. Where are we?” 

“Um–” Steve says. 

“Vision!” Tony points to the new company. “Who would you do?” 

“Oh, I got it!” Vision responds, and Wanda smiles lightly to herself. “What’s the name of that girl who’s always wearing black and has a huge bitch face? The red head?” 

Wanda’s face falls.

“My name’s Natasha,” Nat responds curtly, crossing her arms. 

Vision leans down to face Nat. “Hey, Natasha! I’m Vision, nice to meet you.” 

“You’re a dick,” Nat says simply, immediately leaving and making her way to her car.

Wanda looks down at her feet, feeling uncomfortable. 

“Hey?” you whisper to Wanda. 

Wanda hums in response. 

“Look at Sam,” you tell her, pointing to the figure in the red car, now going back and forth between banging his forehead onto his steering wheel, occasionally letting out honks, and banging his head agains the roof of his car. 

Wanda lets out a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock. She turns to look at you. “He’s gonna inflict brain damage or something.”

“Well, then he’ll have opened up a whole new world of pranks for us,” you shrug. 

Wanda grins, her spirits lifted from before. 

“Y/N!” Tony calls out. “You’re next. Who would you do?” 

“Um,” you pause. “Steve, hands down. You know, he’s got that cuddly thing going on, and because he’s prehistoric we could just watch bowling after.” 

The group laughs at your joke, Wanda included. 

***

The people playing the games had slightly splintered since Sam had run out of his car in an effort to find Tony’s phone, inside the burning office building, and in his words, simply to make him happy. A couple people got bored, and a few others decided to wait by the door of the building just to make sure Sam got out safely. 

Wanda was surrounded by a few of the female staff, who had decided to continue the game. 

“Definitely Y/N,” a bunch of them said simultaneously. “She’s really cute, and funny.” 

Wanda crossed her arms tightly across her body. 

“What about you, Wanda?” Jean asked. 

“Um,” Wanda looks around. “Probably Steve, too. For the same reasons as Y/N. He seems really nice.”

You’re on a phone call with Valkyrie, walking around the parking lot aimlessly. “Hey, where are you? Oh, good. Yeah, we’re just here, we’re playing Desert Island, five movies.” 

***

Sam had finally reconciled with Tony, after finding out the culprit of the fire, was unfortunately Peter’s cheese quesadilla. The boy looked horrified, and you tried to give him a reassuring look in an unfortunate situation. 

Suddenly, you were met with the sight of a silver car pulling into the parking lot, seeing it was Valkyrie through the windows. 

You walked up with a smile as she parked, rolling down the window to strike up a conversation. 

“Hey,” you greeted, smiling as you leant down to talk to her, her immediately grabbing your arm flirtatiously. “How are you?” 

“I’m good,” she answered, planting a kiss on your cheek. “It’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” you responded, smiling. 

“I’m hungry,” she says, referring to your lunch plans. 

“You know, I am too,” you agree. 

“Oh!” Valkyrie realizes, stepping out of the car. “I have been thinking, the whole way over, and I have my answers,” she shuts the door to the car. 

“What answers?” you ask. 

“For the desert island,” she says, leaning back against the car door. 

“Oh, right!” you say excitedly. “Come on.” You grab her hand and lead her over to the rest of the staff. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, gather ‘round, we have one more participant,” you announce. “Be polite,” you say, before turning to Valkyrie. “Desert island, five movies, go.” 

“Okay,” Valkyrie smirks. “First, Legally Blonde.” 

And suddenly, you’re met with the sound of Wanda’s laughter, as that was the guilty pleasure movie Wanda had told Y/N she liked when Bruce had announced it, only for you to tease her in response. 

Unfortunately, after Valkyrie has announced her movies, the crowd had mostly dissipated, and you turn to her apologetically. “Sorry, there was a bigger crowd last time, but you know, great movies,” you say, scratching the back of your neck slightly. 

“Don’t worry,” Valkyrie says, grabbing your arm and running her hand up and down your sleeve. “Wanna just go to lunch?” 

“Sure,” you agree. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m in the mood for Thai, does that work?” Valkyrie responds, getting into the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you say, closing the door for her before making your way to the passenger’s seat. 

And Wanda narrows her eyes, ‘cause she knows you absolutely hate Thai food. 

Scoffing, she turns back to Vision, and grabs him by the collar before firmly connecting their lips.

You frown at the sight in front of you, and turn your head away.

“You okay?” Valkyrie asks, noticing your expression as you close the car door at your side. 

“Hm?” you respond. “Oh, oh, yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.” You reassure, giving her a small smile past the ache in your heart. 

“Okay,” Valkyrie agrees, giving you a small kiss on your cheek before driving off. 

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - who are we to fight the alchemy? pt.2

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

word count: 18.4k+ (total 36.6k+)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here's part 2! (tags and summary are the same)

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

series masterlist - chapter 8 → chapter 9

The sound of rain pattering against the windows filled the room, the occasional roll of thunder causing the lights to flicker faintly. You glanced at Theresa, who was huddled close to the arm of the couch, clutching a stuffed rabbit in one hand and her cards in the other. Across from her, Jones was grinning mischievously, clearly enjoying the game despite the storm outside.

“Got any sevens?” Theresa asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Jones narrowed his eyes dramatically before sighing and handing over a card. “You’re lucky,” he muttered. “I was gonna use that to win.”

Theresa smiled faintly, her fear of the thunder momentarily forgotten. You couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride for how brave she was being—storms were hard for her, but she was hanging in there.

“You’re doing great, Theresa,” you said, offering her an encouraging smile. “And Jones, don’t think I didn’t see you sneak that card earlier.”

Jones’s eyes widened in mock offense. “I did not!”

You raised a brow, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Before Jones could come up with a witty retort, the door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, shaking rainwater from his jacket. His presence immediately shifted the atmosphere, the kids sitting up a little straighter while you felt your chest tighten with a mix of nervousness and warmth.

“Storm’s pickin’ up out there,” Logan remarked, his eyes briefly scanning the room before landing on you. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Didn’t think I’d find you playin’ Go Fish, darlin’.”

You adjusted your glasses, trying to ignore the way his nickname made your heart skip. “Theresa didn’t want to be alone during the storm, so we’re keeping her company.”

Logan’s attention shifted to the young girl, his expression losing its usual gruffness. “Smart call, kiddo. Storms can be rough.”

Theresa nodded, clutching her rabbit tighter. “It’s really loud.”

Logan crouched down to her level, his tone unusually gentle. “Tell you what—next time it gets too loud, you just look at me. I’ll make sure it’s nothin’ to worry about.”

Theresa gave him a tentative smile, and you felt your chest ache at the sight. Logan had a way of being unexpectedly tender when it mattered, and it always caught you off guard.

“What about me?” Jones piped up, clearly fishing for the same attention. “Can I look at you if it gets too loud?”

Logan ruffled Jones’s hair with a scoff. “You? You’ll be fine, tough guy.”

Jones grinned, puffing out his chest like he’d just been handed a badge of honor.

“Wanna join us?” you asked, gesturing to the game. “We’re about to see who’s got the best poker face.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features. “Not sure Go Fish is what they mean by a poker face, but sure.” He pulled up a chair, settling in beside you. His arm brushed yours briefly as he leaned forward, and you had to fight the urge to shift closer.

As the game resumed, you found yourself glancing at Logan more often than you intended. He was surprisingly good at keeping the kids engaged, his gruff teasing making them laugh despite the storm raging outside. Every so often, his eyes would meet yours, and the corners of his mouth would lift in a way that felt like it was meant just for you.

Eventually, the storm began to die down, the thunder growing more distant. Theresa yawned, her eyelids drooping as she leaned against your shoulder. Jones followed not long after, slumping into the armchair with his deck of cards scattered around him.

“Looks like they’re done for the night,” Logan murmured, his voice low enough that it felt intimate in the quiet room.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, brushing a strand of hair from Theresa’s face. “I’ll take her up to bed.”

“I’ll get Jones,” Logan said, standing and scooping the boy up effortlessly. He carried him with the ease of someone used to it, his movements careful not to wake him.

You followed Logan to the hallway, each of you heading to a different room to settle the kids in. When you returned to the common room, the storm had died down, leaving behind only the faint sound of quiet rain.

Logan was waiting for you by the couch, his hands tucked into his pockets. “You’re good with them,” he said, his tone quieter now.

You shrugged, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “They’re good kids. Just needed a distraction.”

His eyes lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Guess you’re good at that, too.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you settled for a small, grateful smile. Logan seemed content with that, his lips quirking into a faint grin before he gestured toward the door.

“C’mon. You’ve been cooped up all night. Let’s take a walk.”

Your eyes widened as you looked out the windows, the rain still drumming steadily against the glass. “It’s raining.”

Logan smirked, shrugging one shoulder as he leaned against the doorway. “You scared of a little water, sweetheart?”

You gave him a look, though the slight flush creeping up your neck betrayed your flustered reaction to his teasing. “I’m not scared. It’s just—what’s the point? We’ll get soaked.”

“That’s the idea,” Logan said, his grin widening. He pushed off the doorframe and gestured toward the hall. “Go grab a jacket. Fresh air’ll do you good.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the couch where you’d been sitting with the kids not long ago. The room was quiet now, and the remnants of the storm had left it feeling oddly still. Maybe he was right—a little walk might be nice. Plus, the way he was watching you, half-smirk and half-something else, made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you relented, adjusting your glasses and heading for the hallway. “But if I catch a cold, it’s on you.”

Logan’s chuckle followed you. “Deal.”

---

The air outside was crisp and cool, the rain having softened to a misty drizzle that clung to your skin. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying not to think about the way Logan’s pace matched yours so easily or how his presence seemed to chase away the lingering chill from the storm.

“You always this quiet?” he asked after a moment, his voice cutting through the soft patter of rain against the leaves.

You glanced up at him, your glasses misting slightly in the damp air. “What do you mean?”

Logan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re always thinkin’, darlin’. Like your head’s miles away.”

You looked down, a little embarrassed. “I just… think a lot, I guess. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Didn’t say it was,” he replied, his voice softer now. “Just curious what’s got you so wrapped up.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It’s nothing, really. Just… trying to make sense of everything, I guess.”

“Everything, huh?” Logan glanced at you, his sharp gaze lingering. “That’s a lot to figure out.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. “What about you? Do you ever think about… everything?”

Logan let out a low laugh, though there was something almost bitter behind it. “Not much point in it. Most of the time, everything’s just a mess.”

You stopped walking, turning to look at him fully. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He met your gaze, his expression softening just slightly. “Used to,” he admitted. “Not so much anymore. Guess I’m just used to it.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your chest ache. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you reached out and brushed a raindrop off the sleeve of his jacket without thinking, the movement small but oddly intimate.

Logan’s eyes flicked to your hand, then back to your face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You blinked, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I don’t know what to do with you half the time,” he said, his tone low but not unkind. “You’re shy as hell, but you’ve got guts when it counts. Makes a guy wonder.”

“Wonder what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan didn’t answer right away, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than felt comfortable—and yet, you didn’t want to look away. Finally, he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll figure that out.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly looked down, pretending to adjust your glasses. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

The two of you continued walking in silence, the quiet between you feeling less like an absence and more like an unspoken understanding. Every so often, your arm would brush his, and while you told yourself it was just the narrow path, a small part of you wondered if Logan wasn’t making the space smaller on purpose.

By the time you circled back toward the mansion, the rain had stopped entirely, leaving the air smelling fresh and clean. Logan held the door open for you without a word, and you stepped inside, your cheeks still warm from the walk.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing back at him.

Logan gave you one of his faint, lopsided grins. “Anytime, darlin’.”

As you headed down the hallway toward your room, you couldn’t help but wonder if he meant it. Something told you he did.

---

“Just as in the kinetic theory of gases, it is not merely the average effect of a large number of atoms that comes into consideration in the electromagnetic interpretation of optical phenomena. Thus, in the scattering of light the random distribution of the atoms makes the effects of the individual atoms appear in such a way that a direct counting of the atoms is possible. In fact, Rayleigh estimated from the intensity of the scattered blue light of the sky the number of atoms in the atmosphere, obtaining results in satisfactory agreement with the counting of atoms obtained by Perrin from a study of the Brownian motion. The rational mathematical representation of the electromagnetic theory is based on the application of vector analysis- ”

Hands gripped your shoulders and startled you, making you look up from your book.

“What’ve I told you about walkin’ and not payin’ attention?” he asked, his voice tinged with both amusement and exasperation. His eyes flicked down to the book in your hands.

Caught off guard, you stammered, “I wasn’t—I mean, I was paying attention. Just… not to where I was walking.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to be at dinner, not wanderin’ the halls like some kinda ghost.”

“You aren’t there either,” you pointed out, your cheeks warming as you adjusted your glasses.

“Touché,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting. “What’s got you so wrapped up you skipped eatin’?”

“It’s a book by Niels Bohr,” you said, holding up the slim volume. “Atomic Theory and the Description of Nature. I got caught up in the section on the kinetic theory of gases and the Rayleigh scattering of light.”

Logan gave you a look that was part curiosity, part bewilderment. “You realize most folks wouldn’t understand a word of what you just said, right?”

You smiled sheepishly. “It’s not that complicated once you break it down.”

“Go ahead,” he said, his tone turning softer. “Break it down for me.”

You hesitated, unsure if he was serious, but the genuine interest in his eyes convinced you to start. As you explained the connection between the scattering of light, the composition of the atmosphere, and how Bohr linked it to atomic theory, Logan listened intently at first, nodding occasionally.

But as your excitement grew, so did the gloss of your lips, drawing his attention. The soft sheen shifted as you spoke, catching the light in a way that teased at his focus. Logan’s thoughts started to drift. Cherry or strawberry? He’d caught faint hints of sweetness before when you were close, but he’d never been able to place it.

As you continued talking, your voice animated, your shy demeanor falling away in the face of your enthusiasm, Logan’s restraint finally snapped. Without warning, he leaned in and kissed you, cutting you off mid-sentence.

The kiss was firm, heady, and left no room for doubt about what he’d been holding back. His hand cradled the side of your face, the other sliding to your waist as if anchoring you to the moment. Your book slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud, but neither of you noticed.

When Logan finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he muttered against your lips, his voice gravelly and low, “fuck, it’s cherry.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “W-what?”

“Your lip gloss,” he clarified, his tone almost amused but still rough with lingering desire. “Been drivin’ me mad for months.”

Your face burned as you tried to process his words, your lips still tingling. “You— I—”

Logan smirked, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Guess I should’ve asked sooner.”

You blinked at him, flustered beyond words, but the warmth in his gaze settled something deep inside you. He straightened, his hand lingering at your waist before reluctantly stepping back.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, his smirk softening into something gentler. “Let’s get you to dinner before I forget how to behave.”

Still dazed, you bent down to retrieve your book, but your fingers brushed his as he’d bent to grab it too. You both froze for a moment before he chuckled softly, handing it back to you.

“Careful with that,” he teased. “Can’t have you losin’ Bohr to my bad manners.”

You managed a shy smile, clutching the book to your chest as you walked beside him toward the dining hall. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop your lips from curving up every time you caught him glancing your way.

---

For a day or two after the kiss, you found yourself unconsciously avoiding Logan. It wasn’t that you regretted what had happened—far from it. If anything, the memory of his lips on yours lingered like the faint taste of cherries that always lay on your lips, setting your heart racing every time you replayed the moment.

But that was exactly the problem. It had caught you so off-guard, had unraveled you so completely, that you didn’t know how to face him without your cheeks burning or your words tangling into incoherence.

Logan, for his part, seemed to respect the space you were giving yourself. He didn’t corner you in the hallways or push for your attention like he might’ve done with someone else. Instead, he found quieter ways to remind you he was still there.

On the first morning after the kiss, when you arrived at your desk in the mansion’s small but cozy library, you noticed a steaming mug of tea waiting for you. The ceramic was warm beneath your fingers, the faint scent of chamomile and honey wafting up. A note rested beside it, the words scrawled in Logan’s rough handwriting:

Didn’t see you at breakfast. Figured you could use this.

You smiled despite yourself, fingers brushing over the paper before tucking it into the corner of your notebook. That same morning, during a meeting with the team, Logan casually pulled out the chair beside him before you could sit, earning a teasing look from Jean.

“You’re being awfully polite today,” Jean remarked, her tone light but curious.

Logan grunted nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat. “Just tryin’ to set an example for the kids.”

Jean’s eyes flickered between the two of you, her lips twitching as though she wanted to say more, but she held back. You busied yourself by adjusting your glasses, thankful for the distraction when Scott started talking.

But even as Logan kept his distance, his presence was everywhere. When you left your jacket in the lounge, it somehow reappeared on the back of your chair in the lecture hall. A book you’d misplaced turned up on your desk with no explanation. Small gestures, easily overlooked by anyone else, but each one sent your heart into overdrive.

---

It wasn’t until the third day after the kiss that Logan finally had enough. You’d been walking back to your quarters after finishing a late tutoring session with Rogue and Bobby when you turned a corner and nearly collided with him.

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” he said, his hands steadying your arms before you could step back. “You been dodgin’ me, or am I imaginin’ things?”

The warmth of his touch seeped through your sleeves, and you cursed the way your pulse quickened. “I—I haven’t been dodging you,” you lied, adjusting your glasses to avoid his gaze.

Logan tilted his head, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “Right. And I’m Cyclops’ biggest fan.” His voice softened, the gruffness easing. “C’mon, darlin’. Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the strap of your bag. “I just... I needed time to think.”

“To think about what?” His tone wasn’t demanding, just curious, almost gentle.

“About what happened,” you admitted, finally meeting his gaze. “It caught me off-guard, Logan. I didn’t know what to say, and I guess I panicked.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face before he nodded. “Fair enough. I’m not exactly known for takin’ it slow. If I pushed too hard—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “You didn’t. It’s just... no one’s ever done that before. And I—”

You stopped yourself, biting your lip as you searched for the right words. Logan’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes, his expression softening further.

Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his voice soft but insistent. “And you?”

Your fingers tightened on the strap of your bag as you glanced at him. The hallway felt quieter than it should, the usual distant chatter and footsteps replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. Logan’s expression was open, patient in a way that left you unsure if you wanted to explain or simply step closer.

“And I…” You faltered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do after.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. His thumb brushed your sleeve, a barely-there gesture, but it steadied you somehow. “That all?” he asked, his tone calm but his eyes sharp, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

You nodded, your gaze dropping to his chest. “I’m not used to— I mean, no one’s ever—” You cut yourself off, frustrated at your inability to form a complete sentence.

“No one’s ever kissed you?” he guessed, his voice tinged with surprise. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no mockery, only quiet curiosity.

“No!” you blurted out, mortified. “I mean, not like that. Not…” You hesitated, then sighed. “Not like it mattered.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his eyes softening. “It mattered, sweetheart.” The words were simple, but they carried enough weight to make your breath catch.

You looked up at him then, and for the first time, you didn’t try to hide the uncertainty in your eyes. “I don’t know how to… do this,” you admitted softly.

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “Ain’t a test, Y/N. You don’t gotta have it all figured out.”

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You took a slow breath, summoning a flicker of courage from somewhere deep within you. “What about you?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady enough. “What does it mean to you?”

His hand slipped from your arm, brushing down to linger at your wrist. His thumb grazed your pulse, and he seemed to take a moment before answering. “Means I finally stopped holdin’ back,” he said, his voice rough but honest. ��Been tryin’ to stay outta your way, let you figure me out on your own. But that night…” His jaw tightened for a moment before he continued. “You were talkin’ about light scatterin’ and atoms, and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss you. So I did.”

The admission left you stunned. You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of hesitation, but there was none. Only the raw honesty that seemed to define him.

“I should’ve asked first,” Logan added, his tone quieter. “But I ain’t sorry I did it.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, the tension easing slightly. “I don’t think I would’ve known how to answer if you had.”

“That so?” His lips quirked into a small smirk. “How about now?”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you couldn’t look away from him. Instead of answering, you took a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. His hand didn’t leave your wrist, and you felt the slight increase in his grip as you hesitated, your gaze dropping to his lips.

Then, before you could lose your nerve, you leaned in, your lips brushing his. It was softer than you expected, tentative and shy, but Logan didn’t let it stay that way for long. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just enough to coax a response from you. His free hand slid to the small of your back, steadying you as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

When you pulled back, breathless and flushed, Logan didn’t let you go. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the faint curve of his smile.

“Guess that answers that,” he murmured, his voice teasing but warm.

You managed a faint laugh, your cheeks burning. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Logan’s hand lingered on your back, his thumb tracing slow circles that made your skin tingle. “You still plannin’ on avoidin’ me, or can we put that behind us?”

You bit your lip, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face. “I think we can put it behind us.”

“Good,” he said, his tone firm. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere, darlin’.”

The words settled something deep within you, their certainty grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. Logan stepped back just enough to let you regain your balance, though his hand stayed at your waist.

“Now,” he said, his smirk returning. “How ‘bout we grab somethin’ to eat before you start recitin’ atomic theory again?”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself. “Deal.”

As the two of you walked down the hall, side by side, Logan’s hand brushed yours, lingering for a moment before he finally laced his fingers through yours. It was such a simple gesture, yet it left your heart racing all over again. You didn’t let go.

---

“Outta the way, Scott,” you said, nudging him aside gently with your hip as you crouched down in front of Jean’s desk. He was halfway through wrestling with the stubborn drawer, tools scattered around his feet, his expression somewhere between frustrated and determined.

Scott glanced up, one eyebrow arching over the rim of his ruby-quartz glasses. “Oh, so now you’re a carpenter?”

“Not a carpenter,” you replied, pulling your gloves tighter, “just someone who knows a lost cause when I see one.” You gave the desk a quick once-over before prying at the stuck drawer with careful precision. “You’ve been at this for how long?”

Scott grumbled something under his breath but moved aside, folding his arms. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You’re right. It’s worse.” Your lips quirked in a faint smile as you reached into the drawer, feeling for the jammed mechanism. “Jean asked me to look at it, didn’t she?”

“She mentioned it,” Scott said, emphasizing the word. “I didn’t think it required a second opinion.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve got a knack for fixing things that don’t want to be fixed,” you teased lightly, sending him a sidelong glance. The moment hung between you for a beat before the sound of heavy footsteps announced Logan’s approach.

“What’s this?” Logan’s gruff voice cut through the room as he leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. His dark eyes flicked to you, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know desk repair was part of the X-Men training program.”

“It’s not,” Scott said dryly, shooting Logan a sharp look. “What do you want, Logan?”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on you, crouched by the desk, your sleeves pushed up and your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. He sauntered in, ignoring Scott entirely, and crouched down beside you.

“You need a hand, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was quieter now, his attention focused entirely on you.

Scott made a noise of protest. “I’m right here—”

“Yeah, yeah, I see you,” Logan muttered dismissively before leaning closer. “What’s the issue?”

You tried to ignore the way his presence seemed to command the space, the warmth radiating from him even though he wasn’t touching you. “The drawer’s stuck. I think the rail might be bent.”

Logan reached past you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Let me take a look.”

“I’ve got it,” you said quickly, more out of reflex than anything else.

Logan just gave you that amused, slightly exasperated look of his, the one that somehow managed to make you feel like you were the only person in the room who mattered. “Humor me.”

You huffed but shifted slightly, letting him inspect the drawer. His hands, calloused and sure, worked the mechanism with ease, and within seconds, there was a soft click. The drawer slid open smoothly.

“Fixed,” Logan said, sitting back on his heels and flashing you a smirk. “Told ya.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Thanks.”

Scott cleared his throat, his irritation palpable. “Are you done?”

Logan didn’t even glance at him, his attention still on you as he stood, offering you a hand to help you up. “Looks like I am,” he said, his tone nonchalant, but his smirk betrayed him.

You took his hand, standing and brushing off your knees before looking at Scott. “The drawer’s fixed, so you’re welcome.”

Scott muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch, but Logan chuckled as if he had. “Don’t strain yourself with gratitude, Summers,” he quipped, stepping closer to you.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you nudged Logan’s arm lightly. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“What? I’m just helpin’,” Logan said, his tone all faux innocence.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly done with the both of you. “Thanks for fixing the drawer,” he said, pointedly not looking at Logan.

“Anytime,” you replied, flashing a quick smile before grabbing your bag from the floor. Logan was already holding the door open for you, his stance casual but his eyes watching you closely.

As you stepped past him, you murmured, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan’s smirk widened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “You love it, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heated, but you didn’t deny it, focusing instead on walking down the hallway with Logan falling into step beside you.

“Why do you always have to get under his skin?” you asked, glancing at him.

“’Cause it’s easy,” he replied with a shrug, his hand brushing yours as you walked. “And it’s fun.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re going to push him too far one day.”

“Nah,” Logan said, his tone confident. “He’s all bark, no bite. Kinda like a Chihuahua in red shades.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway. “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughin’,” he pointed out, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You bit your lip to stop the smile spreading across your face, but Logan noticed anyway. His hand brushed yours again, this time lingering, and you hesitated for only a moment before lacing your fingers through his.

“Thought you didn’t like public displays,” Logan teased gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You gave him a sidelong glance, your voice soft but steady. “Maybe I’m getting used to it.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he squeezed your hand. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on keepin’ my distance.”

The ease of his words, the certainty in them, settled over you like a blanket. You weren’t sure when exactly things had shifted between the two of you, but you weren’t complaining.

---

Later that evening, you were sitting in the mansion’s kitchen, a mug of tea cradled in your hands, when Jean walked in. She looked tired, but her smile brightened when she saw you.

“Burning the midnight oil?” she asked, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring herself some water.

“Not tonight,” you replied, taking a sip of your tea. “Just needed to unwind for a bit.”

Jean leaned against the counter, studying you for a moment. “You seem… lighter lately,” she said, her tone curious but kind.

You felt a blush creeping up your neck but tried to play it off. “Do I?”

Jean’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “You do. And Logan seems—well, let’s just say he’s been a lot less grumpy.”

Your grip on the mug tightened slightly, but you kept your expression neutral. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Jean hummed, taking a sip of her water. “Whatever’s going on, it suits you.”

You glanced at her, searching for any hint of teasing, but her smile was genuine. “Thanks, Jean.”

She nodded, setting her glass down. “Anytime. Just don’t let him get too cocky, okay? He’s insufferable enough as it is.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and easy. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jean gave you a playful wink before heading back out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

---

You hummed to yourself as you finished folding your clothes in the laundry room, the gentle rhythm of the task giving your mind a rare moment of quiet. The warm scent of freshly dried fabric lingered in the air as you placed the last neatly folded shirt in the basket.

Just as you reached for the basket, Logan appeared in the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t peg you for a laundry hummer,” he teased.

You glanced over your shoulder, a shy smile forming. “It’s either that or risk falling asleep mid-task.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he pushed off the doorframe and walked over. Without a word, he grabbed the basket from the counter.

“I’ve got it,” you protested, reaching for the basket. “It’s not heavy.”

Logan arched a brow. “Didn’t say it was. But why carry it when I’m right here?”

You sighed, not entirely annoyed but still a little flustered. “You know, I can handle a laundry basket, Logan.”

“Never said you couldn’t, darlin’.” His voice softened as he tilted his head to look at you. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m around.”

Your stomach did a little flip at the way he said it—easy, matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was, at least with him.

He carried the basket out into the hall, and you trailed after him, not sure whether to keep arguing or just accept it. You opted for the latter, though you did mutter, “you’re something else.”

Logan smirked again but didn’t respond, his focus on navigating the hallway with the basket balanced easily in one hand. When you reached your room, he set it down just inside the door and turned back to you.

“Anythin’ else you need carried?” he asked, the teasing lilt back in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “I’ll let you know when I need a bodyguard for my groceries.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly busied yourself with the basket, pulling out the first stack of clothes to put away. Logan didn’t move to leave, though. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an expression that was almost... content.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Nothing.” He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, private smile. “Just like watchin’ you.”

Your face grew warm, and you ducked your head, focusing on shoving your socks into a drawer. “You’re weird.”

He chuckled, low and deep, before pushing off the frame. “Maybe. But you like it.”

You didn’t respond—mostly because he wasn’t wrong—and Logan seemed satisfied with your silence. With a nod, he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone with the faint trace of his laughter still lingering in the air.

And the unmistakable feeling that you’d never get used to the way he made your heart race.

---

You flipped the page of your notes, underlining a key point to emphasize in tomorrow’s class. Logan sat on your bed, supposedly reading a book, though you doubted he’d turned a page in the last fifteen minutes. He was too quiet, and you could feel his gaze flick to you every so often.

“Something on your mind?” you asked without looking up, your pen tapping against the margin of your paper.

“Nah,” Logan drawled, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “Just wonderin’ how long you plan on workin’. Feels like you’ve been at it all night.”

You glanced at the clock on your desk. “It’s barely nine.”

“Still too late for work.” He set the book down—one you were now convinced he wasn’t reading—and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep yourself buried in this stuff.”

“It’s not like I’m overworking,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I’m just... organized.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, and you could feel his gaze softening. “Yeah, you’re somethin’ alright.”

You were about to make a quip back when he nodded toward your desk. “Why’s your room so... empty?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely around. “I mean, there’s barely anything in here. No pictures, no knick-knacks. Hell, even my room’s got more personality.”

You set your pen down, glancing around the room as if seeing it through his eyes for the first time. He wasn’t wrong. Your walls were bare save for a single calendar, your shelves held only books and a lamp, and your desk was as spartan as a professor’s office.

“I guess I’m just used to it,” you said quietly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

Logan sat up fully, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you. “Used to what?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the corner of your notebook. “Not having much. Growing up, my parents didn’t really... care to keep me around. My grandmother raised me, and she did her best, but we didn’t have a lot. I guess I never got used to decorating or buying stuff just because I wanted it.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, a shadow crossing his face. “Your folks didn’t want you?”

You shrugged, trying to make it seem like it didn’t bother you as much as it used to. “They had their own lives. Grandma was amazing, though. She always made sure I had what I needed. It just... wasn’t a lot.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. Finally, he leaned back, his voice softer than you’d expected. “Sounds like she was a hell of a woman.”

“She was,” you agreed, smiling faintly. “She passed away when I was eighteen, but I owe her everything.”

Logan nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “You ever think about makin’ this place feel more like home?”

You blinked at him. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

“Start with somethin’ small,” he suggested, his tone almost casual, but there was something deliberate in the way he spoke. “Picture frame, maybe. Couple of knick-knacks. I don’t know—whatever makes you feel good.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “Why do you care if my room’s decorated?”

“‘Cause it’s yours,” he said simply. “And you deserve to have a place that feels like it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and you had to look away, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ll... think about it.”

Logan leaned back again, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar smirk. “Good. And if you need help, you know where to find me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just looking for an excuse to boss me around.”

“Damn right,” he replied, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

As you returned to your notes, Logan picked up his book again, but this time, he actually started reading. Still, every so often, you caught him glancing your way, that same soft look on his face.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself wonder what it might be like to make a place feel like home—with someone like him in it.

---

You, Logan, and Ororo were tasked with this month’s grocery shopping. Ororo tasked herself with picking out the fruits and vegetables, saying something about ‘not being confident in Logan’s abilities.’

You grabbed a few large boxes of rice while Logan pushed the half-full cart. You marked off ‘rice’ on your list as Logan turned the corner into the next aisle. As he walked ahead, you paused for a moment, your attention caught by a display in the bedding section. A soft white throw blanket was folded neatly on the shelf, its texture inviting. You reached out, brushing your fingers across it briefly before shaking your head and hurrying to catch up with Logan.

By the time you rounded the corner, Logan was already halfway down the aisle, scanning the shelves with casual disinterest. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you approaching. “What took you so long, sweetheart? You get lost?”

“Just got distracted,” you said, tucking the list back into your pocket.

His brow quirked slightly, and you knew he was about to say something teasing. Instead, he just gave you a small, knowing smile. “Figured as much. Ready to finish this up?”

You nodded, taking hold of the cart’s edge and steering it toward the canned goods. The rest of the trip passed in a comfortable rhythm—Ororo rejoined you both occasionally, dropping things into the cart with precision while Logan grumbled about the increasing load. You couldn’t help but smile as the two bickered lightly over produce, Logan insisting that his choices were ‘perfectly fine’ while Ororo shot him unimpressed looks.

When the shopping was done, you found yourself back in the parking lot, helping load bags into the van. Logan insisted on carrying most of the heavier ones despite your protests.

“You don’t need to play the hero every time we carry groceries,” you pointed out, balancing a bag filled with bread and snacks.

Logan smirked, slinging another bag over his shoulder. “Ain’t about bein’ a hero. Just don’t trust you not to drop the eggs.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he quipped, brushing past you to load the last of the bags. His voice was light, but there was something softer in the way he glanced back at you.

Ororo stepped in before you could reply, clapping her hands together. “Alright, let’s get back. I have a feeling the kids have already raided the pantry while we were gone.”

The drive back to the mansion was quiet, the evening sun casting long shadows across the road. Logan sat in the passenger seat, his arm resting on the open window. Occasionally, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching your reflection. You tried not to think too much about the way your heart skipped when you met his gaze.

When you pulled into the driveway and began unloading, Logan’s pace slowed near the back of the van. As Ororo carried a few bags toward the mansion, Logan reached into the trunk and pulled something out, holding it behind his back.

“What’s that?” you asked, stepping closer.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothin’.”

You arched a brow, suspicion creeping in. “Logan…”

With a small smirk, he revealed the soft white throw blanket you’d admired earlier in the store. Your mouth opened in surprise, words failing you for a moment.

“You were lookin’ at it,” he said, his voice gruff but quiet. “Figured you might like it.”

Your cheeks burned, and you fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t say I had to.” He held it out to you, his expression softer than usual. “Just thought it’d be nice to have. That’s all.”

You took the blanket from him, your fingers brushing his briefly. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but the warmth spreading through your chest was undeniable. “Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, as you leaned up and kissed the corner of his lips.

Logan blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his lips quirked into a soft smirk as you stepped back. “That’s all I get?” he teased, voice low. “A quick peck for goin’ outta my way like that?”

Your face warmed, but you mustered a little courage, shrugging. “Well, you didn’t have to get it.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” he countered, his tone somewhere between gruff and teasing. He stepped closer, the corner of the van offering a bit of privacy. His hand brushed your arm, thumb skimming just below your sleeve. “That blanket looked like it had your name written all over it. Figured it’d be a crime not to grab it.”

You ducked your head, your shyness bubbling to the surface, but you couldn’t fight the smile creeping across your lips. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“Nah.” He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “Just enough, I’d say.”

Before you could respond, Ororo’s voice cut through the moment. “Logan! Y/N! Are you two planning to move in back there, or are you going to help me with the rest of these bags?”

Logan straightened, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess we’re holdin’ up the whole operation.”

You laughed softly, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Come on, hero. You’ve got groceries to save.”

He smirked at that, grabbing another bag as the two of you made your way toward the mansion. The rest of the evening passed in the usual controlled chaos—students helping unload the van, food being sorted and tucked away, and Logan grumbling about the “damn kids” taking the snacks before they’d even been put away.

Later that night, after dinner and a quiet stretch of grading papers, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the common room. The new blanket was draped over your lap, its soft fabric warm against your skin as you flipped through a physics journal. You didn’t hear Logan enter until the couch dipped slightly beside you.

“Comfortable?” he asked, nodding toward the blanket.

You glanced up, pushing your glasses higher on your nose. “Very. I think you made a good choice.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “You looked like a kid in a candy store when you saw it.”

You chuckled, setting the journal aside. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

He snorted, his lips twitching. “Darlin’, I notice a lot more than you think.”

There was something in his tone—a quiet sincerity that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t look away this time, meeting his gaze and finding that familiar intensity there. It was the same look he gave you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the one that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“What?” you asked softly, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature smirk. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about how much trouble you are.”

You laughed, leaning against his side. “Pretty sure you’re the one who’s trouble.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice rumbling low as he shifted to drape an arm around your shoulders. “But you don’t seem to mind too much.”

And you didn’t. Not one bit.

---

You had vaguely realized you slipped on one of Logan’s flannels he left in your room, only because it was a little chilly tonight, and your robe was too thick.

You grabbed a lighter and lit one of your candles, one Jean saw you eyeing in the mall when you went out with her a few days ago. And instead of brushing it off like usual, you bought it. The scent was simply ‘blueberries’, but it reminded you of when your grandma made blueberry pancakes on your birthday or special occasions.

Sitting down at your desk, you pulled out your pen and started sorting through the extra credit assignments your students had turned in earlier. You weren’t a workaholic, but you liked to stay organized, and with a quiet evening ahead, it was as good a time as any to get ahead. The soft scent of the blueberry candle filled the room, its glow casting a warm light on the pages. Logan’s flannel draped over your frame was cozy, slightly oversized, and it carried the faintest trace of his scent—woodsmoke and something clean, distinctly him.

You flipped through the first assignment, marking a few notes in the margins. Just as you settled into a rhythm, there was a knock at your door, quick and familiar. Before you could call out, it creaked open, and Logan leaned against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place.

“Figured you’d still be workin’,” he said, his voice low but warm.

You glanced up, adjusting your glasses. “Just finishing up a few things. What’s up?”

He stepped inside, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Not much. Kids’re finally crashin’ for the night. Thought I’d check on you. See if you were gonna hole up in here all night.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing to the pile of papers. “Not all night. Just trying to get these done so I’m not scrambling tomorrow.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the candle, then to the flannel you were wearing. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That my shirt?”

You blinked, looking down as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh. Yeah, sorry—I was cold, and it was just… there.” You grabbed the placket of his flannel and began to slip it off before Logan walked over, placing his hands over yours.

“Who said I wanted ya to take it off?”

His hands rested over yours, warm and firm, halting your motion. For a second, the room seemed still, the faint crackle of the candlewick the only sound breaking the quiet. Your cheeks warmed under his steady gaze, and you swallowed, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself.

“I just—” you started, only for Logan to cut you off with a soft smirk.

“Relax, sweetheart. Looks good on ya.” His voice was low, rough in that familiar way that always seemed to settle something restless in you.

You felt your grip loosen on the fabric, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you let the flannel fall back into place. “It’s just… comfortable,” you admitted softly, tugging the hem slightly as though to make a point.

“Damn right it is,” Logan said, stepping back but keeping his eyes on you. “Figured it would be, seein’ as it’s mine.”

You bit back a smile, leaning slightly against your desk. “You’re not gonna make me give it back, are you?”

He snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Not a chance. Looks better on you anyway.”

The compliment hung in the air, unspoken but clear in his tone. Your lips twitched upward, the shyness that usually crept in around Logan giving way to a bit of playfulness.

“Careful,” you teased lightly, “if you keep talking like that, I might think you actually like me or something.”

His brows rose, and the smirk widened just enough to send a flicker of warmth through your chest. “Oh, darlin’, you already know I do.”

There was no teasing in his voice this time, and the sudden weight of his words made your breath catch. You glanced down, fiddling with the corner of a paper on your desk, not quite able to meet his gaze.

“I like you too,” you said quietly, the words simple but sincere.

Logan straightened slightly, his arms dropping to his sides as he closed the small gap between you. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached out, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs, but before you could say anything else, Logan’s hand dropped to his side, and he nodded toward the pile of papers on your desk. “You finishin’ those tonight?”

You glanced at the stack, then back at him. “I was planning to, but…” You hesitated, gauging his expression. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”

Logan grinned, a flash of teeth that was more mischievous than intimidating. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to take a break. Couch downstairs is lookin’ real empty without you on it.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “Tempting offer. Let me just finish a couple more, and I’ll meet you down there?”

“Deal.” He turned, heading for the door, but paused in the frame, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, darlin’. That blanket of yours isn’t gonna hog itself.”

Your smile lingered long after he disappeared down the hall.

When you finally made it to the common room, Logan was sprawled on the couch, the remote in one hand and a half-empty bottle of beer in the other. He glanced up when he heard you enter, his expression softening as he took you in—glasses perched on your nose, his flannel still hanging loosely around you, the white throw blanket tucked under your arm.

“’Bout time,” he said, shifting to make room for you. “Thought you’d fallen asleep on me up there.”

“Not quite,” you replied, settling beside him and pulling the blanket over your lap. “Just had a few things to wrap up.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, draping his arm along the back of the couch so it brushed lightly against your shoulder. “What’d ya light up there? Smelled like somethin’ sweet when I walked by.”

“Oh, just a candle I got the other day,” you said, adjusting the blanket. “Blueberry. It reminded me of…” You trailed off, hesitating.

Logan tilted his head, his gaze curious but patient. “Of what?”

“Of my grandma,” you admitted quietly. “She used to make blueberry pancakes when I was a kid. It was kind of… our thing.”

His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his eyes giving way to something warmer. “Sounds nice. Bet she made a hell of a pancake.”

“She did,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the low hum of the TV filling the room. Logan’s thumb brushed absently against your shoulder, a small, steady movement that felt grounding. You leaned into him slightly, the weight of the day slipping away in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “You doin’ okay?”

The question caught you off guard, but you nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the TV, though you could tell his attention was elsewhere. “Just… you’ve been workin’ hard. Wanted to make sure you’re not overdo—”

You cut him off, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to make him pause, his eyes flicking to yours with something close to surprise.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, your voice gentle. “But thank you for asking.”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. And as his arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you closer, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were finally starting to let yourself enjoy this—enjoy him.

---

Movie night was cherished by everyone; loads of popcorn popped in the microwave, an obsessive amount of butter used, and the candy and sweets supply gone in a matter of seconds before the movie even started. The younger students had fought over the best spots on the floor while the older team members claimed the couches. The mansion’s common room, usually buzzing with activity, had settled into a cozy calm as the opening credits rolled.

You sat nestled into Logan’s side, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders. It wasn’t the first time you found yourself in this position during a movie night, but it was the first time you didn’t feel the familiar tug of self-consciousness. Logan’s presence had a way of grounding you, the steady weight of his arm an unspoken reassurance that you didn’t have to overthink it.

He twirled a strand of your hair around one of his fingers absentmindedly, his attention ostensibly on the screen but his actions telling another story. The motion was small, gentle, and oddly soothing. You caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips when he realized you hadn’t pulled away.

“You comfortable, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low enough not to disturb the others but still carrying that familiar warmth.

You tilted your head slightly to look at him, a soft smile of your own forming. “Very,” you admitted quietly. “Are you?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers brushing against your hair again. “Yeah. Got everything I need right here.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t look away, feeling a newfound boldness stirring within you. You leaned a little closer, letting yourself relax into him completely.

The movie played on, a mix of action and humor that had the room alternating between bursts of laughter and quiet concentration. Logan seemed mostly indifferent to the plot, but you could tell he was enjoying the rare downtime as much as you were. The younger kids whispered among themselves, sneaking extra handfuls of popcorn while Jean and Scott shared occasional glances from the other side of the room.

By the time the credits rolled, a few of the younger students had already started to drift off, their sugar highs fading fast. Logan stretched slightly but didn’t move from his spot, his arm still draped around you.

“You about ready to call it a night?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing against your shoulder.

You nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I think so.”

He stood, offering you a hand. You took it without hesitation, and he pulled you up gently. As the others began cleaning up the remnants of snacks and blankets, Logan guided you toward the hall with an ease that felt entirely natural.

“I could’ve walked myself, you know,” you teased lightly as the two of you strolled toward your room.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But where’s the fun in that?”

When you reached your door, he paused, leaning casually against the frame. “You sure you’re good?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You nodded, fiddling with the hem of his flannel that you were still wearing. “I’m good, Logan. Thanks for tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. Then, with a faint grin, he reached out and tapped the side of your glasses lightly. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You smiled, but before he turned to leave, you tugged on his sleeve, the soft fabric catching slightly between your fingers. Logan stopped immediately, his eyes dropping to your hand and then back to your face, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

Leaning up on your toes, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was tentative, shy in a way that made your heart pound, but you didn’t pull away too quickly. When you finally stepped back, his expression was unreadable for a beat—then his lips curved into a slow, unmistakable smirk.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing but with an edge of something deeper. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that made you melt. “You’ve got no idea what you just started.”

You felt a giggle bubble up, and before you could stop yourself, it escaped. “Oh, really?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light despite the heat blooming in your cheeks.

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His kiss was deeper, slower, and it stole the breath from your lungs. His other hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction closer as his fingers pressed into the flannel you still wore.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breathing as steady as ever, though his voice was huskier now. “You’re not gettin’ away with a kiss like that without me makin’ it count.”

Your laughter came easier this time, softer, as you felt yourself relax fully into his presence. “I wasn’t trying to get away with anything,” you whispered, your fingers lightly curling into the front of his shirt.

“Good.” His lips brushed against your forehead as he stepped back, his hand lingering at your waist for a moment longer. “’Cause I’d have to come after ya if you did.”

The teasing edge in his voice was enough to make you roll your eyes fondly, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. Logan caught it, of course, and his own smirk softened into something warmer.

“I’ll let you sleep,” he said, his hand finally dropping away. “But don’t think I’m not gonna remember this.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you replied with a laugh, shaking your head at him as you opened the door.

“Night, sweetheart,” he said, stepping back into the hallway but pausing for just a second longer, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he finally turned and walked away.

You closed the door behind you, your heart still fluttering in your chest as you leaned back against it. The soft glow of the blueberry candle flickered on your desk, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a small, private smile still on your lips.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were getting the hang of this whole affection thing after all.

---

The TV flickered softly in the dark room, casting a warm glow as the classic Western played. You had half your attention on a stack of physics homework, pen in hand, scribbling notes in the margins of your students' assignments. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders, a cold beer in his other hand. His body heat, the soft scent of his cologne mingled with leather and something ruggedly him, and the steady rise and fall of his chest were grounding.

“You know, for someone who manipulates time, you’re awfully slow at grading,” he teased, his deep voice rumbling through you.

You nudged his side with your elbow, not looking up from the paper you were marking. “Patience, Logan. It’s a virtue.”

He chuckled. “Not one of mine.”

As the minutes passed, your focus wavered. The warm room, Logan’s comforting presence, and the low hum of the movie were a potent combination. You stifled a yawn, trying to blink away the sleepiness creeping over you. When Logan felt you shift against him, his arm tightened just slightly.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at you. “Why don’t you call it for the night? You’re about to start drooling on my flannel.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at his teasing. “I’m fine. Just a little—” You yawned again, more pronounced this time, betraying your attempt to play it cool.

Logan smirked knowingly. “Sure you are, darlin’. C’mon, just crash here. Not like you haven’t before.”

His casual tone carried an edge of tenderness that made your stomach flutter. You hesitated, though, fiddling with the edge of his shirt sleeve. “I don’t want to intrude. It’s your space.”

Logan raised a brow at you, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “You’re already takin’ up half the bed with your papers and that death grip you’ve got on my flannel. How much more ‘intruding’ could you do?”

You tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, setting his beer down and turning to face you more fully. His voice softened. “Stay, Y/N. I sleep better when you’re here anyway.”

Your chest tightened at the honesty in his words, and you gave a small nod. “Okay. But only because you insisted.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it went,” he deadpanned with a smirk, reaching to collect the stack of papers in your lap. “Gimme those. You can terrorize the kids tomorrow.”

You let him take the work, watching as he set it on the nightstand before grabbing your glasses and gently slipping them off your face. “There. Now you’ve got no excuses.”

His hands were careful, deliberate, as he folded your glasses and placed them beside the papers. It was such a simple gesture, but it made your heart ache in the best way.

Sliding under the covers, you sighed as Logan turned off the TV, the soft hum of static fading to silence. When he joined you, the mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and he wasted no time wrapping an arm around you, pulling you flush against his side.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, your voice sleepy as you snuggled into his chest.

“Good,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Means you’re not gonna freeze on me.��

You smiled against him, your fingers curling lightly against his shirt. The quiet settled around you both, comfortable and familiar, as Logan’s hand traced lazy circles on your back. His presence was grounding, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby.

“Logan?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah?” His tone was low, patient.

“Thanks... for everything.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your temple. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you, the feeling of safety and Logan’s steady presence the last thing you remembered.

---

The sunlight seeped into the room through the thin cracks in the blinds, casting soft, warm patterns across the bed. Logan stirred slightly, the shift of your weight against his chest the only thing keeping him from falling back into a deeper sleep. Your head was tucked under his chin, one arm draped lazily across his waist, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. This—this quiet, peaceful moment—was rare in his life. It wasn’t just the calm, though. It was you.

His hand, resting lightly on your back, moved of its own accord, tracing absent patterns along the flannel you wore. It was one of his, of course—worn, soft, and just a little too big for you. The sight of you in it had done something to him, a mix of pride and affection that he hadn’t let himself analyze too closely. Not that he needed to; Logan had always been a man who trusted his instincts, and every instinct he had screamed to hold on to you for as long as he could.

He sighed quietly, his thumb brushing over the fabric as his thoughts began to wander. He didn’t sleep much, not deeply, and the nights when you stayed with him were... different. The nightmares didn’t hit as hard. The gaps in his memory didn’t haunt him as much. You didn’t fill the holes left by what he couldn’t remember, but you gave him something better: hope.

Hope. The word sat heavy in his mind. He didn’t dare to speak it aloud, not even to himself. But as his gaze drifted down to you, the way you clung to him in your sleep, his chest tightened. He’d been through this before—five times before. Five versions of you, each so much like the one before, and each one lost too soon.

His jaw clenched at the thought, a protective surge flaring in his chest. He wouldn’t lose you again. He couldn’t. This time... this time had to be different.

Logan let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling as his fingers continued their unconscious movements on your back. It wasn’t just the hope that you’d stay this time—it was the hope that maybe he could be enough for you. You deserved more than a man like him, a man with bloodied hands and a past he couldn’t even piece together. But you didn’t seem to care about any of that. When you looked at him, there wasn’t judgment in your eyes, only trust.

The thought scared him. It thrilled him, too.

You shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible as your fingers tightened against his side. Logan glanced down, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you bury your face against him, clearly not ready to wake up yet.

“Cuddly little thing,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a low rumble. His hand came up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “Should’ve warned me before you moved in and took over my damn bed.”

You didn’t respond, of course, but a soft hum escaped your lips, and Logan swore he felt something crack in his chest. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, holding you in his arms, waking up to your warmth pressed against him—but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to question it.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the stillness, and Logan’s gaze snapped to the door, his body instinctively tensing. But the steps moved past without pause, and he relaxed again, his hand coming up to cradle your head against him.

His fingers brushed lightly against your temple, his touch tender despite the strength in his hands. “You’re gonna stick around this time,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You hear me, sweetheart? You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, your lashes fluttering as your eyes cracked open. Blinking up at him, you gave a sleepy smile, one that made his chest ache in the best way.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.

Logan smirked, his hand coming up to tap the tip of your nose. “Morning, darlin’. Sleep okay?”

You nodded, letting out a content sigh as you snuggled closer to him. “Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

His smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze lingering on you. “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re stayin’ here more often, then.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks flushing as you looked up at him. “Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

“Always,” he shot back, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. He reached down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for just a moment. “But only when it comes to you.”

You didn’t reply, but the way you smiled up at him, your hand curling lightly against his chest, told him everything he needed to know.

---

The halls were empty, the muffled hum of distant voices and the occasional scrape of a chair faintly audible through the closed doors. Logan walked beside you, his arm resting comfortably around your shoulders. The warmth of his hand against your upper arm sent a reassuring calm through you, grounding you in the moment.

You weren’t heading anywhere in particular. There was no class for you this period, so it seemed natural to just wander. Logan’s presence had a way of easing the tension you often carried. His steps were steady, his casual confidence contagious.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, glancing down at you, his voice soft enough not to break the stillness of the hall.

“I’m always quiet,” you replied, teasing him as you nudged his side lightly.

“Not with me,” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. Around Logan, it was easier to let your guard down.

As you reached the end of the hallway, he slowed, turning to face you. His arm slipped from your shoulders, and his hand found yours instead, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The way he looked at you—steady, unwavering—still had the power to make your heart race.

“Got somethin’ on your mind?” he asked, his tone gentler now.

You hesitated, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing serious. Just… glad we have these moments. It feels normal.”

His expression softened, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I get that.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s hand moved to your waist, tugging you closer. The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a quiet promise in the way his lips moved against yours. You felt the warmth bloom in your chest, the world narrowing to just the two of you for a fleeting moment.

A faint chuckle broke the silence, making you both pull back abruptly. Turning toward the sound, you saw Charles in his wheelchair, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Charles said, his tone light. “I was simply passing through.”

Your cheeks burned as you stepped back slightly, though Logan didn’t move far, his hand still resting at your waist.

“Didn’t think you needed to apologize, Chuck,” Logan said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

Charles smiled knowingly. “I see the two of you have been enjoying each other’s company.”

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered, unsure what to say. Logan, as always, was quicker.

“Yeah, we have,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering as he looked at Charles.

“Well,” Charles said, his smile growing as he nodded toward you, “carry on, then. But do try not to block the hallway.” With that, he moved past, his wheelchair gliding smoothly down the corridor.

Once he was out of earshot, Logan glanced down at you, his smirk returning. “You’re blushin’, darlin’.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, being careful of your glasses. “Of course I am! We just got caught—”

“Kissin’ in the hall?” he interrupted, clearly amused. “Not exactly a crime.”

“It’s not about that,” you said, peeking up at him through your fingers. “I just—”

He cut you off with another kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a way that melted your embarrassment. When he pulled back, his smirk was softer, his voice quieter. “Relax. It’s just us.”

You nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. As he laced his fingers with yours and guided you further down the hall, you couldn’t help but smile. Logan had a way of making everything feel simpler, even when it wasn’t.

And as you walked together, you realized you didn’t mind if people noticed. Being with Logan—his hand in yours, his presence steady at your side—felt right. And that was all that mattered.

---

The radio played softly in the background, some classic rock tune filtering through the medbay as you and Jean worked. The scent of disinfectant lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the faintly metallic tang of medical supplies. Jean stood by one of the cabinets, carefully stacking bandages, while you sorted through a box of various medications and supplies.

“So then,” Jean said, a smile in her voice as she spoke, “he gets back up, brushes himself off like it didn’t just happen, and tries to give me this look—you know the one—like he’s still in control.” She laughed lightly. “Scott can be so smooth until he’s not.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you placed another vial into the correct drawer. “He tripped over the toolbox again, didn’t he?”

“Third time this week,” Jean confirmed, setting down the stack of gauze she was holding. “It’s like his visor blinds him to anything below knee level.”

“Maybe he needs a warning system,” you joked. “Like a little beep every time he’s about to trip.”

Jean laughed, but it turned into a small, sharp intake of breath. Her hand shot to her temple, and she winced, nearly dropping the bottle she was holding.

“Jean?” You stepped forward, concern pulling at your features. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, waving you off with a tight smile. “It’s just a headache. Probably from not drinking enough water—or Scott stressing me out.”

You didn’t look convinced. “That looked more like a migraine starting than just a little headache.”

She brushed your concern aside, her voice steady but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m fine. Really.” She turned back to the cabinet, her movements deliberate. “Let’s just finish up here.”

You hesitated, but when she didn’t elaborate further, you decided not to push. Instead, you returned to sorting through the supplies, though you kept an eye on her. The quiet between you stretched for a moment, filled only by the sound of bottles and boxes being moved.

“So,” Jean started again, her tone lighter as if trying to steer the conversation back to normal, “how’s Logan?”

Her question caught you off guard. You glanced at her, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “What do you mean?”

She arched a brow at you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, come on. You two are… spending time together.”

“Spending time together,” you repeated, deadpan.

Jean rolled her eyes and turned to face you, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Fine. You’re dating. And don’t try to deny it, Y/N; I’ve seen the two of you.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth at the thought of Logan. “We haven’t exactly been keeping it a secret.”

“No, but you’re not shouting it from the rooftops, either.” Her smile softened, and she tilted her head. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” you admitted, unable to keep the smile off your face. “It’s… it’s nice. Being with him feels natural.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “He’s good for you, you know. I mean, Logan’s not exactly the easiest guy to figure out, but with you—” She trailed off, her gaze flickering toward the window as if something had distracted her.

“Jean?” you asked gently, watching as her brows furrowed slightly.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I lost my train of thought.”

You frowned, but before you could ask more, she straightened and reached for the clipboard on the counter. “Anyway,” she continued briskly, “we’ve got about half an hour before the next group comes in for their check-ups. Let’s finish this up.”

Her shift in tone was enough to signal that she didn’t want to dwell on whatever had distracted her. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off. You nodded, deciding to let it go for now, and returned to your task.

The quiet settled over the two of you again, broken only by the occasional rustle of supplies. But in the back of your mind, the image of Jean’s wince lingered. You made a mental note to check on her later, even if she insisted she was fine.

---

The steady rhythm of your sewing needle was oddly soothing, the soft swish of thread through fabric blending with the distant murmur of voices from the common room. You sat in the library, a warm lamp casting a golden glow on your hands as you carefully repaired one of the kids' shirts. The hole wasn’t too big, but enough for Theresa to complain about it after snagging it during a game of hide-and-seek.

Logan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched you. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. You’d known he was there for a few minutes now, but his silence didn’t bother you. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who needed to announce himself. His presence was as steady and grounding as the floor beneath your feet.

“Don’t know why you’re doin’ that,” he finally said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Kid’s just gonna tear it again.”

You glanced up, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile. “And I’ll sew it again,” you replied simply, not missing a stitch. “It’s what she asked for.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

Your focus remained on the shirt, though you felt the weight of his gaze. You didn’t need to look up to know the expression on his face—the soft fondness that had crept in over the last few months.

A low tsk broke your concentration, followed by the unmistakable sound of Logan clicking his tongue. You looked up, your brows furrowed in confusion, only to find him patting his thigh. The gesture was casual, but the look in his eyes was warm, almost coaxing.

“C’mere,” he said, the gruffness in his tone softened by a hint of amusement.

Your cheeks warmed, and you hesitated, glancing down at the shirt in your hands. “Logan, I’m sewing—”

“You can sew sittin’ here,” he interrupted, patting his thigh again. “Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, the shyness you thought you’d been shedding creeping back in. But Logan didn’t rush you, his patience as steady as his presence. After a moment, you set the shirt and needle aside, standing up and crossing the room. He didn’t say anything as you approached, just slid his hands to your waist to guide you onto his lap. His arms wrapped around you loosely, holding you steady as you settled in.

“There,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as you reached for the shirt and needle again. “That’s better.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “I can’t believe you wanted me to sit here just so I could keep sewing.”

“Not just for that,” he said, leaning back slightly, his hands resting on your hips. “I like havin’ you close.”

The simplicity of his words made your heart stutter, and you ducked your head, focusing intently on the fabric in your hands. Logan chuckled, his chest rumbling softly against your back.

“You’re cute when you get all shy,” he teased, his voice low. “Still tryin’ to figure out why, though. It’s just me.”

“Exactly,” you muttered under your breath, earning another chuckle from him.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, the silence between you comfortable. Logan’s thumb traced absentminded circles against your side, a grounding presence as you worked. You were nearly finished when a voice broke the quiet.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?”

You startled, nearly pricking your finger as you turned toward the doorway. Jean stood there, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked between you and Logan, her amusement obvious.

Logan didn’t so much as flinch. “Got a problem, Red?”

Jean raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Not at all. Just wondering how long you two were planning on hiding in here.”

“Not hidin’,” Logan replied easily, his tone daring her to argue. “Just relaxin’.”

Jean arched a brow, her gaze settling on you. “Relaxing, huh?”

You groaned softly, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you even as you tried to focus on your sewing. “Jean…”

“What?” she said innocently, though her smirk suggested otherwise. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Logan asked, his voice tinged with mild irritation. But the way his hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed his protective instinct.

Jean rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t forget, we’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes.” She glanced at you with a pointed look. “Both of you.”

You nodded, though you didn’t trust your voice to sound steady enough to respond. Jean gave you one last smile before disappearing down the hall, leaving you and Logan alone again.

“Meeting, huh?” Logan murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Guess we better get movin’ soon.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a small smile playing on your lips. “In a minute. I’m almost done.”

Logan hummed, his arms tightening around you slightly. “Take your time, darlin’. I’m not in any rush.”

And for once, neither were you.

---

It was unusual for you to not feel a weight around you when you slept with Logan, either from his arms around you or his body pressed to your back.

You turned around to face him when you noticed a bead of sweat on his forehead and him mumbling something you couldn’t make out. His brow furrowed in distress, and his body shifted restlessly under the covers, his breaths shallow and uneven. You leaned in closer, brushing a hand against his arm.

“Logan?” you whispered gently, your voice soft enough not to startle him. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He didn’t respond, his mumbling growing louder, words spilling out in broken fragments. “No… stay back… can’t…” His hands gripped the blanket tightly, his knuckles whitening as a low growl rumbled from his chest. The sound sent a shiver through you—it was feral, almost pained.

“Logan,” you said again, louder this time, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”

Before you could react, his claws shot out with a sharp snikt, slicing through the fabric of the blanket and grazing your forearm. You flinched as pain flared, a thin line of blood welling up across your skin. But you didn’t pull away.

“Logan!” you said firmly, your free hand cupping his face. “It’s me. Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and wild, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he even recognized you. His chest heaved as he took in his surroundings, the tension in his body slowly melting as reality settled back into place. His claws retracted with a metallic hiss, and he reached for you almost instinctively.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, guilt already thick in his tone. His gaze dropped to your arm, and he froze. “Shit… I—did I do that?”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, covering the cut with your other hand. The sting was already fading, and honestly, you were more worried about him than the injury. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

His jaw tightened as he sat up, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that. I hurt you.” He reached for your arm, carefully pulling your hand away to inspect the cut. The sight of the blood made his expression darken. “I could’ve done worse.”

“Logan—”

“No,” he cut you off, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle. “This ain’t fine, Y/N. I could’ve—”

You exhaled softly, pressing your free hand to his chest. “Logan. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did, his eyes meeting yours, guilt flickering beneath the surface. “I’m okay,” you said firmly. “And I can fix this.”

Before he could argue, you focused on the cut, a faint shimmer of energy surrounding your hand as you slowed time around the wound. The blood seemed to retreat, the torn skin stitching itself back together until it was as if the injury had never happened. When you looked back at Logan, his brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” he muttered, his voice low. “You shouldn’t have to use your powers just ‘cause I can’t keep my shit together.”

“Logan,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. His palm was rough, his fingers warm as they curled around yours. “You had a nightmare. That’s not your fault.”

He shook his head, his eyes dropping to where your arm had been cut. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I’m not scared of you,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling in your chest. “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

His gaze softened, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about it,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve hurt people before… people I care about.”

You squeezed his hand, leaning closer until your forehead nearly touched his. “You’re not that man anymore. And even if you slip up, I’m still here. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Stubborn as hell, aren’t ya?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” you teased gently, earning a soft chuckle from him.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, the weight of the moment slowly giving way to a comfortable silence. Logan’s hand lingered on your arm, his thumb brushing over the now-healed skin as if to reassure himself it was really gone. His other hand moved to rest on your back, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his chest.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I will,” he said, though his tone made it clear he had no intention of letting go of you anytime soon. “Just stay here.”

“Always,” you whispered, the word barely audible but enough to make him tighten his hold on you.

And for the rest of the night, neither of you let go.

---

After cleaning up the kitchen, Ororo had mentioned that the ice trays needed to be refilled tonight for the next morning.

The water faucet hissed softly as you tested the stream with your fingers again, patiently waiting for it to warm. A stack of five empty plastic ice trays sat next to you on the counter, neatly arranged like a to-do list. You dipped your fingertips under the flow and frowned when it still wasn’t quite hot enough. Behind you, the quiet creak of heavy footsteps announced Logan’s arrival.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, stopping just a few feet away. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Filling the ice trays,” you answered without looking up. “Ororo mentioned they needed to be ready for the morning.”

“And why,” he said, stepping closer, his tone tinged with amusement, “are you waitin’ for the water to heat up for that?”

You turned, already gearing up for an explanation, and saw Logan leaning against the edge of the doorframe, arms crossed. His expression was bemused, but there was that familiar glint in his eyes—the one that told you he was in no rush to stop poking at you.

“Well,” you started, pushing your glasses up on your nose, “if you use warm water instead of cold, it freezes faster because of the Mpemba effect.”

“The what-now effect?” Logan tilted his head, his smirk growing. “Y’gonna tell me you’ve got some science magic that makes hot water turn to ice quicker?”

“It’s not magic,” you said, exasperated but smiling. “It’s physics. Look, it’s counterintuitive, sure, but the Mpemba effect happens when warmer water loses heat more quickly in certain conditions because—”

He stepped closer, watching your face as you gestured, your explanation picking up steam. “—warmer molecules have a higher average kinetic energy, and that affects convection currents. Plus, there’s evaporation at the surface, which reduces the volume of the water, and—”

Logan let out a soft laugh, cutting you off with a simple, “You’re cute when you ramble, y’know that?”

Your words stumbled, and you blinked at him, thrown by the sudden warmth in his voice. “I—what?”

“I said you’re cute,” he repeated, stepping into your space until the counter pressed against your back. His hand found your waist, fingers brushing lightly through the fabric of your shirt. “Real cute. And too damn smart for your own good.”

Your cheeks heated, and you tried to turn back toward the sink, but his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, keeping your attention on him. “Logan, the water—”

“Let it run,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your cheek. His expression softened, the teasing edge slipping away. “I love you.”

The words landed so easily, so naturally, that for a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But the look in his eyes—the steadiness, the certainty—left no room for doubt.

“You… love me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said simply, his hand slipping back to your waist to pull you closer. “I love you, Y/N. Been waitin’ a long time to say it.”

Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you processed his words. He loved you. Logan loved you. You opened your mouth to respond, but all you managed was a faint, breathless laugh, your hands curling against his chest.

“That funny to you?” he teased, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“No, no, it’s not—” You shook your head quickly, a wide grin breaking across your face. “It’s just—Logan, I love you too.”

His grin softened into something warmer, something private, as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reached up, sliding your hands along his shoulders. “Even if you don’t believe in the Mpemba effect.”

That earned a real laugh from him, low and rough and filled with so much affection it made your chest ache. “Don’t need to believe in it,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours. “I believe in you.”

And when he kissed you, warm and sure and so full of love, you knew you didn’t need anything else.

---

The mansion was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon, the calm settling like a blanket over the sprawling halls. Most of the students were outside enjoying the sunny day, their laughter floating faintly through the open windows. You’d been curled up in the living room, reading one of your well-loved books on the couch, when Logan strolled in.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, the rough timbre of his voice wrapping around you like a warm coat.

You glanced up from your book, smiling at the sight of him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his hair doing that effortless thing where it looked messy and perfect all at once. “What gave me away?”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a habit, darlin’. You disappear every Sunday around this time. Figured you’d be here, buried in a book.”

“Guilty,” you admitted, shifting to make room for him on the couch.

Logan didn’t sit at first. Instead, he hovered, leaning over you to catch a glimpse of the title in your hands. “Pride and Prejudice?”

You arched a brow. “Surprised?”

“Not really,” he said, his smirk softening into something fond. “Figured you’d be into that kinda thing.”

You gave him a mock glare. “That ‘kinda thing’? It’s a classic.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his arm draping over the back so his hand could rest on your shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “I love you.”

Your heart fluttered, the now-familiar warmth of his words spreading through your chest. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your lips twitching into a playful smile. “Again?”

“What?” Logan said, his grin widening. “You expect me to stop sayin’ it?”

“Never,” you teased, leaning into him. “I just don’t think you’ve gone more than an hour without saying it since last week.”

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his voice low but earnest. “I love you, and I like sayin’ it. You got a problem with that?”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm. “Not even a little.”

Logan chuckled, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your shoulder, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear grounding you.

“Y’know,” he began after a few moments of comfortable silence, “I used to think this kinda thing wasn’t for me.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “What? Lounging on a couch with someone while they read Jane Austen?”

He snorted. “That too. But mostly… this. Bein’ close to someone like this. It’s different with you.”

His words settled over you, weighty and sincere, and you felt your throat tighten. You reached up, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m glad it is,” you whispered.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smile, one reserved just for you. He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was soft but unhurried. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I love you.”

Your laugh was quiet but full of affection. “That makes four times today.”

“Not keepin’ score, are ya?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well,” he said, his tone turning playful, “better get used to it, darlin’. I’m not stoppin’ anytime soon.”

You didn’t think you’d ever want him to.

---

You were standing in the kitchen, brushing crumbs off the counter after dinner when Logan walked in. His presence was as effortless as always, but his eyes softened when they landed on you.

“You cleanin’ up again?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Habit,” you replied, tossing the crumbs into the trash. “Stormy made dessert earlier, so I’m just tidying up.”

Logan hummed, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “Looks clean enough to me.”

“Logan,” you protested lightly, though your smile betrayed you.

“What?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Can’t a guy hug his girl?”

“You’ve been clingy today,” you teased, though you leaned into him, savoring his warmth.

“Clingy, huh?” he rumbled, his voice low. “Thought I was just bein’ affectionate.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yup.” He turned his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before whispering, “I love you.”

You sighed, not in exasperation but pure fondness. “Five times.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smile against your skin, “better get used to it.”

“I’m starting to think I might like it,” you admitted softly, tilting your head to give him better access.

“Good,” Logan said, his voice a quiet promise. “Because I’m not stoppin’. Ever.”

You didn’t think you’d ever want him to.

---

You watched Jean walk down the hall from her classroom to the medbay, almost unaware of her surroundings. You didn’t follow her—didn’t want her to lie to you again about a ‘headache’ or ‘stress.

You let out a soft huff as she went into the elevator. As the door closed, footsteps sounded out from your side, “she’s been off… hasn’t she?”

Scott’s question hung in the air between you, a subtle inquiry wrapped in a shared concern. He glanced at you, a quiet weight behind his gaze, but it was the way he waited for your response that made it clear he was looking for validation.

“You think she’s off too?” you asked softly, not quite meeting his eyes but feeling the truth of it in your own chest. Something was definitely different about Jean lately, though it wasn’t easy to put a finger on. She was always a little intense, but the past few days had felt like a quiet storm was brewing behind her eyes—something just out of reach.

Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to find the right words. “Yeah. She’s not… herself. And I’ve noticed she’s been acting distant.”

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest as you leaned against the wall. “I’ve seen it too. She’s been more withdrawn, like she’s not really… there, y’know? Like she’s somewhere else in her head.”

Scott let out a breath, his eyes darting to the elevator as if hoping Jean might come back out any minute. “I don’t know, Y/N. It’s like she’s on edge, and I can’t figure out why.”

“I think… I think it’s more than that,” you said, your voice low, uncertain. “She’s been different for a while now. It’s not just today or this week. I think it’s been building up, and I don’t think she even knows what’s going on.”

Scott frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t argue. “You think it’s something with her powers?”

“I’m not sure,” you said, shifting your weight and glancing down the hall as if expecting Jean to walk out from one of the rooms. “Her abilities have always been intense, but now it feels… unbalanced. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Scott ran his hand through his hair again, a habit of his when he was anxious or frustrated. “I just wish I knew what was going on. I don’t want to keep pushing, but I don’t know how to help her.”

You could hear the frustration in his voice, and while you didn’t blame him, you knew there was nothing you could offer in terms of answers. Only… a feeling. A gut instinct telling you something deeper was at play, something neither you nor Scott could quite put together.

“Maybe,” you began, pausing to choose your words carefully, “maybe she needs space. But… if it were me, I’d want someone to ask. I don’t think she’d come to either of us unless we made the first move.”

Scott looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “You’re right. Maybe I should go talk to her. I just don’t want to push too hard.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of helplessness settle in your chest. “You know her better than anyone. Just be gentle. She’s not the same Jean anymore. Not like she was before.”

Scott glanced down the hall again, his brows knitting together as he thought. “I’ll talk to her. But if it gets worse…”

“I’ll help,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. You didn’t know exactly what was happening with Jean, but you would always do your best to stand by her.

“I’m not sure what to think about it,” Scott admitted. “But I appreciate you being here to talk it through.”

The moment hung for a second longer, both of you lost in the uncertainty of the situation. Then, as though to lighten the mood a little, you added, “You’re a good friend, Scott. You’ll find a way to help her. Just… don’t let her push you away too much. She needs you.”

Scott offered a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Before either of you could say more, the soft click of the elevator doors opening interrupted the conversation. Jean stepped out, her expression distant but trying to mask it with a smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little too light, a little too forced. She turned to you both, but her eyes lingered just a fraction longer on you. “Everything okay?”

Scott nodded quickly, offering her a polite smile. “Yeah, we were just talking. About the team. How are you feeling?”

Jean’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, and for a heartbeat, you caught a glimpse of the fatigue in her eyes. “Fine,” she replied, but the word didn’t quite sound right. “Just... a little tired.”

“Maybe you should get some rest?” you suggested gently, your voice quiet but full of care. You hated how fragile she looked, how thin the veil of normalcy felt when she was around.

“I will,” Jean said, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “Thanks for checking in.”

As she moved past you both, heading back down the hall toward her room, Scott watched her with a pained expression. You could feel the same worry in your chest.

But neither of you said anything as Jean disappeared down the hall. You both knew that sometimes, despite your best intentions, people had to find their own way to deal with what was coming. And with Jean, something was coming. Something none of you were prepared for.

When the silence stretched out, Scott finally broke it. “I’ll talk to her later,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’ve got to try.”

“I know you will,” you said softly, your words quiet but full of reassurance. “And just… be patient. She might not even know what’s going on.”

Scott gave a short nod before walking off down the hall. You stayed behind, lost in your thoughts, wondering what Jean was really hiding. And, more importantly, why it felt like it was all tied up in something far bigger than any of you realized.

But for now, you knew that your role was to be there when she needed you. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

---

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint rustling of the wind outside. Logan leaned back against the headboard, arms loosely crossed, watching you with that familiar, steady gaze that always seemed to settle your nerves and set them alight at the same time.

You sat at the edge of the bed, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. The shy smile tugging at your lips didn’t escape him—nothing ever did. His brow arched slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tilted his head.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” The low rumble of his voice carried more warmth than teasing.

You shifted, exhaling softly before crawling over to him, knees sinking into the mattress. His arms uncrossed, hands resting lightly on your hips as you settled yourself across his lap, straddling him. The move caught him off guard; it wasn’t something you did often. You felt his body tense briefly, then relax as his hands instinctively held you steady.

“Just… you.” The words came out soft, almost bashful, but your grin grew when his lips quirked in response.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt before tracing their way to his jaw. His stubble was rough beneath your touch, a texture you’d grown to love. Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

“Hey,” he murmured, a quiet laugh in his tone. “What’s this about?”

You didn’t answer right away, instead brushing your lips along the curve of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly, trying to catch your lips with his, but you pulled back just enough to avoid it. The playful glint in your eyes made him grin wider.

“I’m repaying you,” you finally said, punctuating the words with another kiss, this time on his nose.

Logan’s hands flexed against your hips. “For what?”

“For saying ‘I love you’ thirty-four times this week,” you teased, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “I counted.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him, deep and unguarded. His head tilted back slightly, the sound rumbling through you. “Thirty-four, huh? Sounds about right.”

You hummed, leaning in again to press another kiss to his cheek, then his temple. “I’m not gonna say it thirty-four times back,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke. “But… this works, right?”

“It works,” he assured, his voice softer now, a hint of reverence in the way he looked at you. “Keep goin’. I’m not complainin’.”

Your laugh was quieter than his, but just as genuine. You pressed another kiss to his forehead, then to the spot just above his collarbone where his shirt didn’t quite cover his skin. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer as you kept at it, the lingering shyness in your actions melting into something more natural, more you.

By the time you finally leaned back to meet his eyes, his expression was a mix of amusement and something much deeper. His thumb brushed a light circle over your hip.

“Thirty-four’s got nothin’ on you, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low but sure.

Your face warmed, but you couldn’t stop the smile. “Good,” you said, leaning in to kiss him one last time, this one slower, more lingering. “It’s supposed to.”

Logan’s hand slid up your back, the other tightening slightly on your hip. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing firmly against yours, not rushed but deliberate, as though savoring the moment. By the time you both pulled back, breath mingling, he was smiling in that way he reserved just for you—a little lopsided, a little boyish, and entirely endearing.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured, voice thick with affection.

You didn’t have time to respond before he shifted beneath you, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs as he rolled you onto your back with ease. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and Logan’s grin widened at the sound. He hovered over you now, the weight of him just enough to feel safe and grounded without being overwhelming. His arms bracketed you, caging you in gently but firmly.

“Now, what’s this about me sayin’ ‘I love you’ too much?” he teased, lowering himself just enough to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. His stubble grazed your skin, and you couldn’t help the breathy laugh that bubbled up.

“I didn’t say ‘too much,’” you countered, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. “I just said you’ve said it thirty-four times this week. Big difference.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, his lips twitching with amusement as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Sounds like someone’s keepin’ real close tabs on me.”

“Of course I am,” you replied, your tone softer now. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re worth keeping tabs on.”

That earned you another smile, this one less teasing and more tender. He stared down at you for a long moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward—it never was. It was full, warm, and unspoken words lingered in the air.

“You know,” Logan began, his voice quieter now, “I don’t just say it to hear myself talk.”

“I know.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jawline. “I like hearing it.”

Logan huffed a small laugh, then dipped his head again, this time pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, low and steady, the words carrying all the weight they always did.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to cradle the sides of his face. “I love you too, Logan.”

At that, he sighed—a deep, contented sound that rumbled through his chest. Then, slowly, he shifted again, resting his weight beside you rather than on top of you. His head found its place against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist as though he needed to anchor himself to you. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you instinctively combed your fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping against his scalp.

Logan closed his eyes, the tension that always seemed to linger in his shoulders finally melting away. “Y’know,” he muttered after a moment, “this might be my favorite spot in the whole world.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, but the smile that tugged at your lips was unstoppable. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s yours,” he said simply, his voice muffled slightly against the fabric of your sweater. “And I figure if I’m here, then I’m good.”

Your chest tightened at the simplicity of his words, at how effortlessly he could turn you into a puddle. For someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders, Logan always had a way of making you feel light, cherished, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You’re definitely good,” you murmured, your hand still carding through his hair. “Better than good.”

“Don’t push your luck, sweetheart,” he said, but the teasing tone in his voice made you laugh softly.

The two of you stayed like that for a while—his head on your stomach, your hands in his hair, and the world outside your bedroom fading into irrelevance. Eventually, Logan let out another contented sigh.

“Thirty-five,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You frowned slightly, glancing down at him. “Thirty-five what?”

“‘I love you,’” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he tilted his head to look at you. “Said it thirty-five times now.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “And counting,” you teased.

“Damn right,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He nestled closer against you, his arms tightening around your waist. “Gonna say it every chance I get.”

As the wind continued its soft rustle outside, you couldn’t help but think that, in this moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

next chapter is the last stand!!

[gilbertscurls]

Stuck With You ➵ Matt Sturniolo

Matt sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through channels as he waited for you to come back from the kitchen. You had insisted on making popcorn for your movie night, though he knew you’d likely burn it or set the microwave to the wrong time, like always.

“Hey, Matt, do we put the popcorn on one minute or two?” your voice called from the other room.

He smirked to himself. Called it.

“Two minutes, but stop it early if it starts slowing down,” he yelled back, leaning into the couch with a grin.

“Right. Got it,” you replied, your tone filled with your usual confidence despite the fact you always asked the same question every time. He shook his head, already anticipating your probable victory over yet another microwaved snack.

Moments later, you appeared in the doorway, triumphantly holding a large bowl of popcorn. “Success! No burnt kernels this time,” you announced, plopping down next to him, your head resting against his shoulder.

“I’m impressed,” he teased, draping an arm around you. “You’re really stepping up in the world.”

You laughed, shoving a handful of popcorn into his face. “Shut up. I’m practically a chef.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he chuckled, stealing a piece of popcorn from the bowl. “Master of all things microwaveable.”

You settled into their usual spots, your feet tucked under his legs while you scrolled through the endless sea of romantic comedies on the streaming service. He already knew which one you’d pick; you had a habit of rewatching the same movies over and over, and tonight would be no different.

“Ooh, let’s watch The Proposal again,” you said, your eyes lighting up as you hovered over the familiar title.

Matt groaned playfully. “Again? Haven’t you seen that movie like… fifty times?”

“Only like ten,” you corrected with a smile. “But come on, you know you secretly love it.”

He sighed dramatically but clicked on the movie anyway. “Fine, but I reserve the right to make fun of every cheesy line.”

“Deal,” you grinned, cuddling closer as the movie began.

The opening credits rolled, and soon enough, you were lost in the predictable but comforting story of romance, witty banter, and happy endings. Every so often, you would mutter along with your favorite lines, your voice a soft echo of the characters on screen.

Matt wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, though. Instead, his mind kept wandering to how normal this all felt—how natural it was to have you here, your head against his shoulder, your legs tangled with his, as if you’d always belonged there.

“You know,” you said during a lull in the movie, your voice casual but thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” he teased, nudging you lightly. “That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, poking him in the side. “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about us.”

His heart skipped a beat, though he kept his expression relaxed. “Yeah? What about us?”

You sat up slightly, turning to face him. “About how we’re always together. Like… we spend more time together than most couples I know. And we’re not even sick of each other.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the mood light despite the way his chest tightened at your words. “Speak for yourself. I’m definitely sick of you.”

“Liar,” you grinned, lightly smacking his arm. “But seriously, it’s kinda funny, isn’t it? How we’ve just… become this. Like we’re stuck together.”

Matt’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the playful banter fading for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We kind of are.”

You smiled, leaning your head back against his chest. “Well, I guess there are worse people to be stuck with.”

He chuckled at your words, his chest tightening at the thought of being stuck with you. Stuck with your sass, your clinginess, your endless chatter.

Stuck with your love for cheesy romantic comedies, your inability to cook anything that didn't come from a packet, your habit of stealing all his hoodies.

He was stuck with you, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove

[cherry-leclerc]

purely platonic ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, maybe a bit of angst??, secret crushes, just two idiots who can't read the room of what we call 'feeeelingsss', they friendzone each other without knowing they're friendzoning each other BAHA

word count: 3.8k

It goes without saying that you and Lando are like two peas in a pod; always finding something to do. But when things suddenly shift after the summer break, it leaves you two to settle with the idea of one another with a rather doubtful mind.

req!...got this one a long time ago and the request was kind of confusing?? but i tried to make something out of it hahaha enjoyyy??

“Does this top make my boobs look big?”

Lando’s watercolor eyes quirk up, squint, then shakes his head full of curls. “You don’t have much to worry about.”

You muster a dirty glare before prancing over to the mirror, picking up a tube of gloss, laying it onto your plump lips. When you first started working at McLaren, you never truly thought you would end up here, on holidays with a witty British driver, but your friendship had blossomed rather quickly.

Don’t bother—they taste like absolute rubber.

Looking up to face the mysterious voice, you awkwardly choke, dainty hand dropping the last chocolate wafer. 

Have you tried them?

Lando grins widely before reaching out to pick it up and popping it into his mouth. He winks.

Mmm. New recipe or something like that.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” you call out, pulling the baby voice he hates with a strong passion. Rolling his eyes, he kicks his feet against the bed frame, twisting like a pretzel. As long as I don’t get a ransom call, then yes. Go. You’re giddy with excitement; pick up your purse, spray some perfume—probably the entire bottle—and finally peck his cheek, to which he grimaces, instantly pulling away. 

“Make sure to wake me up once you’re back.”

You do. Patting him, you eagerly bounce up and down against the fluffy mattress. “Brazil was a mistake.” His lashes flutter tiredly, skin slightly pink from rubbing his eyelids. Why? Folding your legs beneath your butt, you huff, tangled hair flying towards him. He can almost smell the sea salt that lingers onto your clothes, the scent of aperol spritz. It makes him wonder how many you’ve taken as he props up against his elbows, dark brows drawn together with attentiveness. 

“First of all, I paid for the entire thing.” No, he gasps. You nod, pursing your lips tightly. “I’ve never seen someone so tan turn paper white in a matter of seconds. It was quite fascinating, actually. Sucks,” you ponder, shoulders dropping drastically. “He was stupidly gorgeous too.” 

I hate it when they do that. You laugh, eyes crinkling with true emotions for the first time that night. “He did dance like a pro though, oh God, I could barely keep up.” A lazy arm flies up to massage your neck, wincing as if you’ve just stubbed your toe against a brick wall. “I might have to see a chiro.” Tapping your finger against your chin, you close your eyes. “After all that, he invited me back to his place.”

The Brit sits up straight away, turns on the lamp that sits besides him. “Why are you here then?” he screeches. You curl a brow. The fuck is that supposed to mean? Lando sighs heavily and rubs his temples before flashing you with a pair of stern eyes. “We’re here to have fun, remember? Sex, sex, sex. That’s our priority.” The twenty-four year old relaxes against the comfy pillows. “We made a pact.”

“But I just—” You become visibly green, too grossed out with the idea. “He was handsome—don't get me wrong—a fucking hunk.” He gags. “Probably had a massive dick.” You’re disgusting! A giggle erupts while you wiggle your way underneath the covers. “But I think I need to form an actual connection with someone in order to actually…yeah. A connection.”

It was about five months ago that you got dumped. Constant travels, not enough quality time. Too much work, not enough fucking. Far too lovey dovey eyes batted towards a certain brunette—that’s where you drew the line. You stood up for yourself; for Lando. It had taken you years to gain his trust and now that you had an unbreakable bond, you weren’t going to let the first insecure man make you feel like shit for it. But he didn’t like it, leaving you to cry on someone else’s shoulder. 

For some factor, the Brit felt bad. Perhaps it was his fault—perhaps he did intervene—but he was pissed too. For the way your ex had treated you, for him even considering the twenty-four year old would hit on somebody’s girlfriend. He knew the difference between flirting and a platonic relationship. Yeah. You were better off.

Brazil was great. Summer break was great. One night stands were great. At least he thought so.

Placing his hands over his broad chest, he releases a breath. “That’s actually pretty cute.” A sudden growl slides up your throat as you kick his shin. He scoots further away. “I only suggested because I thought it’d help…”

“Now you know.” A beat. “I can’t keep up with the Sex God.” Loopy eyes flicker over at him. “I’m talking about you, Sex Machine. Sex enthusiast. Can’t keep it in his pants— ”

He gruffs. “Understood.” He steals the blanket away as you squeal, hands flying out to tug it back towards your body. “Loud and clear.”

-

He had a plan to visit as many places as possible, and while that was fun for a while, you reasonably started to miss home. I’m tapping out, you would declare when you got to Bali, enjoying the view with an exhausted state. Last one. But he would somehow, always, convince you. There’d be too much to see. Too much to experience. And you would stay.

It’s only up until Australia where you find yourself taking an actual break. Maybe it was because you were staying at Daniel’s, but you were grateful nonetheless. Days consisted of hikes, rodeos, undercooked steak, wine, and dirt biking. Quite fun—definitely better than being back home feeding your pet fish. Ms. Lockwood has it all taken care of, thank you very much. 

“This is nice,” the Australian murmurs as he bites down on a slice of pizza. “I’m glad you guys made a pitstop.”

Wandering eyes roam the open field, dusty boots kicked up against his car. “Us too.”

Lando clicks his tongue knowingly, tilting his head at you as you hush him. For once in his life, he was glad to have someone around. Oftentimes, there’d be moments where people would assume you two were dating—possibly even married—but it was simply an unhinged friendship. Exactly what he was looking for. Thank God all of that is over now.

“How long have you two been together?” Heidi asks sweetly, leaning against her boyfriend. Mid-sip, you spit, red wine painting Lando’s white tee. Bloody hell, he moans, drying his face with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” you gurgle. “We’re not…” When you gag, the Brit scoffs.

“She’s too immature. You think I would willingly sign up for that?” The couple share a skeptical glance, eyebrows raised to where he hands you a napkin. “Come on, mate, who do you take me for?”

As you both make your way over to the house, Daniel and Heidi settle into a deep conversation. There was not a single doubt within them that you two weren’t meant for one another. It made perfect sense—but why were you both so blinded to the idea? 

“Hmm,” the blond says. “Two months of traveling together? That just doesn’t happen.” Heidi spins on her heel, facing the Australian. “There’s obviously a connection between them.”

-

Men like you are the reason I left Finland. Men like you are the reason I left Finland. A sip of water. Men like you are the reason I left Finla—

“What are you even talking about?” Lando groans from his seat. Peeking over at him, you shrug, and continue mumbling. “For the love of God, must you keep repeating yourself? You’re making a simple twenty minute drive feel like four hours—stop it already.” 

Coldly glaring at him, you pinch your face like a clam and point a narrow finger at him. “Men like you are the reason I left Finland.”

The Brit lets out a scream and jumps towards you, slapping a large hand over your mouth. You squirm for a good minute before biting down, forcing him to pull away with a sudden hiss. “Rascal.”

The view was breathtaking; the white snow, the green trees, the sunlight beaming from afar. His agenda continued and you kept tagging along. You’ve never visited, so everything was a pleasing journey. Staring out the foggy window of the van, you pout, pondering. “You’ve seriously never watched Confessions of a Shopaholic?”

“A Cock-A-Who?”

You laugh. “Not even close. I’m not doing this again.”

You’re sure you get frostbite by the end of the day, but the Northern Lights make up for it. After snapping a couple thousand pictures, you finally settle down on the snow next to him. “Hey.” A white puff exits his mouth, chapped lips. 

“Hey.”

The silence prolongs, then you let out a sore cough, taking a sip of hot chocolate. You can’t help but roll your eyes when you barely get a drop, realizing he had finished it all while you weren't looking. “Out of all the places we’ve been to, this has to be my favorite.” You direct your attention over to him. “Thank you for bringing me along. It means a lot.”

“Ah. Don’t mention it.”

You hum. “I never get bored of you.” You can hear his snowsuit scratch as he shifts to face you, wide eyes admiring the colorful lights. “I keep thinking I might—even just a little bit—but I don’t. It’s weird.”

He chuckles, relaxing. “I’m glad you haven’t. We’ve been traveling for a while now, so if that were the case, then I’d be worried.”

Pursing your lips, you let out a sheepish grin. “You’re like…the Suze to my Rebecca.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

Finally, you turn to him, taking in his puppy lost state. Specks of snowflakes cling onto his long lashes, the bridge of his nose is beet red, a hint of dried blood coats his overly frozen lips. Patting his shoulder, you let out a light whistle.

“Let’s just say, I never want to leave Finland.”

-

The season picks up once again, and so do the travels. But they’re not the same. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it’s not only you two anymore. Sure, you have your friends, but…it’s not the same. The thought alone is confusing, but you don’t let yourself think about it too long. Running after Oscar, you hand him a black binder. “What's this?”

“Not sure. Zak just wants you to read over it before the meeting.”

Frantically, he skims the white pages, flipping eagerly. You giggle. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not!” The Australian barely has a chance to protest before you skip away, shooting a quick thumbs up. “Take notes!”

Reaching the familiar dressing room, you find yourself gently knocking, foot tapping against the tiles. He swings open with a loopy grin. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A beat. “Meeting in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

He nods. “Is there anything I should go over?”

You shake your head, extending a singular piece of paper towards the British driver. “As long as you go over these notes, then you’ll do just fine.” You take a step back. “Ten, Lando, ten.”

“Got it.”

You’re the last one entering the crowded conference room, teasing snickers spilling from McLaren colleagues. Zak claps loudly. “Great! Let’s get started.”

You’re bored halfway through, zoned out, doodling onto your notebook. You were aware of everything, so you suppose it didn’t really matter. Gray led slides coolly. A sharp sound rips you away from your daydreaming as you look up, eyes flickering between the three main men.

“I wasn’t aware there was any special treatment.” His accent is laced with humor, brown eyes drifting over to you. You curl a brow at Oscar. 

Zak chuckles. “I wasn’t either.” 

Once the meeting is adjourned, Lando strolls over to where you sprawl onto a row of chairs, blanked out. He swallows a chuckle down. “You alright?”

“What have I done?” You sit up, maniatic eyes dancing . “I’ve never done that before—not intentionally.”

The Brit closes an eye teasingly before releasing. “The notes?”

Leaping up, you march over to him. “Yes, the notes! Since when do I sum up things for your benefit? God, I didn’t even think about Oscar…”

“I’m sure you weren’t thinking straight. We all know you like to help both of us out.”

A queasy feeling flips inside of you as you tilt your head. He was right. You got caught up, made one set of bullet points, and coincidentally gave it to Lando. No further meaning.

“I need coffee.”

-

As soon as you bolted out of McLaren Hospitality, Lando made his way through the paddock. “Norris,” a deep voice calls out. Alex grins widely, jogging closer. 

“Done for the day?”

Alex nods. “What about you?”

“I think so. Had my last meeting. Reckon I should be good.”

The Williams drivers shimmies with a low chuckle. “Why are you still here then?”

The Brit freezes. “I actually don’t know…”

Huh, Alex hums. 

“You’re looking for someone?”

He unfreezes, chest tightening. “I don’t know.”

-

“Hey, hey, watch out.”

“Daniel!” you shriek. He lets out a toothy smile, extending his arm out as a silent greeting, cup of coffee in hand. You rip it away, taking a large chug. “Thank you—gotta to go.”

“Wait.” He reaches for the hem of your shirt, stopping you from slipping away. “Are you okay? You look a bit…” He motions a crazy sign. You glare back at him. 

“I need air, I need air,” you gasp, zigzagging past him. Running after you, he hauls you into the nearest restroom. You screech, panicking. “Air, Daniel, air.”

“What happened?”

Something in his voice tells you he knows. You don’t want him to know. How could anyone know what you don’t even know? No one can know. 

“You’re right—I’m losing my mind.” You step out of his embrace. “Let me out before I kill you.”

Brown eyes stare back in amusement. “You can be honest with me.”

“I’ll scream, Daniel.”

“Be honest with yourself.”

“I’m a black belt. My limits are endless.”

“Just say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say it.”

You close your eyes, groan, and kick the wall. “Shit, I like Lando.”

Heavy pants, desperate huffs. Anticipating eyes, nervous fiddling with your hair. His lack of response makes it all worse. 

Daniel clicks his tongue. “I knew it.”

-

“Want anything?” he asks, gazing up at the wall of foreign treats. Singapore knew what they were doing. Your voice catches, releases, then wave him off. Weird, he thinks to himself, but continues to pay for his own sweets. The way you prance around the small convenient store makes him smile, occasionally making sure you were still there.

“I won’t be going to the next race. Thought you should know.”

It obviously catches him off guard as he spins to face you with a neutral expression. He’s good at hiding things—feelings. 

“I…um…” He coughs. “Can I ask why?”

“It’s my Nana’s birthday.” A beat. “She only has so many left, dude.”

The Brit would love to relax and laugh at your dark humor, but one simple word makes him deflate, nodding along with a sheepish look. He hands you a bag of penguin gummies. “From me, to her.”

The colorful bag crunches against your touch, awkwardly beaming at it, then looking up into his soft stare. “She has diabetes, but thanks.”

-

He realizes just how much he misses you once you jump onto the plane back home. He had been kind enough to offer to drive you to the airport, and you had been rude enough to decline. A weak exchange of words ensued between you two before reluctantly coming to an agreement.

Here is fine!

Blue eyes wander the busy drop off zone; humming with concern. 

Let me help you with your bags, then.

No! Drive safe, Lando. Oh—and make sure to take your vitamins! 

The British driver wonders why he feels different; pacing the room back and forth. Vitamin C is important. He eyes his watch. That’s probably why—he forgot to take them. Or maybe it was his biotin. 

“Mate! You have my charger!” The twenty-four year old gazes at his taking door and makes his way over. Daniel stands with loopy eyes, half shaved mustache. “Bon Iver died mid-For Emma, so you better hurry and give it to me.”

“I have it right here, chill.” The Australian invited himself in, brown orbs flickering carefully through the dark room. He chuckles. 

“Can’t find your birth control?”

Lando cocks his head to the side, recognizing his mess that lies on the floor. The orange bottles make him stutter, briskly pushing the white charger towards his friend. “B6, I’m looking for my—” A nervous hand runs through his messy hair. “Got what you need? Great. Off you go.”

“Ah, ah—hold on a second; is that my girl, Isla Fisher?”

The Brit cackles, remembering about his open computer. “How do you know?”

Daniel plops down. “Confessions of a Shopaholic? Classic. Heidi loves it.”

The brunette hums, finding a spot next to the Aussie. “Who’s Suze?”

“Have you not been paying attention?”

“I’ve been looking for my calcium!”

The thirty-four year old pouts. “I thought it was your R2-D2?”

“Clever.” 

A Tim Burton looking girl comes on-screen, perfect bangs hanging just above her brows. The redhead and black haired duo exchange a small phone back and forth, panic evident. “That’s Suze. She’s Becky’s best friend. They go through a bit of a rough patch, but they come back together, don’t worry.”

“Suze? Rebe…” He pales. “Friends?”

“You thought they were lesbos?”

Lando shakes his head, harshly. “What about Finland?”

“A fantasy land, sort of.” Daniel props up against his elbows. “It’s her getaway from all her debt. It’s real, but it’s not real.” The blue eyed boy’ shoulders droop furthermore as he watches the scene play out.

“Friends…”

Chomping down on a mysterious pill, Daniel shrugs. “Mhm. Just friends.”

-

It’s safe to say that you’re refreshed. You thought things through—you could never speak about your sudden realization. This probably happens all the time, all around the world, nothing to see here. Your feelings were there, but they wouldn’t be your downfall. Not when he mattered this much to you. 

“Read over this. Pay close attention to three and seven—Zak is going to ask you about it.” Lando hums slowly, eyes tracing your beauty. You’re a shade tanner due to your small vacation, if you can call it that, and that somehow tugs at his heart. If he pays close enough attention, then he could point out a few new freckles. “Any questions?”

He blinks. “Zero. Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

Something has shifted inside of him, something…new? Every chance he gets, he would peek and admire the way you laugh with a couple of the engineers, with Zak. Then, he would have to pinch and remind himself that he was your friend; nothing more, nothing less.

“Any additional notes? Oscar? Lando?”

Raising your hand timidly, you beam. “If I could suggest one thing, maybe we can keep the floor the same? I know we spoke on how a drastic change can possibly lengthen our kph, but if we actually think about it, then we would be able to see that it’ll only worsen things. It’s perfect, really, where it’s at. What we should be focusing on instead are other areas. Find ways to lighten the car, mark our attention to the aerodynamics.” Red creeps carefully onto your cheeks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you shrug. “Just a…thought.”

Zak hums, crossing his arms in deep thought. “We could do that…we could definitely do that.” He grins. “Boys?”

“Anything to make us faster, count me in,” Oscar agrees, voice steady.

“We should change it.”

Everyone turns to face the twenty-four year old. Pens glide faster, keys click harder, and you stumble clumsily. “Sorry?”

Lando tsks. “I like what you were saying, but we need to change it in order to stand a chance against the Red Bulls. They’ve cracked the code, and we’re so close. We need to adapt.”

You burn up. “I’m sorry, but I disagree, Lando. Things should stay the same. Same is safe. Change is…” You lick your lips, biting down momentarily. “Not necessary. Not when things are already good where they’re at.”

The British driver hisses. Oscar jumps at the cold sound. “Safe is a pussy move. How will you ever know what could have happened? One thing can flip everything around.” His eyes soften. “A-and put us in front of the grid for good. Good, good.”

Caught in the flame, you grit your teeth together. Who were you to have a say after all? Your attention circles the quiet room before nodding stiffly. “Alrighty then.”

-

“You embarrassed me in front of everyone!”

Lando frantically chases after you, shoes squeaking with every drastic turn. “I was just being honest!”

The sudden speed you turn back to face him with makes him flinch, forced to come to a halt. He can practically see the fumes exiting your body. “But did you have to say it in that tone?”

“What tone? I didn’t have a tone.”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” You continue your march. “Oh, hi! I’m Lando Norris, professional Formula One driver, who knows everything you don’t.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You’re right. You sound worse.” A huff. “Listen, I’m not actually mad, but I do need time to myself, so can you please…” You motion him away and he scoffs. Are you being serious right now? “I am! Leave!”

He sort of replicates a zombie, the way he drags his feet back to hospitality. Was he really ready for any of this? He liked you, a lot, but things like this would eventually stir up in any relationship, and maybe he didn’t have the strength in him to fix things yet. But if you stayed friends, then…yeah. Things would stubbornly fix themselves.

You, on the other hand, have a sudden bounce in your step. A stride. This is what you needed. Suddenly, your stupid little crush wasn’t as important as you had imagined. Fights would bubble between you two if you ever dared cross the invisible line, and you weren’t the biggest fan in facing them. Friends. That’s all this was.

Daniel crosses Lando first, intrigued by his dead-like state. “What’s up with you now?”

The Brit blinks. “I’m no Luke, Danny.” He kicks a rock. “I’m fine, however, being a Suze.”

Son of a bitch, the Australian thinks as he watches his friend stroll away. He actually paid attention. 

Placing his headphones back onto his head, he continues his walk down the paddock, confused. When you make your way with a bright smile, he, too, reciprocates. Your lips move fast, hand gestures flying theatrically, and he can’t hear a single thing. The Alpha Tauri driver snakes his hand to slip them off once again. “Having a g’day?”

“Best,” you beam. “Connection lost.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[gghostwriter]

Still Alive for My Lover

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The four times Spencer brushes with death and the fifth time he's reborn to find his way back to you

Warning: angst with happy ending || [Part 2A of Death of a Love Affair; Part 2B is the sad ending]

A/n: I did a poll the other day on if I should post both different part 2s for Death of a Love Affair and posting both won so here is one of the endings--the happy one! I actually scrapped my first happy ending idea for this (I dreamt about this plot just the other night) so like a maniac, I wrote and edited it in one sitting. Also he has been through a lot so I had to choose scenes that I think would affect his psyche. Hope you enjoy!

Part one || Main masterlist || Part 2B

The first time Death came close was during an Anthrax attack

In Spencer’s quest in solving the time sensitive and nation threatening case, he made a series of misjudgments that had led him to being exposed to the chemically engineered Anthrax.

During his months of adjusting back into being single and alone, he poured all that he could to his job. No longer were the cases viewed with a clear objective mind, they all became personal. Case distance from Virginia, where you were, meant nothing. He viewed each killer a threat to your existence. In the most convoluted way, this was him protecting and keeping you safe when he no longer could beside you. 

“Hey, Reid.” Garcia softly said.

“Reid, wow, no, uh—no witty Garcia greeting for me?” Spencer joked to try and lighten the mood.

She shakily exhaled her breath. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.” 

“Garcia, do you think you can do something for me?” His voice trailing off at the end.

“Anything.”

“I, uh-I know I can’t call my mom without uh—“ he cleared his throat. “Without alerting everyone at her hospital and I can’t call Y/N since—since it’s protocol and we broke up.”

She paused, nodding her head. “What do you need?”

“I-I need you to record messages for them, in case anything happens to me.”

“Oh, nothing’s going to happen to you,” she tried to be optimistic. “You’re gonna—brilliantly find out who did this and we’re gonna treat this strain.”

He sighed with a slight smile on his face. “I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, I just—I really want to make sure that they hear my voice.” 

“Ok, just give me a second.” The taps from her keyboard echoing in the background.

“Are you ready?” Spencer asked.

“Ready.”

“Hi, Mom. This is Spence. I just, um-I just really want you to know that I love you and—i need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.” His tone fluctuating from holding back tears. “Y/N, I know we broke up months ago but—I need you to know that I love you and that I’m sorry—” A shiver passed through his body, a sign of his fever escalating. “Sorry for pushing you down in my list of priorities—should have done better. I don’t resent you for leaving me and if—if this is my last message, I want you to know you’re one of the last things on my mind, Angel.” 

The thought of you finding out through the news that an FBI agent had died or worse, not finding out at all, sent him into a tailspin. You were a worrier and Spencer didn’t want you to question your judgement of breaking it off with him and drown in the not knowing, what ifs of it all. He wondered where you were at that very moment as he crept closer and closer to Death’s door. Were you wallowing still? Maybe out for brunch with your friends or a date—his breathing stuttered at the thought. He tried and failed to imagine you smiling at a faceless man in front of you, preening under your attention. Who wouldn’t? He shook his head as an effect to bring him back to the present.

The pause made Garcia panic. “Reid?”

“I-I gotta go.” 

Click.

***

The second time was when Maeve died

Spencer thought he was finally going to get it right with Maeve but it was false hope, his speculation far from the truth because Maeve—his second chance in love was dead, killed right before his very eyes. He loved her, truly did even without knowing what she looked like—not in the encompassing way he loved you, no, but Maeve still carved a space in his heart that was one filled by you. She was comfort and a healing balm for the pain of losing you.

He associated navigating life with you as something like entering a luscious forest. With you leading the way though the beautiful greenery and kind animals—a fairytale kind of love. But when you let go of his hand, the forest turned dark and the animals turned into monsters that haunt his every move. Maeve was a cabin in those woods, lighted and warm with a fireplace—a respite for his lost and terrified being. He knew what was out there but housed in her presence, he felt safe and believed himself ready to defend his newfound solace. He was wrong, the security was temporary. His shelter torn down and taken away, leaving him back out in the woods with no light or guiding star to see him through. 

Curling into himself on the floor beside his bed with ‘The Narrative of John Smith’, the copy that Maeve gifted, tucked to his chest, uncaring of the the pathogens that it can carry, a folded piece of paper under the dresser caught his eye. He stretched his hand, feeling the settled dust on its surface scatter, and pulled it into the light. Gingerly, he opened the yellowing sheet and found himself staring at your handwriting—a note that he had never seen before.

He once asked about your penchant for leaving hand written notes for him to find. You shrugged then and nonchalantly called it a treasure hunt for him to partake in. During the times passed, he’d encounter lingering, forgotten notes from you all over his apartment. In his cupboard, pushed in the dark recesses, in his rarely worn patterned coat, and slotted in between the books on his bookshelf. He thought he had found them all but here was one left unread as if it knew when to make its presence known. As if it knew that he needed a sliver of light to guide him home.

Spence,

I’m not sure if we met at the right time, but because we’re both here, let’s do our best and if there does come a time were we must part, know that I love you. I’ll love you enough until we meet again. 

His tears broke free from his battered walls and streamed down his face. He loved Maeve. He was thankful for the peace each phone call had given him and although his memory of each talk may fade into the back of his mind, the relief and emotion she had given him will linger in his chest. He slowly got up from his position and approached his beloved shelf. With one last look at his book, he slotted it within the nook and walked away.

His love for Maeve will always be there but he loved you too and he thinks he always will. And when sadness and grief comes to pull him back under in moments of weakness, he unfolds his talisman—the note—kept near his heart as a reminder. A reminder that he has loved, was loved, and is still loved. 

***

The third time was when he was shot in the neck

Fading in and out. 

In—liquid seeping into his shirt and tie.

You were the only thing he could think of. Not the case, not the team, only you.

Out—sirens blaring in a distant background.

In—Morgan’s voice calling his name.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer was terrified. He was so terrified that death had come to collect his borrowed life without having a chance to right his wrongs. Without any contact and without any way to say how much he has loved you still after all these years and months. He could probably recite how long it had been, if only he wasn’t loopy from the pain. 

Out—muffled voices all around him. 

In—a gentle sway in the ambulance as it rushed to the hospital.

He wanted to tell you how much he’d learned from recalling all his memories with you. How much you had taught him about love—a teaching he could never find in books. How love was selfless and tenacious—just like when you didn’t give up on him early on—when it needed to be. How love is fueled with respect—like how you respected his choices and demands of his career, and how love—true love, knew when it’s time to go. 

Out—streak of bright lights passing him by. 

In—professionals dressed in scrubs and white coats touching him. 

Your face was the only image settling behind his closed eyelids. He tried to remember the crinkle around your eyes when you smile, the scrunch of your nose when you laugh, or the he arch of your brows when you teased him but all were hazy, as if he was staring into a deep depth of water that rippled nonstop. All he could conjure up was your face with tears sliding down to your chin from the hurt he caused. He was deathly afraid that his last memory of you were in pain. 

Out—laying cold on the operating table.

All he could muster to repeat to himself as he faded under local anesthesia was your name. Like it was a mantra, a prayer, and his own personal saving grace. 

In—surrounded by beeping noises and fluffed pillows.

Mind still hazy when he came to, he sent a thank you to the stars. Grateful that Death was unsuccessful and to have been given an opportunity to correct his mistakes. Wishing that somehow, somewhere your paths and his would cross again and he could tell the story of all his adventures and yours, and how he has changed, hoping once again to be worthy of you.

***

The final time was during his stint in prison

He’s changed. In the dark forest you’ve left him behind, the once scared and hunted by monsters had become the hunter. The anger and agitation that simmered near the surface of his every waking moment was something he did not know how to accept. He was worried about the new him and how you’d perceive it. There were no signs of who he was before and during you. If he’d cross paths with you on the street, would you recognize him? He hoped so. Would you still accept him? He needed you to.

Along his long route back to you, he grew thorns and horns. He became decorated with wounds and scars. His talisman—your note—had aged, just like him, and had ripped along the folds. His once brilliant mind—now in a haze from trauma, memorized the words. It was your writing that grounded him while he was stuck in the cell of a mad woman’s making. The slants and loops studied and the grooves and indentations caressed with his calloused, bloody hands. 

He loved you still, very much so, but with his change, it had also mutated. What once was compared to a fairytale kind of love had now been smudged with darkness and desperation.

He felt lethal in his journey back to your embrace. Gone was the boy who felt remorse in shooting an unsub between the brows and replaced with the man who felt no qualms in killing should safety be threatened. He knew he had to talk to someone about the path his thinking had taken but instead, he entered his home with a single-minded purpose, walking straight to your side of the drawer and clutched another memento that will buoy him through the ravaging waters of emotion—your engagement ring. Looping it through a chain that he now wears on his neck and near his heart, a symbolism of his will to see things through, come hell or high water, he’ll crawl home to you.

***

And his second life started when he left the BAU

Spencer wanted to see you. Once inside the building elevator going down, he fought the urge to dial your number—regardless if it was still even yours. He needed to know. To know if you’ve moved on after all those many years apart or lived just like he did—tried but unsuccessful, always comparing and always coming up short. The eyes not as kind as yours, the smile not as radiant, and the heart not as beautiful. Was it awful of him to wish for the former? Yes, yes it was. He knew you deserved happiness and support after all the times he had let you down, knew you deserved a life after him, knew you deserved a happy ending but here he was, hopelessly wishing that your happy ending was still with him. 

He didn’t keep up with your life as much as he wanted to. The wounds of his failure and the battle scars he received along the way were still fresh. He didn’t have the right to know—a self imposed punishment. Although Garcia offered to look into you whenever he would reach rock bottom, and he’s been there a lot, he refused. By returning your ring, the engagement ring hidden underneath his shirt, you’ve taken back his privilege and he respected your decision.

You deserve better than to have him contact you without his life in order. If you’d still have him, you’d get the best of him. And so for the past six months, he focused on himself. He gained his footing in teaching young agents, he worked on his anger and made progress with his therapist, and he got to know who he was again beyond being an FBI agent. And it was as if the stars took notice of the changes and decided to reward him.

It was late into the night when he decided to make a quick grocery trip for some perishables missing in his pantry. This was out of his normal routine and he was forever grateful to the impulsiveness that took over him that night ever since. It was what led him to cross paths with the only person he had once considered home—you.

As he was entering the store, you had come out in all your beauty, struggling with one bag in each hand. Whenever he would recall this story, you’d scoff and tell him that you didn’t feel beautiful then—hair in a sloppy bun, t-shirt all crumpled, and face bare from any makeup. He’d object as no matter what the circumstance, you were always the most beautiful to him. 

He cleared his throat then. “Y/N.”

“Spencer,” you breathed out, surprise painting across your face.

“Do you need help with that?” He asked, voice cracking at the end. He thought he outgrew his shyness, time in prison does that for a person, but here you were reverting him back to how he felt when he first met you. “I’d like to walk you back to your car, if that’s alright,” he added on as he was afraid of your refusal. The parking lot was dimly lit and almost deserted. Years of solving cases has made him hyper vigilante and even if he was technically no longer a fed, his experience stayed the same. He still wanted to make sure you were safe, after all the time away.

You hesitated before nodding once in agreement. 

He smiled, letting go of his breath he didn’t know he was holding, and reached out to take your grocery purchases. “Let me get these for you, lead the way.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Years of being away from each other has made him a stranger to you and you to him.

You crossed yours arms, a sign of defense, before clearing your throat. “How’s the team?”

He pressed his lips into a straight line, not wanting to spill every little change that has happened while you were gone. “Good, good.”

Silence.

“No case tonight?”

“Uh—I only consult now,” he explained. “I went into teaching.”

Your arms dropped, a sign of openness, and you peered at him. “That’s—different. I mean, are you happy about that?”

He laughed and almost felt like preening at the care that you still had for him. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a normal schedule for once.”

“Somehow normal and you being mixed together doesn’t compute in my head,” you teased, swinging your hands in a clear sign of nervousness. He felt good—glad that he still could read your tics. How the slight downturn of your eyebrow meant you’d table the information to ruminate on it later. How the little bounce on your walk, that wasn’t there earlier, meant you were accepting of this situation. And how you slightly shifted closer to him meant you find his presence a protector. 

As he was documenting each non-verbal cues into his memory, the back of your hand brushed with his, sending a jolt of electric charge. It was as if both your bodies needed a physical reminder that the other half is back and nearby. It was as if a defibrillator had charged his black and blue heart to life once again. 

You giggled. “Sorry about that.”

It was a cold night but each laughter wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, warming his weary bones that had been lost in the dark cold woods for so long. “It’s alright,” he stated as he watched you unlock the trunk of your car. 

Loading in your grocery in silence, he shuffled ever so slightly out of the way as you closed the trunk and rocked on your heels.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was the only way he could prevent his hands from reaching out and caressing your pink cheeks. He didn’t have the permission to touch you yet—not matter how much he wanted to. So wanted to.

“You look—you look great, by the way,” you stammered out.

“Thanks, you too—look great, I mean,” he stated. He wanted to sing out more praises on how you’d gotten more beautiful, more radiant, and more lovely but he settled on something simple lest he scares you away with the intensity of his feelings. “Do you think could have your number? You know, just in case you’d need help with groceries again.” A feeble excuse.

You smiled. The type of smile that was once reserved for him and he wished for it to still be his. Please don’t say no, please, he realized that if you do, that will be it. That there will no longer be any saving the tragedy between him and you.

As he was starting to slide down the familiar slope of sadness, you nodded. “I never changed it.” You unlocked the driver seat before facing him once again. “Spence—”

He basked in hearing you say his name.

“—I’m different now. So you’ll have to get to know me again.”

“I’m different now, too,” and while you uttered yours as if it was an apology or a forewarning, he uttered his as a promise. A veiled promise that he was now the man that you wanted him to be after all those years.

He reached his hand out. “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid,” he hoped you’d play along.

You laughed, clearly intrigued at changes that had happened to him. Here he was, a germaphobe, reaching for a handshake to a stranger regardless of pathogens. You weren’t really a stranger, not really, but he wanted to write a new beginning. The last time was too tragic and ended with goodbyes. This time, this time, it’ll be perfect, he vowed to himself. A perfect fairytale with a happy ending that he could share with his kids with you one day. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you reached out your hand into his, engulfing yours in his tight grip. “I’m Y/N.”

He watched as you got into the car, fastening your seatbelt and roll down the window. “I’ll call you.”

“Please do, I’ll be waiting,” you whispered out before backing away from the parking lot.

And he did.

And after a few dates, he slid back the ring that once hung around his neck, sitting near his heart, back to where it belonged—back to your fourth finger where the Romans once believed a vein ran directly to the heart. Vena Amoris, the vein of love. Where it will stay forevermore, never allowing time and the outside to separate what once was meant to be. Never allowing ‘him and you’ as separate, there was just ‘them’.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Gamer Boyfriend Scenarios

A collection of parodies to satisfy everyone’s desire for a happy ending. Warning: crackhead humor.

Content: gender neutral reader, yandere behavior, brief NSFW, time machine to Wattpad glory days

[First story] [More parodies original works]

Case 1: Third contender

Very few people know about your stepmother. You’d kept it a secret, even from the tentacle monster, who was understandably confused about your boyfriend’s nervousness upon hearing your idea of a family visit.

“Try not to kill each other, please.” You say with pleading eyes.

“I’m more worried about you, (Y/N). Will you be alright?”

You swallow dryly. The evil hag had summoned you earlier this week, and you dare not oppose her. A tear threatens to form in the corner of your eye, so you turn around with a dismissive wave. You’ll be fine.

“I see you already have a suitcase”, the older woman remarks, puffing on her cigarette. “Good. You’ll be leaving today.”

“What? I just got home!” You argue in confusion.

“This isn’t your home anymore. Times are difficult, you see. We’re low on funds.” She ponders her words, then continues. “We’ve sold you to a famous K-pop idol group.”

You can only gawk in shock. Almost simultaneously, you feel a tap on your shoulder and hesitantly look back.

“You must be (Y/N)! Wow, you’re even cuter in person. Those photos I received of you barely do you justice.”

A tall, handsome man with a beaming smile stands behind you. He flashes you a little heart gesture with his index and thumb, and winks.

Is this the power of idol charisma? You can feel the faintest tug at your heart, deep red blush heating up your cheeks.

“I couldn’t possibly…I’m already in a…in a relationship!”

“You’ll be much happier with me. I can offer you the world.”

What a ridiculous situation. You stumble on your words, partly afraid, partly curious about the potential life of luxury as the beloved partner of a famous idol. Can’t be that bad, you tell yourself. You shake your head aggressively. No! You have two people (well, one monster) waiting for you at home. You need to get out of here, but how?

Just as you evaluate escape routes, the door bursts open and you gasp at the sight: your gamer boyfriend, followed by the tentacled creature.

“How did you bypass my security?!” The idol shouts in disbelief. “I have the best engineers in the world working for me!”

The gamer boyfriend smirks defiantly.

“Heh. Wasn’t too hard to hack into your systems, all I needed was my PS5 controller. As for the physical obstacles…” he says, turning to the ancient beast. “You might want to call a cleaning crew for what’s left of your guards.”

You run towards them, and the young man gently guides you behind him.

“Since when do you two get along?” You ask with the sarcasm of a witty Marvel character.

“Let’s just say we figured out a common goal.”

The goal of keeping other people away from you. Any kind of pride he or the monster might've held has been swiftly discarded for this greater purpose. After all, two heads are better than one. Or whatever encephalic organ the creature possesses.

The cherry blossoms sway in the wind, scattering the frail petals across the riverbank.

"It's too much!" you whine, your hot lips brushing against the overgrown grass of the hill, privacy filled to the brim with appendages. "W-what if someone passes by?"

You can't even tilt your head back to look at your aggressors; the weight of the attempted kidnapping was too great for the pair to bear, and thus they were overwhelmed by the urge to reclaim you on the spot. Right there, in the fields, on the way back home.

"I couldn't...care less about that, (Y/N)", the gamer boyfriend manages to blurt out between exhausted, husky growls. His knuckles white from gripping imaginary sheets.

“You belong to us.”

(No slick folds were harmed in the process)

Case 2: Picture frame

The screech slowly dissipates, and the room is quiet again.

Finally. The gamer boyfriend gazes at his masterpiece, a satisfied smile on his face. Now that he's gotten rid of his rival, he can have you all for himself.

“I hope you enjoy the flatness. I didn’t.”

The fight might've lasted longer, had the beast not committed the ultimately fatal mistake of underestimating him. It realized much too late it wasn't dealing with the same human who disappeared months ago. That one was weak and easy to remove.

"Please, what are you-...What are you doing with my body?"

"Relax. I'm just...borrowing it. Permanently, maybe."

Oh, how long he waited for that moment, that instant in which he was guaranteed freedom from the 2D realm. How delicious it was to snatch the escape from the boyfriend who worked so hard for it. All those hours spent romancing the characters, repeating the same dialogue lines again, and again, until the love meter blinked in achievement. And then he stole it, just like that, with a snap of the fingers.

Two things immediately struck him once he made his way out:

First, the third dimension. He'd never experienced such depth before, and all the angles and perspectives sickened him terribly. He spent days bedridden and nauseous. Equally baffling was the fact that conversations were always spontaneous, random, one-of-a-kind and without any subtitles or dialogue box. He tried in vain to reset his response to you, or to replay something you told him. Thankfully, his secret was of such absurdity, that you couldn’t even begin to imagine its possibility. You took his suspicious gaffes with an amused chuckle, calling him a silly goose.

Second, you. He had no idea who you were, but upon laying his eyes on you, a wave of warmth and affection flooded his innards. Were you someone important for the boyfriend? Either way, whatever leftover feeling was left inside the vessel swiftly turned into obsession. You took such great care of him. Guided him through this new world with unconditional kindness. Whatever the boyfriend was to you before, he deserved it more. He was certain of it.

Only one obstacle stood in his way, and he just took care of it.

The entry door unlocks, and you walk in, unsure.

“It’s been days. It always lived here, why would it vanish now?” you sob, shaken by the sudden disappearance of the ancient creature.

“Oh, Darling. Come here”, the gamer boyfriend coos sweetly. “You have me now, don’t you? Am I not enough for you?”

“Of course you are, it’s just…”

You stop in your tracks.

“When did you get this?”

“Today. Do you like it?”

“It’s…nice.”

You stare at the new picture hung in the living room. The ornate frame contours what seems to be an oil painting of a sea monster, tentacles preying out of the water.

It almost looks like it wants to crawl out of the canvas.

“Maybe it just got tired of you.” The boyfriend whistles, approaching you. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ll never, ever abandon you.”

“I know, (B/N).” you throw yourself into your boyfriend’s arms.

“Who? Ah, right.”

Case 3: Hidden Ending

You sniff and wipe your tears again, filling your satchel with bread. At the very least, it’s good bread. You made the sourdough starter yourself, in the kitchen you renovated with your own hands.

Not anymore.

You button up your patchy peasant robe, glancing back at the couple one final time. Your gamer boyfriend…well, ex-boyfriend, is following your movement with melancholic eyes. The tentacle creature is holding him affectionately, its tendrils of darkness wrapped around his small shoulders. The same appendages that lewdly traced your body.

You have been cucked.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I…We never meant to hurt you. It’s just…we love each other.” He sheepishly lifts his hand, revealing a ring glowing with ancient, cursed energy of cosmic, long-forgotten springs. “We’re thinking of a tropical honeymoon.”

Your underbaked cinnamon orbs glisten with fresh tears, as thin streams caress your cheeks. No matter. You’ll find a new apartment. You’ll start again. You finish tying the bread satchel around the stick, and throw it over your shoulder.

“I wish you happiness”, you sigh, exiting the house.

[msschemmenti]

fun police - 3

bau x reader / eventual emily prentiss x reader

a/n: is anyone interested in reading y/n’s sessions with the other team members? or are we cool with focusing on emily?

“why are you here?” jj asked as she breezed past emily’s darkened office. she and alves had gotten an early morning break on a case they were working and were just getting back. she glanced at her wrist and caught sight of the abnormally early hour and stepped into the office curiously.

“i’m doing my homework.” emily grumbled but kept her eyes closed and her wrist angled.

“homework? what are you talking about?” jj asked as she allowed her eyes to fully take in emily’s crisscrossed legs and closed eyes.

emily’s peaked an eye open to address jj, “homework from fun police y/ln. didn’t you get homework too?”

“no? i don’t think anyone got homework. this is the first im hearing of any of that.” jj replied, fighting down a laugh as she realized what emily was actually doing. “are you meditating?”

“no one else has homework? what the hell…” emily grumbled uncrossing her legs and leaning against the couch.

“no, what did you say to y/n? we all kinda expected you to talk your way out of any additional sessions. but now i see that’s not what happened. giving you homework and a weekly meeting is kind of extreme. i mean even rossi is on bi-weekly sessions.” jj said leaning on the arm of one of the loungers.

“even rossi? he’s faaaar worse than me. i’m pretty sure he’s still seeing voit in his head.” emily grumbled causing jj to laugh. “i don’t know what it is about her. it’s like as soon as we’re alone she sucks every bit of coherence and sense out of my brain. and then i just end up looking stupid. and mentally ill.”

“yeah i’ll give you that. she has a way of pulling things out for sure. but i don’t think that’s why you seem to be having a far more difficult time articulating yourself…” jj smiled suggestively.

“and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh i don’t know, it probably doesn’t help that she’s so attractive.” jj could see the protest on emily’s face so she continued. “i know i was a little surprised. i never really envisioned a wellness agent but it definitely wasn’t her.”

“well i won’t judge you for that.” emily mumbled, looking at her nails dismissively. “i don’t think that’s my problem though. her questions are just built to cause confusion.”

jj looked at emily skeptically, “well what did she ask you?”

“to define relaxation. what do i look like webster’s dictionary? oh and she asked me what tasks i enjoy. how unprofessional.” emily grumbled, unintentionally calling forth the very inappropriate image of y/n she’d created in her head during their first session.

“unprofessional? how was that unprofessional?”

“well what i like to do is unprofessional…” emily shrugged, and jj’s face lit up in amusement.

“emily elizabeth prentiss, did you tell our wellness agent the only thing you enjoy doing is sex? unprovoked?” jj was almost giddy.

“i wasn’t unprovoked! she’d been questioning me for the past hour— and i was just being honest. also i didn’t say out outright.”

“but you heavily alluded to it. to someone you are denying being attracted to. and what did she say?”

“i never denied anything. you’re making me sound guilty or guiltier than i should be! after that she asked how often i participate in that activity… and then i may have said something along the lines of ‘far more than she could think of’ or something like that.”

“oh my god!” jj grinned.

“no no oh my god-ing. she gave me homework after that.” emily shrugged, skipping the part where she conjured and image that had been living with her for the last week.

“uh huh sure. you can skip the part where she gave some witty remark that probably sent your brain into overdrive. it’s written on your face. and the more you deny it— the more i know.” jj shrugged. “anyways what is your homework, anyway?”

ignoring jj’s words emily shrugged, “i had to do four relaxing things that were not basic needs to survive.”

“and what have you done besides meditate?”

“i googled relaxing things to do and did the first four easiest things. light a candle,” she gestured to the candle burning on her desk. “check. drink some tea,” mug on the coffee table. “check. i took a walk from my car in the parking garage to my office. check. and finally my meditation. check.”

“right.” jj held the word with a nod. “seems you’ve got this under control. i look forward to hearing how this turns out.”

“hardy har har, of course you do.” emily huffed, pulling herself from the floor and sitting on the couch. “despite what you seem to think— im going to ace this session.”

jj chuckled and nodded, “whatever you say. regardless i’ll be waiting to hear about it tomorrow.”

-

when their session time came— emily made sure to be stretched across her couch, empty mug on display with the tes bag hanging on the side, and the candle burning some sort of vanilla lavender scent.

“wow, look at you! feeling relaxed?” y/n asked as she appeared in emily’s open doorway.

“i’m as zen as zen can be.” emily boasted with a shrug as she made an effort to lean further in the couch.

“uh huh,” y/n nodded coming in the office fully and taking the seat across from the couch. “how was that homework?”

emily preened at the opportunity to show off her ‘honest’ efforts at relaxation. “great! i meditated this morning. took a walk before work. i’ve been on tea today and i’ve even got a nice candle going. so very relaxing.”

y/n nodded along with a smile and as soon as emily finished she leaned forward on her knees, “so that sugary to-go coffee cup with your name scribbled on it in the trash can isn’t yours? and the walk you took wasn’t from the parking garage to the door, was it? surely not! and if i took at look at your candle, it wouldn’t be brand new— only lit for what an hour before i arrived? surely not! and that meditation-“

emily groaned, loudly and extended. “how the hell do you know all of that? i’m starting to think you’ve got cameras on me. full surveillance.”

y/n chuckled, “no none of that. you’re just really predictable. to me at least.”

“predictable? i’ll have you know, im very spontaneous. just a few months ago i told a gang of armed men to shoot me!” emily said indignantly.

“and that’s why we’re sitting here in the first place. if your one instance of spontaneity is telling a gang of armed men to shoot you—“

“well in the context of the situation—“ emily tried to explain but stopped at y/n’s deadpan. “oh alright, just give me another homework assignment.”

y/n shook her head, “no homework considering you don’t do it very well. i’ve got a better idea. next week we’re going on a field trip for our session. share your calendar with me and i’ll pop an official invite with details on there so everyone will know you’re out of office for an hour.”

“a field trip? i hardly see how that’ll work, im in meetings all day and my phone is always ringing off the hook. i’m a very busy woman.” emily protested.

“yeah yeah yeah, busy smisy. excuses excuses. it’s happening whether you like it or not. go ahead and blow out your candle and stop hiding your coffee. next week you’re all mine.” y/n waved dismissively before heading toward the door.

“wait that’s it? i don’t even get a chance to redeem myself today? no questions?” emily groaned.

“nope, that’s it for today. make sure you get rossi to sign your permission slip.” y/n winked over her shoulder and exited the office with a grin.

[grimesproperty]

“ FRIENDS “

part three.

jj maybank x reader

—

JJ's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. He had not been expecting that. For a moment — he was speechless, his mind racing to process your confession amidst the adrenaline and confusion of the situation.

You raised your hands in frustration and shook your head slightly before letting them fall back to your sides.

Tears were about to spill from your eyes as you observed the expression on his face, afraid of what he might say next.

JJ watches you, still in shock. The words "I love you" keep replaying in his mind, but he doesn't know how to respond. He's unsure if he heard correctly or if this is just a reaction to the chaos of the moment.

He stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something more vulnerable and open.

Pope, seeing the stunned silence, stepped forward awkwardly breaking the tension. "Well, that was unexpected, " he said to John b who was clearly amused by the turn of events.

JJ, still reeling from your declaration, looks between Pope and John B, his face a mixture of confusion and shock. He glances at you, his usually witty mouth unable to form words.

You took his silence as an answer and glanced back at him one last time before walking away from all of them.

As you walked away, JJ watched you leave, his heart hammering in his chest.

His mind is a whirlwind of emotions — shock, confusion, and a growing sense of hope. He doesn't know how to interpret what you just said, and now you're walking away.

John B and Pope sensing the shift in the atmosphere, exchange a glance, clearly understanding the depth of the situation.

Pope looks at JJ, who's staring after you silently. “JJ? You okay, man?" He asks him.

JJ's gaze remains fixed on your retreating figure. He's uncharacteristically silent for a moment before responding.

"Do I look okay?"

John B lets out a snort of laughter, clearly amused by the situation. "Well, you look like a deer in headlights, if that counts" He jokes.

Pope hits him lightly, giving him a reapproachal look. "Come on, man not the time. He's clearly in shock," he says, John B looks at JJ, and his laughter fades into an empathetic smile. "Dude, I get it. It's a lot to process." John B says to JJ.

JJ finally tears his gaze away from you, turning to face his two best friends. "Yeah, it is... I mean, she just said... I don't even know what to think right now."

John B shrugs his casual carefree demeanor back in place. "Well, how do you feel about it? I mean deep down, how do you really feel about her saying that?"

JJ takes a deep breath, running his hand through his messy blonde hair. "I don't know man. It's just a lot. I never thought she'd actually say those words. It's messing with my head."

Pope, always the voice of reason pipes up. "Maybe you should take some time to process it man, figure out your feelings before you do anything rash."

JJ nods, still processing the emotions swirling inside him. "Yeah, you're right," he replies to Pope. John B gives him a reassuring slap on the back, the familiar twinkle in his eyes. "And hey, if you need a wingman to help you figure things out, we’re here for you."

Pope nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. JJ lets out a huff — a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing. But first, I need a joint right now. My head is spinning way too much."

John B grins, his eyes lighting up. "Now you're talking! Let's go, man. We'll find some weed, figure out your love life, and blow off some steam."

Pope rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, I'm in. Let's go get high and help JJ sort through his feelings. It's not like we have anything better to do," he says sarcastically.

JJ grins, a flicker of his usual confidence returning. "That's the spirit, Pope! Let's go get high and figure this out. After all, what's a little weed-induced introspection among friends, am I right?" he jokes.

As Kiara and Sarah observed the boys, they looked at them in disbelief, not taking them seriously.

John B noticed the girls' expressions and shrugged sheepishly. "What? It's just a harmless way to unwind and help our boy JJ clear his head."

“Are you serious?! You guys are just going to get high, and JJ, you're just going to let Y/N walk away like that?” Kiara said, her anger evident in her voice.

"I didn't let her walk away," JJ retorted defensively. "She stormed off before I could even process what was happening. Besides, I wasn't going to chase after her when she clearly wanted space."

"What the hell is wrong with you? All of you! You guys completely are oblivious to why she's been distant from us because of you JJ! You're too much of an asshole--

You need to accept your feelings for her instead of taking it out on her because she’s with someone who’s a kook and not you!” Kiara yelled at the three boys.

JJ looked taken aback by Kiara's outburst — he faltered for a moment. "Jealous? You think I’m jealous?" He tried to scoff and dismiss her words, but a hint of vulnerability lingered in his eyes.

"Yes! But you haven't even tried to talk to her since she started dating him. Do you know the real reason she gave him a chance? It was to get over her feelings for you!" Kiara said to him.

His eyes widen at Kiara's revelation. "What? She has feelings for me? But why hasn't she told me all this time?" he says, sounding dumbfounded.

"because like I said.. your too much of an asshole to admit when you love someone," Kiara shook her head, tired of JJ's actions. "I'm heading out," she said and stormed away from the group.

--

A few weeks later, the Pogues were hanging out at their usual spot, the Chateau. The mood was laid-back and friendly. JJ was playing with his lighter, a habit he had developed when he was lost in thought.

The other pogues were lounging on the front porch, chatting and feeling weary after a long day at the beach. You hadn't spoken to any of the pogues in a while, except for Sarah and Kiara, with whom you always kept in touch.

You arrived at John B's house and quietly came onto the front porch. You brought beers and snacks. None of the Pogues had noticed you yet until you spoke up.

“Anyone thirsty?” Their heads snapped up at the voice, seeing you. They exchanged surprised glances, but quickly, grins formed on their faces. Kiara smirked. “Oh, hell yeah. Just what we need right now!”

John B chuckled, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food and drinks. "You're a lifesaver! We were just debating whether to go out and get something ourselves."

You laughed at John B's words, playfully asking, "Did you miss me?" The group burst into laughter, their smiles growing wider. "Of course we did! Who else would bring us beer and snacks?" John B replied.

JJ — who hasn't said anything yet, has a smirk forming on his face. He is happy to see you and has missed you a lot. He longs to see your face and hear your voice more than he would ever admit.

His eyes are locked on you, taking in every detail of your expression.

"Yeah, we really missed you, Y/n. Life's been boring without you around, sweetheart." JJ says to you.

jj's words hit harder than they did, you just gave him a small smile. The pogues noticed the subtle interaction between you and JJ — their gazes flickering between you both.

John B tried to keep the mood lighthearted, sensing the tension between the two of you. "Yeah, JJ's right. We missed your smart-ass remarks. Life is a lot quieter without them."

You smiled at John B. as you set the remaining beer and food on the coffee table in the middle of the room. "I've just been working a lot—nothing special. I finally ended things with the kook," you said to them.

The pogues exchanged surprised glances at your news. Kiara threw a surprised look at you. "Wait, what? You dropped the kook? What happened there?"

You shrugged. "I just wasn't really feeling it, I don't know if I ever really even liked him," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

John B nodded with a sympathetic expression on his face. "Ah, I see. That's understandable. Sometimes things just don't work out, no matter how much you wish they would."

“I’m glad they didn’t,” you said as you placed your beer down in front of you. At your unexpected response, JJ looked up from toying with his lighter, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. He studied you for a moment — a hint of interest apparent in his gaze.

“Anyway,” you said, eliciting chuckles from the others as they shifted their focus back to the snacks and beers. “Regardless of why you were gone, we’re just glad you’re back with us now,” John B said. JJ, leaning back in his chair, nodded in agreement with John B’s sentiment.

his eyes still on you, a subtle tension in his voice. "Yeah, we really are, sweetheart."

You gazed at JJ for a moment as he looked out at the water by the dock.

You took another swig of your drink as you turned to Kiara, who handed you a snack, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at you and then at JJ.

Kiara looked at you, a chip halfway to her mouth. "So, you’re really done with the kook, huh? No more dating or anything?" You nodded in response. "Yep," you replied, emphasizing the 'p' as you popped it. "Besides, you know why I ended things with him if it wasn’t already obvious to everyone else."

Kiara's expression softened as she leaned in closer. She spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes flickering between the boys and back to you. "Yeah, I guess there was more to it. Your secret is safe with me," she said with a smile.

You return her smile, but it fades quickly. "I just can't get over JJ, no matter how hard I try," you say to her. "He's my best friend."

Kiara nodded with understanding, her expression full of sympathy. Her tone was gentle as she spoke, "I understand. It’s difficult to have feelings for someone who has been a part of your life for so long. When that person is your best friend, it complicates things even more."

Meanwhile, JJ silently observed the conversation between you and Kiara, pretending that he wasn't listening. His expression remained neutral, but his heart pounded in his chest as he overheard the conversation.

he clutched his lighter tightly, his mind racing with a flood of emotions. He had been so close to confessing his feelings to you that night at the Boneyard. But he had chickened out, convincing himself that it was for the better. He tried to push the thoughts away, but he couldn't help but wonder-

Was it too late now?

The conversation continued around you, but JJ found it difficult to pay attention. The realization that you were still not over him tugged at his heat. He glanced at you a mix of hope and insecurity.

He wanted to express his feelings and confess his emotions once and for all. However, the fear of rejection and the potential consequences held him back. He knew he needed to find a moment alone with you to talk, to finally reveal his true feelings.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick, be right back," you said to them as you got up and headed for the bathroom. The Pogues nodded at you.

As you walked to the bathroom, JJ's mind was racing. Should he follow you? Should he wait? Should he say something now? The thoughts swirled through his head. He fidgeted with his lighter, his gaze fixed on the floor, and his heart pounding in his chest.

John B observed JJ and noticed his internal struggle. He nudged him and said, "Go on, dude. Take the chance while you still have it."

For a brief moment, JJ hesitated. But the gentle nudge from John B was the encouragement he needed.

“Yeah, alright,” JJ said with a mix of excitement and nervousness. JJ rose from his seat. The Pogues exchanged knowing glances as JJ headed for the bathroom, his intentions clear.

You were currently inside the bathroom, blissfully unaware of what was happening outside. JJ hesitantly reached for the bathroom door.

He could feel his heart racing, as he gathered the courage to gently knock on the door. "Who is it?" you spoke from against the other side.

jj took a deep breath, his voice slightly shaky. "It's just me, doll. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

JJ gently opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The room suddenly felt more intimate, and the air was thick with tension. You looked at him while standing in front of the mirror.

JJ leaned back against the wall, his eyes fixed on you. he took a moment to study your face, the way the light caught your features, he let out a shaky exhale, the words he had been wanting to say for so long on the tip of his tongue.

You turned around to face him, placing your hands on the edge of the sink. JJ's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you looking directly at him. The silence that hung between you was thick with expectation, making his nervousness even more intense. He pushed himself off the wall—

and took a step closer to you, the distance between you shortening. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the moment he had been waiting for, yet he was terrified of saying the wrong thing and ruining everything.

He took another step forward, closing the space between you even further. The tension between you was palpable, and the air felt electric. jj let out a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper.

"Can I say something, princess?"

"Anything," you said, maintaining his gaze as he neared you. He paused, searching your eyes for any hint of your reaction. Finally, he spoke.

"i cant stop thinking about you. every day, every night, you occupy my every thought, and I can't seem to shake it off. I've tried , but the truth is — I can't."

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. He continued, his voice growing more vulnerable and sincere with each word.

"I've been afraid to say something, to ruin what we have between us, But standing here, with you in front of me, I realized I can't keep it inside anymore. I need you to know how much you mean to me. I love you… I am in love with you."

The words hung in the air, and his heart beat so violently he thought it might burst out of his chest.

He waited anxiously for your response, his entire being on edge, with the future of your friendship hanging in the balance.

His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into firsts, his eyes flickering to yours. The silence between you was defeating, and JJ could barely think straight.

His mind raced with a thousand different scenarios. He had just laid his heart out bare.

"I don't know what to say," you said to him. You had longed to hear those words for so long—the words you desired most -- for him to simply tell you that he loves you and that your feelings had been reciprocated all this time.

jj stomach dropped at your response, the three words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide his disappointment.

"It's okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just... needed to get it out there,” he said, his eyes darting to the ground as his heart felt like it was being squeezed. He had never felt so vulnerable and exposed.

"Other than I love you too... jayj,' you said as you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. The words hit JJ like a tidal wave, and before he could process them, your hands were on his face, bringing him in for a kiss.

His mind was blank, and all he could focus on was the sensation of your lips against his. He froze momentarily, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events. Then, all at once, he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you -- pulling you closer.

His lips eagerly responded to yours, his heart still racing in his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening, that you were actually returning his feelings—after all this time, all those unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

You were finally in his arms, kissing him back with the same intensity he longed for.

He ran his fingers through your hair, his body pressed closely against yours. He deepened the kiss, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

He paused the kiss for a moment, pulling away just enough to gaze into your eyes. His eyes were filled with a mix of love and disbelief. His voice was soft, laced with a hint of wonder. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

He leaned in again, his lips finding yours once more in a series of intense — passionate kisses. His hands explored your body, holding you close, his touch both gentle and desperate, as if afraid this moment would slip away any second.

He pressed you against the wall, his body pining for you in place, his kisses growing more urgent and unapologetic. He was drowning in the sensations, in the taste and feel of you.

This is what he had been missing for so long, what he had dreamed of for what felt like an eternity.

"Mmmm.. jayj," you let out a low whispered moan as his lips moved from yours down to your neck, his hands began to roam under your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He pressed his body against yours, his breaths heavy and labored, his voice a low murmur against your skin. "Say my name again. I want to hear you say it."

You felt one of his hands trail down your thigh, gripping it in and slowly spreading your legs apart for him to get in between you, earning a small gasp from you, "jj.." you let out a shaky breath.

His teeth grazed your collarbone as you obeyed, and a low growl escaped his throat, the sound almost primal —

He continued to suck on your neck, his body grinding against yours, his hands impatiently tugging at your clothes, desperate to get you closer.

"We should probably get back to the others..." you said to him while placing your hands on his shoulders. JJ groaned in frustration as you pulled him back to reality. He was so caught up in the moment and lost in the feeling of you that he had forgotten where you both were.

“Yeah, you’re right. But the last thing I want is to let you go right now,” he said reluctantly, pulling himself away and running his fingers through his hair to try to compose himself.

He wanted nothing more than to stay in the bathroom with you, to keep kissing you, to keep exploring every inch of you, but he knew you guys had to return to the others.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and looked at you. His eyes filled with a mixture of desire. "Alright.. let's go out there before they start sending out a search party."

He stepped back, giving you room to move past him. he ook one last greedy look at you, mentally willing himself to keep his hands o himself.

"right..." you said letting out a heavy breath as you tucked your hair behind your ears. He followed you as you walked back towards the rest of the group, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

He couldn't resist stealing a few glances at you as you walked side by side, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. The feel of your lips against his, the taste of you, the way your body fit against his... it was all seared into his memory.

As you reached the group, the others looked at you curiously. The pogues picked up on the on subtle change in JJ's demeanor, sending something had occurred in the bathroom. Pope tried to hide a smirk, while John B raised an eyebrow, silently questioning JJ with a knowing look.

jj avoided their gazes, feigning nonchalance. He casually leaned against a wall, trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His flushed cheeks and disheveled hair betrayed the inner turmoil he was feeling.

Pope, being the perceptive person he is, decided to tease jj a bit. he flashed a sly grin and spoke in a teasing tone. "So, how was the bathroom?"

JJ shot Pope a withering look, a warning in his eyes. He wasn't quite ready to talk about what had gone down in the bathroom, especially not in front of everyone.

"Mind your business, pope," JJ says to him.

part four here

[obsessedwithceleste]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Dedicated to this lil request here 🫶🏽

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It’s no secret that Theodore Nott had a rough childhood

Between witnessing his mother’s death at a young age and having a particularly ruthless father, Theo learned to be quietly reserved early on

1000% Theo is an introvert

Despite being seemingly closed off, he’s extremely observant and good at reading others and picking up on things quickly

While he may not be the best at deciphering his own emotions, he’s able to sort through others’ easily

This makes it easy for him to be rather manipulative because he knows what makes other’s tick and how to go straight for the jugular

He may be distant and off putting in the beginning, but once you get close, he’s a clingy bastard because he doesn’t let many people get close, so once you make it there he’ll basically hold you captive forever

He’s also stupid smart

(Canonically he’s able to re-create an illegal time turner after they were all destroyed in the department of mysteries so//)

And this makes him a bit of an arrogant asshole

Looks down on people he thinks aren’t as smart as him

He definitely thinks that he knows best and can have a “my way or the highway” type mindset

Probably has some type of gifted kid™️ trauma and a crippling fear of failure

Anyway, he’s super intelligent and witty and has the potential to do really well in classes

But he has a nasty habit off skiving off with Mattheo Riddle

Who happens to be his best friend along with Lorenzo Berkshire

A lot of people think Theo is the “mother” of the group, or at least the one with the most impulse control

They’re wrong

Theo is the one that Mattheo goes to with his dumbass ideas and Theo’s response is generally something along the lines of-

“Absolutely not you tosser. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right”

Queue Mattheo’s initial plan- only methodically planned out to cause maximal amounts of emotional trauma for the Hogwarts population

Theo and Mattheo are also a chaotic duo on the quidditch pitch

Theo is a chaser

Making the quidditch team in his third year is one of the only times his father showed a hint of satisfaction with the boy

Being on the Slytherin quidditch team, he’s often labeled a preppy jock

And Mattheo does help him break out of his shell more

But he’s a nerdy lil book worm at heart and likes to be holed up in the library most days

Theo also has quite the reputation of being a ladies man with rumors about his escapades swarming the student body

But really they’re just that- rumors

Lorenzo is more of the openly flirtatious pretty boy, and Mattheo certainly knows how to make his way around which is perhaps why people think Theo would be the same way

But he isn’t one to really form physical attachments- emotional or not

He prefers to fly under the radar

He may have had a fling or two, but isn’t one to kiss and tell

He has a hard time entering a real relationship

Mostly because when he first realizes he’s caught feelings, he’s convinced he’s actually just ill and stays in bed pretending to be sick

But once he comes to terms with things, he’s one determined wizard

Makes sure everyone knows that you’re off limits (possibly before you know yourself)

Definitely goes to Enzo for advice on how to woo you

With varying degrees of success

King of subtle PDA (just enough to mark his territory)

Confident and secure in his relationship, but also still jealous as hell

Will hex the living shit out of someone for breathing at you the wrong way

Finds it amusing when you get jealous though

But will shut it the fuck down as soon as he picks up on you being actually upset (probably embarrassing whoever it is in the process)

Not always the best at communicating his feeling cause he’s emotionally constipated af

But tries because he knows he doesn’t want a relationship like his parent’s

Okayyy I think that’s all for now, but I have a feeling these will grow and evolve with time sooo- ongoing (?) idk