#in search of community and understanding no doubt

[froody]

every month someone makes a post like “wow, I can’t believe there are gay rednecks. can’t believe there are gay people living in the rural Midwest or Deep South.” kill the classist in your brain

[chemicalarospec]

.

[copperbadge]

Let's Talk About Missing Persons

So, I've seen this post circulating last week, and a few others like it in the past year. I think this probably needs to be discussed every few years, and it feels like time.

First, a few caveats: there are reports on the post that Abby has been located and is fine, so no need to reblog and also that's great news, I'm very happy she is safe. Second, I did not especially doubt the veracity of the post, so I'm not impugning the people who made and posted it, but I also declined to reblog it for reasons I'll get into. Third, I know that especially in marginalized communities it can be dangerous to involve the police, and that Missing White Woman Syndrome means it can be difficult to get media coverage. I understand why Abby's community may have chosen to search for her in the way they did.

However, for everyone's safety, I do not link any missing persons post that requires you to contact an individual to report the missing person's whereabouts. If the poster doesn't ask you to contact the police or a known missing persons organization, I won't do it.

This is for the safety of the missing person.

When you see a post with someone's photo, name, and last known whereabouts, and you are asked to contact an individual -- a family member, partner, friend, etc -- what you are being asked to do is report on the whereabouts of one person you don't know to another person you don't know. You don't know that the person you're talking to isn't an abusive partner or parent, a stalker, or a person who means them material harm. One of the Insta accounts in the missing image doesn't appear to exist, and another has no bio and very little captioning on their images. I couldn't verify that Abby even knew these people.

Again: when I looked at the image, it looked sincere to me. I didn't doubt those people were earnestly searching for a friend they were worried about. But also, an abuser doesn't look like an abuser until they do. So I don't make exceptions, because a missing person is missing but a victim outed to their abuser has strong odds of being murdered. The most dangerous time in the life of an abused person is when they are leaving their abuser. Even if a victim simply logs on to say "Hey, I'm fine, these people mean me harm" the abuser has now flushed them out of hiding, and manipulated them into making a public statement.

If you can't verify positively that the person searching does not mean the missing person harm, you should not be circulating a post, full stop. At the very least, if the community doesn't wish for the help of the police (understandable) or can't get the help of an organization or community (frequent), the missing persons poster should advise you to speak to the missing person, not the searcher, and notify them they're being sought, as long as it's safe for both you and them to do so.

This isn't intuitive. We want to help, and search posters like that tug on the heartstrings. We know that when the police get involved even in something this innocuous, it can be perilous for everyone. But in situations where someone is so vulnerable, we have to concern ourselves first with harm reduction, which in this case means not spreading someone's photo with a stranger's contact information on it.

I'm glad Abby was found and is fine and that her searchers were in earnest. But that will not always be the case, and it's important to remember that.

[brokenmenswhore]

Hi! Are you planning on writing a part 2 to Lessons? It was too good 🥵

lessons | aegon ii targaryen

part 2

pairing: aegon targaryen x fem!reader

summary: in search on the streets of silk for your husband, you find his brother in a compromising position

warnings: this is almost pure smut (MDNI 18+)

a/n: just wanted to say i’ve been treated to kindly and accepted into this community so wonderfully and so fast. you’ve all restored my faith in humanity. happy to have a place to be horny and angsty and feral without judgement :)

part 1

────── ☾ ──────

Aemond was not in attendance for breakfast. You apologized to Alicent, lying that you had forgotten he had told you he was traveling to Harrenhall first thing.

The truth was, you and Aegon returned to the Red Keep immediately after your rendezvous in the Street of Silk, and you had completely forgotten about Aemond until you arrived to breakfast and were asked about his absence.

“Not to worry,” Alicent smiled, “that boy is impossible, is he not?”

You laughed in response, “that he is.”

Breakfast was pleasant, apart from the constant staring from Aegon. You could tell he was still worked up, and coming back to the Red Keep meant he had to attend to his duties as King, which meant he had to wait.

And Aegon did not like waiting.

About mid-day, you were in the library with your handmaiden, when a member of the King’s Guard came to fetch you.

“His Grace has requested an audience with you in his chambers, My Lady,” he spoke.

You looked at him, confused. “It is but midday.”

The man in armor sighed. “Yes, My Lady.”

“Should he not be working?” you pressed.

“He says this is work related, My Lady.”

You knew better, but you also knew better than to deny your king.

You were escorted to Aegon’s apartment, not bothering to knock before you pushed the double doors open.

“Aegon, it is the middle of the day,” you said, watching as he turned around at the sound of your voice.

“God, finally, you take fucking forever,” he said, marching up to you and grabbing your waist, pulling your body against his as he enveloped you in a heated kiss.

You giggled, “could this not wait until late?”

Aegon continued to pepper kisses around your face and down your neck. “No,” he whined, “need you now. Waited long enough already.”

“Then why didn’t we just- shit, Aegon did you just bite me?” He just laughed in response and continued bruising your neck. “Why didn’t we just stay out then?”

“And face,” kiss, “the wrath,” kiss, “of my mother? Absolutely not,” kiss, “too risky.”

“‘Tis more risky to be caught by your mother away from the castle than to fornicate with your brother’s wife inside of it?”

Aegon paused for a moment and looked up at you. Suddenly, a hand was around your throat, as Aegon roughly pushed you into a wall.

“You’re mine, you know that? You aren’t his. I don’t care if you’re wed,” he pulled one of your legs up to his waist, granting him access to violently shove a finger inside of you, “I’m the one making you feel like this. In private, you’re mine.”

You cried out at the intrusion of his finger, hips bucking forward as you squirmed.

His hand moved from your throat, only for a brief moment, to slap your cheek.

“Do you understand?”

“Y- yes, My King.”

“Good girl.”

Aegon used both hands to grip under your thighs, lifting you up until your legs were wrapped around him, and carrying you over to the bed, slamming your back down on the side of it.

“Easy, Aeg.”

Aegon let out a growl at the nickname, “you want me to go easy on you? Is that it? You want me to be nice?” he questioned, “or do you want me to fuck you like you so desperately need to be fucked?”

This filthy words took you by surprise, despite your intimate position.

“I, I don’t-“

Aegon’s eyes searched yours for any sense of doubt at your current predicament. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No! I want to, I do, I just- I’ve only actually done this once, and it wasn’t anything like what I saw today.”

Aegon’s cock hardened at your innocence. Even though you were wed to his brother, your body was his, and your pleasure would now be his and his only.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” was all Aegon said before he ripped your clothes off, doing the same for himself, and crawling on top of you.

“Is this what he did, hm? Is this all he taught you?” he asked, jealousy present as he slowly inserted himself into you, bottoming out and watching your face as you adjusted to his size, “did he get to see you like this? All pretty and teary-eyed? Did he make you feel like this?”

“No,” you whimpered.

Aegon began to move slowly, treating you as if you still had your maidenhood, wanting to warm you up before potentially hurting you.

You sighed and moaned lightly, throwing your head back and allowing Aegon to bite at your neck and shoulder again. “Mine.”

You clawed at his back, the feeling becoming too sweet, wanting more but not too sure how to ask for it.

“What is it, angel?” he noticed your frustrations.

“More,” you pleaded.

He smiled, capturing your lips in a kiss and he began to thrust faster and faster into you.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commanded.

“G- good,” you responded, inarticulate as you’d ever been.

“Is this how Aemond makes you feel?” he spat.

“N- no,” you responded, “on-on- shit, only you.”

“Good girl,” he cooed, fucking you hard and fast, splitting you open on his cock.

“Aegon?” you caught his attention.

“Mhm?”

“I still feel like I want more,” you sighed out.

Aegon smiled, pulling out of you completely.

“That’s the opposite of m-“

Without warning, Aegon flipped your body, pulling your waist so your ass was against his hardness. His dominate hand reached over your back to press your head into the mattress as he inserted himself back into you, the new sensation from the position making you grow even wetter.

Aegon snapped his hips harshly, watching your entire body fold in half as you lost any strength that was keeping your upper body from going completely slack against the sheets. You cried out at the pleasure, Aegon’s hand finding its way to your hair, balling your hair into his fist as he tugged.

Your neck swung back, not getting the memo.

“Up,” he demanded, pulling even harder at your hair as you helped push yourself up so your back was flush against Aegon’s chest, his cock hitting another new angle.

One of his hands remained on your waist, holding you close, as the other wrapped around your throat, his lips kissing your shoulder.

“Shit, angel, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Would you p- shit, would you please s-stop mentioning Aemond?” you asked, “don’t wanna t-hink about him. Only wanna t-hink ab-about you.”

Your words drove Aegon mad, his thrusts becoming even more erratic and harsh. “Is that what you think of when you feel like this, huh? You think about me?”

“Hm,” you hummed in response, having used all your energy to form your last sentence.

“No one else will ever make you feel like this,” he told you, not leaving any room for any question about it.

“Don’- don’t want anyone else,” you whined.

The hand around your throat found its way in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit as you moaned out in pleasure.

“Filthy whore,” he spat, likening you the girls you had seen earlier that day, “you fucking love this, huh?”

Tears began to spill from your eyes from his words, as well as the feeling of his cock splitting you open and his hand working your clit. It was almost too much, but felt so, so good.

“Yes, M-My King.”

“You like being treated like those girls you saw today? Is that it? Poor baby just wants her king to split her open?”

His words made you moan, adding more to your pleasure.

He continued on, hitting a soft, spongy spot within you that felt like heaven.

A coil began to form inside of you, and Aegon could feel your walls tightening around him.

You pawed at him, unsure of what the feeling was, and nervous it meant something was wrong.

“Sh,” he purred, “it’s supposed to feel like that.”

You trusted him, allowing him to continue as the squeezing around his cock led him to his own high. His thrusts became particularly violent, causing the coil of tension to break within you as his seed spilled into you.

You threw your head back into his shoulder, attempting to catch your breath as Aegon stayed inside of you until his cock began to soften.

When he finally pulled out, you both crashed onto the mattress, his body staying close to yours as you finally calmed your breathing down.

“Did you, did you-“ you started, not sure how to phrase it.

“Don’t worry,” he caught your train of thought, “we’ll just get you some moon tea. You won’t end up with a bastard child.”

He completely forgot that you knew nothing about this stuff that he hadn’t already taught you. “What the hell is moon tea?”

[howi99]

A Knight second chance 8

Jaune: *trying to leave*

Glynda: And where do you think you are going, young man?

Jaune: *sigh* Professor Goodwitch, We are still technically the weekend and i highly doubt my co-dependency is enjoying... Whatever we are doing.

Penny: *Smiling* Oh do not mind me friend Jaune, i'm fine going wherever you want to go!

Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, this is very important if you want to stay in Beacon. We can't risk you having a panic attack, or something similar, in the middle of a mission.

Jaune: Glyn- *cough* I mean, professor Goodwitch, i understand the importance of mental stability, but meditation isn't something i can easily do when... Well... *Point at Penny* i need to concentrate on repairing her mind.

Glynda: ... Quite. *Sigh* You may go, but i want you in my office the second you are available.

Jaune: *Nod* Will do, ma'am.

___________________________________________

Penny: *walking in the streets of Vale with Jaune* Why did you lie to her? She could have helped us against Roman!

Jaune: *looking at a map* Your communications are out?

Penny: Since yesterday, yes-

Jaune: I already have a deal with Roman.

Penny: *frowning* You made a deal with him? Why?!

Jaune: *taking little alleys and backstreets* Well, who's better than him to give me information on Cinder? Not only that, but i also asked him to use his contacts to dig up dirt on Lionheart.

Penny: That's also something i don't really get, why aren't you telling Osc-, *shaking her head* i mean Ozpin, about everything?

Jaune: *sigh* You don't have all the information, Penny. You only got my memory of when you were there... Beside, you saw how competent he was with choosing his allies.

Penny: *computing* That's... Fair. But what about Glynda?

Jaune: *shaking his head* Too loyal... In fact- *pick up a rock on the ground* the only one i could trust- *turn around and aim for the suspicious looking Crow* Is a dusty old alcoholic! *Throw the stone directly at Qrow's bird form head, making him fall on the ground*

Qrow: *transforming back into his human form* Oof! *Looking up at the teen* Don't you know you shouldn't harass wild life?

Jaune: *smiling* Don't you know it's impolite to listen to private conversation?

___________________________________________

Qrow: *blinking* Wait... You come from the future?

Jaune: *shaking his head* I'm Jaune from the present. Or at least, the body is. My memories, on the other hand, are from the future*Think about his time in the ever after* ... mostly.

Qrow: ... *Goes to take a sip of alcohol*

Jaune: *frown* You should stop that, Summer would be pissed.

Qrow: *looking at Jaune* Now listen here punk, using my dead friend's name is not-

Jaune: She's alive.

Qrow: ... What?

Jaune: She's in hiding, since she got the summer maiden power and-

Qrow: *angry* WHAT!?

Jaune: *surprised by the reaction* Qrow, calm down! It's not as if she had a choice!

Qrow: DID OZPIN KNOW!?

Jaune: No! No, he doesn't. Heck, you should know since you've been searching for the Maidens a majority of your huntsman life.

Qrow: I... BUT... *Sigh* Fucking hell.

Jaune: *sweating* Your sister, on the other hand-

Qrow: That bitch!

___________________________________________

Ozpin: -and you are certain about this?

Qrow: *a glass of water in hand* About 97% sure. The kid isn't a spy from Salem.

Glynda: *still looking at the glass of water as if the world stopped spinning* ... Did... Did something else happen? Like a divine intervention or a miracle?

Qrow: *stifled a laugh* Nothing like that, i just thought i should cut back a bit. *Thinking back at the stone* My reflexes aren't as sharp as i thought.

[royreadstarot]

❝ PICK A PILE ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

(Relationship Dynamics Edition)

Are you wondering how is the dynamic of your relationship, how to make it work and what will you learn? Pick a crystal!

Pile 1:

Your Energy: Queen of Cups

As the Queen of Cups, you’re embodying deep emotional intelligence and sensitivity. This card represents someone who is nurturing, intuitive, and compassionate. You’re likely bringing warmth and understanding to the relationship, offering support and empathy even in challenging moments. Your intuition is strong, and you may have an almost psychic sense of what the other person is feeling. This energy draws people in, as they feel safe and seen in your presence. However, the Queen of Cups also reminds you to set emotional boundaries and be cautious of losing yourself in the needs of others. While your caring nature is a gift, it's crucial to maintain your own emotional clarity and self-care practices.

Their Energy: Sun (Reversed)

With the Sun reversed, they may be dealing with confusion or a loss of clarity in their life. Where the Sun typically represents warmth, confidence, and openness, in reverse, it suggests self-doubt, hidden fears, or an inability to fully express themselves. They could be struggling to see the positive aspects of the relationship or their own potential, which could make them seem distant or even pessimistic. This card might indicate that they’re dealing with a period of introspection or searching for personal purpose. Their energy might feel a bit cloudy, and they could be guarded or hesitant, especially when it comes to opening up emotionally. This reversal encourages patience, as they may need time to find their way back to a brighter mindset.

Dynamics of the Relationship: The Chariot (Reversed)

The Chariot in reverse suggests a sense of stagnation or conflicting goals. While both of you may have strong feelings, there could be a struggle to align on a common direction. This card in reverse often points to a lack of control or feeling pulled in different directions, either by external pressures or personal ambitions. The relationship may feel like it’s spinning its wheels without gaining real traction. Miscommunication, unresolved tensions, or resistance to compromise may be stalling your progress as a couple. It’s a reminder that both parties need to actively steer the relationship to keep it moving forward and avoid getting lost in misunderstandings or ego battles. You both may need to evaluate your personal needs and decide on a shared path or purpose.

How to Make it Balance: The Moon

The Moon here invites you both to face your fears, insecurities, and hidden emotions to achieve balance. It calls for a deeper level of honesty and vulnerability in the relationship. There may be elements that are not entirely clear to either of you, whether it's unspoken feelings or underlying fears. By acknowledging these shadow aspects, you can better understand each other and bring a sense of unity to the relationship. The Moon also suggests that intuition and patience are key. Rely on your inner wisdom rather than trying to force clarity or immediate solutions. This journey may require you to be comfortable with ambiguity and to communicate openly about your uncertainties, both with each other and within yourselves. It’s a phase of growth through introspection, shedding light on hidden truths, and allowing space for authenticity.

Learning Outcome from the Relationship: Strength

Strength as the learning outcome highlights resilience, courage, and inner balance. This relationship is teaching you to cultivate self-confidence, compassion, and emotional endurance. Strength embodies taming inner fears and harnessing the power of vulnerability. You are likely learning how to maintain your own sense of self while offering kindness and understanding to another. Through this relationship, you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for emotional resilience and personal integrity. It may challenge you to find balance within, drawing on inner strength rather than relying solely on external validation. Ultimately, this connection is likely to make you stronger, wiser, and more centered in your values, preparing you for future relationships and personal growth.

Pile 2:

Your Energy: Queen of Cups (Reversed)

As the Queen of Cups reversed, your energy in this relationship suggests that you may be feeling emotionally unbalanced, perhaps struggling to manage your own needs and desires. This reversal points to emotional sensitivity, which might manifest as feeling overly reactive, insecure, or unable to fully express your true feelings. You could be taking on more emotional weight than is healthy, potentially sacrificing your own well-being in an attempt to support or understand the other person. In this reversed state, the Queen of Cups encourages you to reconnect with your inner voice, regaining emotional control by setting healthy boundaries and ensuring you’re not pouring more than you’re receiving. This card is a reminder that self-care and emotional grounding are essential, especially when it comes to maintaining equilibrium within yourself.

Their Energy: 8 of Pentacles (Reversed)

The 8 of Pentacles reversed suggests that they may be lacking focus or commitment in the relationship. This card typically represents hard work, dedication, and attention to detail; however, in reverse, it can indicate disinterest, avoidance, or a reluctance to invest deeply. They might be preoccupied with other areas of their life, or they could be feeling uncertain about putting in the necessary effort to maintain or grow the relationship. There’s a sense here that they may not be showing up fully, possibly distracted or unwilling to work through relationship challenges. This energy calls for reflection on whether they’re ready or willing to truly invest, or if they are holding back from committing on a deeper level.

Dynamics of the Relationship: The High Priestess

The High Priestess card in this position suggests that there are unspoken feelings, hidden truths, or underlying tensions in your relationship. It indicates a mysterious, introspective dynamic, where intuition and inner knowing play significant roles. The High Priestess speaks to a deep, almost spiritual connection, yet one that may not always be easily understood or communicated. This card points to secrets, repressed emotions, or unaddressed issues that lie beneath the surface. Both of you might be holding back parts of yourselves, choosing instead to silently observe and reflect rather than openly confront. While there is a strong, almost magnetic connection, there may be a reluctance to dive into certain conversations or to reveal vulnerabilities. The High Priestess encourages both of you to trust your intuition and to allow these hidden layers to unfold naturally.

How to Make it Balance: Three of Swords

The Three of Swords as guidance for balance is a challenging but essential message. This card represents pain, heartbreak, and difficult truths, suggesting that for true balance, painful emotions must be acknowledged and processed. There may be unresolved hurts or disappointments that need to come to the surface for healing. Rather than avoiding conflict or glossing over issues, it’s vital to face whatever heartache or discomfort exists between you openly and honestly. This might mean confronting unmet expectations, previous wounds, or misunderstandings head-on. While the process may be emotionally intense, it’s also a chance for healing and closure. This card emphasizes that without addressing these underlying pains, true harmony cannot be achieved. It encourages emotional courage and honesty to bring clarity and release.

Learning Outcome from the Relationship: Ten of Cups (Reversed)

The Ten of Cups reversed as the learning outcome points to a significant realization about fulfillment, happiness, and idealism in relationships. In its upright position, the Ten of Cups represents lasting joy and contentment, yet in reverse, it suggests disillusionment or unmet expectations. This relationship may be teaching you about the dangers of placing too much weight on idealized visions of happiness or fulfillment through another person. There may be an important lesson here about creating your own sense of inner contentment rather than relying on external sources or relationships to provide it. You may come to understand that true happiness doesn’t stem solely from others or from romantic ideals; rather, it must be cultivated within. Through this relationship, you’re likely to learn the importance of realistic expectations, self-fulfillment, and emotional independence. This experience can ultimately guide you toward a more grounded, authentic perspective on what it truly means to be happy in a relationship.

Pile 3:

Relationship Tarot Reading

Your Energy: Four of Cups

With the Four of Cups, you may be feeling emotionally detached, withdrawn, or unfulfilled in the relationship. This card represents a sense of stagnation or apathy, as though something about the connection isn’t quite meeting your needs or expectations. You could be focused on what feels lacking or unsatisfactory rather than seeing what’s present. There may be feelings of boredom or a reluctance to engage deeply, possibly stemming from unresolved emotions or unmet desires. The Four of Cups encourages introspection to understand where this disconnect is coming from. Are there unaddressed issues, or is there something within yourself that needs attention and healing? By turning inward and reflecting on your true emotional needs, you can gain clarity on what will genuinely fulfill you.

Their Energy: Nine of Swords (Reversed)

The Nine of Swords reversed shows that they might be emerging from a period of anxiety, worry, or mental anguish. This card suggests they’ve likely been wrestling with internal struggles—perhaps fears or insecurities that have kept them in a cycle of self-doubt. In its reversed form, the Nine of Swords indicates a willingness to confront and release these anxieties, though they may still feel somewhat guarded or fragile. While they’re starting to let go of past worries or overthinking, they may not yet be fully open or confident, as traces of this struggle could still be affecting how they show up in the relationship. They are in a healing process, working on moving beyond these mental barriers to be more present and grounded. Compassion and understanding of their journey can be helpful here, as they navigate this inner turmoil.

Dynamics of the Relationship: Queen of Pentacles (Reversed)

The Queen of Pentacles reversed suggests a lack of stability or grounding in the relationship, likely due to unmet practical or emotional needs. This card in reverse can indicate neglect or a sense that nurturing energy has been lost, with one or both partners possibly feeling unsupported or taken for granted. There might be an imbalance in the giving and receiving within the relationship, leading to feelings of exhaustion or frustration. This reversed Queen points to a need for both partners to prioritize care, nurturing, and a sense of shared responsibility. The dynamics may feel materially or emotionally “off,” with each of you potentially more focused on individual needs than on fostering a mutually supportive foundation. There’s a reminder here to cultivate a relationship that feels both nurturing and secure, rather than one based on convenience or neglect of essential needs.

How to Make it Balance: Three of Pentacles

The Three of Pentacles encourages collaboration, teamwork, and building a shared foundation to bring balance to the relationship. This card is a call to work together constructively, appreciating each other’s strengths and contributions. It suggests that open communication and a willingness to actively engage in solving issues together are key. Rather than trying to manage everything independently, it’s important to view the relationship as a partnership where both partners invest effort and share responsibility. This card advocates for recognizing each other’s unique qualities and creating a space where both feel valued and understood. By establishing a cooperative dynamic, you can build trust and stability, bringing harmony to the relationship. Practical steps, such as setting shared goals or openly discussing how you can support each other’s needs, can strengthen the bond.

Learning Outcome from the Relationship: Five of Cups

The Five of Cups as the learning outcome indicates that this relationship may bring lessons around processing loss, disappointment, and the need for acceptance. This card represents grief, but also the potential for healing and growth. Through this connection, you may learn how to face unfulfilled expectations or regrets with resilience. The Five of Cups reminds you that even in moments of sorrow, there’s always something left standing—perhaps something valuable that you hadn’t yet appreciated. This relationship is teaching you about the importance of acceptance and the ability to move forward despite setbacks. By allowing yourself to feel and process these emotions fully, you can emerge stronger, with a clearer sense of what you want in future relationships. Ultimately, the Five of Cups offers the opportunity to let go of the past, to see beyond what was lost, and to find gratitude for the lessons learned.

[remiivu]

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

 Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎… ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?” 

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile. 

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused. 

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?” 

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?” 

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!” 

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued. 

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

Banners by @cafekitsune

[crunchystarz]

Runs and trips and falls

(out of breath) may I please request hurt comfort with Idia (gender neutral reader) it doesn't matter what I'm a poor orphaned boy who must be fed

"only you"

Idia Shroud x GN!reader| oneshot

Summary- Idia seems to be avoiding you and you don't know why.

Cw- hurt/comfort, poor communication, Idia is bad with feelings, reader is yuu

Word count: 1622

A/N: we are so back chat, hope you enjoy!

School was taking a huge toll on you. At one point you were just a regular college student, until you were transported to a completely different world. By some “luck” you still had to do school work. However everything was slightly altered here.

Going to Night Naven College was like being a black sheep among a herd of white sheep. Everyone knew what they were doing. You on the other hand were still trying to catch-up. You had no magic and little knowledge of anything that this world had to offer.

On top of that you were living in a run down dorm with just enough money to survive. To say you were tired was an understatement. However there was one light in your life that kept you going.

Idia Shroud. He was socially anxious, shut in who with no doubt could be a little rude sometimes was your best friend. You'd often spend your time at Ignihyde. You'd listen to the guy rant about some game he was playing or other times you two would just sit in a comfortable silence.

You don't know why but being around Idia calmed your mind. If you could describe him he'd be like the eye of a hurricane. The one safe and peaceful point. He was an anchor to you; he grounded you in this unfamiliar place.

You couldn't explain truly he just made you feel…human.

So when he started to ignore you. It hurt…real bad. He'd not pick up or return your calls at first. Not out of the ordinary he sometimes did that. He'd not reply to your texts, even after you clearly saw that he received your message. It honestly made you anxious.

Maybe you were reading way too much into it. That was until you were at a meeting that for some reason required you to be involved.

You smiled when you saw the familiar blue flames of hair. When you went to go talk to him however he just walked away. It shattered your heart in a way you couldn't understand.

He was ignoring you. And it stung so fucking bad. Your safe place was…ignoring you.

Soon that became the only thing you could think about. What could you have done to upset him? Did your usual teasing actually get him mad or upset bim? Did he hate you? You didn't know and it was driving you crazy.

You couldn't find a reason for Idia to just flat out start avoiding you. Seriously, what could you have done? Over time he stopped reading your messages all together.

It felt like a knife straight through your heart. Eventually you just focused on school, letting the work consume you. While you had other friends, yes , they didn't have the same bond you and Idia shared.

You tried to ignore the aching in your heart. The way you'd feel so empty when he wasn't around. It was weird. Felt so odd to not have him talk to you about some new niche anime or have him rest in your lap while you watched him play a game.

Those were moments you cherished. And you'd replay those memories over and over trying to search for where you screwed up , for why he'd start to distance himself

—

You groaned, you didn't know what you were doing. Maybe it's just your sleep deprived brain that dragged you here. You should turn back. But just as you decided of course you were stopped by a hand gripping into your uniform.

“[Name] what a wonderful surprise!” A voice chirped.

Your eyes widened before you turned the other way. “ Hi Ortho, I was actually about to get going sorry” you spoke, patting his head.

“Oh but, it's been so long since I've seen you! I'm sure my brother feels the same way why don't you come In please “

“Ortho wait..” Ah who were you kidding you couldn't resist the way his eyes looked so sad. You let him pull you along even if your insides are screaming to go the other way. Yet that small part of you went along because you missed being there.

“w-what are you doing here?” Squeaked a familiar voice.Your heart basically stopped actually seeing Idia. Your mouth felt dry and your legs started to shake. You didn't know why.

You didn't even realize tears started to fall down your cheeks.

Idia’s golden eyes widened in panic as he saw the tears streaming down your face. He froze, his nervous fidgeting intensifying as his hands gripped the edges of his hoodie like a lifeline. His blue flames flickered.

“I'm sorry— I just” you hiccuped. Embarrassed, you tried to wipe away your tears but they just kept falling.

“W-why the heck are you crying?” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. His gaze darted everywhere. You couldn't help but cry harder at his words. He awkwardly moved closer to you.

You didn't clock the fact you yourself were moving closer before you latched yourself into his body in a hug. Burying your face into his chest while you continued to sob uncontrollably.

The weight of every stressful event that has happened up until this point finally got to you, just seeing Idia was the tipping point. You were so exhausted truly. You sniffled into his hoodie as he awkwardly wrapped an arm around you. As if you were a fragile piece of glass and if he handled you wrong you'd shatter.

You pulled away enough to look Idia in his eyes, his yellow ones looked concerned and conflicted. “Why- have” you paused for a moment. “Why have you been ignoring me…” your voice cracked and it almost came out like a broken whisper.

“I- uh I… “ The house warden started. His mouth opened and closed but words never left him. He ran a hand through his hair struggling to come up with the right words.

His frown deepened when you started to cry a bit harder, hesitant he went to reach out for you. You let him pull you close to him again.

“Look It's not…you. It's just I thought it would be better if I just…” he mumbled eyes farting everywhere but your form. Your grip on his hoodie tightened.

“Why would that be better, why would ignoring me be better;,do you know how much that hurt me?” You choked. Idia cringed and just sighed. Guilt flashing across his face.

“I know …I know. I hurt you and I'm really really sorry I just…” words seemed to be caught in his throat. He couldn't explain how he felt to you. It was so nerve-wracking and he'd only make things worse. He hurt you, but you deserved to know.

He mumbled something under his breath , something you couldn't make out.

“What was that?”

“I like like you okay, like I want you to be part of my party way, like if we were in a dating sim your hearts would be maxed out time of like— and I just thought I'd never stand a chance and that you deserve someone who isn't so…me, that it would be better if you just would forget about me” He stammered out, pink creeping into his pale cheeks.

You were stunned and for a moment you could just stare at him. He flinched and looked away at your gaze.

“It just thought it would be easier…” he muttered just above a whisper. His golden eyes finally met you when you started to laugh through your tears.

“Idia you idiot! Why would I care about that?” You giggled breathlessly, wiping away your tears and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Well you're just so amazing [Name]! I'm some shut in who can't properly socialize, I'd mess everything up if I -”

Idia’s brain short-circuited when you cut him off by pulling him into a kiss. His hair flashed pink as your soft lips met his blue ones. He didn't know how to react. He could have died right there.

“I like you too you dummy, and I wouldn't have it any other way so…please don't shut me out again “ You said looking him in the eyes, your voice getting quieter at the last few words.

The house warden brought a hand to his lips and nodded. A small smile tugged at your lips and you couldn't help the small laugh that left your throat at his flustered state.

“But…”

“No buts, I don't want any ‘better’ I want you Idia, nothing is going to change that” you spoke softly, hands picking up his own. He opened his mouth but immediately shut it, not trusting himself enough for the right words to leave his mouth.

“Okay…I-I'm sorry for being a coward…” he mumbled the apology. You just smiled and shook your head. Sighing you leaned into him more and rested your head on his chest again.

Slender arms wrapped around you tightly, Idia rested his head on yours as well. You two stayed silent just matching one anothers breathing taking in each other. You were where you belonged. Your safe place. Your anchor.

“I love you” you whispered, but you made sure he could hear. The blush across his face became redder, embarrassed he buried his face in your hair. After a moment he had enough courage to respond.

“I…love you too…could you…kiss me again “ he spoke meekly. You giggled and cupped his face in your hands before pulling him into another kiss. This onez more soft and meaningful. The house warden basically melted in your touch.

“You're so cute, you know that” You teased, pulling away never letting go of his face. His hands rested on yours as his eyes looked around too embarrassed to meet your face.

“You're going to kill me…

MASTERLIST

[ancha-aus]

SansNautica Sneak Peak - The Selkie and the Shiver

here is a tiny drabble from the gangs point of view :3 @0p1er0 because you wanted a tag when i did these lmao

*--------------*

Horror watches as pup looks around anxiously.

Killer looks amused as he circles the cuddlefish “It is okay Crossy! We will find your little friend.”

Cross just looks more stressed “This isn’t funny Killer! He is not a strong swimmer and now everything is even more aggressive with it being their mating season. The reapers normal mating area was ruined by that big ship. They will move more into the shallows to do their own nesting and I don’t want Little Flippers to get caught by surprise by that!” Cross wriggles his hands together as his tentacles lash around anxiously.

Horror goes to his mates side and nuzzles him “We will find him. If he managed to make it this far he will be okay for the day it took for you to get us and for us to start searching.”

Cross looks unsure as he rubs his hands. Horror understands of course. If Cross is right about what he think happened to the other it would bring back a lot of bad and traumatic memories for Cross. Horror is so proud of him for being able to push through all that hurt and be willing to help the other.

Dust yawns as he lounges on a ledge “We can split up. Search the area near the surface. I doubt he will want to go deep if he is a bad swimmer and with fish being more aggressive.”

With the plan laid out they get to work. Horror makes sure to check each cave system. He himself knows better than to go into them but if the other really doesn’t know this planet he may think it is safe and get cornered.

Horror makes sure to keep his eye out. He needs to be alert and-

There!

Horror sees a strange kinda land dweller form shoot out from a cave with a crashfish hot on his trail. Horror rushes over and hits the crashfish with his tail before it can explodes on little flippers.

At least Horror assumes this is him.

Horror nears him but he can see that maybe Little Flipper leans back a bit. Horror watches as the other starts to sink. It is clear the other is cautious about him but Horror thinks this is him.

“Are you okay?” Horror tries as he keeps his distance.

That is when Horror sees pup rush over “You found him! Oh Horror thank you!” he focusses on the other and looks so happy at him. Cross reaches for the other’s head but pulls his ahdns back quickly as he looks slightly embarrassed “Sorry. I just… sorry.”

Little Flipper looks slightly in his direction. Maybe to see if it is really okay? To see if he is really safe? But then he removes the little head part of his skin. Maybe pup had a point with him being a weird selkie of some kind.

Cross looks so happy as he speaks “Oh you are okay! I was so worried. Don’t just swim off okay? I may not look the part but I can protect you just fine.” Little Flipper seems happy with Cross’s happiness as the other seems to laugh soundlessly.

Right… Cross mentioned that Little Flipper may have been forced to adapt to land… leaving him unable to fully communicate in the water.

Horror notices of course when hie other two mates join him. The three of them watch Cross happily interact with the other.

Dust hums and mutters “I can see why Cross calls him Little Flipper. Guy is tiny.”

Killer snorts “For real. He is even tinier than you Dusty.” And he grins as Dust sends him a glare.

Horror just watches their mate interact with his new chosen as Cross starts to nudge and guide Little Flipper towards them. Little Flipper looks at them but looks shocked as his eyes shoot between all three of them. He has very large sockets and his face is very expressive. Maybe this won’t be too hard to manage without communication after all.

There is caution but mostly there is curiosity on his face. He studies their tails and it is clear he is more intrigued than actually worried. Horror also gets why Cross is worried about Little Flippers now. The little guy may not have nay survival instincts after whatever happened to him.

Cross looks so excited “Guys. I assume you figured it out but this is Little Flippers!” he looks so proud of himself.

Dust snorts “We figured. And he is little alright.”

Killer laughs “A little cutie! I can’t believe you were going to keep him hidden.”

Cross sputters “I wasn’t! I was just going to make sure he was a bit more comfortable first.”

Horror hums and shoots Killer a look “Be nice. Don’t be too much.”

Killer pouts but before he can answer Little Flippers raises a hand and gives it a little wave. Very friendly and curious than. Smart enough to figure out he is being introduced and is trying his best to go along with it.

Cross then looks at Little Flippers and waves at the cave. Trying to understand why Little Flipper would risk something like that.

Little Flippers frowns as he seems to think and look around. Probably trying to look for a way to get his own message across. He ends up pointing to some fish stalkers off in the distance doing their complex half fighting half dancing mating ritual before he points at the one of the normal egg nests for some rabbit rays and lastly he points at the cave. Looking very satisfied with himself.

Horror frowns as Killer speaks up with a snort “He can’t possibly be confusing fish mating season with his own? That is so stupid.”

Dust disagrees with a shake of his skull “I don’t think it is stupid. If Cross is right about him still having to learn everything concerning himself. It isn’t weird to look at other sea creatures and just copy what they are doing. To get a general feel for it.”

Cross looks nervous “So he is nesting? Without realising what it means of includes?”

Dust shrugs “Not exactly nesting. He is just imitating the other fish I think. But I am not sure.”

Killer frowns “Then we should stop him right?”

Horror frowns and speaks slowly “No… I don’t think it is a good idea to stop it… He is learning about himself and his instincts. If his instincts are telling him to hide and nest because o the other fish it is best to just let him experience it… And to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere near others who could hurt him while his instincts are fragile and he is learning.”

Cross looks excited “Then we help him! we can find him a safe spot and get him comfortable. Help teach him what to do when he feels this way!”

Killer snorts and looks amused “You just want to sneak in some courting and wooing while you can.” Cross looks embarrassed but doesn’t go against it.

With their plan made they look around thinking and muttering about possible places. It is Dust who reminds them that there are always caves in the kelp forest that aren’t used as the stalkers themselves prefer nests out of the open and nothing goes there as the stalkers are territorial.

Horror watches Killer swim near Little Flippers and touch the thing attached to his back. Little Flippers turns quickly and looks unhappily at Killer.

Cross notices and rushes over “Killer don’t do that! He needs that to swim and he may be hurt!” Killer shurgs with a grin before nuzzling Cross’s chin and circles him as he keeps giving Cross nuzzles. Then Killer makes his circle include Little Flippers and pushes the tiny being near Cross. Cross yelps and quickly snatches him and stabilises him before glaring at Killer “Killer!! What did I just say?!” Cross then is quick to check Little Flippers.

When they are side by side it is so obvious that Little Flipeprs is well... little. His skull is much smaller than Cross’s and the length of his arms are shorter. Horror isn’t sure how big the other’s ribcage is and he doubts he will feel safe enough soon to show his complete landdweller form like other selkies can. But Horror can only guess that if he wear a mer like them he would be at most half of Horror’s size…

Little Flipper looks at Cross and gives him a signal with his hands and a smile. Maybe to show he is fine? He doesn’t seem hurt or bothered. Cross shoots Killer one more warning look but Killer looks smug as he relaxes back.

One of the stalkers growls in the distance and they can see Little Flipper tense up and look around anxious.

Little Flipper pushes off of Cross and uses his shoulders to get higher in the water as the little tool on his back starts working. Dust is luckily fast as he just gets near the other and takes hold of him and tugs him into the kelp forest.

Cross looks panicked but relaxes as soon as he sees that it is Dust who has their little future mate.

They all follow Dust’s lead as Dust knows these areas best from his own exploration. Little Flippers can’t really keep up but that is why they just keep him with them. Easy enough and he seems excited about it as he watches how their tails move and how easily they swim. Horror wonders if the other knows what he misses or what those people have done to him by forcing him to adapt…

Dust finds them a few options and they check them out critically before settling on a bit of a bigger one. Mostly because they need to all fit to be able to work.

Cross finishes his inspection and nods happily. Seems like they found a place that Cross finds up to standards for his little friend. Cross is the one who gets Little Flippers inside. He seems to look around and like it well enough even if he looks a bit unsure.

Well Little Flipper had been nervous in the kelp forest with all the stalkers nearby but they will just have to make sure he knows he is safe. He lets himself sink to the sea floor and stands on his legs.

Cross swims over and smiles “And? Do you think this will work for your nest?” and he waits.

Little Flippers looks around the cave again before giving a tiny sweet smile and nods. Clearly understanding what they had been doing for him or at least getting it enough to accept.

Cross looks so excited and Horror can see he is close to nuzzling Little Flippers before stopping himself. Then he goes to them and nods “Okay! He accepted this place. Lets get to work.”

Killer grins and stretches “I will get some pretty things and some plants to light this place up when it is night. We don’t know his night vision situation.” And he rushes out.

Dust yawns “Will get stuff for nest.” And he gets ready to leave.

Cross shouts after him “Not just metal scrap! Also kelp!” he gets a confirmation back.

Horror smiles at Cross and nuzzles him “I will get food. You get started with the nest and keep Little Flippers company?” Cross looks so relieved and nods.

Horror gives him another nuzzle and swims off. There had been something worrying him. Little Flipper seemed vulnerable and fragile. Just looking at him and Horror got the feeling he could he hurt easily. Which makes him worry about the illness that the visitors from long ago left for them to deal with.

Horror searches the area and sees a peeper with the enzyme trail. He quickly catches it.

They have no idea if he is already sick or ate something that has the sickness. Horror hopes that by giving him these they can at least neutralise it or make it not harm him even if he carries it like all of them. Make sure he is okay.

Horror considers how many to get and decides to just keep catching them when he sees them. In the end he has six and he considers if it is enough.

He doubts it is enough for a long time but it should be enough to give him a bit of a boost and nudge his body and health in the right direction.

Horror decides that for now it is enough. They can always catch more of these for him tomorrow. He turns back around and goes back towards the small hidden cave.

Horror makes sure to only get nearer when he knows he isn’t being followed. No need to stress the little nesting selkie out by bringing aggressive predators near.

He gets into the cave and can’t help but smile. Seems like the others already finished the nest and made sure Little Flippers is comfortable in it.

Little Flippers shoots him a curious look while the others all happily greet him. Dust going as far as to give him a greeting nuzzle.

Killer snorts as he tilts his skull “You were in the mood for peepers today?”

Horror shakes his skull as he answers “It are the once with the golden trail. We don’t know how the illness left by the precursors will affect him. Best to give his body and health a tiny boost just in case.”.

Cross nods as Killer looks at him in awe “I hadn’t even thought about that! Good thinking Horror!”

Horror nods before slowly going close to the nest. Trying to make sure he doesn’t trigger any distressed instinct in the other. But Little Flippers just seems curious and watches him go closer.

Once he is right by the nest he offers him one of the good peepers. Little Flippers looks at it before looking back at him. Waiting.

Killer groans “Why isn’t he taking it?”

Horror watches as Little Flippers starts to watch Killer and he makes sure his voice so soft “Because he isn’t used to this Killer. He is still trying to see what he probably can and can’t eat. Don’t be mean to someone who is trying to learn.” His speaking seemed to have caught Little Flipper’s attention as he watches him again.

Eventually Little Flipper ends up taking the peeper. That is good. That is progress.

Horror slowly shows bringing his hands closer to his teeth and biting down on nothing for him. Showing him to eat it.

Little Flipper pulls a face of disgust and tried to give the peeper back to Horror. Horror just pushes it back to Little Flipper. It is his. But this does reinforce that Little Flipper hasn’t been eating the right food. Horror saw those tiny fangs. Not perfect but very much able to bite through raw meat.

Little Flippers looks at the fish with clear distaste before looking at Cross and offering it to him.

Cross looks thorn as he looks at Horror. Horror shakes his skull. Cross sighs before looking back at Little Flippers and pointing between the food and him. Making it clear it is for him.

He even glances at both Dust and Killer but hey make it obvious with their own staring that they expect him to eat it himself.

Little Flipper keeps looking unhappily at the fish. Turning it this and that way to look at it from different angles. A small annoyed little grumble leaves the tiny guy and Horror can’t help but find it adorable.

Eventually he raises it to his teeth and bites into it. The face of discomfort and disgust turns surprised as the exact thing happens that Horror thought would happen. Him being able to easily take a bite and get a piece of meat of the fish. Still he pulls away from the fish and chews the mouthful. The unhappy look turns more surprised as he chews and shallows.

He blinks a few times before staring at the peeper full of shock.

Yeah… Horror gets it. Eating what your body needs when you haven’t been able for a while is unbelievable good.

Little Flippers looks angerly at the fish and mutters some words as a few bubbles of air leaves him. Clearly displeased by the fact the food turned out to be good and feeling betrayed by this change of events.

Killer and Dust start to laugh and chuckle and Horror shoots him a disapproving look “This isn’t funny. He most likely has had anything yet that his body actually needs. Don’t laugh at him.” which just causes them to laugh more even as Cross looks disapproving at them as well.

Then a peeper hits Killer right in the face. Horror turns and sees Little Flippers looking annoyed at Dust and Killer. His arm outstretch to show he threw the fish at them.

Dust looks dumbfounded before his laughing fit just gets worse. Cross sighs but grabs the peeper and brings it back to Little Flippers. After inspecting it Little Flippers keeps eating his first fish.

Horror smiles as he watches the other “I understand why you did it but please don’t throw your food. You need to energy it gives you.” Little Flippers just shrugs as he keeps slowly nibbling. Little Flippers eats just the meat before he moves to throw the only half eaten peeper off to the side but Horror stops him. Pointing at the fish and back at Little Flippers. The other freezes and Horror points at the uneaten organs. The parts of the fish which holds the most of the deeply needed enzyme that Little Flippers need.

Little Flippers looks horrified and shakes his skull again but Horror just nods. Seems like he was with landdwellers. They always throw away parts of the fish or meal that are just fine to eat. Poor guy hadn’t even been allowed to finish the meals he needed. Little Flippers shakes his skull again.

Horror is thinking about what to do when Killer laughs “Tiny picky eater isn’t he?” and he swims over. Little Flippers glares at Killer and aims the half-eaten peeper. Ready to make good on the threat.

Killer snorts and points to the peeper “It is okay little sweety. Just give me it okay?” and he holds out a hand. Little Flippers watches him before first picking up a rock before giving up his weapon. Horror chuckles as he watches Killer look beyond delighted.

“Oh hell yeah little sweetie is a little spitfire!” He holds up the peeper as Little Flippers starts to aim the rock in warning. Killer waits it out and Little Flipper slowly lowers the rock again. The Killer turns to the peeper and digs lightly around and manages to get the stomach out easily enough. Killer grins and holds it out to Little Flipper. Who looks beyond disgusted and shakes his skull stubbornly.

Killer grins as he inches closer “Oh it is okay sweetie.” He coos as he gets nearer “It will be so good for you.” Little Flippers clearly disagrees as he stares with pure disgust.

Killer keeps cooing and trying to encourage the other to take it. Little Flippers shoots Cross a look and Cross looks so guilty as he points between the stomach, Little Flipper and his teeth. “I know you don’t like the idea buddy… but you really need it.” Little Flipper remains stubborn and shakes his skull again.

Killer frowns as he looks at Cross “I don’t think he will take kindly to me force feeding him. Even if it would be better for him to eat this.”

Cross frowns before smiling “Oh I know!” he rushes over and smiles at Little Flippers as he starts pointing at a few things in quick succession. Little Flipper looks considering as he seems to think it over.

Horror shoots Cross a look “What did you say?”

Cross smiles “He has this tool thing that gives him information. I tried to imply that you guys would be fine with him using it in trade for him eating the meal!” he looks relaxed “It is fine. He already used it on me and it doesn’t hurt or harm us in anyway.”

Little Flipper ends up nodding but looks mad about it. Cross is so excited and clearly can’t stop himself as he nuzzles Little Flippers. His whole being purring as he mutters full of praise “Thank you. You are so good. I am so happy you are willing to eat it.” Little Flipper just looks very confused about the affection given to him.

And isn’t that just a sad thought? That he hadn’t just been starved of food but also basic affection? Dust and Killer both seem to agree with him.

Little Flipper pulls out his little tool as Cross smiles “Okay! lets do this! Just hold out an arm.”

Killer blinks but nods “sure.” He swims over and holds out an arm. Blue light comes from the tool and reflects slightly off the bone. Then Little Flipper looks excited at the screen before tilting his little skull.

Killer grins as he holds out the other hand “Your turn little sweety.”

Little Flippers looks so unhappy about this but takes the little ball of nutrients. Then he just pops it in his mouth with a tense face.

Surprise and annoyance on his face. Much like it went with the fish itself.

Killer looks at him sadly but is met with an angry face on Little Flippers face. Killer gets the message however and backs up even if he keeps frowning. Probably finally starting to realise just how little food Little Flipper must have been getting for him to be this surprised by the most basic food source for them.

Horror keeps his voice soft “Hey… it is okay. ready for your next fish?” and he holds out the next peeper. Little Flippers stares at it but takes it and starts eating without complain.

By the time it gets to the insides Little Flippers pauses before moving towards his little hand fins. He nudges the skin and- huh. He undoes the hands?! Showing normal skeleton hands underneath. He can remove different sections of his skin? Horror is intrigued as Little FLippers lays the skin hands on the side of his newly made nest. Then he starts messing with the peeper until the stomach pops out and he eats it whole this time.

After a bit of signing and pointing they manage to make it obvious the eye and pretty much all of the fish is also fine to eat. They do find out that Little Flipper’s teeth aren’t strong enough to crush the bones to eat as well. Horror hopes that with time he recovers enough to gain that strength.

They keep giving him fish as they all relax as Killer gets them their own meal to eat. Little Flippers doesn’t even seem to realise that he is softly purring as his body gets the badly needed nutrients and energy.

By the time that they managed to get Little Flippers to eat the last fish it is already dark and Little Flippers looks kinda dazed and tired. He probably had been swimming looking for a nesting area for a long time before they found him. Maybe he had even been swimming and searching for a safe spot since Cross saw him last.

A small yawn escapes him and Little Flipper seems annoyed before just giving it up as he starts to mess with the tool stuck on his back and-

A click and it is loose.

No! Little Flippers needs that to swim!

He just looks at them confused with the tool in his hands before pointing at the small clips in his skin. Looking completely integrated and part of it and Horror feels sick in his stomach.

Did those… creatures seriously alter his selkie skin? Not just branding it with their sign was enough but also edited it? Horror is happy none on that ship survived. How dare they hurt Little Flipper so much?

Little Flippers puts it to the side of the nest before rolling up and getting comfortable. Horror can see both Dust and Cross look anxious as the little selkie gets comfortable. He very quickly closes his sockets and is asleep within moments.

Safe and sound. Well-fed and comfortable.

Cross looks anxiously at them “What do you guys think? About… what I thought? Do you think? It is like I thought?”

Dust frowns as he thinks “I am not sure… but it fits. His behaviour how he seems surprised to eat things he likes and are tasty. The way he didn’t seem to understand that we were even building the nest. It does seem like something or someone was keeping him from being allowed to use his instincts.”

Killer crosses his arms “He didn’t even want to eat even when he was clearly hungry… like what must happened to cause that? He didn’t even want to try eating the fish… It is like he enver ate fish before.”

Horror hums “Maybe he just never ate it raw before? I know that Farm used to have to cook and make his food. Process it before he could eat it… maybe whoever had him or where he was treated food like that?” it doesn’t make Horror happy. Because it means he still didn’t get what he needed.

Cross frowns as he rubs his hands “So I was right?” he looks close to an anxiety attack.

Dust is quick as he nuzzles him “We don’t know. And we won’t know until we can ask him. Until then we can help him.” then he looks at Cross teasing “You really just want to keep him don’t you?”

Cross looks beyond embarrassed but nods “I like him a lot…”

Killer snorts “I am down. Little spitfire is cute.” As he lounges not in a hurry.

Horror hums “We can ask Nightmare if he can join the group. Maybe ask him to all for Dream.” As Dream had powers to enable landdwellers to communicate underwater he may be able to help Little Flippers as well.

Cross looks hopeful “Maybe they can do what they did for Farm!”

Killer shrugs “Who knows. We can ask.”

Cross looks a lot more relaxed as he lays close to Horror to snuggle for a moment. They will just remain near the other for now until things are a bit calmer. Then they will go back to Nightmare and discuss what they know and think.

Horror is sure they can get this to work.

*--------*

[mollysunder]

For once I actually went through the Arcane AMA and found those quotes about Silco's motivation. It's kind of wild to see it in full context.

First, I didn't even know the "dirty little thing" insecurity was an agreed upon perspective, I just thought it was one writer's opinion but no, Christian Linke (Praeco) let us know that was Silco's thing. Ok. I can see how that can tie in to how Silco and Jinx connected, personal insecurities from a hard life.

But then Amanda Overton (leeloo104) goes into detail.

I already know the creative team said they don't think political struggle is "relatable" (yikes), but I've never seen this extra tidbit before!

What do you mean this all so Vander will respect Silco again?!!??!? First of all I could really go in about how Arcane's team seem incapable of having any character fully articulate an actual in-depth explanation about on their grievances with the status quo and what changes should be applied that isn't somehow about familial validation. *looks at Jinx*

Instead, we need unpack how this motivation is at best, very weird, or flat out doesn't make sense. The quote makes it sound like Zaun was fully Silco's idea to win back Vander's love and respect, but Silco said a free Zaun was their shared dream. And regaining Vander's respect seems like a moot point when Silco killed Vander.

Unless Silco knows Vander isn't dead, and that Singed's been slowly turning Vander into Warwick. But then why does he talk to the Vander statue like Vander is dead? I don't doubt Silco wouldn't visit Warwick even in Warwick's confused state. Either way, the Vander that Silco wanted to receive validation from doesn't exist anymore.

I get that they probably wanted to connect Silco's motivation to Jinx's obsession with Vi, but that can be problematic too! It just ends up where Silco and Jinx are written in a way where their search for emotional validation takes precedence over any attempt for them to communicate a coherent and detailed observation on the surrounding politics of their environment.

It would be one thing if they were minor characters, or this was just related to Jinx because she's the youngest in the cast and her story is about understanding who she is. But it's both of them, Silco's at least in his forties, and they're a part of the main cast. On top of that, I'd say their the two most politically influential Zaunites in the cast, and we know NOTHING about what they stand for, what they think the future should look like. Nothing, just vibes.

[areyouwell]

Alea Iacta Est

Ch.2

Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI

Word Count: 27.1K

A/N: uh... oops? okay so this took like forty years because i wasn't expecting it to be sO LONG. this is also the initial length of the chapter CUT DOWN because there were three more scenes i wanted to add but JESUS it would have been around 40k if i did that soooo here :3

🏷 : @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

“Alecto? That’s what she said her name was? Are you sure?” 

Logan sighed for the millionth time that evening, his arms folded securely across his chest as he answered question after question about his encounter with their latest mission target. This one came from Jean, her eyes bearing into his as if she could peel back his cool façade and dissect the truth from within. Which, to be honest, she probably could. 

“Like the Fury?”

All heads in the room turned to look at Kitty, who shrank in response to the sudden attention. “It’s uh, a Greek myth. After Cronos castrated the Primordial God Uranus–” Logan had to suppress a childish snort of amusement. Uranus, what a ridiculous name. “–his blood fertilised the soil and three Furies sprang into existence. Tisiphone, Magaera, and Alecto. They’re sort of supposed to punish sins like Magaera punishes sins committed through jealousy, Tisiphone punishes sins committed against the gods and avenges the murdered, and Alecto punishes sins committed through anger. They’re… torturers of sorts, mainly in the Underworld serving Hades. It’s actually in interesting–”

“Right, thanks for the Mythology lesson, Kitty, but that’s not really the point here,” Scott grumbled, clearly still not over the fact he was bested on the mission by someone he didn’t even have time to react to. But Kitty’s explanation got Logan thinking. It made sense, he thought, that you would name yourself after some kind of punisher. After all, every single one of your victims had been some criminal of sorts, your own acts against the law put to the side. 

“I’ve heard that name before…” Charles pondered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched his mind for the source of his recognition. Logan grunted in confirmation. 

“Yeah, she mentioned you by name. An old pupil of yours?” He asked, a brow raised in suspicion. It wouldn’t be the first time Charles had kept something like that hidden from the rest of the team. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest when it came to his failures, and if you were one of them, it would make sense why he’d never mentioned you before. But Charles shook his head. 

“No. Not this one. We couldn’t get to her in time.” He muttered, almost to himself, and Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. Couldn’t get to you in time? In time for what? Who the hell were you? What the hell did ‘in time’ mean? Jean and Charles exchanged a quick glance, the redhead nodding in silent understanding before she left the room. Some telepathic thing, no doubt. A spark of jealousy ignited in Logan’s chest. He hated it when they shared secrets, and he briefly wondered if Scott was ever let into their little silent communications club. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Charles sent him a long look of disapproval, to which Logan responded with nothing but tensing his jaw, dragging his eyes away from Xavier’s omniscient ones. 

“None of this matters,” he began, clearing his throat. “Unless I go to this Gala thing on the 18th. She said if we wanted to help–”

“Stop this slave trade business, yeah you said. But what’s to say she isn’t lying? Who’s to say this isn’t a trap to lure you away so any little friends she has can invade the school? Who’s to say she wasn’t involved in the burning of the orphanage?” Scott rebutted, and Logan could almost taste the irritation in his voice. 

“We’ve been over this. She couldn’t have anythin’ to do with it cuz she was–”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have others working for her.” Storm offered as calmly as she could.

“How do we know she’s not workin’ for someone else?” Marie interjected the first words she’d said since entering the room. 

“Scott’s got a point, she knew more about the orphanage than any of us did.” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between fuzzy fingers. 

Logan huffed in irritation. “Because she fuckin’ told me. Why the hell would she say anythin’ if she was involved?”

“Why’re you defending her?” Scott accused, leaning forward against the broad table in the centre of the room. “Sounds like she got under your skin.”

“‘M not defending her–”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“What would you’ve done? Blasted a hole through her chest without a second thought?”

“Would have been better than letting her get away.”

“That’s ENOUGH.” Charles’ voice echoed through the room and Logan’s head, and judging by the winces and flinches from the rest of the team, he’d done the same to them. The room fell silent, though the tension was palpable. Logan’s fists bled white as he clenched them tightly, fighting every instinct in his body not to leap over the table and pound the ever-loving shit out of Scott’s stupid sunglasses-wearing face. “She didn’t have anything to do with the orphanage. That’s final. Scott, I think your anger is clouding your judgment. Logan’s right, she wouldn’t have said anything at all if she had any kind of involvement. As for others working for her, I didn’t see anyone else in the vicinity last night. She was working alone.”

A sick sense of satisfaction inflated his chest as he watched Scott lean back in his chair with a sharp huff, and he knew the motherfucker was rolling his eyes behind those tinted shades. 

“So… you’re going? To the gala thing?” Marie asked, cutting the tension in the room and forcing everyone back on track with the conversation. Logan shrugged in response, nodding simultaneously. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll search my closet, see if I have any kind of gala-appropriate outfits. A week doesn’t exactly give us much time...” Ororo mused, making to leave before Logan stopped her in her tracks, rising from his seat. 

“You won’t be needin’ it because you’re not goin’. None of you are.” He stated firmly, taking a step back to lean against the wall behind him, exhaustion pounding in his head. He knew this meeting was going to be fucking endless, but he didn’t think it would be this bad.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of going alone? That’s suicide!” Kitty exclaimed, her hands clasped firmly against the edge of the table as she too stood up. 

“You heard what Alecto said. Come alone or not at all. If we all show up, we run the risk of her boltin’, and not gettin’ any closer to findin’ out what the hell she was talkin’ about. Or who’s doin’ this and why? Charles?” Logan turned to the Professor for help, hoping to shit he was on his side. And the way Xavier sighed heavily, his head almost hanging low in defeat, told him he was right. 

“We don’t have a choice. Alecto specifically asked for Logan and nobody else. She had the chance to talk to Scott and instead incapacitated him.”

Logan suppressed a bark of laughter as Scott gaped at the blatant putting down of the incident, but Charles continued before he could refute the claim and tell them all how he thought everything went down. “Logan’s likely the only one who can pull this off. Now this isn’t to say none of you have the capabilities, it’s more than if things do go wrong, and this is, as Scott says, a trap, then he’d be the only one to make it out alive.”

‘Thanks…’ Logan thought sarcastically, and Charles narrowed his eyes at him, clearly having heard the faux gratitude. 

“I really don’t like this…” Marie muttered, running a hand through her nutmeg hair.

“Neither do any of us, but this is the only way forward I can see, and Logan’s willing, so it’s settled.” Charles finalised, looking to each team member individually, no doubt to gauge their reactions. None of them seemed happy, but they all seemed to have accepted the reality. 

“Alright, better search for somethin’ to wear. No offence, Slim, but I don’t think any of ya suits would fit me.” Logan jabbed with a crooked, shit-eating grin, and Scott simply glared at him from behind his sunglasses. There was no greater satisfaction than pissing him off. 

With the meeting ended, the rest of the team filed out, Logan making a promise to Marie to find her later so they could properly talk about what happened. He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth, making his way to the front hall and out the double doors so he could smoke in peace. He’d just flicked open his lighter when the cigar in question was pulled from his mouth by invisible fingers and placed delicately back in the leather jacket he was wearing. A small, instinctual smile tugged at his lips, and he raised a brow as he looked behind him to see Jean leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, cleavage almost spilling from the low-cut top she was wearing. But, remarkably, Logan managed to ignore it. Not on purpose, it was more of a subconscious decision. 

“You’re really going to this thing, huh?” She sighed. It wasn’t a question, more a statement of acceptance, as if she needed to voice it out loud to truly understand. Logan hummed in confirmation, turning his body so he was facing her, mirroring her stance and leaning against the wall.

“Yeah. I am.” He responded simply, a surprising flare of irritation curling in his gut as he took out the cigar again, slotting it between the gates of his teeth and lighting the end, inhaling the thick, nicotine-laced smoke for a moment, before blowing it out into the night air. Jean’s lip curled in momentary disgust, before she schooled her features once again, although there was something flickering in her eyes. Something that almost looked like disapproval, and not at the fact he was smoking. 

“Something’s changed. You’re not as… you, as you were before.” She murmured, taking a few steps closer to him. Any other time before, his heart would be stuttering in his chest, and all sorts of filthy, debauched thoughts would be racing through his head. But this time, he couldn’t be far enough away from her. That instinctual smile that had pulled at his lips earlier had been wiped completely clean, replaced by sheer disinterest. 

“The hell does that mean?” He asked, the sudden need to defend himself dripping from his tone as he took another drag if only to blow smoke in the decreasing space between them. Jean’s eyes narrowed, and Logan felt the softest caress against the walls of his mind, his jaw clenching against it. “Outta my head, Jean. I mean it.”

She looked as if he’d just insulted her, slight hurt flickering across her sharp features. “Yeah, something’s definitely changed. What did she say to you?”

“Who?”

“Alecto.”

Logan rolled his eyes, turning away from her again to lean his back against the brickwork. Honestly, he was sick and tired of explaining himself, and you, to the rest of the team. He didn’t know what had happened, to be honest. But it was something greater than him. Greater than all of them. There was something going on that he didn’t understand and he didn’t like it. And he liked Jean’s prodding and poking even less. 

“She didn’t say anythin’. Jus’ thinkin’ about this whole slave trade thing, y’know?” He deflected. In all honesty, he couldn’t explain the sudden shift in his dynamic with Jean. He’d noticed it the moment he returned from the mission, realising she wasn’t the first person he wanted to see. Wanted to talk to. In fact, she hadn’t even been on his mind until she came running up the halls to crush Scott in a squeezing embrace. He didn’t even care about the way her hands cradled his face, searching for any sign of injury. He’d walked straight past her and into the board room without so much as a second thought. He was as thrilled as he was unnerved. 

It was peaceful, not having his heart bruised and beaten with every word exchanged. To not feel chewed up and spat out every time they looked at one another. Refreshing to feel absolutely nothing when Scott tucked her into his side, his hand braced against her waist, and he was only now realising his jealousy from earlier came from the fact that he was the one who interacted with Alecto, and she was still the one Charles was sharing his secrets with. That was what bothered him most. Shockingly enough. 

He blew out another cloud of smoke, watching the wispy tendrils rise and found his mind pulling back to his fight with you, the whirls of grey strikingly similar to the way the blood around your palms would twist, separating and joining at different points, as if they weren’t liquid, but something more. Something alive. 

“Sure, I guess. But you’ve barely said a word to me. Barely even bothered to say hi before you marched on through to the Professor. What’s– Logan would you look at me?” She urged, her hand on his shoulder sending a ripple of… something, across his skin. He couldn’t discern the feeling, but it sure as hell wasn’t a good one. Something really had shifted in him. How the hell could this happen seemingly overnight? 

But he did as she asked, hazel eyes sliding to look at her out of his periphery, and she removed her hand when he finally accepted he wasn’t going to turn to her again. “What’s that supposed to be?” She asked, gesturing to the way he hadn’t even moved. 

“‘M lookin’ atcha, like you asked me to.” He shrugged, fingers fiddling with the roach of his cigar as he twisted it around. He felt another strange sense of satisfaction at her defeated sigh, her eyes downcast as she traced the patterns of the gravel ground. 

“Just… Look. Be careful, okay? We don’t know what this Alecto is capable of, or what she’s planning, and I– I’d rather you came back safe.” She whispered like a secret. How long had he been waiting to hear something like that from her? How long had he been yearning to hear those kinds of caring words fall from her mouth and actually be directed at him? It didn’t matter, because he felt nothing. It was confusing. Freeing. Terrifying. All at the same time. 

“Thought I was the bad guy who didn’t stick around? How’d ya know I’ll come back at all?” He mused, flicking the cinders from the foot of the cigar and putting it out completely on the cold, slightly damp wall behind him. “Who knows, maybe I’ll come back the good guy you’d take home to your parents. Isn’t that what you said girls wanted?” He didn’t know where these sudden jabs were coming from, but it felt strangely good to get his inner turmoil out in the open. To call her out on the things she’d said in the past, contradictory to the fact he’d stuck around for the last god knows how long. He stood from leaning against the wall, placing the half-smoked cigar neatly back in the steel tin before shoving it, and both his hands, back into his pockets. 

“I was wrong… okay? Is that what you want me to say? You’ve proven you can stick around for a while, but it’s not just that. I’m with Scott, and I have been for a long time.” The exasperation in Jean’s voice baffled the fuck out of him. Why was she saying this as if he didn’t know? As if it wasn’t shoved in everyone’s faces every moment of every day. It irritated him to think that she cared. Irritated him to wonder why the hell this was even brought up. But he drew in a deep breath, finally turning to face her once again. 

“Okay.”

The night fell silent, only the distant sounds of crickets filling the sudden void as he watched the redhead process what he’d just said. The acceptance in his tone. The finality in one simple word. Okay.

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? Years of you flirting with me, pining after me, constantly jabbing and insulting Scott and all you have to say is ‘okay’? Like none of that ever happened? Like you didn’t kiss me that night we were running from Stryker?” She floundered, and Logan just watched. Sure, it was all true. He did kiss her that night, and when Mystique later entered his tense wearing her skin, he didn’t even hesitate. But that felt like such a distant memory now. After all, it had been a few years since that. 

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? It’s sure as hell what Scotty wanted, f’me to finally back off his girl. Isn’t this what you wanted? Cuz I’m gettin’ real confused over here.” He ground out between grit teeth. Why was she angry? What the hell was going on? Did she not want him to back off? Was this all some sick kind of powerplay to keep his attention? Or was she just as confused as he was? Despite all his questions, he suddenly found himself without a willingness to care. He’d had enough. 

“I didn’t–”

“G’night, Jean.” He interrupted before she could get a word in, shrugging past her and back into the warmth of the school’s interior. He’d never been the one to leave the conversation before. Never been the one to put an end to their interactions before now. It was thrilling, in a way. Leaving her out in the cold while she was stuck thinking about everything he’d just said. It was nice to turn the tables for once and to be the one in control of the situation.

Things truly had changed.

A sharp hiss echoed against the empty walls of an old abandoned factory as you bound your wounds, crimson blood seeping through the stark white gauze you wrapped tightly around both hands. Sure, they’d probably be healed up in a week or so, but the scars left behind were just short of infuriating. And the scabbing process across your hands already meant they would take longer than usual to heal over. 

This was not your finest work. 

You leaned against one of the solid beams, your legs dangling either side of the rafter you were perched on as you savoured the slight sting of closing your fists, reflecting on whatever the hell just happened. Of all the people to get mixed up in your business, why the hell did it have to be Professor X? Why couldn’t it have been Magneto? At least he would be more likely to side with you. 

The buzz of your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you breathed a heavy sigh. You knew who that was. You always knew who called you after a victim. Tugging out your phone, you swiped up on the screen, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. 

“Hey Tiss, what’s up?” It took a great deal of effort to make it sound like you weren’t utterly exhausted, and a sharp knife twisted in your gut at the realisation that you were about to lie to her. 

“Hey Alec, the Boss wants to know if you found anything?” She asked, her already husky voice crackling slightly over the receiver. Wasn’t there anywhere in this godforsaken city with good signal? You ran a hand through your hair, pushing down your hood at the same time. And it was with heavy hands that you removed the mask from your face, taking a gulp of the fresh air, air that to anyone else who hadn’t been wearing a mask for the last ten hours would more than likely both taste and smell incredibly stale. 

“Yeah, the location. Some fancy estate called Thornbury. Some kinda owner gathering so these sick fucks can discuss trades.” You spat involuntarily, disgust curling in your chest at the idea of people, humans, fucking about with the lives of mutants. Of your people. The natural order of the world had gone insane. How had it happened that the more advanced race had been subjected to torture and slavery? What the fuck was wrong with this world?

“Thornbury… that’s almost a hundred miles west of the city, some posh prick’s country estate. It’s been in the Thornbury family since the 19th century, and Lord Thornbury –apparently self-proclaimed– has been under fire for some less-than-savoury controversies. Tax evasion, mostly. They say–”

“You’re reading this from a Wikipedia article, aren’t you?” You asked and the line fell silent, prompting a snort of amusement to fly from your nose.

“...Maybe. You never know, my intel could just be super fast.” Mag offered, though you could tell she was grinning on the other side of the phone. 

“Tisiphone… nobody’s intel is that fast. Not even Magpie’s.” You chuckled at her offended gasp from the other end.

“What’re you tryna say? That Magpie’s a better informer than I am? I’m shocked and hurt, Alec,” you just knew she was clutching her chest, her phone facing up on the desk on loudspeaker. “By the way, did you kill that guy because he had the same name as you?”

You pursed your lips. You weren’t that petty, but for some reason, it did piss you off that this dirty little fuck stick did have a similar name. At least, a similar name to the one you were given. Your birth name you kept close to your chest. Not even the other Furies knew what it was, and they were like your sisters. 

 “...Maybe.” You mimicked her tone from before and she barked a laugh. 

“Fuckin’ knew it. I told Per– oh shit Mag’s on the other line. Must’ve found something in Phoenix.”

You cocked a brow. “Mag’s in Phoenix? Why? I thought we were focussing our efforts here?” You queried, a little irritated that none of this had been passed to you, and you heard Mag suck in a breath down the receiver. Clearly, you weren’t supposed to know. 

“Special assignment from Bossman, wouldn’t even tell me what it was, but I guess I’m about to find out.” She refused to elaborate further, and you heaved another lengthy sigh. 

“Alright, fine. Call me back after you’ve spoken to her,” you resigned, going to press the red button on your phone screen before you had the sudden urge to ask her something. “Oh, Tiss? How’s… how’s Monkey doing…?” You were slightly hesitant, and Tisiphone’s answer was the reason why.

“Alec… you know you’re not supposed to ask shit like that,” she sounded tired, and you couldn’t blame her. At the end of every assignment, you asked how Monkey was doing. It was an instinct. You just had to make sure he was okay. “He’s fine. Tired and worried, but fine.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks. I know what you risk telling me. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah yeah, save your gratitude for someone who needs it. I’ll call you back.” And without another word, the line went dead. 

You sat for a moment with your thoughts. At least Monkey was okay. You knew he’d been through a lot lately, and in all honesty, you worried about him. Deeply. It irritated you to no end, but you couldn’t help it. Ever since you brought him back it had been a nonstop rollercoaster of emotions for the both of you. It hadn’t exactly been easy.

But then again, nothing ever was. 

You dragged your hand down the side of your face, your fingertips catching on the prominent scar over your eye. The only reason you had to wear some kind of mask twenty-four fucking seven. Even when you weren’t on an assignment, you felt more comfortable with the soft leather that usually hid half of your face. You could still see, thank fuck, they weren’t cruel enough to blind you in one eye.

Just cruel enough to permanently brand your face.

Your legs ached slightly as you rose into a seat, stretching your arms above your head before deftly swinging down from the rafter, using the support beam to slow your descent. You really didn’t feel like opening your wounds again, not after you’d only just bound them, so you grit your teeth and clung to the steel beam as you clambered down, your ankles barking in slight protest as you landed heavier than you would have liked the sound of your boots echoing across the empty, run-down factory. You’d scouted the area beforehand, usually a hotspot for drug deals or street urchins.

You half-smiled at the idea. You were one yourself not so long ago. Wandering the streets. Stealing what you could, running from those who’d caught you. You and–

You smothered the memory before it could take over. 

Sliding your mask back over your face, a paradoxical sense of comfort enveloped your chest. Whilst yes, you hated having to wear it, you also liked how it concealed who you were. Kept you and your family safe from those who would prefer to hunt you down and sell you to the MSR. Your fingers ghosted atop the mask, over the scar along your left eye. You were trying to put a stop to it. The Mutant Slave Ring. Nobody should have to suffer like that. Nobody should have to suffer anymore. And if that meant burning the human race to the ground, you’d be happy being the one to light the match. 

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, and you immediately held it up to your ear. “Yup?”

“Wow, rude. Yeah, that was Mags. Said she’s gonna be in Phoenix a little while longer. Ran into trouble.” Tiss explained, her voice seemingly brighter than it had been during your last call. You rolled your eyes. 

Disgusting lovebirds.

“The good kind of trouble or the bad kind?” You asked, your boots crunching on the earthen ground as the night air greeted you, leaving the abandoned factory behind. Tisiphone sighed through her nose. 

“The bad kind. She’s okay, she assured me she was okay, but she was almost caught. Looks like the MSR is as active there as it is here.” You listened to her voice get progressively heavier, and you knew she was worried. Though you’d all made a pact when you joined not to get feelings caught up in the mix, you cared for each other as if you were blood-related. Argued with each other as if you were blood-related. And now Tisiphone and Magaera were friends-with-benefits-but-not-really-friends-more-completely-in-love, it was getting harder and harder to hide the fact that you all cared for each other. Deeply. 

“Well, at least she’s okay.”  You offered weakly, not really knowing how else to help Tiss’ worrying. You never were very good at that kind of thing. And the way Tiss chuckled down the line told you she knew exactly that.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot to ask the standard questions earlier–”

“Magpie would never forget.” You jabbed lightheartedly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just because I’m on a field ban doesn’t mean you can be mean to me.” She pouted, and anyone else who didn’t know her as well as you did could never imagine one of the Furies pouting the way she did. “Right, are you hurt?”

“Minimally, but I’m always hurt. Kinda part of my mutation.” You shrugged, taking the spare time you had to wander around the darker sides of town, admiring the peace of distant sirens. 

“Don’t get smart, Alec. Uhhh, did you get what you needed, yep we already covered that. Okay, were you seen by anyone?” 

Your heart stopped. This is what you were dreading lying about. Because, yes. You were seen. Not only were you seen, but you asked for help. You asked for help. From a man you’d never met before and was sent there to stop you, maybe even kill you. You asked for his help. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Nope, stealthy as a cat, like always.” You lied easily, though it twisted your gut to do so. You hated lying to your sisters. There was nothing you couldn’t tell them. Except for this. Because not only had you asked for help. You’d asked one of Charles Xavier’s for help. You were sort of holding out hope that Logan wouldn’t turn up on the 18th. Though from the look in his irritatingly perceptive eyes, it wasn’t much of a hope. 

“I don’t even know why I need to ask you these things to be honest. You’ve got these assignments down to a science at this point.” Tiss lamented, and you felt that knife of guilt twist further into your gut. You didn’t even know how you were going to explain when a strange man turns up to an exclusive MSR event asking for you by a name only those in your own inner circle know, and you knew your sisters were going to feel betrayed, let alone your Boss. You didn’t even want to think about how he would react to this. Not after everything he’d done for you…

Well, you hadn’t actually ever met him. It was more the things he’d done down the grapevine. Saving your sorry ass from a gruesome fate was a start, and letting Monkey in was something you never thought he’d agree to. Not to mention the fact he’d given you a home, food, a family. And now you were going behind his back to employ someone you’d met for less than an hour, and spent most of that time trying to kill each other?

You must be insane. 

“Yeah well, been doin’ it for a while, I guess,” you shrugged despite the fact you were on a phone call and Tiss couldn’t actually see you. “I’ll be coming back soon anyway, you know if Mags has any kind of gala-wear I could steal? Don’t particularly fancy a shopping trip, to be honest with you.” You chuckled humourlessly, though hoping she couldn’t see through the poor attempt to disguise your discomfort. Luckily, you assumed the shitty signal drowned out any kind of complex communication, so Tiss was none the wiser. 

“Not that I know of. I’ll have a look. Aren’t you coming back soon anyway?” She asked, her voice distant as if she’d left the informant’s desk to rifle through one of the communal clothing drawers. And the light thumping of discarded hoodies and jackets proved your assumption correct. 

“Yeah, on my way back now. I’ll see you soonish.”

“Soon-ish? How long is soon-ish?” She called from across the room, and you chuckled slightly. 

“It’s soonish. See ya Tiss.” You disconnected the line before she could question you further. If you were being totally honest with yourself, you wanted to walk about the alleyways for a bit before you return to the stuffy underground hideout. As much as you appreciated the Boss’ roof over your head, you often felt the need to stretch your metaphorical wings, so to speak. That and you were slightly claustrophobic, though you’d never admit it. But the thought of seeing Monkey had you turning homeward bound instinctively, your mind playing the events of the night over and over like a provocative carousel. And your thoughts kept returning to one face. One name. 

Logan.

Storm was right. A week really wasn’t much time. It only seemed like yesterday Logan was in the board room with the rest of the team, trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do about these seemingly random murders. Now he was on the road heading west, a black two-piece suit hanging neatly from the passenger seat roof handle, the matching white shirt placed in a separate plastic cover, that too hanging from the roof handle in the back seats. What the hell was he doing? Walking completely unprepared into something he barely understood, on the likely empty words of a serial killer. Usually, he’d just puncture six holes in their chest and be done with it. But there was something different about you. 

A certain desperation in your tone he couldn’t ignore. The sudden flip from trying to kill him, to asking for his help. Or rather, suggesting that if he so wanted to help, he could by turning up at this location at this specific time. It all seemed too… spontaneous, for him to think any more of it. You didn’t look like you’d been prepared for him to even open his mouth, let alone start asking questions. He’d caught you off guard, that much he could see now. And your instinctual response had been to in turn, ask for help. 

How could he ignore that? How could the rest of the team think there was an ulterior motive here? And though he barely caught sight of them, in the brief moments he could see your eyes, they weren’t the hardened eyes of a killer, like he had expected. There was so much… life, in you. Like you weren’t fighting a battle for the sake of it, but rather for something more. You had a purpose, and that was something else he couldn’t ignore. Whether that purpose was good or bad, he supposed he was about to find out. But there was purpose there nonetheless. Much more than any of the team was expecting. 

You were… interesting. That’s how he’d put it. And he wanted to understand why. Why you were doing this. Why you were caught up in something as big as this. Was it simply to stick up for the little guy? Or was there something more sinister running beneath the surface? He couldn’t assume. The last time he’d assumed, he’d been proven seriously wrong. So he wouldn’t this time. 

The radio crackled slightly as he left the outskirts of the city, where the signal strength was getting weaker and weaker by the second before all he was listening to was white noise and he was forced to change the channel. Logan didn’t make a habit of listening to the radio, but since this was technically Kitty’s car, it had turned on automatically when he started the engine, and he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to notice. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. Filling the rest of the silence whilst his head worked overtime. Only now, it was hurting his damn ears. Flicking through the stations, he raised a brow as a familiar, seemingly appropriate song thundered in the speakers, the guitar solo to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell becoming his new road trip soundtrack. And he honestly couldn’t think of anything more accurate to his situation. 

Highway to Hell indeed.

He kept the station on, occasionally peering out the side window at the change of surroundings, from the suburbs to the countryside, he watched as homes were switched out for fields and farmland. Just where the hell was he going? He’d punched Thornbury Hall into his phone’s GPS and he’d already been driving for what felt like centuries. He would know. And when you’d said west, what exactly had you meant? Because right now he was heading southwest. Was that deliberate? Or were you just really shit at directions?

He’d like to think it was the latter.

Logan spent the next hour planning out an escape route if things were to go wrong. He hadn’t been a stranger to being on the run, so that seemed to be the safest option. Calling for backup was also always there, but there was something prideful in him that really didn’t want to, even if things really did go the worst way they could possibly go. He could always fight his way out. Leave no survivors, old school style. But he’d left that life behind. That wasn’t him anymore, And he didn’t particularly fancy returning to that version of himself. 

Well then. Running it is.

Dusk was falling by the time he rolled up to the estate. Two broad, cast iron gates remained open as ridiculously fancy cars lined up around the central courtyard. This place had a courtyard. Various couples all dressed to the nines walked arm in arm up to the doors, where he could just see a butler offering a welcome glass of what he assumed would be champagne. Wasn’t that what these fancy folk drank? Fuck.

This already wasn’t going to plan. 

The car rolled to a stop before it entered the trail of tall lamps leading up the driveway, pulling into the side of the road. It felt better to walk than to roll up in Kitty’s beaten-up old Ford. That and he needed to change. He knew he should have just driven up wearing the damn suit, but Marie insisted he needed to hang them up. ‘They’ll crease’, was her reasoning. 

Why oh why had he listened to her?

With an irritated huff, he snatched the suit from the hangar, reaching into the back to the shirt before borderline contorting in the driver’s seat to get this stupid fucking suit on and get this stupid fucking night over with. He had to remind himself several times why he was here whilst fighting with cuff links, had to remind himself to steal Marie’s CD collection in payback for insisting a clip-on bowtie would be obvious to these people and they’d know he wasn’t one of them. 

Although, surprisingly, he had to thank Scott for reluctantly letting him borrow his black shoe polish, because despite all the struggling and fighting with the fabric, he didn’t scrub up too badly. Sure, his hair could probably do with some kind of gel, but he wasn’t about to go up and ask for some. Not after he’d gone to the trouble of tying his own goddamn bowtie in order to blend in with these people. Nothing says ‘outcast’ like having to ask to borrow some fucking hair gel.

Why was this even something he was entertaining? 

Pausing to take a breath, Logan reached into the console to pull out his tin of cigars, flicking open his steel Zippo lighter and clamping the roach between his teeth, cupping the flame out on instinct and taking a long drag, before exhaling the cloud of smoke. He knew Kitty would likely give him an earful for smoking in her car, but if nothing else, he was doing it out of spite. Taking one last moment for himself, he opened the door and put out the foot of the cigar on the tarmac.

Stepping from the car, he briefly looked over his appearance in the wing mirror, straightening his jacket slightly by the lapels and smoothing down any creases he could see. He was sure it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. The first true test of his disguise would be trying to find you, wherever the fuck you were. Were you even here yet? Only one way to find out…

The house was almost exactly how he imagined it. Some shitty imitation of an English country house, oozing inauthentic extravagance in every way conceivable. From the over-flashy imitation gargoyles to the poorly kept white roses climbing the side of the double doors. Two pillars held aloft the front porch, painted and foiled with gold which he was certain would have washed away if they truly were in England. Although, he swore he could smell rain in the air. Fucking great. 

His eyes scanned the greeting hall, searching swiftly for the man with the runic tattoo you’d told him about. Which was borderline impossible since every peacock here seemed to be wearing high collars. All except the countless security guards, who kept their collars flat. Why the fuck he would be looking for a security guard, he had no fucking clue, but for some godforsaken reason, he trusted you. Trusted you enough to turn up to this event anyway. 

He stayed still for a moment, his eyes flicking to the necks of every guard he came across before a wave of relief settled over him. Whilst he wasn’t well versed in runes the same way Kitty was with her mythology fixation, she’d talked his ear off enough to know one when he saw one.  A shorter man with patchwork black and white hair stood to attention at the foot of the grandest staircase he thought he’d ever seen, arms held firmly behind his back, mahogany watching the room like he could see more than just people. The moment his eyes landed on Logan’s, they widened almost imperceptibly, but just enough for Logan to realise. 

He strode over, fixing the cuffs of his white shirt as the blonde looked away, pretending he didn’t notice he was coming toward him. But Logan wouldn’t let that happen. Whether he knew he was coming or not, he didn’t care. Not finding you wasn’t an option. 

“Looking for Alecto.” Was all he muttered, setting his jaw against the way the man turned back to him, his own jaw tensed in muted surprise. He looked Logan up and down, as if sizing him up, before offering him a curt nod and turning on his heels to head up the stairs, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce that he was meant to follow. 

With a small shrug to himself, Logan did just that, though keeping his wits about him and making mental notes to remember where he came from, which turns he took, and which doors they entered through and exited out of. He swore this damn palace was bigger on the inside, and it felt like he’d been walking for hours before he was striding up the hallway behind the smaller man toward another security guard, blonde hair and with eyes so deep blue they almost came across as violet greeted them. 

 “One of Alecto’s.” He heard the blonde mutter, clearly not meant for his ears, and Logan tried his best to make it look like he couldn’t hear them, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You sure?” Violet-eyes responded, looking past the blonde and straight into Logan’s damn soul. 

“Said so himself.” 

These two really didn’t exchange more words than necessary, did they? If Logan didn’t know any better, he’d assume they hated each other. But by the smell of them, he knew they were mutants. Poppyseeds and bird feathers with the slightest hint of sulphur that wasn’t coming from either of them, but rather from behind the door. A smell so strong he couldn’t scent anything else further than that. 

The ebony-haired guard narrowed his eyes to Logan, before stepping to the side and opening the door, allowing them both to enter, following on after and closing the door behind him. 

It had to be some kind of guest room, various sofas all arranged facing each other, ornamental coffee tables completely untouched separating the space. Various masks and equipment settled on a small round table near the large bay windows at the end of the room, with another set of white double doors leading off to the left, the coppery scent of fresh blood barely noticeable over the borderline overwhelming stench of sulphur.

The source of the scent now facing him, two deep red flames burning in her hands, neatly curled black hair falling in front of her face slightly. 

“And just who the fuck are you?”

You weren’t nervous. You’d never been nervous about things like this. Sure, you had a history of being a little… flighty, before a mission, but that never meant you were nervous. But, if you weren’t nervous, then what the fuck else could explain the twisting of your stomach or the unsteady, jumpy beat of your heart. You’d already thought over every possible eventuality, twice. What the hell had you so worked up?

It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what had got you so worked up. And he wasn’t even here yet. If he was coming at all. You’d put so much faith in a complete stranger, a man you didn’t even know, and for the twenty minutes you were introduced, you’d spent nineteen of them trying to kill him. Only to learn he couldn’t die. Only to learn he was… kind. Kinder than you were expecting. And more understanding in those twenty minutes than anyone else had been in your entire life, except maybe Boss. 

You blended the concealer on your neck with a sponge, coating the already hefty layer of foundation before brushing on setting powder, taking extra caution not to spill any on your dress. You hated the trials and tribulations of trying to get white powder out of black fabric, and this dress was fucking expensive. ‘Nothing but the best!’ Tisiphone sang whilst dagging you through clothes store after clothes store, genuinely enjoying the experience. 

You, on the other hand, hadn’t felt more like sleeping on the highway in your entire life. 

Delicately, you picked up the lace-covered mask from the vanity, turning it over in your hands, feeling the delicate material beneath the pads of your gloved thumbs. You’d made sure it wasn’t sheer, not wanting to take the risk of anyone peering through it and seeing who you truly were. Layers and layers of spiderweb-thin material gave the illusion of solidarity, the only thinner segment being the small, almond-shaped hole that would fit directly over your eye. Sheer enough that you could see out of, but not light enough that those could see in. 

Fixing the mask to the left side of your face, you’d barely pressed it securely before a rogue shout filtered through the closed doors to the bedroom, and you paused for a moment. You could have sworn that was Tisiphone’s voice you’d heard. But just who the fuck could she possibly be yelling at? Morpheus was outside the room and Magpie was downstairs keeping watch. Was she just having a breakdown over her choice of dress? You had mentioned that–

Oh fuck. 

Now that wasn’t a voice you would easily recognise…

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

“Oh… shit.” You muttered, standing from the vanity and quickly crossing through the conjoined doors to the living room, where the sounds of raised voices became nothing but a cacophony of ceaseless noise. The strong scent of sulphur hit you like a truck, and you knew Tisiphone was moments away from incinerating your hired help where he stood. You burst through the doors, your hands held up as if to ward your sister away, barely taking in the scene of Tisiphone’s hands glowing with deep red flame, and six razor-sharp knives pointed in her direction from the spaces between each of Logan’s knuckles. “It’s okay! It’s okay. He’s not– fuck. He’s here because of me!” 

You watched Tiss’ head tilt in confusion, her thin brows furrowing behind her masquerade as she tried to comprehend just what you were saying. You took a deep breath, nodding to Magpie and Morpheus as the two of them turned on their heels and headed back out the door to stand on guard, leaving you to your explanation. 

“The fuck you mean he’s here because of you? Alec, who the hell is this guy?” Tisiphone asked with no small degree of accusation, though you were thankful that the overwhelming stench of sulphur was fading slightly, Tiss’ hands falling back down by her sides. 

“Uh, Tiss, this is Logan. Logan… Tisiphone.” You introduced them a little warily, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes trained on you rather than the real threat in the room. “We met. On the assignment. Last week…”

“Oh, the one where you said you weren’t seen by anyone?” Tiss continued her string of accusations, now seemingly more pissed off at you than she was at the intruder. A small blessing, you thought. 

“Okay, so I bent the truth a little–”

“Bent the truth? You snapped it in half! Alec, what the fuck were you thinking? Why the hell is this guy still alive if he saw you?”

“Because I couldn’t kill him!” You explained, exasperation dripping from your tone, and Tiss narrowed her eyes behind her mask. 

“Like ‘I was bested in a fight’ couldn’t kill him or ‘He asked me nicely not to and I caved’ couldn’t kill him, because I’ve never known either of those things to be true when it comes to you.” She folded her arms across her chest, the silken fabric of her gown creasing every so slightly. Logan filed away what information he could about you, adding that latest little tidbit to the mix. 

“No, like ‘he literally cannot die’ couldn’t kill him.” You sighed, running a hand down the side of your face that wasn’t covered by scratchy, lace fabric. 

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t try,” Logan added gruffly, the first words he’d spoken since getting into a fight with one of those guards outside the door. In all honesty, he was just trying to understand what the hell was going on, and trying to get over the fact that Scott was right. You did have people working for you. Or rather, judging by Tisiphone’s reaction, you were working for someone. And Tisiphone’s mere existence made him think too. Kitty said there were three Furies in that mythology. And since there were two of them, it only stood to reason that there was a third somewhere. 

“Look,” you started, exhaustion already creeping into your voice and the evening hadn’t even started yet. “You said it yourself, a woman not on the arm of a man at events like these means nothing. My feelings on that aside, and since Magpie and Morpheus are borderline mute when it comes to social interaction, I found one that can actually hold a conversation. Just, trust me, okay? When have I ever made a mistake?” You implored with a half smile, relief settling in your chest as Tiss exhaled a long breath.

“You really want me to answer that?” She asked wryly, and you huffed a laugh. Whilst making mistakes on assignments wasn’t something that ever happened, the trouble you got into in your downtime was another story altogether. Your mouth really did get you into deep shit on occasion…

“Not really.”

“And just how do you think he’ll get past security? Not only does he have the same X-gene as us, but I don’t think those claws of his would make it past the metal detector either.” Tiss sighed, looking Logan up and down as if to weigh up the pros and cons of not incinerating him where he stood. 

“I’ll figure it out.” You hissed back, mentally punching yourself for not thinking of that. Whilst yes, you could attempt to hide the mutation in his blood the same way you did for yourself and the others, the metal was going to be a serious problem. 

“Uh-huh? And how are you going to explain–”

“I’ll figure it out, Tiss,” you paused to take a long breath, calming your irritation. “Look, we were getting nowhere by ourselves, and these fuckers were the only ones who managed to trace, follow and catch me in the act. Don’t you think that says something? All the officers in the city. The detectives, the undercover cops. None of them could do what they did. Not even a whisper. So just back off and let me handle this, okay?” The room fell silent and Tisiphone looked at you, her brows pinched with indecipherable emotion before she relented. 

“Alright. But when you’re in the shit when Boss finds out, I can’t have your back. You know I can’t.” 

“...Yeah. I know.” You responded with a quiet that made Logan pause. Just how much were you risking bringing him here? 

“And I won’t be able to help Monkey, either.” She added, and though her tone was harsh, there was something behind her masked eyes that told him she was regretful over that. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You were happy to suffer the consequences of your actions, happy to endure whatever punishment Boss deemed necessary if he found out about this. But the thought of anything happening to Monkey because of something you’d done? It was almost unbearable. 

“Tiss… please. Boss’ll kill him if he thinks he has any knowledge of this. You have to vouch for him. The same way I vouched for you.” You emphasised, and she paused. At least now Logan had somewhat established a motive for what you’re doing. Whoever this Monkey guy was, you clearly needed to keep him safe. 

“...Alright. If it gets to that, I will. I’ll see if I can get Mags to do the same,” she smoothed her dress, holding her chin high. “Do what you gotta do, Alec. I’ll see you out there.” With a nod of finality and one last wary look to Logan, your sister left you alone to explain just what the hell was going on, and why he was here.

The silence was deafening as you did nothing but regard each other cautiously before you drew in a breath. “Was starting to think you weren’t going to come…” You shrugged, turning your back to him in a deliberate display of confidence, peering at yourself in one of the many mirrors of the room to fix your hair back into the loose butterfly clip you’d tucked it into and securing the lace mask tighter across half of your face. Didn’t want that coming loose anyway anyhow…

“You asked, now here I am.” He responded with the exact same level of disinterest, something that irked you slightly. Self-righteous asshole. 

“I didn’t ask,” you snapped back, sending him a sharp glare through the mirror. “I offered. You’re the one that took me up on it. Tell me, does Xavier know you’re here? I’m shocked he’d allow a pet like you to walk into such a mess.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. What exactly was your relationship with the Professor? Why did you hold such a grudge against him? Charles didn’t say he didn’t know you, but you weren’t a pupil, and unless you were much older than you looked, you were too young to be a past lover. He had no family that he knew of, so just who the hell were you? 

“You want my help or not? Cuz it would probably save me a lot of hassle to just leave.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, raising a brow as he stared at you in the mirror. You exhaled slowly, knowing he had you in a box.

“Yes, I wa– I need your help. And it’s not easy for me to say shit like that so don’t be an asshole about it.” You grumbled, scowling as he scoffed.

“Right back atcha toots. So what am I here for?” He asked, using the slightly more relaxed environment to survey his surroundings. It was the kinda place you’d see in some period drama. Silken upholstery, long floor-length curtains, everything gilded with gold foil. He’d never felt more out of place in his life, and he’d gone from a feral life on the run to being a damn supply teacher. 

“Unfortunately, that depends,” you hummed, as if this wasn’t a huge problem and running your finger beneath your lower lip, smearing away any traces of lipstick. “If I can get you past security without an issue, you’re my esteemed husband looking to invest in the MSR for a large sum.”

“MSR?” He asked, raising a brow as you rolled your eyes.

“Mutant Slave Ring. Keep up. The Thornbury’s don’t own it. Not by a long shot. As far as we know, they’re just hosts for things like this. Events and functions where like-minded freaks gather and share their trade secrets. We’re here trying to separate those directly involved, and those who watch from the sidelines. Quite literally.” You shivered slightly, memories you’d rather not relive flashing in your mind. Sweat dripping into your eyes. Blood trailing from the corner of your mouth. Rampant cheers and hoots of thrill with every aching punch. The collar tightening around your neck. 

You shook yourself, your hand reaching absently for the base of your throat. You were free. You’d never go back there. Boss had freed you from that life. Both you and Monkey. 

“Right…” Logan acknowledged slowly, choosing not to comment on the way your eyes glazed slightly, the way your gloved hand skimmed across the skin of your neck. “And if you can’t get me through security?”

“Then you’re my mutant pet, essentially.” You stated flatly before your eyes dropped from the mirror and you turned to face him. “Look… you don’t have to do this. You can walk away. We know the risks we take every time we do something like this. You’re walking into this blind, and there’s only so much I can tell you without compromising our whole operation. You have people who care about you, Logan. But us? We’re nothing more than a collection of circus freaks and street kids. This is all we have. We are all we have.” You explained, subconsciously divulging more than you’d ever really said to anyone, and it took you a moment to realise. But it was a bit late to take it back now. 

And Logan seemed just as stunned as you were. But not by what you said. But more because you said it. And what that did to him. He never thought he’d feel his heart soften for a killer he’d been chasing, but here he was, finding it difficult to associate you with all those gruesome, bloody murders he’d seen on the slideshow. He sucked in an awkward breath, observing the way your jaw clenched as you started to regret opening your damn mouth. 

“I don’t really know what your relationship with the Professor is, but he wouldn’t want me walkin’ away from this. An’ I don’t know what happened, but he’s happy to take in circus freaks and street kids. Always has been. An’ he’d have a place for you, ya know. If you wanted it.” He took a step forward, ducking his head slightly to drag your fallen gaze back up to him. 

You pursed your lips, hating the way your heart broke slightly. “You seem to think quite highly of him.”

“Yeah well, the man’s done a lot f’me.” He shrugged, and he watched your lips pull into a slight, half-smile. 

“Circus freak or street kid?” You asked quietly, standing your ground as he continued to step closer, removing his hands from his pockets like he was approaching a cornered animal.

“Stray dog,” he smiled as you huffed a laugh, nodding your head in understanding. “You?”

“Street kid. Then a circus freak.”

“The whole package?”

“Nothing less.”

He was close enough for you to see the slight crease in his shirt, just beneath his ribs. Close enough to see he wasn’t used to tying a bowtie around his neck, and for some godforsaken reason, you found it slightly endearing. Even the cologne he wore wasn’t something recognisable. Wasn’t the same dreary, vain attempt at masculinity the rest of the men here wore. You supposed he had nothing to prove to these people, but you had a suspicion it wasn’t just here he felt that way.

Logan was close enough now to see why your fingers had lingered on your neck, a borderline unhealthy layering of makeup coating the base of your throat, expertly hidden. Interestingly, it was the only part of your body left uncovered. Your black dress was floor length, long thin sleeves exaggerating the curvature of your arms, barely concealing the muscle beneath. Close enough to see where your mask had rubbed at the side of your face, the slightest catch of what looked to be the beginnings of a scar peeking out the only part the mask didn’t entirely cover on the left side, parallel to where he assumed your eye was. It was hard to tell above the lace. 

“Who are you?” He asked quietly, an unmistakable, static tension now charging the air between you as you raised a thin brow. 

“Alecto. You know that already.”

“That’s not really your name, is it?” It wasn’t a genuine question. He already knew the answer but was rather prodding for more. More information other than what you’d already told him. He was a perceptive man, knowing when to listen and what was important. And the nuggets of your past had been collecting in his brain for the past thirty or so minutes. The nuggets of who you were. 

“Could be.” You shrugged, and he tilted his head to the side. You hated looking at him. Hated how you realised he was actually incredibly good looking. His face was hard but his eyes were… softer. Almost kind. You wondered if his heart reflected that. 

You had a feeling it did. Or he wouldn’t be here now. 

No. He was here because of Xavier. You had to remember that. 

Logan watched as your features flickered with something akin to remorse before they were schooled into neutrality. “We should go.” You uttered, before breezing past him and heading for the door. With each step away from him, you found breathing easier. Found your chest loosening, your heartbeat growing steadier. You hadn’t even realised it was racing.

He took a moment to inhale as you walked past him, his nose itching with the masking scent of your chosen perfume. He waded past it, finding the coppery smell of your mutation, and the surprising, underlying tone of lavender. It wasn’t fabricated. Wasn’t something anyone could bottle and spray. It was you. You smelt like lavender. 

And blood.

Loosing a long exhale, Logan took another moment to collect himself before he turned to follow you out the door, seeing you already halfway down the hallway talking to Tisiphone, who to be quite honest, he didn’t entirely trust. Although, did he entirely trust you? His gut told him yes, he did, and it was a good idea too, but he’d been wrong before. He wouldn’t be wrong again. Exercise caution. That was probably the smartest thing to do right now. 

And don’t get attached.

“And you’re sure this is going to work?” He overheard Tiss asking, to your almost comically exaggerated eye-roll. Clearly, you’d already had this conversation, and not just about this. 

“No. Tiss. I have no idea. When do we ever? But I’ll have Opheus in my ear and Magpie’s eyes on the whole room. If shit goes haywire, we bounce, okay? Like always.” You shrugged, and he saw you pull at an invisible piece of lint from your glove. You were nervous. Were you always nervous? Were you like this before any of your other assignments? Were you like this when he met you?

“That’s not what I meant, Al, and you know it. I meant bringing Claws along with us. Do you know how fucking dangerous this is? He could blow the entire operation!” Tiss hissed, gesturing wildly to both ends of the hallway. The moment her head turned toward him, she straightened, smoothing down any creases on the front of her shimmering silver dress. You glanced his way, clenching your jaw.

“He won’t.” He heard you hiss back, and Logan was forced to pretend he’d heard nothing as he all but sauntered up to the two of you, hands lodged firmly in his pockets. With a heavy sigh, you flipped open the clip of your small shoulder bag, bringing out a sleek-looking masquerade and wordlessly handing it to him. He quirked a brow.

“This isn’t a masked ball…” he stated lowly, trying to ignore the look of pointed exasperation on Tisiphone’s face, her own matching silver mask barely concealing any of her expression. He chose instead to focus on the way you shot her a glare, your lip curling slightly before she huffed and folded her arms. 

“It isn’t. Not for anyone else. Each family has their symbol. This is ours. Your name is Jonathon Hargraeves, but don’t mention that until asked. We as the Hargreaves have never been to one of these socials and only decided to invest in the MSR. This is Evie Hargreaves, married to your brother, Henry. Magpie and Morpheus are our security, so will remain nameless. As will you if we can’t get you through security, because then–”

“I’m your mutant pet. Yeah, you said,” he muttered, slightly regretting sharply snatching the mask from your hands when he saw how genuinely sorry you were. It was smart, he thought, to keep one of your eyes covered. Because though your face itself was masked to perfection, your every emotion shone through your eye. “And you are?”

“Amelia. We met four years ago at a hunt ball in England. I was there as an au pair for the family. The connection was instant blah blah blah we’re married, got it?” You didn’t wait for him to confirm before you nodded to Tisiphone, who rifled through her clutch bag to pull out one, infinitesimal earpiece, one that could be mistaken for some kind of alternative piercing. She handed it to you and you fiddled with the lace at the side of your mask and slipped the earpiece securely within, tapping it once and nodding in confirmation. He took the time to fix his own mask over his eyes, finding that, remarkably, it fit like a glove. No chance of it falling from his face unless he removed it himself. Had you ma–

“Stick with Al. She’s your only point of communication since the rest of us didn’t know you’d be tagging along.” Tisiphone instructed with no small degree of begrudging, halting his train of thought. Like he was going to wander off anyway, in a strange place he didn’t know full of strange people who hated him for even existing? Yeah, not a chance. 

But he nodded all the same. 

“Magpie, you here?” you murmured, waiting for a beat before exhaling in muted relief. “Morpheus?” You repeated the same cycle, dipping your head to Tisiphone and, to Logan’s surprise, him, in confirmation. “They’re at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone ready?” You asked breathlessly, and Logan found himself wanting to take your hand. To reassure you. A wanted killer. And he wanted to reassure them. What the fuck was he on?

“Let’s go then.” Tisiphone finished, linking her elbow around yours and looking pointedly at Logan as if waiting for him to do the same. It took him a beat to understand, but the moment he linked his arm through yours, he clenched his jaw against the foreign prickling of his skin. You looked down momentarily to where the crook of his arm rested against your own, confusion furrowing your brows, but not because of the action itself. And the way you glanced up at him confirmed what he’d suspected. 

You felt something similar. 

But you once again schooled your expression to neutrality, each step measured as the three of you approached the top of the stairs, the hum of idle chattering in the ballroom growing louder until he could see the two men he’d briefly met with before, shades now concealing their eyes, looking every bit the part they were playing. You did too, he realised. You looked the spitting image of a young, upper-class woman at her first big social. It was impressive, the number of skins you could wear. 

“What happened to the real Hargreaves?” Logan asked quietly, barely moving his mouth as he descended down the staircase by your side. You raised your head slightly as those lingering in the front hall looked up to see just who it was whose footsteps were echoing down the stairs. Though, upon the lack of recognition, they all turned back to their conversations. 

“You catch on quick,” you murmured, impressed. “Tiss took care of them. They won’t be a threat to mutants anymore.” A delicious sense of satisfaction laced your tone, and Logan’s gut twisted, looking past you to find a similar satisfied expression sitting neatly on Tisiphone’s masked face. 

“Hellfire. Not even their bones will be found.” She flashed him a knife-like grin, and he gripped your arm a little tighter, though he couldn’t say why. 

The steady beeping of the security measures sent your nerves spiking, Magpie and Morpheus now flanking the three of you as you approached the door to the ballroom. They really took security seriously here, having a separate conveyor for bags and personal items, such as necklaces, watches, belts and so on. 

Due to a lack of logic or sheer dumb luck, names were taken after passing through security, Logan breathed a small sigh of relief. That’s at least one problem taken care of. 

“It’s not just a metal detector,” you explained quietly, looking as if you too were engaging in idle chatter. “It can detect the X-gene. I can hide it in the rest of them, but there’s nothing I can do about your claws. Don’t suppose they detach?” You asked hopefully, and Logan clicked his tongue in a firm no. 

“It’s not just the claws.” He muttered, letting go of your arm the same moment Tisiphone did, joining the queue to be searched. He heard you hiss a quiet curse, and his shoulders tensed involuntarily. He didn’t like how this had already taken a bad turn. 

“Bags and jewellery on the left. Please declare if you have a mutant with you before they enter the detector and we have spare collars if needed. Next!” The guard manning the security called, waving his arms and beckoning Tisiphone forward. All your focus honed in on her bloodstream, separating the X-gene-carrying cells and pushing them into the deepest parts of her body, holding your breath as she took a step forward after placing her bag and silverware on the conveyor belt. This was always the worst past. If you fell at the first hurdle, it was likely you’d end up back where you started.

And that simply wasn’t an option for you. 

But she stepped through clear, sending you a nod as she placed various rings back on her fingers, securing her tennis bracelet back around her wrist. One down, two to go. Magpie and Morpheus had flashed their security badges, completely fabricated of course, and were promptly let through the side door with a respectful clap on the back from the man in charge. And whilst spite curled in your chest for how easy that was for them, you were slightly relieved you didn’t have to exhaust yourself further by simply trying to get them in. You only had to hide yourself now. 

And Logan… but you’d burn that bridge when you got there. 

You steadily removed your necklace, placing it delicately next to your bag on the belt, before once again honing in your concentration, this time on yourself. It was always harder when you had to hide the fact you were using your mutation as if your own blood was struggling against you to be free. But you repeated the same action to yourself, sending the genes flowing through your blood to the furthest corners of your body, heart thundering in your chest as you took a step beneath the detector.

And waited.

“All clear. Next!” Those words were both music to your ears and the equivalent of hearing nails down a chalkboard. You were through, yes. But now was the issue of getting Logan through as well. You fought to keep your knee from bouncing as he removed all the metal from atop his body. Your chest squeezed as he sent you a look of what you could only describe as ‘here-goes-nothing’, and you focused your mutation on his blood.

But, predictably, your efforts fell for naught as the alarms blared and lights flashed red as he was instantly stopped, two guards flanking him frm either side, guns suddenly in their hands from where you hadn’t seen them before. But he looked as calm as ever, and you wondered just how many times this had happened.

“Step this way, please.”

“Don’t want to cause a scene now, do we?”

The threats in their voices made your spine shiver with apoplectic rage. As if they could do anything to actually harm any of you. If only they knew just who they were dealing with. Or rather, what they were dealing with. You craved to see them cower, but a display of power right now really would blow the entire operation, and you had to keep your head. 

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” You asked smoothly, gliding over to where they’d taken him to the side and started a search. The two men turned to you, looking you up and down appraisingly, before gesturing to Logan with their guns. 

“There’s no metal on him. This one yours?” One asked, and your gut writhed like seething vipers. The idea that mutants belonged to anyone made you want to–

“Yes. Why?” You asked flatly, folding your arms and tapping your foot in a display of annoyance Logan had no other choice than to be impressed with. You really were playing the part perfectly. But no matter how good of an actor you were, the guards eyed you with equal suspicion.

“You should know all mutants must be declared ahead of time. If I could have your name, please.” One of the guards took a notepad and a pen out of his pocket, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Amelia. Hargreaves. My husband–”

“Hargreaves?” He asked, raising a brow and lowering his notepad. “As in, Jonathan Hargreaves?” He clarified, glancing at his partner who still had his hands securely around Logan’s arm. The sigh made you seeth. 

“That’s right. I don’t like repeating myself gentlemen, yet here we are. What seems to be the problem?” You took their shock and ran with it, hoping they were staring at you in reverence rather than disgust. But the moment Logan was released, you had to fight to hide your sigh of release. 

“Our apologies, ma’am. Your husband has done more for the security business than he knows. But, I’m forced to remind you all show-pets must be tagged and collared for your own safety and the safety of the event.” Your stomach dropped, taking a glance around the room. Sure enough, there were various different mutants, all with blinking lights embedded into their necks, just above where those collars sat. Those collars you knew all too well. Some kind of suppressant frequency hummed at the constant high, rendering them completely powerless. Your fists clenched by your sides, something the guard seemed to notice. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Tag him to your heart's content, however unfortunately you cannot collar him.” Whilst putting a tag in his neck would plant yet another spanner in your already spanner-filled works, collaring him was another problem entirely. Getting those fucking things off was borderline impossible without the passkey. And you refused to subject him to that. “You see, he has a rare genetic disease. Other than being a mutant, of course,” Your throat burned with the words, but it was worth it to put the guards at ease, their light chuckles were a stark contrast to your barely concealed rage. “It’s only due to his enhanced immune system that it doesn’t kill him. Take that away and he’ll be dead in minutes. And I don’t suppose you know how expensive this one was now do you? This was my darling husband’s first true mutant investment. I wonder how much he’ll continue to do for the security industry when he learns his prized pet was killed at the hands of one?” You mused absently, lying through your teeth and pretending not to notice the way the guards straightened their backs, sending each other sharp glances as if trying to figure out what they were going to do.

“I uh– of course, ma’am. As long as you know what you’re doing and he’s kept under control at all times. Would you like some extra security?” One of the guards asked, now taking a step forward. You could see the eagerness in his eyes to prove himself, and something darker that bubbled just below the surface, making your skin crawl. 

“No, thank you. My own guards should suffice. Thank you for your time and concern, gentlemen.” You gave them an appreciative bow of your head before your features hardened as you looked at Logan, who’d done remarkably well to hold his silence. He was even better at this than you were. “Heel.” You barked sharply, and without hesitation, he strode to your side, his face betraying nothing. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen.”

You turned to leave them behind, your heart thundering in your chest, praying they were done with their inspection and would finally leave you alone to do your job. Only, any prayers you had were answered the second you took a step forward. And you really didn’t like the answer. 

“Ma’am!” You stopped in your tracks, whirling back to them and not bothering to conceal your haughty irritation. But before you could open your mouth to ask them just what the hell they wanted now, the same guard from before waved the tracker gun in his hand, hurrying over to you. “For tagging purposes.” He explained, before bringing the gun to Logan’s neck and pulling the trigger. 

You inhaled as he barely winced, the light blinking just below the surface of his skin, and your gut twisted. You knew he could heal, but was this something he could heal from? Did the tag have to be removed before the wound could heal up? Fuck, there were already too many unknowns. But nonetheless, you nodded gratefully, and the guard looked you over one last time. 

“Where is your husband tonight? I’d greatly appreciate the chance to thank him for all he’s done for us.” He asked with a tilt of his head, and you schooled your expression into something of remorse.

“Unfortunately my husband has taken gravely ill. He is in our bed back home, and I am here in his stead upon his wishes. I will pass on your gratitude. Good evening.” You wondered how many times you could end this interaction before it actually finished, but he seemed to take your answer on board and step away, heading back to his station by the security gates. Thank fuck for that. You watched him go, making sure he was actually back to work before turning your back on him, and stealing a glance at Logan. “Are you okay?” You murmured, fighting the urge to graze the back of his hand with yours in something you hoped he’d interpret as comfort. But he just nodded, his hand instead cupping the side of his neck where the tag blinked beneath his–

Or rather, where the tag had just been pushed out from beneath his skin. With a swift movement, he used his thumb to wipe away any trace of blood before it stained the collar of his shirt, crushing the tag in his hand and pocketing the remains. Well, that answered your question from before. 

“I’m sorry…” you continued, finally causing him to glance down at you, and whilst his face betrayed nothing, his eyes shone with surprising calm. When you asked him to help, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. And now having to treat him like something less than human just because he was born with the X-gene almost made you want to throw up. 

“Don’t think about it. Just focus.” He replied with equal quiet, and under any other circumstances, you’d ask just who the hell he thought he was ordering you around like that. But annoyingly, he was right. You didn’t have the time to say what you wanted to say, and you sure as hell weren’t in the right environment to do so. 

“On your right, 4 o’clock. De Voss. Owns an electrical company, one of the largest in the country. He’s here with his sons. A regular at these events.” Magpie’s voice muttered into your earpiece, and you straightened your back, preparing for your first interaction of the evening. The first of many, you assumed. 

“Quite the impressive pet you have. Worth a small fortune, no doubt.” As you turned, you managed to catch sight of Tisiphone, already deep in conversation with another family whose tie bore the image of two dancing swans. Another family symbol, no doubt. 

Your eyes met with the monocle-wearing Mr. De Voss, and you stole a glance to his two sons sporting the same look. Plastering on a bashful smile, you placed your hand into his outstretched palm, grimacing as he brought it to his lips, his thick moustache scratching against your knuckles. You felt Logan stiffen next to you. “De Voss, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss…?”

“Hargreaves. But my friends call me Amelia. And you’re not wrong. Wulfred here did indeed cost my husband a small fortune.” You delicately removed your hand from his as you thought up a name on the fly, your skin crawling at the way his lips split into a broad, predatory smile. 

“Amelia it is. You're Jonathan’s wife, correct? I met the man a few weeks ago at the new gentlemen’s club. I have to say, he undersold your beauty, the old dog.” You had to suppress the urge to scoff. If only he knew. But your brow raised in a careful display of shy amusement. “So this is the mutant he was boasting about. Now I understand. You don’t think you could give us a quick show, do you? He wouldn’t stop talking about this thing’s ability to command the very earth itself.” De Voss laughed, though he eyed you expectantly and your blood ran cold. This wasn’t what you were expecting. A display of mutation in a slaver’s gala? You really hadn’t been counting on that. Nor had you been counting on any members here already having basic knowledge of who you were. Or, who you were pretending to be.

“Now now, I hardly think that would be appropriate. I wouldn’t want to be escorted out of my first gala now would I?” You joked, placing a strategic hand on his arm, watching as he pursed his lips in thought. 

“No, I don’t suppose that would be appropriate. However, you must visit us in the south, and bring your pet with you. As long as you’re both well-behaved, of course.” He winked, and you barely managed not to gag. The people truly were the epitome of disgust. “We have quite the range of mutants, from pyromancers to telepaths, and we’re finalising the details of our new breeding programme if you’re interested. This one here looks of good stock, incredibly obedient as well. Those are the kinds of qualities we’re looking for,” he walked around Logan, eyeing him up as if he were nothing but cattle and to be quite honest, he was feeling like it. But he held his tongue tightly behind clamped, letting this worm appraise him. “I mentioned it to your husband the other week, since he’s just getting into the game, this would be a wise investment for him. A good place to start. I’m sure we could find an appropriate bitch for this one.” He didn’t mean the word as an insult, and you couldn’t help but think that was worse. 

“I see. And how much would be the first instalment?”You asked, appearing as if you were simply inspecting your nails whilst you fought every instinct not to explode this motherfucker’s face where he stood. De Voss’ eyes narrowed at you, an expression of dawning realisation settling on his features.

“Ah, I understand now. Your husband… he’s not the brains, is he? You know what they say, behind every great man there’s a powerful woman, and here you are.” Oh, he had no idea. “Fantastic act, by the way, but not much gets past me. I’ll be keeping a watchful eye on you, Amelia.” He emphasised your alias as if to truly seal the friendship card, and you looked at him through your lashes, painting your expression to look impressed. “Here, my details. Get your husband to give us a call and we can discuss terms and prices.” He flashed a grin, producing a small, thin card from between his fingers. Was he just keeping a bunch of them up his sleeve for this very purpose? You would have laughed at the ridiculousness if you weren’t so seething with fury. 

“I’ll pass on the offer, Mr De Voss, I’m sure my husband would be more than interested in your… programme.” You couldn’t say it. Couldn’t force the words out your throat because he would have known you were disgusted by the idea simply by your tone. Plucking the card from his fingers, you made a show of slipping it into your bag, all the while keeping eye contact with the weasel. 

“Please, call me Simon. It’s what my friends call me.” He replied with the same wink as before, before dipping his head to you and gesturing for his sons to follow as he went to rehearse the same spiel to someone else. Your hands shook as they balled to fists by your sides, whatever Magpie was saying in your earpiece was drowned out by the pitched screaming in your ears. 

“Y’okay?” Logan murmured, but to no response. He cautioned a glance at you to find you were staring straight ahead where Simon had been standing, your eyes burning a hole into the ground. He was thankful your mutation had nothing to do with fire because he was certain there really would be a hole burned into the ground. 

“No, no I’m alright darling, just feeling lightheaded is all.” He heard a finely dressed woman say as she passed by with her partner, flicking open the fan in her hand to cool off her face. He had hoped it was just coincidence, but the moment he saw another, a man, having to put his drink down and shake his head of fuzziness, he knew this was no coincidence. 

You were messing with their bloodstreams. Intentional or not, he didn’t know. All he knew was that you needed to calm down. Now.

“Alec… what’re you doing?” He hissed, pretending to accidentally bump into you in order to snap you out of your daze. It worked for a moment, and he watched as you blinked a few times at him, your brows furrowing in confusion before you glanced around, your face paling. 

“Shit…” you cursed, concentrating for a moment and reining in your mutation, watching as those who had started to feel dizzy came back to their senses, reassuring their partners or blaming their mutant pets. “Magpie? No, I’m here. Fine. Yep, I just need– yeah I know. Tiss I do not need your input. Fuck.” You clenched your jaw, and Logan barely had time to repeat his question before you were on the move, making a beeline for one of the doors that lead from the ballroom and deeper into the house. You dipped your head in respectful hellos to the people you passed, promising a few of them a moment of your time after you’d ‘freshened up’ or ‘powdered your nose’. It was impressive, how you could appear so collected on the outside when he could sense your unrelenting rage on the inside. He could see it with each stride, the bounce of your loosening hair as you walked with purpose through the now quiet hallways and into an empty room, somewhere far away from the rest of the chattering crowd. 

Similar to the one from before, yet another meeting room, you swung your bag onto one of the many gorgeously upholstered chairs, snatching the earpiece from your ear and slamming it onto the table, Magpie’s concerned voice still chiming through, occasionally interrupted by Tisiphone. Logan took the liberty of picking it up, holding it closer to his own ear so he could hear what they were saying more clearly. Mainly it was Tisiphone spitting feathers at you losing your cool like that. And for some reason, it pissed him off. 

“Give us a minute, we’ll be back out there soon.” He spat, ignoring Tiss’ concealed squawk of rage as he placed it back down on the table, along with his mask, turning to where you’d taken your hair down and were staring out the broad, tall window into the darkness beyond. He wanted to walk up to you, to place a hand on your shoulder, sweep your hair to one side, anything, but he kept his distance. “...Y’okay?” He asked again, hoping this time you would answer. 

You stayed silent for a moment, staring at your own reflection in the window, running a hand through your hair. “A breeding programme…” you whispered, fearful that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. “Breeding mutants. Like we’re livestock. Like we’re prized racehorses or pedigree dogs.” Your every word was dripping venom, toxic vowels spitting from your mouth. “I thought this was just about the MSR. The system. Trading and bartering with lives for the most money. The most earnings. But now they’re starting to breed us?” You could feel your blood coiling in your veins, yearning to strike out, and you inhaled a deep breath. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Logan responded, now taking that step toward you he wanted to take, placing that hand on your shoulder he wanted to place. Satisfying the itch to sweep your hair to the side, silky strands flowing through his fingers in what he hoped was comfort. “Stopping this fucksticks is the goal, but if you lose your cool in there, we’re all screwed.” His tone was surprisingly gentle and warmer than you were expecting, and you masked your pleasant reaction with a humourless chuckle. 

“You sound like Tisiphone.” Your head fell into your hand as you continued to peer at your own reflection through your spread fingers. The lace mask still perfectly concealed half of your face. The shadows of your past lives. But your eyes slid from your own to his in the window. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this…” you murmured, only now noticing you didn’t instantly shy away from his touch like you would most others. And only now remembering you didn’t earlier, either. 

“You didn’t. You didn’t ask, remember? You offered, and I took you up on it.” He shrugged, his heart skipping a beat when your chuckle this time held a lot more genuine humour in it, your lips quirking into a half-smile as your eyes fell from his gaze to the floor thoughtfully.

“You don’t belong in this kind of life. You’re too kind for it.”

Now that took him by surprise. Never, in his century of being alive, had he been told he was too kind for something like this. He would have laughed aloud if you hadn’t been looking so riddled with guilt. 

“Never heard that one before. Don’t forget I was a stray dog before Charles found me.” He wanted to make you smile again. Or, as much of a smile as he could get out of you, but instead you crinkled your nose, your lip curling slightly. 

“Please don’t refer to yourself as a dog after that conversation…” You muttered, turning to face him, his hand still steady on your shoulder. “Some strays are already tame, anyway.”

“Not this one.”

“No?”

“Nope. Feral as they come.” He smirked, and you ducked your head as your lips cracked into a smile, before composing yourself again and returning your eyes to his face. 

“Feral?” you gave him a look that suggested you didn’t believe him, before sighing through your nose. “A feral stray dog and a street-kid circus freak. What a pair…” you hummed in bittersweet melancholy, and Logan had to wonder just what the hell the world did to you. And he’d just opened his mouth to ask before a familiar scent struck him like a slap. His eyes hardened as he looked at you in confusion, leaning in closer and inhaling your scent a few times, his nose scrunching with each exaggerated sniff. 

You drew back, utter bafflement crossing your features. “What the hell are you doing…?”

It wasn’t you. It wasn’t coming from you. The mutation he was smelling… it wasn’t yours. “I can smell something.”

“I’m gonna try really hard not to be offended by that.” You quipped back, folding your arms in what could only be described as offence. 

Logan rolled his eyes skyward. “Not you. Mutants. Other mutants.”

You tilted your head to the side, wondering if he’d run completely off the rails. “Yeah… they’re out in the ballroom. We saw them.” But Logan shook his head definitively, and your pulse quickened slightly. 

“No, not them either…” he glanced around the room, head snapping in alert, before he turned back to you, both hands now gripping both of your shoulders. “You said you can hide the X-gene in mutant blood, right?” He asked frantically, and you nodded, staying quiet to allow him to brainstorm. “So you can detect it? Mutant blood?” You nodded again. Where the hell was he going with this? “Good. Imma need you to concentrate real hard. Focus. Expand your range.” He wracked his brain to remember how the Professor taught telepaths and telekinetics to use their powers as you closed your eyes, remembering his wording and hoping to whatever sick gods there were that this would work. He had no idea if it was the same for sense-based mutations, but he had to try. “Like you’re puttin’ out feelers, testin’ the waters for–”

“Hard to concentrate with you yapping.” You snapped, but you took his advice on board, expanding the range of your mutation and doing exactly what he described, putting out feelers and waiting for any kind of feedback. You could sense the ballroom, the various mutants pulling your blood in various directions. Someone had once described it as a ‘birds of a feather’ situation. Your blood wanted to be near others with the same gene. He’d explained it like a pack animal situation.

Before you exploded his arm off…

But all you could sense was the ballroom. Nothing else was pulsing back to you. You shook your head slightly, and Logan huffed in resignation, his head bowing low, almost touching yours. He was positive there were others here. The scent was faint, but it was there. Unmistakable. He was convinced. 

And then you felt it. Like the whisper of a breeze through trees, something pulled you back, your knees almost buckling as you were also pulled down. What the fuck?

“You’re right…”

Logan’s head snapped back up, his gaze flickering over your concentrated features, your eyes moving beneath closed lids as you searched, brows twitching. “It’s big, whatever it is. I can’t… pinpoint it, but it’s below us somewhere.” Just what the hell had the Thornbury’s found to give off that kind of pulse? What the hell had they locked away in the bowels of the house? You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he’d gotten to you, the warmth of his body causing yours to shiver almost imperceptibly. What the fuck had gotten into you? You were a hardened, seasoned killer, and the proximity of one man had your body behaving in ways you didn’t tell it to. That in and of itself was a novelty, let alone the… feelings that came along with it.

You couldn’t be far enough away from him. But, at the same time…

You couldn’t be close enough. 

You were glad when he removed his hands from your shoulder. But if you were glad, then why did you suddenly feel so damn cold?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for this. 

“We should go.” You muttered sternly, shaking your head at whatever the fuck had just happened, turning away from him to allow yourself to breathe. Logan cocked his head to the side as you turned, your shifts in demeanour giving him whiplash. One moment you could be so kind, so genuine, and the next you were stony and emotionless. It was hard to keep up with, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah.” He agreed, following you back out the door, trusting your sense of direction and his own sense of smell, your earpiece left discarded on the table, left behind as Tisiphone, Magpie and Morpheus continued trying to get a hold of you. 

But you were long gone. 

“So what’s with the mask?” Logan asked absently as you led him through hallway after hallway, descending downstairs where available, popping your head into various different rooms. You both knew you’d find nothing until the scent and the pulse were stronger, but it was worth a look anyway.

“We’re not doing this.” You snapped sharply, not bothering to even cast a glance in his direction because you feared that if you did, you’d open up further, and that terrified you.

“Doin’ what? Idly chattin’ whilst aimlessly wanderin’ the halls of this fuckin’ palace?” He snapped back defensively, finding your sudden irritable mood grating. Just moments ago you were telling him he was too kind to be here, and now you couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. 

“Sharing our sad, tragic backstories. You might all sit around braiding each other’s hair and making friendship bracelets back at that cushy little school, having group therapy sessions sitting in a circle, but we don’t really go for that kinda shit here. The people who know, know. The people who don’t, don’t. That’s all there is to it.” You shut the door to the room you were peering into, hoping to fuck that would be the end of his line of questioning. Truth be told, you didn’t really want to relive your past. You didn’t want to have to explain why you wear a mask, because he’d perceive you differently, and it would become all too obvious why you’re doing what you’re doing. And a deeper, more vulnerable part of yourself simply didn’t want him to care.

Logan bristled, striding forward to snatch your wrist before you could walk any further in front of him. You whirled, a sharp breath sailing from your lips. “Listen bub, I don’t give a damn about what shit you’ve been through. If you don’t wanna talk, fine by me, but we’re gonna have a problem if you keep jumping down my fuckin’ throat every time–” he stopped abruptly, the sudden haze of anger clearing as he registered just how quickly you’d shifted again. Guilt spiked through his chest as fear flickered across your features, your eyes stuck on his grip around your arm. 

But it was gone the moment he loosened his hold, your wrist snatched from his palm, subdued rage replacing the deep, scarring terror on your face. “Touch me again, and I will boil you alive, got it?” You hissed, though your voice shook ever so slightly, shards of broken memories slashing through your head, the same harsh grip, the same enraged eyes, the pain that was soon to follow.

The shower of blood. The screaming of agony. The slick, wet crack of bone splintering bone. It rang in your ears like a tannoy, and you closed your eyes to shove it back down where it belonged. Deep, deep within the carefully stacked boxes in your mind, where you kept the rest of your past. You clenched your jaw, your teeth groaning as they ground together, and turned back away from him. He was gone. You’d scared the shit out of him and he’d run. You were free. 

You were free.

“I didn’t–” Logan began, but you cut him off. You didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit apology he had. 

“Save it. Let’s keep moving.”

“Alec–”

But you’d already started walking. Well, pacing, really. And Logan couldn’t help but think it was to be far away from him. He sighed, running an exhausted hand down the side of his face and making a mental note not to touch you again. How complex could one person be? Was this how Jean felt?

The thought of her made his stomach turn, conflicted. They hadn’t exactly left off on the best of terms, and he was dreading the conversation looming over his head when he returned. What more could he possibly say to her? Should he apologise? Explain how he knew what it felt like now? But what exactly was it that she wanted? She seemed almost hurt that he’d changed so much so quickly. Not only that, but he had his own shit to figure out. 

Anyhow, now truly was not the time to be sorting through his own messes. 

“The fuck?”

Logan was broken from his thoughts, looking up to where you’d stopped at the end of the hallway. At a complete dead-end with nothing but an enormous oil painting of a landscape. The landscape around the house. But the scent was getting stronger, how could this lead to nowhere?

Striding up next to you, he briefly caught your wary glance, before turning his attention back to the painting, running the tips of his fingers around the frame. Old houses like these… they always had some kind of secret entrances and exits. He was surprised you didn’t think of it, considering the first time he met you, you’d escaped through said secret exit. 

You eyed him with baffled curiosity, watching his hands skirt around the wooden frame, up to where he could reach, before feeling beneath the bottom, his expression shifting from one of concentration to one of satisfaction as something clicked behind the painting. 

“Gotcha.” He muttered, the painting sliding up the wall with a mechanic hiss, the wooden boards behind the wall shifting inwards and clicking into place, before a door that wasn’t there previously swung open and a cold draft swept your hair back. You would have snorted in amusement if the tension wasn’t so high, the walls changing from wooden to metal beyond the entrance, steel steps leading down into the darkness.

“Well… That’s not ominous.” You quipped sarcastically, folding your arms as you flared out your mutation, the pulse of blood feeding back to you stronger than it had ever been. 

“Yep, these people love a cliché. Shall we?”  He raised a brow, and your lips pulled into a slightly apologetic half-smile. You didn’t mean to lose your temper earlier, truly. He was helping you, and you’d lashed out in a moment of vulnerability. The least you could do was pretend like it never happened. 

“Age before beauty.” You shrugged, and Logan sighed, expecting you to wait for him to go first. But to his continuous surprise, you started down the steps, your heels echoing against the metal. 

“Just how old do you think I am?” He asked, following you into the dark, your huffed breath of a chuckle louder within the empty stairwell.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re prettier than me.” You threw back nonchalantly, and Logan’s gruff laugh bounced off the walls alongside your footsteps. But when you didn’t laugh with him, something in his chest twinged. 

“Hold on, you’re bein’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. You should see me without the mask.” He didn’t need to. Holy shit you were truly blind, weren’t you? 

“Thought we weren’t talking about each other’s sad, tragic backstories?” He asked wickedly, and you could hear his smirk, his tone making your stomach flip. 

“You brought it up.”

“And you shut it down.”

“Just… shut up.” You whispered over your shoulder, and though the light was dim, he could see the humour sparkling in your eye, the knowledge that he had you in a box once again. And the realisation that you were liking it. Enjoying having someone who could keep up with your sharp tongue and even sharper wit. He grinned back at you, and you gave him an exaggerated eye-roll, huffing as you turned back to watch where you were going. 

The moment between you, however long he wanted it to last, was quickly broken by the coppery stench of blood. And not just the lingering hint of your mutation. You paused as if you could smell it too, and he could see the way the muscles in your back stiffened slightly. 

The stairs opened up into yet another large hallway, only this one was vastly different the the ones up above you, and you could only tell because the air wasn’t so stiflingly thick, the lack of light still impeding your vision. Though, whilst you swore there was absolutely no light, the moment you turned back to Logan, you almost jumped out of your skin. 

His eyes were fucking reflective. Just what the hell was he?

“Here,” he murmured, stretching out the the side and finding the large switch for lighting, the humming of electricity filled the silence before white lights overhead stuttered to life. You blinked a few times, squinting as your eyes adjusted, but the moment they did, you felt like you were going to be sick. 

The walls were almost green with age and damp, mould crawling up every corner it could find. The hallway split off in several directions, and you nodded to Logan in a silent agreement to split off and find what you could. You took the left room, the steel door cold against your palm as you pushed it open, the hinges squealing with complaint. A single desk and chair stood imposingly towards the back wall, with various monitors and keyboards littering the surface of the table. Your breath clouded in front of your face as you cautiously walked in, eyes flickering over the various papers strewn across the tabletop, various family seals all stamped into the bottom corner, signatures of all kinds signed atop dotted lines. 

Your blood ran cold. 

‘Ownership Terms and Conditions’

The paper was thick beneath your fingers as you picked up one of the documents, scanning through the text. It was all here. The details of mutation, the strengths and weaknesses, age, height, weight, and gender. Everything but name. They’d taken away the only thing these people could call their own. Referring to them as numbers or mutant abilities. 

And you realised now you’d already made your first mistake. You’d referred to Logan by a name when talking to Simon De Voss. Shit, had he caught it? Were you already fucked? You tapped your finger to your ear, your panic rising when you realised you’d left your fucking earpiece behind on that damned table. Fuck fuck fuck. 

You had to go. You had to get them out. By now, if De Voss had noticed, they’d have already started the hunt for anyone wearing a mask like yours. And Logan had left his–

You had to go. Now.

“Alec!” Logan called urgently, and the uncharacteristic fear in his tone had you backtracking through the doorway and into the room he’d been investigating. 

And the moment you joined him, you felt sick to your stomach. 

Cages. Cages lining the walls, stacked on top of one another, crammed into little corners. Large ones, tiny ones, long ones. And each containing at least one pair of terrified eyes, staring back at you with measured caution.

“This isn’t a country house,” you breathed in utter horror and you tried and failed to comprehend just how many mutants the Thornbury’s had locked up literally in their basement. 

“It’s a collection point… Those deals made tonight? They’ll be finalised tonight.” Logan finished darkly, his teeth aching with how hard he was clenching his jaw. He sidled up next to you as you stepped up to the closest enclosure. And sure enough, someone within shrank back, but not fast enough for you to miss a black circle tattooed around her right eye. Like the De Voss’ monocle. Logan was right. 

Everyone had brought stock today… including you. 

“Help me get them out,” you barked, frantically searching the room for anything sharp enough to prick your hand with. Just one small wound was all you needed, and you’d be able to free these people. The operation be damned. This is why you did what you did. You knew the kind of lives that awaited these captives. Knew intimately the way the system worked. They’d be passed from rich prick to rich prick, sent to fight in the cages until they either burnt out or were killed. Even if they lived, they’d be tossed to the streets or executed. There was no future if they remained slaves. You were lucky. You were bought out. 

You knew not everyone had that luxury. 

Logan nodded wordlessly, releasing the constant leash he kept on his claws and allowing them to slide through his knuckles, and sliced through the top of the steel bars of the one in front of him, crouching to slice through the bottom before stepping back as the metal crashed to the ground. Without notice, you slashed your palm down his other hand, blood welling from the cut before he jerked his hand away. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell you were doing, eyes wide with concerned frustration before the blood in your hand spiralled and solidified into the same blade you’d used to fight him with. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you,” you soothed, stretching out your unarmed hand to the terrified-looking woman within the shadows. You spoke with a gentleness Logan could never have expected as if you were talking to a child, and he briefly wondered if you’d ever had much experience with kids. 

The woman took a shy step forward, peering at you with more curiosity than fear, and your heart soared. You were doing something. Finally, after months of torturing loose ends, you were finally making progress. 

For the first time since he’d met you, Logan saw you smile. Not the half-assed quirk of your lips he’d gotten used to, a real, genuine smile. And despite the pressing situation, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away. How could you believe you weren’t beautiful? And when you turned to him, your grin only broadening, he found himself smiling right back at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to pull you in. 

Almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you. 

Fuck… you were gorgeous. 

But before he could say anything, you were back on the move, slashing through steel bars and coaxing terrified men, women and children from their cages, one of which had instantly attached herself to your leg, curls of dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions, a tattoo of a galloping horse family crest peaking just below the ripped short sleeve of her filthy t-shirt. Logan ignored what the sight did to his chest, distracting himself by freeing the others you hadn’t got to yet. He wasn’t as reassuring with his words as you were, but seeing the way the others were treated with kindness was enough to show them he wasn’t going to hurt them.

“Well… they’re out,” Logan murmured, his claws retracting back through his knuckles, his suit jacket and tie long discarded inside one of the cages, leaving him in just the white shirt. You nodded, now at a slight loss as to what to do. You sure as shit couldn’t get back through the way you came. Sneaking thirty or so mutant slaves through a trader’s gala? Not likely. You wracked your brain for a plan, thinking of things on the fly was supposed to be your strong suit. That was until a little hand tugged on the fabric of your dress, the girl who’d attached herself to your leg looking up at you with large, determined eyes as she pointed to a door behind you. Looking back at Logan, you glanced to the door, and he nodded, crossing the room to shove at the steel.

Only it wouldn’t budge. 

He tried it again, this time putting more strength behind his arms, but the door was stubborn. So with a frustrated huff, he unsheathed his claws and slashed straight through the hinges, giving the door one last kick as if fell through, crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. 

“We’ve got activity in the cages, over.”

“Shit,” you hissed, your head whipping back to the hallway, and Logan tensed as he heard various colliding footsteps all honing in on your location. Detaching the kid from your leg, you hauled her up into your arms, handing her to Logan by the door. He took her without question. “Get them out. I’ll give you as long as I can.” His gut twisted at the implication, and before he could stop himself, his palm rested against the side of your face. But you didn’t boil him alive like you promised. His breath caught in his throat as you instead leaned slightly into his touch, your hand gently holding the base of his wrist. The moment was brief, like all other moments between you, but it felt different. It felt solid. 

But the growing threat behind you shattered it, and he dropped his hand the moment you dropped yours. 

“Stay alive.” He instructed softly, and your lips quirked into a smile as you nodded, eye glinting with determination before glancing to the open door. 

“Go.” Was all you said, before you turned, your crimson blade growing from the open wound in your hand, the blood writhing and shimmering in the white lights, before you were round the corner and gone from his sight. 

He didn’t stick around to hear the pained screams of guards and security alike, holding the kid in his arms as he raced down out the door and down more steel hallways, letting his nose guide him as the scent of rainfall and fresh air called him left and right. And it only felt like minutes before he burst through another door with his shoulder, stepping to the side to allow the rest of the mutants to sprint through to the outside, watching as they didn’t stop, scattering in different directions. He kept the girl close to him, secure in his hold as he waited for the last captive to race through, before stepping out into the rain himself.

The moment he did, he was drenched. It was the kind of rainfall that doused everything the moment it touched it. Lashes of water flooded the ground, his hair sticking slick to his head. And it was freezing. He shivered slightly as he ran, his shirt clinging to his body like a second skin. Shouts and sirens rang out behind him, and he looked back to see the country house up on the hill, torches pointed into the woods just beyond.

And no sign of you. 

Logan knew he had a choice. Protect the kid or go back for you. But the moment he paused, the girl made the choice for him. 

Sharp claws scratched at his shoulders as she fought in his grip, her little cat-like eyes narrowing with every wriggle, a tail he hadn’t previously spotted whipping and swishing. Freedom. She craved freedom. And the moment he set her down, she bounded off into the woods on all fours. Like she belonged there. 

A little wildling. He chuckled briefly, swiping his wet hair from his forehead. Something told him she’d be okay, and it was that thought that had him turning back, racing up the hill to where a line of torches was advancing forth. Torches that he knew were fixed to the end of guns. 

They really did take their security seriously at these events. 

Your feet screamed at you with every thunderous step you took, and you cursed yourself for wearing fucking heels to an event where it was more than likely you’d have to make a quick getaway. You were lucky you were light on your feet because every obstacle seemed intent on tripping your up. You’d stumbled more than once on a loose stick or thread of bramble, your leg bleeding where the thorns had snared your ankle. Drenched hair stuck to your back, the canopy above doing nothing to shelter you from the deluge, weak leaves bending with each droplet. You shivered uncontrollably, despite the adrenaline in your blood as you raced through the undergrowth, twigs and branching whipping at your arms and face, catching against the lace of your mask, threatening to tear it free. 

Your breath like ice in your lungs, burning with each panting inhale, your legs aching as you lept over a moss-covered log, the torchlight barely catching your sprinting form, but enough for the shouts of “There!” to echo throughout the wood. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. You’d received strict instructions and you couldn’t disobey them.

“Stay alive.”

His voice calmed your freight train panic as you squinted through the rain, focussing on what was ahead of you rather than what lay behind. “Stay alive.”

‘I’m fucking trying.’ you responded mentally, the mutation in your blood flaring as you forced it to pump faster. The ache in your muscles dulled, the haze in your mind cleared, and you were running again, your reflexes heightened. You dodged, ducked and weaved through the trees faster than the gunmen behind you could keep up with, their voices fading into the distance as you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Things were finally looking up. Maybe you’d gotten away. Maybe they were too busy searching for the rest of the escapees. Maybe they were distracted by–

You could barely finish the thought before an arm caught around your waist and a broad hand settled over your nose and mouth, pulling you back behind a large oak tree. You kicked and writhed as much as you could, your elbow colliding harshly with the figure’s ribs, the blood from your ankles and arms drawing up in front of you and separating into several crystalised points, all aiming behind you. 

But then a thumb smoothed down the bridge of your nose repeatedly, and the hand at your side squeezed not in fight, but reassurance. The crimson-throwing knives liquified in the air, dropping to the ground. 

Logan.

You stopped struggling, letting him bring you closer into his chest as steps crunched through dead leaves. He moved his hand from your nose, though keeping it over your mouth to allow you to breathe, his thumb unceasing in its movements. And despite being huddled in his arms, you couldn’t feel any of the warmth you’d felt within the country house. He was freezing as if his very bones were nothing but ice. You weren’t much better off, shivering violently in his hold. You both stayed there, waiting in the increasingly charged silence until those footsteps had receding into the roar of the rain. Only then did Logan slide his hand from your mouth, but it didn’t go far, moving just enough to cup your jaw, turning your head to look at him. 

You were caked in blood. Your dress had been completely ruined, crimson stains spotted your arms and legs, your collarbone and neck were painted a diluted scarlet as the rain did its job to wash it all away.

His eyes fell to the hollow of your throat, where the rain had not only washed away the blood but the makeup. An angry, jagged scar ran all around the circumference of your neck, slightly raised from the rest of your smooth skin. You really had masked it well, a perfect concoction of concealer and foundation combined with colour corrector. But all your hard work was now washed away, leaving behind the cruelties of your past. 

He was lying about what he said earlier. He did give a shit about what you’d been through. In fact, he gave more shits than he cared to admit. 

“Y’alright?” He asked, his hushed voice barely audible over the rain, and you nodded, droplets falling into your eye, your other still covered with your mask. You were fine, physically at least. Sure you had a few scrapes and bruises but other than that, you weren’t hurt. But you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that everything you’d just worked for had gone down the drain. Sure, you’d saved them from their imminent slavery, but you’d just lost them all. Who’s to say they weren’t going to be found again? Who’s to say you’d only succeeded briefly, only to fall back into the vast depths of failure? It had become your constant companion recently. The empty, hollow void of failure. After every pointless torture, every pulled nail, every busted lip, you’d trudge back home with that same pit in your chest. You’d filled it for a moment. Smiling for the first time in years, only for it to be snatched away from you the moment you let yourself think that maybe, just maybe, you were making a difference.

You hoped the rain would disguise your watery eye. You should be used to the feeling now. Used to feeling completely and utterly useless against the forces constantly working against you. Then why? Why did it feel like you’d accomplished nothing? You stepped out of Logan’s hold, shivering slightly in the freezing weather, your skin crawling with the way your dress was pasted against you like wallpaper. 

“We need t-to get out-t of the rain…” you managed to stutter through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it could provide any kind of heat. 

You only succeeded in making it worse. 

As per usual.

Logan nodded in agreement, his hand reaching for yours only to stop when you flinched away. He wished he could brush the hair stuck to your face away from your eye. Wished he knew what was going on inside your head. What you were thinking. What you were feeling. Damn…

Telepaths had it so easy. He guessed Jean never needed to worry about this shit. It almost pissed him off to think about it. 

So instead he just gestured for you to follow him, shaky steps careful in the downpour, less for the sake of slipping and more for the sake of noise. Though he couldn’t hear anybody close, that didn’t mean they didn’t know how to mask their footsteps. And the rain made it much easier to be snuck up on. It made him uneasy. He’d glance back at you every now and then, his heart lurching at the way your eyes focused on the ground in front of you, your arms still wrapped around your body. It was the first time he’d seen you truly look vulnerable. Like the victim of the world, he suspected you were. Makeup washed away, hair flat against your head, shoulder hunched and your body shivering so violently he was mildly concerned you were going to lose your head. Not that he was much better off. Yet another downside to having bones of metal.

His body was really shit at regulating his temperature. Heat felt overwhelming, and freezing felt like he could barely move. Each step was a challenge when he wasn’t fuelled with adrenaline. And if he wasn’t so close to chattering his teeth out his own skull, he’d probably make some kind of joke about sounding like a steel bar being dropped down a hollow well just to make you smile again. At least, that’s what it sounded like to him. 

“N–not far now.” He tried his damnest to keep his voice steady. He’d spotted it when peering into the darkness after the little Wildling. A logger’s cabin, looking abandoned in the deluge. Wasn’t much, but it would do for shelter until the rain lessened. He glanced back to you again, and genuinely couldn’t tell if you’d heard him or not. You made no indication and he once again found himself wishing he could read your mind. 

You’d been following him almost blindly, simply letting him guide you as you disappeared into your head, thinking over the original plan until you had it down to a script. You knew Tisiphone wasn’t likely to forgive you for this. That was if she was still alive. The house hadn’t been set ablaze, so there was that at least, but if anything it made you sink deeper into your concern. Why hadn’t she set the house alight? She hadn’t had a problem with it before when things went wrong. It was why she was on a field ban in the first place. She’d lost her shit on an assignment and the whole place went up in smoke. You didn’t know any of the details, you were out on your own mission. All you knew was there was absolutely nothing left for Boss to save. Not even bones. Hellfire…

It was one hell of a force.

“Here…” Logan murmured, breaking you from your thoughts by running his hand down your shoulder. You finally looked up, squinting through the pouring rain to see an open door to possibly one of the smallest shacks you’d ever seen in your life. It was more of a shed than anything else, but you guessed it would do for a couple hours. Your eyes flickered from the little cabin to Logan, holding the door open for you. But before he could say anything, you trudged inside, mildly grateful to be out of the wet. 

The interior was as bleak as the exterior. Mostly abandoned, with the only sign of life being the slightly messy bed. But you guessed whoever had been holding up in here had left in a hurry, blankets strewn over the wooden floorboards, the fireplace unused and damp. That was the perfect way to describe how this place felt. 

Damp. 

The door closed behind you and you turned to face Logan, his white shirt now completely sheer and stuck to his body. And if you didn’t feel like a drowned rat, you probably would have made a comment on his insane build. All hard lines and cut muscle. But in this moment, you couldn’t have cared less. You were freezing, you were defeated, your colleagues scattered all which ways and all you wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry. 

Well, you didn’t care until his finger started frantically popping open button after button.

“W-what the f-f-fuck are you d-doing?” You chattered, eyes now blowing wide as he peeled the shirt from his body, suddenly finding the ceiling incredibly interesting when his hands shot to his belt.

“Str-stripping off wet clothes. And-d if you d-don’t wanna f-f-freeze, you’d d-do the same.” He answered, belt clattering to the floor before he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks. You turned around before you saw anything else, your necklace jingling with just how hard you were shivering. Fuck, he was right. Wet clothes were a killer, especially in these temperatures. And without a proper way to heat up… you’d freeze. Shit. This is not where you expected this night to end. 

“F-fine. But d-d-don’t look.” You hissed, shaky hands fumbling with the clasp of your necklace, struggling to find purchase before you managed to get lucky and it dropped to the floor. Logan had already pulled the dry blankets around his body, soaked clothes lay spread on the floor. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance they had to dry. He found your sudden timidity endearing, almost rolling his eyes as he kicked his shoes into the corner of the room, scrambling to find somewhere that would be a little warmer than standing on the freezing floor in nothing but a blanket. The bed seemed like the best bet.

Your long satin gloves crumpled to the floor in a wet heap, and it was only when you started to remove your dress did Logan truly realised why you didn’t want him to look. The fabric slid down your shoulders, and his gut twisted just as he lay down. 

A latticework of scars littered the expanse of your back. Line after line all carved into your flesh with careless abandon. Your dress continued to slide down your body, and he watched as more of your skin became a canvas for whatever sick, twisted bastard did this to you. Despite your wishes, his eyes roamed your back freely, landing on a small black tattoo of a curling snake just below your ribs. Cogs were turning in his brain, but before he could open his mouth to ask, you’d kicked off your heels and turned back to face him. 

Now he was staring at you for a completely different reason. Scars still covered your body but–

You were breathtaking. 

“Th-though I t-t-told you n-not t-to look.” You didn’t seem irritated. No, you sounded resigned. Tired. Your arms were still wrapped around your middle, water pooling at your feet from where it dripped from your limp hair. And it was instinct for Logan to pull the blanket open, a silent invitation for you to stop freezing in the middle of the room. But your lips quirked slightly, eyes glinted with exhausted mirth. “B-bit presumptuous, no?”

Logan answered you with an exaggerated eye-roll, raising a brow as you continued to stand out in the cold. As if wanting to make sure he was sure. “Get in-n.”

You didn’t need telling twice. Not when one of your two options was to freeze to death. And the other just looked so…

Welcoming. 

You joined him beneath the blanket, shivering for a whole new reason the moment his hand slid around your waist, his arm holding you tight against his chest as he wrapped the blanket back around you. Fucking hell he was freezing. You didn’t know if this was worse or better. The blanket was scratchy and smelled faintly of mildew, but at least you weren’t still out in those damn woods. 

You placed a palm on his shivering chest, his heartbeat solid beneath your fingers, and Logan looked down at you, head tilting to the side as he saw your face still obscured. But you looked concentrated on something, your eye honed in on the centre of his chest, above your hand.

Temperature regulation. It was never something you excelled at. Sure you could slow blood flow in others to the point of dizziness and fainting, but accelerating it was another problem altogether, and for some reason, you just couldn’t get the hang of it. Your mutation flailed and writhed like a stubborn horse as you tried to get a solid grip on Logan’s blood. It should be simple. Easy as falling asleep. But you’d proven to yourself time and time again that your powers weren’t created to heal others. Only to hurt. 

“W-what’re you doin’?” he asked with no small degree of suspicion, and you closed your eyes against the accusation, almost tempted to say you were trying to blow him up. 

“Trying to inc-crease your b-b-blood-pressure. Helps with b-body heat.” You explained curtly as if to get him to shut up. Not that he needed any more encouragement, you appeared to have stunned him into silence. How the fuck did somebody like you get so wrapped up in a mess like this. Spouting so much nonsense about him being too kind to be involved when you were the one spearheading the whole operation. And whether it was due to your mutation or just your surprising display of decency, he felt his muscles slowly cease their endless trembling, a slight warmth spreading from where your palm rested at his chest.

You breathed a little easier when you felt him relax a little, unable to bask in the rare win for your mutation when he uttered a single word that instantly had you on the defensive. 

“Mask.” He prompted monosyllabically, and you tensed your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“No.”

“It’s fabric and soaked. Take it off.”

“No.”

“Just–” his hand skipped from around your waist to the side of your face, and you shot from his chest, sitting bolt upright, the blanket falling from your body. Logan followed you, bracing a hand against the mattress as he sat up in front of you. “Why?”

He didn’t need to know. No, more than that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Because I can’t.” You answered, your voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. It did something to his heart he’d rather not think about right now. 

Slowly, like approaching a spooking animal, Logan’s hand drifted back to the side of your face, halting when you flinched away and only moving again when you’d settled. The tips of his fingers ghosted the edge of the black lace, your breath stilling in your lungs as he pulled his slightly.

“Yes you can…” with me, he wanted to say. You would be safe here. With him. You wouldn’t have to take on the burdens of this world alone. You wouldn’t have to scar yourself to get what you needed. There was a reason you asked him to be here today. And he’d be damned it he didn’t find out what it was.

When you didn’t move away from him, Logan carefully, gingerly lifted the mask from your face, keeping your hair back with his fingers. It took him a moment to register, but everything made sense now. Why you were doing this, the mask on your face, the tattoo at your waist, the scars around your neck. It was like the final piece in the puzzle that was who you were.

A burn had been branded across your eye, three letters seared into your skin for the rest of your life. Your cross to bear. 

MSR.

You were one of them. 

Logan was almost taken aback by the maelstrom of emotions that suddenly kicked up in his chest. Utter, unending fury, earth-shattering heartbreak, and a sense of understanding that he’d never felt before. 

Somewhere in the process, you’d closed your eyes, fearful of his reaction when he pried off your mask, finally revealing the answers to so many of his questions. You didn’t really know what to expect. Whether he would get up and leave now knowing your reasons were far more personal than heroic. Or whether he would try and find some bullshit common ground between you, with his tone disgustingly sympathetic. But none of that happened. Instead, the pads of his fingers ghosted across the letters, tracing them with a gentleness that was foreign to you. 

“Circus freak…” he understood now. You weren’t one of the personal ones. You were a money maker. Sent to fight in the collard cages for gamblers and drunks who didn’t know any better than to bet against David fighting the goliath. A prized possession kept locked away and promised freedom after every win. 

“Nobody should have to live that life.” You whispered, slowly opening your eyes to find yourself stunned by the way he was looking at you. No pity. No sympathy. Just… perception. He saw you. He understood you. When was the last time anyone had understood you?

“Not even you.” He didn’t mean it as a joke, but he savoured the way you huffed a small laugh, your head moving imperceptibly into his touch. But he was right. Not even you deserved to live that life. And you’d done plenty of things to deserve a lot of shit. But not that.

Never that.

“Did you know them? Whoever sold you off?” He asked lowly, still tracing the three letters across your eye, and you nodded slightly.

“Yeah you uh, could say that. Known him for a while. He uhm, taught me everything about my mutation. Thought he could use me, kept me close with bullshit lies about loving me. The day he branded me I uh, blew his arm off.” You shrugged, and Logan surprised you yet again by snorting a laugh. “What?”

“You blew his arm off?”

“I was kinda going through some shit at the time, okay?” You laughed, and Logan could only compare the sound to delicate wind chimes in a soft breeze. “Alright then, what about you, stray dog? Don’t look like a stray to me, especially not tonight. So out with it.” You poked his chest and Logan heaved a sigh, lying back against the mattress and dragging you with him, a gradually building warmth seeping into your bones. 

“Kinda the same story, ‘cept I wasn’t in the system. Lost my memories some day some how and just kinda… wandered, for a bit. Fighting in cages too, but I got to keep the winnings,”

“Lucky shit.” Your viscious tone had not heat to it, and it almost made Logan laugh. He didn’t think he’d met anyone who would consider fighting in cages for money lucky, but he supposed he’d never met anyone who’d fought in cages for someone else to claim the winnings. 

“Met a girl there–”

“Ooooh? Now it’s getting interesting.” You quipped, and Logan didn’t bother fighting the urge to pinch at your waist, your soft skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Not like that. She was just a kid. On the run from herself, honestly. Hid in my damn truck she was so desperate to escape. So I took her with me–”

“How chivalrous.”

“Could you stop?” He huffed, though his disobedient lips pulled into an equally disobedient smile. You schooled your expression dramatically, your heart singing with the surprisingly pleasant feeling of this conversation. You hated getting to know people. Hated their bullshit backstories. You often found you didn’t have the time to listen to them cry. But Logan? There was something mesmerising about the way he spoke. It wasn’t a fond memory, that much you knew, but he wasn’t telling it like it hurt. He was just telling it as it was. “Some asshole mutant was huntin’ her, named Sabretooth–”

“Sabretooth? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Wanna talk about dramatics, Alecto?” He raised a brow to you and you huffed.

“That could be my real name, you don’t know.”

“It’s not.”

You pulled a mocking face, sticking your tongue between your teeth. “Fine. Maybe it’s not. What’s yours then, if you think mine is so dramatic.” You shot back, eyes narrowing as he pulled his lips into a thin line, mumbling something under his breath. “Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Wolverine.” He repeated defeatedly, and you let the moment hang for a second, pursing your lips to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Wolverine?”

“Yep.”

“Like, the cute little badger thing?”

“I don’t think I knew what it was at the time.”

“You don’t say… isn’t it technically a weasel?”

“I didn’t know it was a damn weasel.” 

Your restraint on your laughter shattered in an instant, your shoulders shaking with fits of wind-chime giggles, and honestly, the mocking was worth it just to hear you laugh again, your lips splitting into a full grin that had his heart skipping several beats. “You done?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained on you as you fought to recover yourself.

“Yeah, sorry. Please, continue, weasel man.”

Logan groaned in exasperation, choosing to ignore your little lighthearted jabs. “He was trackin’ her, wanted her for some master mutant plan. Turns out he was bein’ tracked by the X-men. Picked us up on the road, ‘n that’s where I met Ororo, Scott ‘n Jean.”

Your eyes flickered over his face. He said that name differently from the rest. Jean. There was history there, you could tell. His tone both softened and hardened at the same time, paradoxically, and you felt a twinge of something deep within your chest. 

“Huh… so you stuck with them ever since?” You asked sincerely, and Logan noted the way your demeanour had shifted. 

“Yeah. Well, kinda. Been here there ‘n everywhere since, but pretty much stuck around for the last few years. ‘N that’s it.” You had a feeling he was holding back from divulging his truth. Sure, it was a lot, but something was missing. Something he wasn’t telling you. But at least now you knew why he referred to himself as a stray. Taken in by a family he wasn’t expecting. You knew what that was like. Sure, your team were a bunch of self-serving dickwads, but you were family. 

“And… Jean? What’s up there?” You asked before you could stop yourself. You didn’t know why you wanted to know. Curiosity, you supposed. You wanted to know as much as he would tell you. A stark contrast to everyone else you’d met in your life. 

“What’d ya mean?” He asked, masking his sudden defensive surge with confusion. 

“You said her name differently. Hope I’m not gonna have some pissed-off mutant after me when she finds out I was naked in bed with her man.” Your chuckle was humourless, and Logan raised a brow. In truth, he’d almost forgotten the circumstances, too wrapped up in your face to truly notice that, underneath everything, there was nothing separating you. 

“Doubt it. Her boyfriend would be thrilled though.” He muttered surprisingly bitterly, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Boyfriend huh? Ohhhh, I get it. Love triangle?” You wiggled your brows.

“You ask a lotta questions.”

“And you give a lotta answers, you just don’t realise it. So, who likes who? Obviously you like Jean–”

“Obviously?” He asked, finding himself feeling extremely exposed. 

“Written all over your face. And Jean has a boyfriend–”

“Scott.”

“Oh shit, the guy I knocked out?” You clarified, trying to ignore the sudden sense of satisfaction. No wonder he referred to the guy as his acquaintance, he was dating the woman he liked. Despite the kernel of something you refused to acknowledge of jealousy in your gut, you were glad to have helped in some way. 

“The very same.”

“Assuming Scott likes her back since they’re together and everything. But what about Jean? Where’s her head at?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighed, wondering how and when you got onto the topic of his love life. Things had become so much more complicated the last time he was at the mansion. He’d pulled back, and she’d gotten angry with him. For pulling back. Which made no sense since she was always refusing his advances. So why the hell had she been so pissed off with him?

“So you’re jealous?”

“I was, maybe a little.” He shrugged, finding himself at peace looking down at you as you furrowed your brows in thought, trying to decipher just what that meant. He wasn’t lying. He was jealous. In the past. But things had changed now, and he’d only just realised when, and why they had. 

“You were? What changed?” You asked, and you watched him hesitate for a moment, which only added more questions to the pile. Not that the pile wasn’t already a mile high.

“I–” Logan stopped himself, allowing a moment to truly think over his answer. It wouldn’t be right, to tell you. Not when he still knew so damn little about you. It wouldn’t be right to tell you things changed after meeting you. Things changed beneath that church when you’d asked him for help. When he’d seen your fire born of defiance. “I don’t know. Just kinda… stopped one day.”

You narrowed your eyes up at him, and Logan knew you knew he was lying. Or not divulging the truth. But a lie of omission is still a lie nonetheless. You seemed to accept his answer however, though filing away the question for later, falling into an effortlessly comfortable silence in a bubble of warmth. You didn’t realise he was still looking at you when you lay your head down to rest in the dip between his neck and shoulder, leeching off the heat from his body and returning it in an ouroboros cycle. You were content, you realised, to bask in his presence, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. For the first time in a long, long time, you were at peace. 

“What’s your name?” He asked softly, and you pushed back against the sudden wave of remorse. Telling him would endanger your entire operation, everything you’d built would be compromised. And you couldn’t bare to look up at him, couldn’t bare to see the slight hope in his eyes. 

“Alecto…” you whispered in response, your chest constricting as you almost felt him deflate. And you realised you couldn’t fucking bare it. “Is what I was named when Boss picked me up,” it was almost comical, the way he stilled beneath your touch, as if too terrified to move in case you remembered he was there and you’d stop talking. “But before that…?” you trailed off, closing your eyes as you murmured your name so softly it was only thanks to Logan’s increased senses that he heard you.

He repeated it softly, tasting the letters on his tongue, savouring how they sounded pieced together. It suited you, your name. More than Alecto did, anyway. Fuck… what was it about you that had him so hooked? Other than absolutely everything?    

“At the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep–”

“A risk you’re willing to take?”

Logan rumbled a chuckle, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face and you lifted your chin slightly to peer up at him. “You were wrong, ‘bout what you said earlier,”

Your head tilted in confusion. You’d said a lot of things earlier. But your heart stuttered in your chest as his expression softened into something you really didn’t want to think about right now. 

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered, your true name falling from his lips like a secret, and your eyes widened, exhaling a soft breath of shock. How on god’s green earth could he think that? He’d seen your face. Seen your scars. Seen the mess of your body. 

“You don’t have to be nice because of my tragic story,” you responded quietly, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. But he gently gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly brought you back to look at him before caressing your jaw with his knuckles. 

“I’m not.”

You closed your eyes against the overwhelming wave of melancholy, hating how he was making you feel seen. Making you feel less like the monster you’ve had to be. Making you feel human. 

“I’m scarred, Logan. You don’t–” You cut yourself off, unable to quite find the words to articulate what you were trying to say. But you didn’t need to. Your eyes fluttered open to find him still gazing at you, no small degree of understanding flickering in his hazel irises. He knew you didn’t mean your body. He knew you didn’t mean your face. You were scarred in ways beyond physical, and you supposed, of all people, he would be the one to understand that.

“We all have our scars, sweetheart,” you scoffed at the nickname, rolling your eyes. You were anything but sweet. “I’ve been around for a long, long time. One thing‘ve learnt, is that they don’t define us. It’s how we choose to heal from ‘em.”

You didn’t want to bring up the fact that you’d chosen to heal by using your pain, your anger, to kill anyone who stood in your way. You didn’t want to ruin his perception of you, no matter how far from the truth it may seem. So you let the silence linger, your eyes flickering between his and finding nothing but brutal honesty.

“Now at the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep,” you began, savouring the way his lips pulled into a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You felt his gaze fluttering across your features and watched as his eyes landed on your lips more than once, before lingering there. “This Jean woman?” you breathed, leaning further into him, and his arm around your waist tightened. “Is a fucking idiot.” You whispered against his lower lip, his eyes searching yours for permission and you let him open the windows to your soul, and there was only a second of charged energy before he closed minimal space between you, his lips surprisingly soft as he moulded them against yours. You could taste his last cigar, however long ago that may have been, the smoky aromas still lingering in his mouth and you found yourself savouring it, eyelashes fluttering closed as he slowly, languidly moved with you.

Logan found himself having to suppress a groan, his palm spreading across the side of your face, cupping your jaw as your tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip and he parted his mouth, a shiver running down his spine as he tasted you, the subtle hint of what he could only compare to cherry dancing across the buds on his tongue. 

It was slow, unhurried, so different to every other aspect of your life. His touch was gentle, his hand sliding down your waist to tug you closer as you craned your neck up to meet him further, open palm splayed against your lower back. You’d never been touched with such tender delicacy before, and the heat in your body had nothing to do with your mutation. 

Logan hummed lowly as your fingers ghosted up and down the side of his ribs, goosebumps prickling his skin with your touch, and you gasped lightly when his teeth nicked your lower lip, and feeling your nails scratch gingerly at his waist, he repeated it, sucking gently on the soft hurt. 

The sweet, tangy scent of your building arousal reminded him that there was absolutely nothing separating him from you, and he couldn’t stop the overwhelming urge to skirt his hand down to your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip. You canted against him, the silken heat of his cock barely grazing your cunt had you whispering his name, sweet as honey. He didn’t care that you were scarred, mentally or physically. It didn’t matter to him. You were beautiful; heart, body and soul. And things changed the moment he stepped into that church. 

His hand drifted from your outer thigh to the warmth between, tentatively dipping his fingers into the gathering slick of your cunt, your fingers carding through his hair as your head fell back in pleasure, and Logan took the opportunity to pepper the scars on your neck with light kisses, nipping gently at the raised skin. You bucked against his fingers, silently seeking more from him, a quiet moan falling from your lips when the soft pads of his digits circled over your swollen clit. You clamped your lips together, a whimper trying to escape your gated teeth with the sudden spark of ecstasy rolling through your nerves, your nails clawing through his hair. 

Logan groaned against your neck, a subsequent gasp fanning your throat when you did it again, his cock jumping with each muted tug at the back of his head. You rolled your hips against his fingers, urging him to finally breach you, your arousal coating not only his hand but the tip of his member, trapped between his wrist and his stomach. He smirked slightly against your neck, nipping at the hollow of your throat before sliding one finger through your folds, growling carnally as your silken walls clenched around him.

“Logan…” you murmured, eyes rolling behind closed lids. Fuck he felt good, and he wasn’t really doing anything more than slowly fucking you with one finger. You guessed it had been a while, but that could only explain your visceral reaction to his touch so much. He pumped his finger inside you, his thumb still circling your clit in a way that set your blood on fire. And through your pleasure-addled mind, you realised he wasn’t getting anything out of this. He wanted to make you feel good. The scales were unbalanced, and you couldn’t help but want to rectify that.

Your hand left his hair, ghosting down the side of his body and dipping between your pressed hips, your fingers delicately grazing the tip of his weeping cock. A shiver wracked his spine as your curious hand wrapped around his sensitive head, his finger curling against a spot deep within your walls that had you crying out, squeezing his tip in your fist. Logan’s hips bucked into your hand, a stuttered gasp sailing from his lips. 

A furnace was building between your thighs, a low glow of ecstasy that only grew the moment a second finger joined the first, slowly stretching you out, scissoring inside your vice-like walls. You wanted him inside you. Not his fingers, you wanted his cock. Craved it. Fuck, you wanted to feel him throbbing in your cunt, wanted to feel every pulsing vein along your wanton heat. And so despite your building release, you relented your hold on his cock and gently took his wrist, pulling him from your thighs. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open as he looked down at you, dazed confusion creasing his brows. You cupped the side of his fuzzy jaw, panting against his lips. “Want you…” You whispered, and something shifted in his heart. Slowly, he pushed against your shoulder, urging you to lie on your back as he followed, hovering over you. Fuck he was gorgeous, gazing down at you with something you couldn’t quite decipher glimmering in his hazel eyes. 

“You have me.” He responded softly, ghosting his hand down between you to align his cock with your clenching cunt. You gasped as he coated the tip with your slick, sliding through your soaked folds before pushing into your heat, achingly slowly. 

A sharp hiss escaped your teeth at the initial stretch, Logan’s head falling against your collar as he fought every instinct not to drive into you with reckless abandon. He wanted to be gentle with you. He wanted you to trust him. And the moment you wrapped your legs around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back, he released a low, guttural moan. Inch by torturous inch he filled you, sharing a mutual gasp as his tip grazed that same spot his fingers were reaching just moments ago, your walls clenching around him when he bottomed out into you.

Logan stilled, gritting his teeth in restraint as he let you get used to him, your hands running through his hair softly, so softly that, when he looked up at you, your eyes held the exact same tenderness, brows pinched slightly in pleasure. He couldn’t help himself. Ghosting light kisses up your neck, he captured your lips with a passion that could only be matched by the aching desperation of his pulsing cock. You groaned into his mouth as he incrementally pulled his hips from yours, before filling you again, setting a low, languid pace. 

“Shit sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, a light gasp catching him off-guard as you tensed around him deliberately, his hips bucking into you before he wrestled back control of himself, opening his eyes to find your shit-eating grin, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He huffed a wicked chuckle, lengthening his thrusts to reach further into your cushioned depths. Your jaw fell slack as he established a new rhythm, airy, pitched moans swirling about the small cabin, joined in a symphonic dance with the low groans and soft growls of Logan above you. 

Pleasure accompanied every strong thrust, the tip of his leaking cock brushing that little bundle of nerves you barely knew existed before this, making your thighs quiver around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back in encouragement. Your soft scratches through his hair travelled down the back of his neck, nails clawing gently against the sweat-slicked, sinewy plains of his back, feeling the strong muscles flex and relax with each movement he made. 

“Logan… fuck! Logan…!” your voice cracked the moment his hand drifted between you, those same fingers as before circling your sensitive pearl in harmony with the consistent pumping of his hips, your own canting up against him in a synchronised dance of pure ecstasy. That same furnace started to grow once again, only this time surpassing the roaring flame of pleasure into a wildfire.

He could feel your building release in the way you clung to him, your walls fluttering and spasming around him involuntarily, a series of broken whines muffling his own heavy pants, barely able to kiss you for longer than a single moment before you’d both break away with another choir of moans. His cock pulsed against inside your walls, the need to find his own high fuelling his next few thrusts, pushing your knees up higher for your thighs to clamp around his ribcage, a wanton cry sailing to the heavens.

“Can feel you darlin’. Let go– fuck! Let go f’me,” he breathed through gritted teeth, relentlessly thumbing your clit until he felt you go stiff beneath him, your entire body tensing as you crested your high, spurred on by his heated words. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, jaw locked open as honey leeched through your veins, waves of rapturous pleasure cascading down your nerves, clouding your mind and leaving every fibre of your very being trembling in his hold. 

Your hips bucked mindlessly into his, fucking yourself on his cock and Logan had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle his own shout of ecstasy, finding his release in the way your cunt clamped around him like a vice, milking his shaft of everything he had to give. Those same crashing waves of lightning struck his system, his voice shuddering with every uncontrollable jerk, every pleasure-laced twitch of your sensitive body against his. 

You didn’t know where your soul had gone, but you basked in the floating afterglow of your orgasm, breath unsteady and shaking with each heavy pant, hands threading back through the sweat-matted strands of his hair soothingly. You could have sworn you almost heard him purr, a low, gravelly sound rumbling from the back of his throat.

“Well…” you started breathlessly, causing him to raise his head from your shoulder. “That’s one way to warm up I guess.” You shrugged with a wry smile, and Logan snorted a chuckle, raising up on his forearms to pull out, a wince crossing your features as he did. You’d forgotten how strange it felt to have someone finish inside you. And it was as if he was listening to your train of thought, realisation dawning on his face.

“Shit…”

“What?”

“I didn’t– Fuck.” He ran a stressed hand down the side of his face, pushing up from you to sit on his heels. “I forgot to ask, I– shit, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You recoiled slightly, fighting to keep the surprising hurt from your face. “Christ, that bad, huh? I didn’t exactly make plans to sleep with you either, you know.” You countered, crudely using the corner of the blanket currently falling from his waist to clean yourself up, praying to whatever deities were up there it was at least somewhat clean. You really didn’t fancy a UTI or a yeast infection. 

Logan blanched, struggling to understand what exactly it was you were talking about, assuming that this whole time you were on the same page. “What? No– fuck, no. That’s not what ‘m talkin’ about.” He huffed in frustration, and you sat up, crossing your legs.

“Then just what the hell is your problem all of a sudden?” You asked defensively, folding your arms across your chest. 

“I fuckin’ came inside you, that’s the fuckin’ problem.”

“And?”

The cabin fell into silence as he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether or not you knew the consequences or if you just truly didn’t care. And it took you far too long to finally understand what he meant, your gut twisting slightly. “Oh. Right. That’s uh– that’s not a problem.”

“The fuck you mean it’s not a problem? Look, we’ll get to a pharmacy tomorrow an’–”

“Logan.” You interrupted him curtly, though you couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly finding the discarded pile of clothes on the floor more interesting than his gorgeous face. “It’s fine, okay?”

It was then he paused to really look at you, the scars littering your body, and the one he’d missed before, thicker than most of the rest, situated dead centre between your hip-bones. The realisation struck him like a truck.

“You’re sterile…?” he asked quietly, though he didn’t need to see you nod your head to know the answer. But you nodded nonetheless, pursing your lips at the discomfort of the conversation. That was until the soft pads of his fingers traced the sunlit-ice skin of your scar, his thumb soothing slow circles against your naval. “Was it your choice?” his voice was as quiet as a breeze, his other hand pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head gently to look at him. 

“Nothing’s ever been my choice. Not even that.” You responded with a spiteful smile that had Logan’s blood run cold. Just how many atrocities have you had to endure? How much trauma did it take to make this version of you?

“It doesn’t have to be like this, y’know.” He murmured, relinquishing his hold of your jaw to instead take your hands into his own. “Come back with me,” you don’t think you’d ever get over the way he said your name, like the charged secret you’ve kept for years. But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t, and he knew you couldn’t. 

“Don’t... don’t do this now, Logan,” you pleaded, closing your eyes to spare yourself from seeing the defeat on his face. “Don’t ruin it.”

He didn’t know what ‘it’ was supposed to be, but he sighed all the same, letting the topic drop in favour of laying back down by your side, pulling the blanket back up around the both of you and sliding his arms around your waist, tucking you in to him tight. 

“Alright.” He agreed, using his one free hand to smooth your hair away from your face, returning back to tracing the MSR scar around your eye, his heart clenching painfully as you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You both knew the other wasn’t cold anymore, but neither of you were willing to bring it up. Neither of you willing to acknowledge that maybe you weren’t doing this for the necessity to survive. 

Maybe you were instead doing this for the craving to truly live. 

[reidmarieprentiss]

I Love You

Summary: Spencer tries to redeem himself after ruining everything he had with you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: light smut (18+), pain of breakup, voicing that pain

Word count: 8.2k

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee part two to i love you (i would write part 3) —hi was gonna wait to post butttt im having a bad monday so i wanted to see these fellas have their happy ending

masterlist part one

July, 2008

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, filled with emotions.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken words, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if both of you were trying to navigate the delicate terrain of this moment, unsure of where to begin.

“Come in,” you finally said, stepping aside to let him enter. Spencer nodded, stepping into your apartment with familiarity and trepidation. As you closed the door behind him, you couldn’t help but notice how he seemed almost hesitant, as if afraid to disrupt the space you had built for yourself in his absence.

You both moved to the living room, where he sat on the edge of the couch, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. You took a seat across from him, giving him the space he seemed to need.

“I’ve been thinking about what to say to you for months,” Spencer began, his voice tentative, eyes focused on his hands. “But now that I’m here, I realize that no amount of words can really make up for what I did.”

You remained quiet, letting him speak, knowing that this was something he needed to get out.

“I was jealous. Insecure. I let my fears control me, and I ended up pushing away the one person who meant everything to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I’m so sorry for doubting you, for accusing you, for letting my insecurities get in the way of what we had.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret that weighed heavily on him. It tugged at your heart, but you weren’t ready to let go of the pain just yet.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “I appreciate you wanting to fix things, to be willing to admit your feelings. But what happened… it wasn’t between us. It was just you. I wasn’t a part of any of the decision-making, or the understanding. The only part of our relationship that I was present for towards the end, was the breakup. You left me out of everything and made up your own stories and facts about me, your loving, devoted girlfriend. I put all of my trust into you, and I only wish you had done the same for me.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy with the truth that had been buried for too long. Spencer’s face paled as he absorbed what you were saying, the weight of his actions settling on him like a burden he could never fully shake off.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I let my fears and insecurities take control, and I didn’t give you the trust and respect you deserved. I created a narrative in my head, one that wasn’t based on reality, and I let it destroy what we had.”

You nodded, your heart aching but resolute. “Spencer, relationships are built on trust, communication, and partnership. You can’t love someone and keep them at arm’s length, making decisions about them without including them. That’s not how it works.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. “You’re right. I failed you in every way that mattered. I don’t know how to fix that, but I want to try. I want to earn back your trust, if that’s even possible.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the past year pressing down on you. “It’s not something that can be fixed overnight, Spencer. And honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready to even try right now. I need time to think, to figure out what I want.”

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn. “I understand. I’m willing to wait, to give you all the time you need. I just needed you to know how sorry I am, and how much I regret everything I did.”

The room fell silent again, but this time it was a silence of understanding—a mutual acknowledgment of the pain and the need for space. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a step toward something, even if that something was simply closure.

“Thank you for coming here, Spencer,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “I needed to hear this, and I think you needed to say it.”

“I did,” he agreed, standing up slowly. “I’ll go now. But if you ever want to talk, or… anything, I’m here.”

“No… you don’t have to leave,” you said quickly, surprising even yourself with the words.

Spencer paused, looking at you with confusion and hope. “What? Why not?”

“You took a three-hour train to be here,” you continued, your voice softer now. “We can… still be friends. Friends spend time together. Right?”

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to gauge whether you truly meant it. “Right,” he finally said, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. “So, stay. We can talk, or just… be here. No pressure.”

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly sat back down, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I’d like that,” he admitted, the words carrying a sincerity that made your heart ache.

And so, you both sat there, the remnants of what you once had still lingering in the air, but now with a new understanding—a step toward healing, toward something different. Maybe it was the beginning of a friendship, or maybe it was just a way to start mending what had been broken. Either way, it felt like the right thing to do, and for now, that was enough.

—

As you both settled into the couch, the initial tension began to dissipate, replaced by a more comfortable atmosphere. Spencer shifted slightly, trying to find the right words to break the ice, but you beat him to it.

“So,” you began with a teasing smile, “have you read any good books lately? Or are you still just hoarding them?”

Spencer chuckled, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth to the room. “Hoarding? I prefer to think of it as curating a personal library.”

“Sure, sure,” you laughed. “And how many of those ‘curated’ books have you actually read?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “More than you might think! But okay, I’ll admit, the collection has outgrown my reading pace a bit.”

“A bit?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I remember you saying that about three bookshelves ago.”

Spencer smiled, feeling more at ease. “Well, you know how it is. So many books, so little time. But I did finish that mystery novel you recommended.”

“Oh, you mean the one where the butler actually didn’t do it?” you grinned, leaning back against the couch.

“Yes! I was convinced it was him the entire time,” Spencer admitted, shaking his head. “They really got me with that twist.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I knew you’d like it! I told you it wasn’t as predictable as it seemed.”

“Okay, okay, you were right,” he conceded, a playful tone in his voice. “What about you? Been to any good concerts lately, or are you too busy performing in them?”

“Touché,” you said, giving him a mock glare. “But actually, I did go to one recently! It was kind of nice to be in the audience for a change, you know?”

Spencer nodded, a genuine smile on his face. “I can imagine. It’s probably a different experience when you’re not the one on stage.”

“It really is,” you agreed. “I got to just enjoy the music without worrying about anything. It was a good reminder of why I love it so much.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you slipping back into a comfortable rhythm, sharing stories and light-hearted banter. It felt natural, almost like old times, but with a new understanding and a lighter, more cautious energy. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was something, and it felt good to just be in each other’s company again.

—

Spencer left later that evening, feeling lighter but not completely at ease. The conversation had been a step in the right direction, but he knew there was still a lot of work to do to truly prove to you how sorry he was. The road to rebuilding your trust was going to be long, and he was prepared to do whatever it took.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself sitting in the quiet of your apartment, reflecting on the unexpected turn of events. Despite everything, Spencer had always been a significant part of your life, and it seemed that, in some ways, he still was. The emotions of the day swirled in your mind, a mix of old memories and new beginnings.

Instinctively, you reached for a notebook and pen, letting your thoughts flow onto the pages. Spencer had been your muse for years, inspiring some of your most heartfelt songs. That hadn’t changed, even after all the pain. Now, as you started scribbling down ideas, you felt that familiar spark—his presence still lingered, giving rise to new melodies and lyrics. The words came naturally, you weren’t sure where this new song would lead or what it would become, but for now, it was enough to let the music carry your emotions, just as it always had.

—

Spencer knew that rebuilding your trust would take time and consistent effort, so he began with the little things, the everyday gestures that showed he was thinking of you. 

He started texting you whenever something small reminded him of you—a funny sign he saw on his way to work, a quirky fact he knew you’d appreciate, or just a picture of his coffee when it was served in one of those oversized mugs you always loved. The messages were brief but thoughtful, his way of staying connected without pushing too hard.

When you didn’t answer his calls, he left sweet, friendly voicemails. “Hey, it’s me,” he’d say, his voice warm with a hint of nervousness. “I just wanted to hear your voice, but no worries if you’re busy. I hope you’re having a good day. Call me back if you can. If not, I’ll catch you later.” His tone was always light, never demanding, just letting you know he was thinking of you.

Every time you finished a show, you’d return to your hotel room to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for you. The notes attached were always simple, but they made your heart ache a little less. I know you were amazing tonight. I can hear the crowd from across the ocean. –Spencer was your favorite one, always signed with just his first name, a touch of the familiar that made you smile despite yourself.

Spencer also made it his mission to read every book you had ever recommended. Late at night, after finishing a chapter, he would call you to share his thoughts. “Hey, I just finished that mystery novel you suggested,” he’d say, excitement evident in his voice. “You were right, the twist was incredible! I didn’t see it coming at all. I’d love to hear what you thought when you read it.” Sometimes you answered, and sometimes you didn’t, but he always left a message, continuing the conversation as if you were right there with him.

These small, consistent gestures slowly chipped away at the walls between you. They weren’t grand declarations, but they were genuine, thoughtful, and persistent—a reflection of Spencer’s commitment to making things right, one step at a time.

—

September, 2008

You had a show tonight in Amsterdam, and the city seemed to glow with a charm that made you fall in love with it a little more every day. The weather was perfect, with a gentle breeze and sunshine that reflected off the canals, making everything feel just a bit more magical. You couldn’t have asked for a better setting to prepare for your performance. You were soaking it all in, convinced that this country might just be one of your favorite stops on the tour.

But that sense of contentment was abruptly interrupted when you left your hotel that morning for a walk with Emerson, your head of security. The usual routine—just a quiet stroll to clear your mind before the day’s whirlwind began. But today, there was something different.

As you stepped out of the hotel, your eyes adjusted to the bright morning light, and then they landed on a figure standing next to Emerson. It took a second for your brain to catch up with what your eyes were seeing, but when it did, your heart skipped a beat. 

Spencer.

He was standing there, looking slightly out of place but unmistakably beautiful. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his posture a mix of nervousness and resolve. When he saw you, his eyes softened, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Spencer?” you said, surprise and confusion mingling in your voice as you stepped closer.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice tentative but hopeful. “I was in the neighborhood. I thought… maybe I could catch your show tonight.”

You glanced at Emerson, who gave a small nod, signaling that Spencer had already been vetted and that his presence wasn’t an issue from a security standpoint. That left you to decide how you felt about him being here—unannounced, thousands of miles from home.

“You were in the neighborhood, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with skepticism and amusement.

“Mhm,” Spencer nodded, his expression serious for a moment before a small, teasing smile tugged at his lips. “Just passing through.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his attempt to play along. “You didn’t come here to see anything? Anyone in particular?”

He pretended to think for a moment, then shook his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No? Why would I do that?” he teased, his tone light but carrying a hint of the vulnerability you knew he was trying to mask.

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling some of the tension ease between you. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well see a show tonight. I hear it’s going to be a good one.”

Spencer’s smile widened, the relief evident in his eyes as he realized you weren’t upset. “I’d like that,” he said softly. “I’d really like that.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the light banter easing some of the weight that had been hanging over your relationship. There was still so much to talk about, so much to work through, but for now, the fact that Spencer was here—willing to put in the effort and show up—meant something. And that was a start.

—

Emerson found a small table just within view, keeping a discreet yet vigilant eye on you and Spencer as the two of you settled into a cozy café along the canal. The picturesque setting, with its cobblestone streets and gently flowing water, seemed to work its magic, casting a warm, romantic glow over everything. You could see the old-world charm of Amsterdam reflected in the brown of Spencer’s eyes, and the peaceful atmosphere made it easy to forget, if only for a moment, the unresolved tensions between you two.

As you both sipped your coffee, the conversation naturally flowed, light and easy, with a hint of the playfulness that had always existed between you. 

“This place is amazing,” Spencer remarked, looking around with genuine appreciation. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere quite like it.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you agreed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face. “But I have to admit, I’m a little biased. I’ve always had a soft spot for places like this—where everything feels timeless.”

Spencer smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Timeless suits you,” he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, the compliment catching you off guard. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” you teased, trying to downplay the effect his words had on you.

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied, his tone slightly more serious but still playful enough to keep things light.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his flirtatiousness. “Careful, Dr. Reid. You’re getting dangerously close to charming your way back into my good graces.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of intelligence and mischief. “Is that so? Because I was under the impression I had quite a bit of ground to make up.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh, you definitely do. But I have to say, this impromptu visit to Amsterdam is a pretty solid start.”

Spencer’s smile widened, emboldened by the fact that you hadn’t shut him down. “Well, I’ve always been a fan of spontaneous gestures. Especially when they involve canals and coffee with a beautiful woman.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Spencer, you’re laying it on thick today.”

“Just trying to make the most of the moment,” he said, his voice softening as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that you hadn’t made up your mind about where things stood between you. The romantic setting, the easy conversation, and the lingering affection between you made it feel like everything was just as it had been before. You allowed yourself to bask in the moment, enjoying the way Spencer’s presence made you feel—light, happy, and maybe even a little bit hopeful.

As you both continued to flirt and laugh, the city of Amsterdam seemed to wrap you in its embrace, making it easy to pretend, just for a little while, that all the hurt and uncertainty were far behind you.

—

While you were whisked away for sound checks and concert preparations, Spencer found himself with some time to explore the charming streets of Amsterdam on his own. The city was a maze of narrow alleys, quaint shops, and hidden gems, each turn offering something new to discover. As he wandered, Spencer stumbled upon a small, local florist tucked away on a quiet street corner. The shop was brimming with vibrant blooms, their sweet scent filling the air. It was then that an idea struck him.

—

That evening, as you took the stage, you felt a different kind of energy pulsing through you. The anticipation of the performance always brought a thrill, but tonight was special. You knew Spencer was somewhere in the crowd, watching you with those thoughtful eyes of his. It was hard not to shine a little brighter, knowing he was there, sharing this moment with you.

Even with thousands of faces in the crowd, you could sense him out there, unwavering in his attention. Knowing he was watching, supporting you, made you feel invincible. For the first time in a long while, you fully embraced the moment, letting the music and the crowd's energy fill you up.

When the concert ended, the thunderous applause echoed in your ears as you walked off the stage, your heart racing—not just from the performance, but from the anticipation of seeing Spencer again. The night wasn’t over, and you couldn’t wait to see what it had in store.

—

The ride back to your hotel from the venue was charged with a new, palpable energy between you and Spencer. The city lights flickered past as you sat together in the backseat, his hand gently holding yours, and you didn’t pull away. You let him hold onto you, both of you savoring the quiet connection that had started to rebuild itself.

When you arrived at your hotel, Emerson gave you a goodnight with a knowing wink before leaving you and Spencer alone. As you opened the door to your room, you were greeted by a breathtaking sight—every surface in the vintage, pristine room was covered in flower bouquets. The rich scent of fresh blooms filled the air, making the moment even more surreal.

“Spencer?” you called out, still taking in the unexpected surprise.

“Yes, Y/N?” he replied, his voice soft, almost nervous.

“You did this?” you asked, turning to face him with wide eyes.

“No, it was all Dylan,” he teased, trying to keep his tone light.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “He would never. He’s allergic to flowers.”

“Emerson?” Spencer suggested, his voice growing more uncertain as you began to slowly walk toward him.

“Nope,” you shook your head, a playful glint in your eye. “They have strict rules to follow. This would break a lot of them.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his mind racing as you closed the distance between you. “Then it seems like you have a secret admirer,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“I wish I could properly thank them,” you said, your voice just above a whisper as you stopped right in front of him.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. “How… how would you thank them? Just so I can pass the word on if I find them,” he asked, his voice barely steady.

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his as you whispered, “I don’t think I can say… it’s explicit.”

His eyes darkened with desire, the playful banter between you intensifying the tension. Spencer’s breath hitched, his mind reeling as he struggled to keep his composure, realizing that perhaps, just perhaps, this night was about to become even more unforgettable.

“Maybe—shit,” Spencer stammered as you began kissing his neck, your hands skillfully unbuttoning his shirt. His words faltered as he tried to maintain the playful charade. “Maybe, if you showed me, I could tell them…”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a smirk playing on your lips. “Spencer, drop the act, or I’m kicking you out.”

He swallowed hard, his playful facade crumbling under the intensity of the moment. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice a mix of submission and anticipation.

Spencer leaned down to kiss you, his intentions clear in the warmth of his gaze, but you stepped back just in time, a playful smile dancing on your lips. He paused, momentarily thrown off by your sudden evasion, but then a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes.

You slowly dodged him, weaving around the vases of flowers that filled the room, sneaking glances at him over the tops of the beautiful petals. Each bouquet served as a playful barrier, giving you just enough of an edge to keep him at bay. Spencer, undeterred, followed you with the focused intensity of a predator stalking its prey, his movements deliberate yet light-hearted.

The room was filled with the scent of fresh blooms, but all you could focus on was the chase—the way Spencer’s eyes tracked your every move, the way his playful demeanor had resurfaced after being buried under months of tension. It was as if the playful spirit of your relationship had finally defrosted, melting away the distance that had grown between you.

As you ducked behind a particularly large vase, you caught a glimpse of him moving closer, his eyes locked on yours. He was enjoying the chase, and you could feel the thrill of the game building between you. You darted to the side, but he was faster, anticipating your move and closing the distance.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he finally cornered you against the wall, his arms bracketing you in. His smile was wide, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he leaned in close, leaving no more room for escape.

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet filled with vulnerability. 

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, understanding the weight of that single word. His expression grew serious, all the playfulness giving way to something deeper. He reached up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“I promise,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “I won’t let you down again.”

With those words hanging in the air, the distance between you finally closed as Spencer leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he was savoring the moment, afraid to rush what felt so fragile. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for a brief second, everything else faded away—the flowers, the room, the world outside—leaving just the two of you, wrapped in intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the tentative touch gave way to something more urgent, more desperate. Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pressing gently but firmly into your skin as if grounding himself in the reality of you being there, in his arms. You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as you pressed your body against his, seeking more of the warmth and comfort his presence brought.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of familiarity and longing that you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much. His lips moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, taking their time to explore every curve and contour of your mouth, as if memorizing the sensation all over again. The kiss was filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long, now finally unleashed in the safety of this shared moment.

Your breath quickened as the heat between you grew, the banter from earlier now replaced with an intensity that left you both breathless. Spencer’s hands slid up your back, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake as he pressed you against the wall, his body a solid, reassuring presence against yours. 

Every inch of you was aware of him—the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the subtle tremor in his hands as they roamed your body, the way his lips claimed yours with a possessive need that made your pulse race. The air around you crackled with the electricity of unspoken desires, the kind that had been dormant for far too long.

You felt the world around you blur, your senses overwhelmed by the feel, taste, and scent of him. Spencer’s lips left yours only to travel down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck. A shiver ran through you, your body responding instinctively to the sensation, your head tilting slightly to grant him better access. His name slipped from your lips, a breathless whisper that held a world of meaning, of need, of budding trust.

He paused for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both caught your breath. The look in his eyes was one of pure, unfiltered emotion—love, desire, and a hint of the vulnerability that came with baring one’s soul to another.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “I need you.”

The simple statement, filled with so much more than just physical desire, resonated deep within you. It wasn’t just about the touch or the kiss—it was about everything you had shared, everything you had lost, and everything you were beginning to find again. In that moment, you knew that this was more than just a kiss—it was a step toward healing, toward rebuilding what had been broken, and toward rediscovering the love that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to bloom again.

“You have me,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

“I do?” Spencer asked, his eyes searching yours, filled with hope and disbelief.

“You do, Spencer,” you affirmed, your words laced with all the sincerity you felt in that moment.

With that, any lingering hesitation vanished. Spencer’s hands, warm and sure, found yours as you both slowly made your way toward the bed. The room seemed to pulse with the energy between you, every step heightening the anticipation that had been building all evening.

As you reached the edge of the bed, Spencer paused, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes reflecting the depth of what was about to happen. He pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly, and in that moment, it was as if everything fell into place—every word, every gesture, every unspoken promise.

Gently, he guided you down onto the soft sheets, the world narrowing to just the two of you. The mattress dipped slightly under your combined weight, the sensation grounding you both in the reality of this moment. Spencer hovered above you, his hands framing your face as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and filled with the unspoken vows of what you were rebuilding together.

His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as though he was savoring every second, every sensation. His fingers trailed down the side of your face, brushing over your jawline before gently tracing the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You felt the warmth of his body pressing against yours. The fabric of your clothes created a tantalizing friction between you, the anticipation building with every subtle movement. Spencer’s hand slid down to your waist, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, igniting a trail of heat as he slowly lifted the fabric, his touch both hesitant and eager.

As he leaned in closer, his breath ghosted over your skin, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. The weight of him above you was a comforting reminder of his presence, his body cocooning you in a protective embrace. His lips moved to your jaw, then to the delicate curve of your neck, where he pressed soft, lingering kisses, each one sending a wave of warmth cascading through your body.

You arched slightly beneath him, your hands finding their way to his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. Spencer’s hand continued its exploration, moving from your waist to your hip, then down the curve of your thigh, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns that left you breathless.

The world outside the room faded away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in this moment of rediscovery. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a promise—of forgiveness, of healing, of a love that had been tested but refused to break. Spencer’s eyes met yours, a silent question lingering in them, and when you nodded, he smiled—a tender, genuine smile that spoke of the hope you both held for what lay ahead.

His lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time. The intensity of the moment wrapped around you both like a warm embrace, pulling you closer, dissolving any remaining doubts.

The soft fabric of your clothes slowly gave way under his touch, his hands sliding beneath to explore the warmth of your skin. Every brush of his fingers sent a wave of sensation coursing through you, heightening the anticipation that had been building between you.

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake. His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, urging him on as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, was as though he was rediscovering every part of you, savoring the familiarity and the newfound intensity that came with the rekindling of your connection.

Your hands found their way to the buttons of his shirt you never got to finish undoing, your fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of your desire. As you worked to undo them, Spencer’s lips moved lower, his breath warm against your skin, each kiss igniting a deeper longing within you. The fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, revealing the familiar contours of his chest, his skin warm and inviting under your touch.

With a gentle but insistent push, Spencer guided you back down onto the sheets, his body hovering over yours, the weight of him pressing into you in a way that made your heart race. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else fell away—there was just you, him, and the intense connection that pulsed between you.

His lips found yours once more, the kiss growing more heated, more insistent, as the boundaries between you blurred. His hand slid down your body, tracing familiar paths with a renewed intensity. When he reached your core, his touch was confident, knowing exactly how to apply just the right amount of pressure, a skill only a lover who truly knows your body could master.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Spencer’s fingers continued to work their magic, the sensations sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. His mouth moved from your lips to your chest, leaving a trail of heated kisses down to your nipples. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale sending a new wave of anticipation through your body. Your hands roamed over his back, fingers digging in slightly as the intensity of the moment built between you.

Spencer’s touch was both firm and gentle, guiding you through waves of pleasure with an ease that spoke to the depth of your connection. Every movement was purposeful, designed to bring you closer to that edge, yet slow enough to savor each moment. He was meticulous, attentive, ensuring that your every reaction was met with just the right response.

The rhythm between you was perfect, a dance of mutual desire and trust. As you moved together, the sensations intensified, each one drawing you closer to the brink. Spencer’s name slipped from your lips in a breathy whisper, a sound that spurred him on, his own need mirrored in your eyes.

Finally, when the tension became too much to bear, you let go, surrendering to the flood of sensations that washed over you. Spencer kept his rhythm steady, guiding you through the waves of pleasure until you began to shake, your body trembling from the intensity. When you pushed his hand away, overwhelmed by the sensations, he relented, his touch immediately softening.

“Spencer…” you looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, your voice breathless, “please.”

He gazed down at you, his expression softening with affection and understanding. “Okay, baby. I got you,” he whispered, his voice soothing, full of promise.

“I know,” you replied, your trust in him evident in those two simple words.

Spencer smiled at you, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the deep connection between you. He leaned down, brushing a tender kiss against your lips before positioning himself. His movements were deliberate, careful, as he lined himself up with you, ensuring that you were both ready for what came next.

The anticipation hung heavy in the air as he entered you slowly, each inch sending a new wave of sensation through your body. He paused for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling, before he began to move with a steady, unhurried rhythm. Every thrust was measured, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second of being with you in this way.

Your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging in slightly as he picked up the pace, the urgency between you building once more. The sounds of your breathless moans and his deep groans filled the room, blending with the scent of flowers and the lingering intimacy that wrapped around you both.

With every movement, Spencer's focus was entirely on you—on your pleasure, your needs. He watched your reactions closely, his gaze never leaving your face as he adjusted his rhythm to match what you needed. His own pleasure was secondary, a distant thought compared to the overwhelming desire to see you completely fulfilled.

Spencer’s name slipped from your lips in breathless whispers, the sound fueling his determination to bring you as much pleasure as possible. His touch was both gentle and firm, knowing exactly when to push you further and when to hold back, drawing out the moment, making it last.

As the tension built once more, you could feel the waves of pleasure building inside you, Spencer’s steady rhythm guiding you to the brink. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, a gesture that was both intimate and grounding, reminding you that he was right there with you, sharing in every moment. 

When the release finally came, it was overwhelming, a powerful surge of sensation that left you breathless and trembling in his arms. Spencer helped you through it, his movements gentle and reassuring as he guided you down from the heights of pleasure as he held you close, as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

His own release followed soon after, his grip on you tightening as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

In the quiet aftermath, Spencer pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. Your heart beats slowly returned to normal, the world around you gradually coming back into focus. The room was filled with the scent of flowers, the warmth of your shared intimacy, and the comforting presence of the person who knew you better than anyone else.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch soothing and gentle. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice soft, full of concern and love.

“I’m not sure,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

Spencer groaned, a flush of mild embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Y/N…”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free. “I’m okay, Spencer. Really. Are you?”

He looked down at you, his eyes warm and filled with a contentment that made your heart swell. “I’m happy,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

Your heart soared at his confession, a wave of warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you whispered, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you.

And for the first time in what felt like too goddamn long, you fell asleep in Spencer’s arms, your bodies intertwined, the world outside fading away as you drifted off into a restful, contented sleep.

—

Spencer did have to return home, and you had to move on to your next tour location, but neither of you parted without lingering kisses and heartfelt promises. 

Standing at the door of your hotel room, Spencer pulled you close, his hands gently cradling your face as he pressed one last, tender kiss to your lips. The moment was bittersweet, filled with the knowledge that your paths would diverge once more, but also with the hope that this wasn’t goodbye.

“See you later,” he murmured against your lips, his voice full of sincerity.

“See you later,” you echoed, your hands clutching at his shirt, reluctant to let go.

With one final embrace, Spencer slowly pulled away, his fingers trailing down your arm as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection entirely. He gave you a soft smile, one that spoke of the unspoken feelings still lingering between you, before turning to leave.

As you watched him walk away, your heart felt lighter, knowing that this was just a temporary farewell. There was a quiet confidence in the promise you had made to each other—a promise that despite the distance, you would find your way back to one another. And as you prepared to move on to your next tour location, you carried that promise with you, feeling more connected to Spencer than ever before.

—

November, 2008

“Y/N, how would you feel about taking a break between the next two stops?” Dylan suggested casually, though his tone held a hint of something more.

You immediately perked up, curiosity and concern flashing across your face. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that,” Dylan reassured you with a warm smile. “You’ve just been working so hard, and there’s a scheduled two-week break where you don’t have any obligations.”

“Seriously? How did that happen?” you asked, surprised and a bit skeptical. It wasn’t like your schedule to have such a gap.

Dylan chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Because your assistant loves you and wants to make sure you stay healthy.”

Your face lit up with gratitude. “I love you too. There’s really a whole two weeks of nothing?”

“Well, not nothing,” Dylan laughed. “I still need you back for sound checks before your next show. And at least one or two posts each week.”

“Deal,” you agreed without hesitation, excitement bubbling up inside you. “When can I leave?”

“After tonight,” he replied with a grin, knowing exactly where your mind was headed.

Without thinking, you ran over to Dylan and planted a big, affectionate smooch on his head, overwhelmed with gratitude. You hadn’t seen Spencer since Amsterdam—two long months filled with phone calls and texts that were nice but could never quite fill the void. It was hard, and you couldn’t lie to yourself about that. You missed him, missed the way he made you feel when you were together.

And Spencer? He was trying his best to be patient, reminding himself that you were busy, that you were on another continent, and that the occasional game of phone tag had nothing to do with how you felt about him. But it was tough, and he was counting the days until he could hold you again.

As you packed up your things, the thought of seeing Spencer after so long filled you with a renewed energy. The anticipation of being together again, even if just for a short time, made the time apart seem worth it. And you knew that the moment you were back in his arms, everything would feel right again.

—

You knew Spencer wasn’t on a case—he always made sure to tell you when one came in, just in case you needed to reach him and he was unavailable. So, without hesitation, you booked a flight to New York. You barely had time to drop off your things, shower, and repack before you were on a train heading to Virginia, your heart racing with anticipation.

Spencer wasn’t expecting anyone when he heard a knock on his front door. He approached with caution, wondering who could be visiting at this hour. But when he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N??” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Boo,” you said playfully, a grin spreading across your face.

Without a second thought, Spencer opened the door all the way and pulled you into a tight hug, the relief and joy in his embrace unmistakable. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see my favorite genius,” you replied, your voice muffled slightly against his chest.

“But you’re on tour,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you, concern and confusion etched on his face.

“Oh yeah, I quit. Canceled everything,” you said nonchalantly, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?? You can’t do that! Your fans! Your—” Spencer began to panic, but the sight of your teasing smile stopped him mid-sentence.

“I’m kidding, Spence,” you laughed, lightly tapping his chest. “Dylan scheduled me for a break.” You bit your lip, smiling up at him with excitement and mischief.

“How long do I have you for?” he asked, his voice softening as he searched your eyes.

“Forever? Hopefully,” you teased, but there was a sincerity in your tone that made Spencer’s heart swell.

“Y/N…” Spencer was speechless, overwhelmed by the sight of you standing there, in his doorway, after so long. He was so, so in love.

“Just under two weeks,” you added, your smile growing as you saw the love and happiness in his eyes.

“That’s more than I could’ve hoped for,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with you in his arms, the world felt perfect once again.

—

While Spencer was at work, he recommended that you read a book he loved, something to keep you occupied while he was away. With nothing else on your agenda, you decided to take him up on the suggestion and finally had a chance to relax. Settling into a comfortable spot, you cracked open the book, curious to see what had captured Spencer’s heart.

As the hours passed, you became completely engrossed in the story, savoring every word. It was a romance novel, something you hadn’t expected from Spencer, but it touched you deeply. The characters’ journey mirrored so many of your own emotions, their struggles and triumphs in love resonating with everything you and Spencer had gone through.

When you finally turned over the last page, satisfied yet yearning for more, you noticed something scrawled in messy pen on the inside of the back cover. Your heart skipped a beat as you began to read the familiar handwriting.

My love—

Words will never be able to capture how truly sorry I am for everything I have done, for everything I have put you through. I am beyond grateful you gave me a second chance, not just with you, but at happiness, fulfillment, and love. I love you. There is only one piece missing now from our ever-evolving puzzle.

Will you be my girlfriend?

Sincerely, your desperately in love, Spencer

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reread the note, the sincerity and vulnerability in his words hitting you right in the heart. You couldn’t help but smile through the tears, your heart swelling with love for the man who had poured his emotions onto the page, who had been brave enough to ask you for a second chance at happiness.

When Spencer returned home that evening, you didn’t wait for him to ask how the book was. You simply walked up to him, holding the book in your hands, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“Is that a yes?” Spencer asked softly, his voice full of hope and love as he held you close.

You looked up at him, your eyes still glistening with tears but your smile radiant. “Of course it’s a yes, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new, beautiful piece in your love story.

—

Bonus

“Billie, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Billie,” you said, introducing the two with a warm smile.

Billie smiled at Spencer, her eyes curious as she took him in. “Hey, nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, her tone friendly and genuine.

Spencer returned the smile. “Likewise. It’s great to meet you too, Billie. Y/N’s told me a lot about you as well.”

Billie chuckled, glancing at you with a playful grin. “All good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Spencer replied, his gaze shifting to you with a fondness that didn’t go unnoticed.

You couldn’t help but smile at the easy exchange, relieved that two of the most important people in your life were finally meeting. The moment felt natural, like two pieces of your world finally clicking into place.

“So, Spencer… you thought I was Phoebe Bridgers?” Billie asked with a teasing grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he managed a sheepish smile. “In my defense, the photo was pretty blurry,” he replied, his tone light but sincere.

Billie laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

“Only a year or so too late, but he just upgraded his prescription,” you teased, flashing Spencer a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Better late than never, right?”

Billie laughed along, the lighthearted banter putting everyone at ease. “Well, I’m glad you can see things clearly now,” she joked, giving you a wink. 

“Did she just wink at you?” Spencer asked, his voice a mix of playful suspicion and amusement.

“Spencer!” you groaned, laughing as you nudged him lightly. “Don’t start!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece

[loaksky]

— 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

collegefwb!ellie x fem college!reader, angst, hurt / minimal comfort, wc: 3.5k

synopsis: you and ellie were a disaster waiting to happen.

content warnings: language, unforgivably mean!ellie (like atrociously mean, this is a REAL warning), toxic situationships / past relationships, brief mentions of sex, side comment about slipandslide, reader experiences loss, internalized grief and mentions of drunk driving / car accidents. please let me know if i miss anything, this one might be a lot !

author’s note: re-posted this after noticing it wasn’t showing in tags! also noticed some of the tlou community requesting some angst gigglegiggle. perhaps this will lead to a second-chance romance expansion in the future…leave your thoughts heh <3 as always, not proofread well!

tagging @vigskrt, don’t hate me for no happy ending this time around </3 i have plans to build this into a full fic ;)

YOUR FRIENDS HAD WARNED YOU.

They’d told you that Ellie Williams wasn’t shit. She was damaged goods and you were willing to pay the price even if it meant a shattered heart broken into a million unmendable pieces.

You’d given her the benefit of the doubt, had held out hope for the first little while of whatever it was between the two of you. You liked to believe that Ellie was tamping down unprocessed emotions, but she’d been adamant that it was all just good fun.

And you were willing to let it go, willing to take it all in stride if it meant having her in any way she’d give herself to you, but you were splintering glass waiting to give any second.

You’ll never forget the night you crumble.

She says it so casually, like she’s making observations about the weather or the swathes of setting skies. You’re sitting on her couch, basking in whatever remnants of the afterglow remains. Because, frankly, if there’s one thing Ellie Williams is good at, it’s pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you.

She’s across the living room, finishing off the blunt you’d politely declined, watching the slow glide of her goldfish in the tank on her console.

“M’bored,” she says simply.

You shift on your side of the couch, watching as she flicks ash in the nearby ashtray.

“You wanna go out?” you offer, glancing at the sunset outside of her window. “We could—”

She huffs out a humorless laugh, takes an extra long pull before stubbing the roach out and turns to face you. Her black tank top is riding up and you blanche when you see the fresh hickey a little south of her belly button.

You definitely hadn’t given it to her, but you aren’t in the mood to argue at the moment.

“I’m bored,” she repeats. “Of this. Whatever this is.”

You breathe out at nervous laugh.

“Oh c’mon, Els.” You stand from the couch, try to close in on her, but she’s shrugging you off as your hands come out to reach for her.

“I’m serious,” she says, tone bland and gaze glazed, equal parts from disinterest and the high kicking in. “It was fun at first, but this is starting to feel like a chore.”

Your chest tightens, tongue drying as you search her face for any tell.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “Where’s this coming from?”

Ellie shrugs.

“I’m just bored and this isn’t doing it for me.”

You’ve been wondering why it seemed like she was anywhere else but present the last dozen moments you’ve spent with her. It was always her half-assed agreements of seeing you when you called. Or less than enthusiastic spans of time where she’d seemed annoyed when you weren’t sated after the first comedown and quietly begged for more.

“Is there… Is there someone else?” you swallow. “If there’s someone else, it’s okay. I’ll—”

Ellie barks a mean laugh.

“You’re naive if you think you’re the only one,” she says, and it’s a nasty confirmation of the suspicions you’d had the entirety of your situationship with the girl.

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper, fingers reaching to tangle with hers.

“Fuck, I’m not high enough for this,” Ellie grumbles to herself as she watches your threads unravel.

“You wanna stop seeing me because you’re bored?” you heave. “You wanna stop this ‘cause you’re bored? Ellie, what the fuck?”

“I said it twice already,” she bites, snatching her fingers from your grasp. “And honestly, I’m over all of this. I’m over the clinginess, the neediness, the hope.”

Your breath catches hard in your throat and Ellie’s eyes meet yours for the first time since her declaration.

“Your friends talk, you know?” she says simply. “They beg me to put you out of your misery, say that you’re a great girl for me.”

And you like to think you are. You like to think that Ellie’d learned to love you the way you loved her; unconditionally, passionately, and in her own fucked up way. But you’d obviously been grossly mistaken.

“Am I not?” you whisper. “You mean the world to me, Ellie. I’d do anything for you. I–I lo—”

“Don’t.” She cuts you off sharply. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Ellie, I love you.”

And the silence is palpable. Tag-teams the tears that choke you as you wear your heart on your sleeve.

She sighs deep, scrubs her palms down her face as she screws her eyes shut.

“God, why do you have to make things so fucking difficult?” she groans.

“Me?” you choke incredulously. “We’ve been dancing around these feelings for a year, Ellie! You turn a blind eye, act like we won’t work when all it’d take is just a leap of faith. Why can’t you have faith in me, Els?”

She rolls her eyes, crosses the living room into her bedroom to collect your clothes off her floor.

“This is why we wouldn’t work,” she’d grunts as she stuffs everything into your backpack. “Because you think you know me, think you know how I feel, what I think, what I want. You don’t know me. You know what I let you and we fuck. That’s it.”

Your body shakes hard with emotion, bones vibrating with unshed tears.

“You’re lying,” you accuse. “You’re fucking lying because you’re scared.”

“Oh, fuck off with the shit, ________, please,” Ellie scoffs, shoving your backpack in your arms.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you argue desperately, reaching for her again. “I get it, this is new for you and it’s a lot to process and—”

“We agreed that this was just a good time,” Ellie says, nudging your arm away. “And right now, this isn’t really feeling like a good time. This feels like you trying to fix me, but I’m not going to change. Not for anyone and especially not for you.”

It’s a brutal stab at your feelings and it makes you sick. Because Ellie’s always known. She’d entertained this whole endeavor knowing you were head over heels and there wasn’t a chance in hell she would reciprocate.

“We don’t have to stop seeing each other, Els,” you try, taking in a shuddering breath. “Just— Just give us a shot. We can work through it and—”

“What’s not fucking clicking?” Ellie cuts you off with a pinched expression. “You’re not my fuckin’ therapist, not my girlfriend, and definitely won’t be anything more than a decent lay. I’m not doing this shit with you anymore. Seriously. Have some self-respect.”

The look of annoyance that crosses her face makes you feel like your feelings are the ultimate burden. And the sob that wracks your body rattles you so hard you cough till you feel like your lungs will dissolve.

It’s absolutely fucking humiliating, the way that Ellie grimaces like this is the most inconveniencing thing in her life as of late.

“Dude, just go,” she says sharply, steering you towards the front door. “Block me, I don’t care, just please let this shit go.”

“You’re actually the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing in my life.”

Ellie barely catches the statement, bulky headphones fitted over her auburn hair, but Dina’s brisk movements towards her catches her attention.

It’d be been a week since she’d last seen you, and quite frankly she’d been relatively surprised that you’d heeded her word about leaving her alone. She’d almost been home free. Almost.

“If this is about your friend—”

“Like hell it is,” Dina scoffs. “Are you serious? I can believe you said all that shit to her.”

“I mean, you warned her, didn’t you?” Ellie shrugs her shoulders, hooking her thumbs through her backpack straps. “Sounds like you should be bitching at her for not listening instead of me for keeping it pushing.”

And Ellie almost lets the irritation bubble over, but the look on Dina’s face has shifted, has her swallowing down whatever residual snark is concocting in the back of her brain.

“She’s devastated, Ellie.”

And it’s the same song and dance, Ellie knows it all too well, the bouts of sadness followed by the niggling feeling of numbness. She’s usually nonchalant, doesn’t feel any moral obligation to tie up any loose ends, but she feels the closest thing to guilt when she sees the genuine concern in your friend’s expression.

“Look, I’m sorry she got her feelings hurt, okay?” Ellie sighs defensively. “But everyone knew what this was going in and I can’t be the only asshole here for keeping it real.”

And of course she can’t take accountability, can’t admit that maybe she’d been too harsh on someone as sweet as you.

“Honestly, fuck you. I don’t know why I’m still fucking friends with you,” Dina whispers.

Ellie rolls her eyes.

“C’mon, D, you serious right now?”

“You hurt her so bad she won’t even eat,” Dina says quietly. “All she ever wanted was to make you happy, Ellie. The least you could’ve done was let her down easy.”

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” she grunts to herself.

“No, Ellie, your attitude is fucking bullshit, your whole fucking outlook on life,” Dina says stonily, shrugging her shoulders and taking a step away. “But I guess you get hurt once, you hurt a hundred times, right?”

“D, don’t—”

“Whatever.” Dina waves her off. “Apologize, don’t apologize, I don’t fucking care.”

After nearly two weeks of trying to mend the wounds Ellie had left, you get the call. It’s during midterms and you feel like the world is splintering.

Your younger sister had been driving home on the way from her shift when she was struck. She’d been pronounced at the scene and you take the first flight back home.

And you don’t know how to feel. Don’t know how to sort through the nasty mix of emotions that threaten to peel you from the inside out and disintegrate you. Losing Ellie was one thing, losing your youngest sister is like cruel fate.

It doesn’t hit you until after the service. When you’re sitting in her bedroom, combing through her admittance letters and thumbing through old family albums. You land on a particularly devastating photograph. One where she’d finally surpassed you in height and she’d leaned down to kiss your cheek.

The tears are spilling as you turn the page and you see collages of holidays, birthdays, and vacations. The one that sends you over the edge is the most recent.

It’d been spring break and your family had gone tubing. The two of you had drifted off and your mother was able to capture the perfect photo of the two of you with your heads thrown back in laughter.

If you recall correctly, you’d confided in her about your troubles with Ellie and, in an attempt to make you feel better, she’d cracked a joke so funny it made you laugh like things could be okay.

In the first moment that every emotion hits you full force and your sister isn’t there to be your rock, she’s there to catch your falling pieces.

Abby Anderson’s a childhood friend, grew up in the same cul-de-sac and moved the opposite way for university. News of your sister’s death had her making the five hour drive and offering you some semblance of comfort in a familiar face.

The two of you sit in silence as you hold the photo album to your chest and cry until your throat is raw and your eyes are nearly swollen shut. Her palm is warm between your shoulder blades, a gentle anchor in the roiling storm.

Ellie’s stoned out of her mind when she pays your dorm a visit a couple of weeks later. The apology’s long overdue, but she’d been too busy sparking up and getting lost in other people to shake the claws you’ve seemingly sunk into her brain.

It’s half past midnight on a Tuesday when she delivers three hard raps against room 202. Another three when no one answers the first time around.

She finally hears shuffling after the third set and the door swings forcefully before the fourth. And it’s definitely not you.

“Y’know it’s almost one AM and a majority of this building has class in the morning, right?”

Ellie’s posture straightens.

“Hello?”

Ellie doesn’t recognize this girl at all, does a double take to make sure she’s got the right room.

“________,” she says. “She around?”

The girl’s face screws up.

“Who?”

Ellie repeats your name.

“Oh, her,” the girl mutters groggily. “She pulled out of school a couple of weeks ago. Whole floor was scrambling to get reassigned to her room.”

“She what?” Ellie balks.

“She dropped out, I guess, I dunno,” the girl shrugs. “All I know was that the school psych handed us pamphlets about mental health and shit after she left.”

If anyone has any information on you, they won’t budge. And Ellie realizes it’s equal parts for your protection and her punishment. She’d been a nervous fucking wreck the remainder of the semester, couldn’t stop searching every corner of the internet for you, but it seems like maybe that night really does click because she’s blocked on every single platform imaginable.

She’d started smoking more, started fucking less, actually showed up to class. Her brain was practically numb a majority of the time, anxiety eating away during her short bouts of sobriety.

And god, if she had to admit that she’d learned her fucking lesson, had to admit that losing you was agonizing, she would if it meant seeing you again. Even from a distance.

Because she’ll be honest for once in admitting that she fucking misses you. Misses you so much it’s disgusting. And she doesn’t miss the way you make her feel, or the sex, or any of the things you offer her, she misses you.

Craves to see your sunny smile, yearns to feel the way your body nestles perfectly against hers. And your laugh, god your laugh, boisterous and consuming. She’d always told you it was obnoxious, but nothing could crack a smile faster than you throwing your entire body away from her and cackling till you wheeze.

And this is more traumatizing than any previous relationship that made her swear off love altogether. Your disappearance and your absence makes her feel like she’s going insane, like she’s grasping at straws to keep it together.

Mercifully, the semester ends, but summer oozes like viscous torture. And when fall sem of senior year rolls around, she holds out on hope, just needs to tell you that she knows she fucked up and she’s sorry.

But fall is quiet. Winter is quieter and the holidays feel mundane even surrounded by her loved ones.

“Everything okay at school, kiddo?” Joel’s never been one to poke around, just a silent supporter in the midst of Ellie’s growing pains.

Ellie nods, leaning over the railing.

“S’alright,” she shrugs. “It’s school.”

Joel ponders for a moment, looks like he doesn’t want to pry, but his youngest is his soft spot.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he drawls softly. “I know you better than you think. Know that something’s botherin’ you.”

Ellie hesitates, but decides to bite back her fears. It’s the least she could do for you.

“You ever hurt someone so bad you don’t know how to fix it?” she swallows.

Joel takes in a deep breath, then takes Ellie in.

“You want an honest answer?”

“Please,” she breathes.

“Sometimes you just have to deal with the repercussions of hurting somebody,” Joel says. “Closure is always nice but never guaranteed and the lack thereof is your punishment.”

It does feel an awful lot like punishment, Ellie thinks.

And Ellie learns that the universe can be unforgivable.

Learns as much when she catches a glimpse of you at the campus bookstore when all the students return from winter break.

She nearly drops her stack of books, scurries across the store in half as many strides before her fingers are wrapping around your bicep.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “It’s actually you.”

You’d been caught so off guard, you barely process the emotions that begin to filter through you, especially when she engulfs you in a bone-crushing hug and rocks you like she’ll never let you go.

“I can’t breathe,” you squeak, hands snaking between your bodies to give her a gentle push.

“Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie blabbers. “For that, for everything, for—”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” you say cooly and Ellie’s staring like you’ve sprouted two heads.

Because it’s absolutely not fine. You’d left school for a year and returned looking like a whole new person. Your cheeks are hollow, eyebags prominent, lips chapped. It’s like the past eight months has sucked the life out of you.

“Christ, are you serious right now?” Ellie asks incredulously.

She doesn’t realize how many emotions she’d kept pent up until her vision is clouding and your expression is falling.

“I broke your fucking heart and you scared the shit out of me when you disappeared and I— I thought— I…”

Ellie’s chest is tightening and she feels like she’s gonna throw up when you let out a short breath.

“What, you thought I offed myself?” you ask with a hollow laugh.

“I don’t know what I fucking thought,” Ellie’s voice cracks, and it’s the most emotion you’ve seen from her in the time you’ve known her. “All I knew was that one minute I was seeing you almost everyday and then suddenly, you fell off the face of the Earth and I’d never missed someone so much in my life and I fucking hated every single moment—”

“My little sister passed,” you say simply.

And fuck, she doesn’t expect that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You definitely fucked me up but there was a lot more to me leaving.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Everything okay?” A tall, buff blonde interjects.

It’s subtle, the way the girl’s palm slides to gently fit between your shoulder blades and Ellie’s going rigid.

“Yeah,” you respond, smile soft and familiar.

Ellie’d been on the receiving end once upon a time, and she nearly retches when you shift closer to the girl.

“This is Ellie,” you introduce. “An old classmate.”

The girl gives Ellie a once over, then a pensive smile.

“You ready to check out?” she asks you.

Ellie watches as you give her the upper level philosophy textbook and thinks that it’s fitting, your area of study.

“I’ll be up in a second, just gonna say bye,” you assure her.

She’s gazing down at you for a moment too long, lips curling into a wider smile as she nods in understanding and Ellie has to stop herself from recoiling.

Old habits die hard because she’s picking a fight despite her better judgment.

“So, I’ve been worried fucking sick over you for the past year but you were with someone else this entire—”

“Don’t do that, Ellie,” you say softly. “We’re friends. She helped me a lot through losing Dev.”

“If you called—”

“If I called, what, Ellie?” you ask seriously, but not unkindly.

You’re fed up, frankly.

“I would’ve been there,” Ellie says firmly, then whispers, “I would’ve fucking been there.”

“Would you have really?” you breathe a short laugh through your nose. “Last time we spoke I told you I loved you and you told me to have some self-respect.”

Ellie winces.

“I’ve thought about it,” she swallows.

You only blink up at her.

“It’s all I could think about since last spring, but…” she trails off, searches your face for courage because she’s so fucking scared. “What you said, the last time we spoke.”

“I said a lot of things,” you reply candidly.

“That we could work through it if I gave us a shot,” Ellie murmurs, running her fingers through her overgrown hair. “And I know I’m late—”

“Yeah, no shit,” you say flatly and Ellie flinches.

“But I want us to work and—”

“No.”

And the wind’s knocked from her lungs, makes her stomach wrench.

“And it’s not because I don’t love you anymore,” you say gently. “But because losing Dev taught me to love myself more.”

Ellie’s throat bobs.

“I can’t keep cutting myself down to accept what you feel like giving me,” you say. “Because I won’t take you having me one hundred percent and deciding to give me 10 on the days when the going gets tough. And don’t say you won’t because we’ve already done that shit with no labels.”

Being absolutely read makes Ellie feel infinitely more like shit because she’s never heard such a sound declaration of your unbridled feelings.

“I’m not losing you again,” Ellie whispers vehemently.

“You don’t have to,” you say softly, visibly withdrawing from the conversation. “I’ll always be in your corner rooting for you. But I can’t give you anymore than that. I won’t.”

“Wait, please, I—”

“I gotta go,” you say, peeling away. “Abby’s waiting.”

“Babe, c’mon.”

“I’ll see you around, Ellie,” you bid her, sparing her one final glance. “Take care of yourself.”

neng©️2023

[mariclerc]

hey just read your Charles × horner reader fic. it was really AMAZING. can you pls make a part 2. where they get married and maybe the reader becomes Charles's engineer. on the other hand christian understand his mistake and try to mend the relationship between him and his daughter.

Thank you for this request! I hope you like it!! 🤍🤍

Second chance spark (pt.2) | cl16

Summary: where Charles thinks you're a nepo baby just because of your last name. Warnings: horner!reader, christian being such a big asshole and fluffy fluff... This is a looong one, I hope you like it <3

Part 1

Two years later...

The Italian Grand Prix is a whirlwind of activity and a little bit of pressure for Ferrari, as usual. Mechanics scurry around the gleaming red Ferrari, finalizing preparations before qualifying. Charles, focused and sharp, sits in the cockpit, helmet on, he's ready for his first quali run.

But amidst the organized chaos, his eyes dart towards the pit wall, searching for a familiar face... He finds you, now a fully-fledged Ferrari race engineer with your headset on, eyes scanning data streams with a quiet intensity.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips as your eyes meet, a silent communication passes between the two of you, a wordless encouragement and a shared determination for victory.

Charles takes pole position, the roar of the tifosi deafening. He clambers out of the car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. As he removes his helmet, a delicate hand reaches out, offering him a water bottle.

It's you, your eyes sparkling with pride. You give him a quick hug, a silent celebration away from the prying eyes of the media.

He smiles. “Great job out there chérie, feeling good about the race?” he whispers softly. (darling)

You smile back at him. “Always, we've got this! The car is on fire this weekend!”

Charles rises an eyebrow playfully. “Is that what the engineers are calling it these days? On fire, huh?” he says teasingly.

You giggle. “Hey, you know technical jargon is evolving... Besides, you were an absolute rocket out there!” you say teasingly.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, a stark contrast to the early days of your relationship, when tension hung heavy in the air.

He lowers his voice. “Hey, princess... About your dad...”

You hold up a hand, stopping him before he can finish the sentence. “Don't, baby we agreed, no Red Bull family drama in the Ferrari garage... Let's focus on the race, okay?”

Charles nods, understanding. He knows the estrangement between you and Christian still cuts deep, a silent wound. But seeing the fire and determination in your warm eyes, he can't help but admire your strength.

***

Race day has arrived and you and Charles arrive quite early at the paddock, especially to finalize some things regarding possible strategies that may happen in the race. Working with him is possibly the best thing in the world, he listens to your suggestions and you listen to his, you two make a great team, the perfect combination of natural speed and intelligence.

At the time of the race Charles is leading with a great advantage over Max and you are giving him the latest instructions over the radio communication.

Charles finally crosses the finish line first, the roar of the crowd shattering the air. He pumps his fist in the air, his heart overflowing with elation. As he steps out of the car, the jubilant faces of the Ferrari team greet him. He immediately seeks out for you, and you place your arms around him in a tight hug, relief and joy mingle in your eyes as you pull back.

“You did it again! We did it babe!” You say full of pride and happiness for your boyfriend.

Charles holds your gaze, a silent promise hanging between you two, he leaned towards you to give you a kiss, it was a short one, but it meant a lot. This win, it wasn't just his, it was a victory for your love, your shared passion as a couple, and your defiance against those who doubted your relationship.

“Now go to the podium, champion!” You tell him while you have a smile on your face.

He smiles at you and kisses you again before heading to the cool down room, out of mere curiosity, you turned your gaze to the side of the Red Bull mechanics who were below the podium too and met Christian's gaze, you quickly stopped looking there and you focused on your boyfriend, who was coming out to the podium with a big smile on his face.

***

The celebration dinner is a blur of champagne toasts and laughter. Now, finally alone in your's and Charles' apartment, a comfortable silence settles.

You walk over to the window, gazing at the twinkling cityscape. Charles joins you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“That was... Incredible. You were amazing today.” he murmurs against your neck.

“So were you on track sweetcheeks.” you say, leaning against him.

He turns you to face him, his fingers gently tilting your chin up.

“Two years, huh? Still the best decision I ever made in my life.” he says softly.

You smile shyly, your eyes filled with love and care. “Mine too baby” you say tenderly. “But wasn't your best decision to have signed with Ferrari? Or am I wrong, love?” You say and let out a giggle.

He chuckled softly and giggled. “Ehm... Probably, but they were both the best decisions of my life, that's for sure.”

You just smiled and you two share a kiss, a slow and tender one that speaks volumes. You pull away slightly, a thoughtful look on your face.

“How about we celebrate with some takeout? My treat, since you're the reigning champion.”

Charles raises an eyebrow playfully. “Only if you promise to let me win next time we play Mario Kart.” he say with a grin on his face.

You laugh. “No promises baby, no promises.”

You two head towards the kitchen, your laughter echoing in the apartment. The future may be uncertain, but for you and Charles, the bond you forged in defiance has only grown stronger. Together, you face the world, a love story written in checkered flags and stolen kisses in the pit lane.

***

A few weeks later you and Charles find yourselves in a Italian countryside. The Tuscan sun bathes the rolling hills in a golden glow. Vineyards stretch towards the horizon, dotted with quaint farmhouses. Charles drives a vintage Alfa Romeo, the top down, the wind whipping through your hair. You sit beside him, a contented smile on your face.

You've been on a weekend getaway, a stolen moment of peace amidst the relentless F1 calendar. It's been perfect: long walks through ancient villages, lazy afternoons by the pool, and evenings spent under a star-dusted sky.

Charles parks the car on a secluded hilltop overlooking a breathtaking vista of vineyards and olive groves. He turns to you, his eyes filled with a nervous intensity.

You notice his expression. “Charles, what's wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, his voice a touch shaky. “Nothing's wrong, everything's perfect princesse, actually. More perfect than I ever thought possible.” (princess)

He steps out of the car and extends a hand to help you down. You walk hand-in-hand to the edge of the hilltop, the silence rich with unspoken emotions.

“These past two years with you, y/n... they've been the happiest of my life... You've been my rock, my confidante, my biggest supporter, you push me to be a better driver, a better man.” he says looking at you. He stands on one knee and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. “We've faced challenges, haven't we? But through it all, our love has only grown stronger... And I can't imagine facing another race, another season, another anything without you by my side.” Tears well up in your eyes as you stare at the sparkling diamond ring nestled in the velvet. “Y/n, will you marry me?” he said with his voice thick with emotion.

The world seems to hold its breath. The only sound is the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Y/n throws your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. Tears stream down your cheeks, a mixture of joy and overwhelming emotion.

“Yes, Charles! A million times yes!” you talk through choked sobs.

He holds you tightly, his heart overflowing with relief and happiness. As you two pull away, he slips the ring onto your finger, the diamond catching the sunlight. You kiss, a promise whispered against your lips.

The two of you stand there for a long time, your silhouettes bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The future stretches before you both, an open road waiting to be explored, not just as teammates, but as husband and wife. The Tuscan hills have witnessed a love story come full circle, a testament to the power of defiance, passion, and the promise of a forever etched in a simple question and a single, sparkling diamond.

Your laughter breaks the spell of the moment, a joyous sound that echoes across the hills. Charles twirls you around, your face alight with pure joy.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you're strong! But can we please admire the view before you spin me into oblivion?” you say panting a little.

Charles grins, pulling you close again. You stand in comfortable silence for a moment, gazing at the breathtaking panorama before you. “This place... I found it while I was researching for a weekend getaway. It reminded me of you, strong, beautiful, with a hidden sweetness.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his chest. “And you found it after all this time? You're a terrible navigator, Leclerc.”

He brushes a stray curl away from your face, his heart overflowing with love. “Maybe... But at least I found what I was looking for... And now that I have you, I don't think I'll ever get lost again.”

A blush creeps up your neck as you look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Don't make promises you can't keep, champion. Remember who navigates you to victory most of the time.”

Charles feigns offense, but his laughter betrays him. He pulls you in for another kiss, a slow, lingering one that speaks of promises made and dreams shared.

As you break away, Charles pulls out his phone, capturing a picture of you two with the breathtaking landscape as a backdrop.

“This is going to look great on Instagram.” he says while looking at the picture.

“Oh, so now you're thinking about social media? What about celebrating our engagement first?” you say swatting his arm playfully.

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close once again. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in a blaze of orange and purple hues.

“Alright, alright. But after this, I'm holding you to your promise about takeout and movie night, you know, this champion needs to refuel.” he says smiling.

You laugh, the sound echoing across the hills. “It's a deal! But only because you deserve it, future husband.”

You two head back towards the car, hand-in-hand, your shadows stretching long in the fading light. The road ahead may be filled with challenges, but you'll face them together, a team not just on the racetrack, but in life. And as you walk into the future, the promise of your love hangs heavy in the air, a melody written in laughter, stolen kisses, and a diamond ring that glints under the Tuscan sky.

***

The stifling humidity of Singapore hangs heavy in the air, mechanics scurry around the gleaming cars, the pre-race buzz crackling with nervous energy. You and Charles stroll down the paddock, with your fingers intertwined, your faces lit by a shared secret joy.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through the chatter, sharp and laced with sarcasm.

“Well, well, well, look who it is... The future Mr. and Mrs. Ferrari. Congratulations, I guess...” you hear Christian say sarcastically.

You freeze, your smile faltering, Charles tenses beside you, his jaw clenching. Christian stands in front of you, his expression a mask of forced cheer.

“Dad... Hi.” you say with your voice strained.

Charles steps forward, his voice firm. “Actually, Christian, it's Leclerc now...”

Christian's eyes narrow, a flicker of anger sparking in their depths.

“Right, of course Leclerc... The Ferrari defector who stole my daughter's affections.” Christian scoffs.

You step between them, placing a hand on Charles' arm. “Dad, it wasn't like that... We-” you say softly, but he interrupts you.

“And what exactly do you offer her, Leclerc? A life on the road, chasing trophies? Is that what she wants?” he says towards Charles

Charles meets Christian's gaze head-on, his voice unwavering. “More respect than she ever received from you, that's for sure. You never valued her work, her talent... All you saw was an extension of yourself.” he says in a calm way.

You take a deep breath, your voice regaining some of its strength.

“He's right, Dad... We found something special in each other, something you wouldn't understand.”

Christian's face contorts, a mixture of anger and hurt flickering across his features. “You'll regret this, both of you! This is a world of sharks, Leclerc, and she's naive enough to jump in headfirst with you.” he says scathing

Charles steps closer, his voice low and dangerous.

“Y/n is far from naive, she's strong, intelligent, and capable. And you'll see, we'll make a damn good team, both on and off the track.” he says through gritted teeth.

Christian stares at Charles, the anger in his eyes slowly replaced by a grudging respect. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

You reaches for his hand, a plea for understanding in your eyes. “Dad, please... This isn't about Red Bull or Ferrari, this is about us.”

Christian looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he releases his breath. “Fine. Be happy, but don't expect an easy ride from me.” he says with his voice subdued.

He turns and walks away, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

You let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in your eyes, Charles pulled you into a tight embrace, whispering words of comfort in your ear.

“Don't worry about him, we have each other.” he murmurs.

He rests his chin on your head, your bodies a silent promise against the backdrop of the bustling paddock. You've faced the first hurdle of the engagement, and emerged stronger. The road ahead may still be riddled with challenges, but you'll face them together, a united front against the storm.

***

Charles finishes the Singapore Grand Prix in second place, a decent result but not quite the win they were hoping for. As he steps out of the car, exhausted but proud, he sees you waiting for him by the pit wall.

This time, there's no need for words. He pulled you into a tight embrace, finding solace in your familiar warmth. Together, you face the cameras and the podium celebrations, a team on and off the track.

The future may be uncertain, but one thing is clear: your love, forged in defiance and passion, will continue to be your driving force.

***

A few months later...

Sunlight streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the elegantly decorated room. You sit in front of a large vanity mirror, your reflection staring back at you. You're adorned in a breathtaking white gown, the intricate lace shimmering like moonlight.

But instead of radiating the joy you envisioned, your face is etched with worry. Your fingers fiddle with the diamond pendant around your neck, the one Charles gifted you on your engagement trip.

A soft knock at the door breaks the silence. A beaming Lila, one of your closest friend and bridesmaid, peeks in.

“Y/n? Are you ready?” she whispers.

You jump slightly, forcing a smile. “Almost... Just finishing up some makeup.” you say with a shaky voice.

“Hey, don't worry girl. You look incredible, absolutely stunning.” Lila walks in and close the door.

You let out a shaky breath. “It's just... everything feels so surreal, you know? Like, what if I trip walking down the aisle? What if I mess up my vows?”

She sits beside you. “Y/n you're overthinking it, Charles loves you, completely and utterly. And even if you do stumble or forget something, he'll find it endearing. Besides, you've got this! You're smart, capable, and in love!”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“You're right. I just need to focus on Charles. Everything would be fine!”

A mischievous glint enters Lila's eyes. “Speaking of Charles, I saw him earlier. He looks like a nervous wreck too, pacing back and forth in the groom's room.”

You laughed, a genuine sound that chases away some of your anxiety.

“That figures... Mr. Cool and Collected, a mess of nerves? That's new.” You blushed a little as you imagined Charles walking around as he tried to calm down.

“Love does that to the best of us.” Lila says grinning.

A knock on the door interrupts the two of you. Your mother, eyes filled with pride, enters the room.

“Y/n, you're all grown up! My little girl is getting married.” she said with her voice thick with emotion. You tear up, a wave of love washing over you, your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Don't forget, sweetheart, you deserve all the happiness in the world. Don't you ever settle for anything less, okay?” she whispers.

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. As your mother helps you with the final touches of your wedding dress, a sense of calm descends on you... You're ready to face the ceremony, ready to face the future, hand-in-hand with the man that you love and adore.

***

Now you stand backstage, with Christian by your side, a tense silence hangs in the air. He avoids your gaze, his face unreadable.

You take a deep breath, breaking the silence.

“Dad, I know things haven't been easy between us, but...” you say softly but Christian interrupt you.

He finally looks at you, a flicker of something akin to pride in his eyes. “Y/n, you deserve to be happy... And from what I've seen, Leclerc makes you happy.” he says with a gruff voice.

You smile widely, a spark of hope igniting in your heart. It's the first time in two years of your relationship that your father has said something nice about you and Charles, and it obviously gives you the impression that perhaps his heart has softened a little.

“Thank you, Dad... It means a lot to me.” you smile softly at him.

He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand, a silent gesture of acceptance. “Now go out there and show everyone why I'm so damn proud of you... Even if I won't admit it out loud.” you giggled at his words.

***

The sunlight streams through stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the aisle. As the majestic strains of a wedding march fill the air, all eyes turn towards the back of the church.

You stand there, escorted by Christian, and you take a deep breath. You heart thumps a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a mix of excitement and nervousness. You steal a glance at Christian, a silent thank you for walking you down the aisle. A flicker of emotion crosses his face, a hint of pride battling with unspoken regret.

As you two reach the end of the aisle, Charles stands waiting, looking every bit the picture of a dashing groom. His green eyes meet yours, a wave of warmth washing over you, the whole world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you there.

Christian give you hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. With a shaky breath, you step forward, your eyes locked on Charles' face.

The officiant begins the ceremony, his voice a comforting constant amidst the whirlwind of emotions. As you and Charles exchange rings, a symbol of your love and commitment, a tear rolls down your cheek, Charles reaches out, brushing it away with a gentle touch.

Then comes the time for the vows.

You step forward, your voice and hands trembling slightly. “Charles, from the moment I met you, there was something different about you: a spark, an energy that drew me in. You challenged me, supported me, believed in me when I doubted myself... We've faced challenges together, navigated a world that tried to keep us apart, but our love only grew stronger.” you take a deep breath. “You're not just my teammate, you're my confidante, my best friend, the love of my life... You make me laugh until my sides ache, you hold me up when I'm falling apart, and you inspire me to be a better person every day.” you look into his eyes, your voice filled with love. “I promise to be by your side, through victories and defeats, to celebrate your triumphs and pick you up when you fall. To be your biggest fan, your rock, your partner in everything... Today, I choose you, and every day after.” you finally say.

A tear rolls down Charles' cheek as he takes his turn.

“Y/n, you entered my life like a force of nature, shattering everything I thought I knew about love... You're strong, independent, and brilliant. You pushed me to be a better driver, a better boyfriend, in general... to be a better man.” he says with his voice thick with emotion, then he takes a deep breath. “We've faced storms, navigated uncertainties, and emerged stronger on the other side. You're my teammate, my best friend, my rock. You make me laugh until I cry, calm my anxieties, and inspire me to reach for the stars.” he looks into your eyes, his gaze filled with pure love. “I promise to cherish you, to support you, to love you unconditionally, to be your partner in crime, your shoulder to cry on, your biggest fan... Today, I choose you, and every day after.” he finally says and smiled at you.

The officiant smiles, a warm light in his eyes.

“With these vows exchanged, I now pronounce you husband and wife... You may kiss the bride.”

Charles cups your face in his hands, your gazes locked in a silent promise. As your lips meet, the kiss is filled with love, passion, and the joy of a future you two will build together.

The cheers and applause of the wedding guests are a distant echo. This moment belongs only to you two, a culmination of defiance, love, and a promise whispered against racing engines, secret kisses and stolen glances in the pit lane.

[kirammanswifey]

《A Love Written in Pain(t)》

Ekko

writer's note: i'm sorry for making my boy suffer again, ekko deserves better but i'm a sucker for drama. anyways, this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's mel's turn ;)

link:

warnings: fluff, angst, terminal illness, death of oc, ekko is a romantic sweet talented baby, reader can be a jerk sometimes but she kinda cool sometimes.

The music vibrated in the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint and street food. You had come to the urban festival on a friend's recommendation, but you never imagined it would be an afternoon that would change your life. Artists were filling the city's gray walls with bright colors and messages of hope, and among them, one boy stood out.

His white hair contrasted with his skin, and the agile movement of his hand as he slid paint onto the wall was almost hypnotic. The mural he was creating seemed to come alive with every stroke: a girl holding a broken clock, surrounded by gears that spun toward nowhere. The image had something deeply melancholic about it, as if telling a story only a few could understand.

You watched him from afar, too shy to approach, until he noticed your presence. He turned his head and smiled at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of curiosity and kindness.

"Do you like it?" he asked, coming down from the scaffolding with the same ease he seemed to do everything.

"It’s... impressive. But it also feels sad, like it’s about a loss or something that can't be recovered."

His eyebrows raised slightly, surprised. "That's exactly what I wanted to convey. It’s about time. How we always think we have more of it than we really do, but we never know when it runs out."

His explanation fit perfectly with what you had felt while observing it. "I saw it more like a fight... like she doesn't want to give up, even if the clock is already broken."

For a moment, Ekko seemed to look at you differently, as if measuring something invisible. "I’ve never thought of it that way. I like that perspective. I guess that’s what’s great about art, right? It’s a conversation."

You smiled, feeling for the first time like someone understood how you saw things. "I guess so."

"Do you always analyze strangers' murals?" he joked, a playful smile on his lips.

"Only when they make me feel something," you replied with a hint of shyness, but without looking away.

"Well, then that’s a compliment."

Hours passed, but you didn’t even notice as the sun began to set. Talking with Ekko felt like discovering a song you didn’t know you needed in your life. He told you about his workshop, his passion for helping the community, and his dreams of changing the world, one gadget at a time.

At some point, he asked about your story, and although you weren’t the type to open up easily, you felt like you could be honest with him.

"I work with kids," you began, searching for the right words. "At an orphanage near my university. I like to think I can do something for them, even if it’s small. I’m studying psychology, and I want to help people like them... people who feel alone."

Ekko nodded, as if understanding every word. "That’s amazing. It’s like... you take care of people, and I try to make sure they take care of the world around them. Maybe you should stop by my workshop sometime. I work with kids from the neighborhood, teaching them how to fix things, build gadgets. We could join forces."

The enthusiasm in his voice was contagious, but you couldn’t help feeling a pang of doubt. It had been a long time since you let yourself connect with someone new, for reasons he didn’t need to know.

"Really? You take anyone?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Only if they have a good eye for art and a heart for kids. You seem to qualify."

When you got up to say goodbye, he pulled out his phone and offered you his contact. "In case you decide to visit the workshop."

You took the phone, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. You didn’t know what you were getting into, but something told you that Ekko wasn’t someone you’d easily forget.

By the end of the day, as you walked back home, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His paint-stained hands, his sincere laugh, and that strange connection you felt from the moment he looked at you.

You didn’t know it yet, but you had just met the love of your life.

A few days after the festival, you still couldn’t get Ekko out of your head. There was something about him that fascinated you: the spark in his eyes when he talked about his dreams, the passion behind every word, his way of seeing the world with optimism despite the struggles. You found yourself re-reading the festival brochure and checking his social media profile, where he shared glimpses of his life: videos of his skate tricks, photos of murals filled with messages of resistance, and small clips explaining how to build gadgets. And pictures of him too and... he was kinda cute.

Finally, you decided to message him.

"Hey, I’m the girl from the mural. You said I could come by your workshop... Is the invitation still open?"

The reply came faster than you expected: "Of course. Come by anytime. The kids will be happy to meet you. Does 4 PM today work?"

The workshop was located in an old brick building in a lively neighborhood. The exterior walls were covered in vibrant graffiti that seemed to tell stories. The main entrance had a huge phrase in bold letters: "We build the future together." When you walked through the door, you found yourself in a space that radiated creativity and chaos in perfect harmony. There were tables filled with tools, parts of half-built gadgets, unfinished murals covering the walls, and a group of kids focused while Ekko enthusiastically explained something to them.

When he saw you, his face lit up, he said with sarcasm: "Hey, the mural girl is here!

You blushed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," you said, feeling a little shy as all eyes turned toward you.

"Not at all. Actually, come here. I want you to see this."

He led you to a table full of small artifacts and technological pieces. "This is my experiment corner," he said, pointing proudly at the mess. "This is where the magic happens, although sometimes the magic is more frustrating than anything else."

The kids started to gather around, curious, and Ekko introduced you with a warmth that made you feel at home. "She works with kids too. She helps them find their way."

One of the younger ones looked at you with bright eyes. "Really? Do you do cool things like Ekko?"

You bent down to their level, smiling. "I don’t build things like he does, but I try to help people find their strength. Sometimes, the most important thing isn’t what we do with our hands, but with our hearts."

Ekko, who had been listening, looked at you with a mix of admiration and tenderness. "That was deep. I’ll have to write that down for my next mural."

Hours passed in the workshop. You helped the kids with their projects, painted a couple of things with Ekko, and learned more about his life. In a moment of calm, while the kids were absorbed in their creations, Ekko sat next to you, a screwdriver in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know? This place means a lot to me," he started, his tone more serious than before. "When I was a kid, there was nothing like this in my neighborhood. Growing up here was... complicated. There wasn’t always someone to turn to when things got tough."

"How did you manage to get through it?" you asked, genuinely interested.

Ekko smiled sadly. "It was thanks to my mom. She always told me that, even though we couldn’t change where we were born, we could change what we did with it. She taught me not to give up, to find ways to transform things, even if they were small. When she died... well, I promised myself I’d do something so other kids wouldn’t have to feel as alone as I did."

He paused, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hands. "At first, I didn’t know how. I just knew I wanted to make a difference. That’s when I discovered skateboarding, art, and technology. They were my escapes. And over time, they became my way of communicating, of creating something that mattered."

You felt a lump in your throat listening to his story. There was something about the way he spoke, the vulnerability behind his words, that made every detail come alive. "You’ve done something incredible here, Ekko. This place... it’s not just a workshop. It’s a home."

He looked at you, surprised by your words, then smiled, although his eyes glowed with contained emotion. "Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough. But hearing that... it makes me think maybe I am."

"You’re amazing." You squeezed his hand as a gesture of affection and respect, which made him smile shyly.

When the day ended, Ekko walked you to the door of the workshop. "So, what do you think?"

"I loved it! It’s like a refuge from the world."

He smiled, scratching the back of his neck with some shyness. "I try to make it that way. And I’m glad you came. The kids got along really well with you. They liked you."

"And you?" you asked, before you could stop yourself.

"Me?"

"Do you like me?"

For a moment, he seemed surprised by your question, but then he smiled with that spark in his eyes that you were starting to recognize. "I think so."

You said goodbye with a smile that didn’t leave your face the entire way home, carrying the feeling that, in some way, you had found a place where you belonged.

The afternoon sun bathed the streets in a golden light as you walked toward the park where Ekko had arranged to meet you. You weren’t sure what to expect; when he had suggested it, you thought it would be a simple, casual activity. But when you arrived and saw him carrying two skateboards, a mischievous smile on his face, you realized this wasn’t going to be any ordinary day.

“Are you ready to become a professional skater in just one afternoon?” Ekko asked, raising an eyebrow as he held a helmet in one hand and a board in the other.

“Professional? I can barely stay on my feet without falling,” you replied, laughing nervously.

“That’s what makes it fun,” he said, walking up to you to adjust your helmet. His fingers brushed your skin as he fastened it, and you noticed his movements were unnecessarily slow, as if he were looking for an excuse to be closer to you.

“And you? Are you going to wear a helmet or trust your legendary skill?”

Ekko shrugged, smiling to the side. “Nah, I was born for this.”

“Sure, sure,” you replied, nudging him with your shoulder.

The park had a wide track with ramps and flatter areas where beginners could practice. Ekko led you to one of these areas and began with a quick lesson.

“First, keep your feet steady. Don’t look down, look where you want to go. The board will follow your intentions.”

“My intentions? What am I, a witch controlling the skateboard with my mind?”

Ekko laughed. “Something like that. Though, if you were a witch, you’d probably have learned how to fly on this thing by now.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but on your first attempt, the board shot out from under you, and you ended up on the ground.

“Hey, hey! Are you okay?” Ekko was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“I’m fine,” you said, though you could barely stop laughing. “I think the board hates me.”

“No, you just have to conquer it. Look.” He jumped onto his skateboard with a fluidity that seemed to defy gravity. He glided smoothly along the track, doing small tricks to impress you. “See? You just need confidence.”

“Of course, confidence is the only thing I’m lacking,” you joked.

After several attempts, you started to improve. You managed to stay on the board for more than a few seconds, though falls were still frequent. Every time you fell, Ekko was there, offering a hand to help you up, his face a mixture of concern and amusement.

After a while, both of you sat on a nearby bench to rest. Ekko took out his phone and began searching for something in his playlist.

“I’ve got the perfect song for this moment,” he said, setting it to play on the speaker.

Tyler, the Creator’s melodic voice filled the air with the song "See You Again." Ekko looked at you with a smile that seemed to hold something more than just fun.

“Why this song?” you asked, trying to interpret the meaning behind his choice.

“It reminds me of you,” he replied, his tone more serious than you expected.

You paused for a moment, allowing the music to fill the space between you. You knew there was something in his words, something he was trying to say without saying it. But instead of confronting it, you chose to laugh, avoiding the weight of the moment.

“Wow, Ekko, if you wanted to dedicate me a song, you could’ve chosen something less obvious,” you joked, pretending not to notice the gleam in his eyes.

He smiled, but there was something in his expression that made you feel a slight pang of guilt. You knew he was trying to open up to you, and you had deflected it.

As the afternoon went on, the topic faded, but a subtle tension lingered in the air. It wasn’t just about him; it was also about you. There was something you couldn’t share with Ekko, something that weighed on you more with each passing day. Your illness wasn’t an easy topic, especially now when you were just starting to get to know each other.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as you both walked toward the graffiti area of the park.

“I’m not quiet. I’m… thinking.”

“About what?”

“How easy it is to be with you,” you said without thinking. The sincerity in your words took him by surprise, and you could see his expression soften.

“Well, I’m glad it’s easy. But if you ever need to talk about something hard, I’m here too,” he said, his voice filled with warmth that made you feel guilty.

“Thanks,” was all you managed to respond.

Days later, Ekko took you to the graffiti area. He had been working on something in secret and didn’t want to tell you what it was until he finished.

“Ready to see how I see you?”

When you turned the corner and saw the mural, you were left speechless. It was your face, captured with an astonishing level of detail. Your hair seemed to move with the breeze, and your eyes were filled with a light you didn’t recognize at first. Around your face, Ekko had painted details that only the two of you would understand: small rays of light that seemed to represent hope, and a golden phrase that read:

“Life is short, but art is eternal.”

“Ekko…” you murmured, unable to find words to describe how you felt.

“This is what I see when I look at you. You're art,” he said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

The mural was more than just an image. It was a reflection of how he saw you: as someone bright, unique, and irreplaceable. As you looked at it, you promised yourself that one day you would tell him the truth, even though you feared losing what you had.

The morning began with Ekko knocking on your door, carrying a huge box that almost covered his face.

"Are you going to let me in, or am I staying here decorating the hallway?" he said, balancing the box.

You laughed, opening the door wide. "What do you have there? A corpse?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, baby" he joked, walking in and setting the box on the table.

Baby, that's how he was used to call you now. It didn't felt wrong, in fact, you liked it. It felt so good when he said it to you. It made you feel special. It made you feel loved. It made you feel his.

"It's for tomorrow's event. We're going to need a lot of help to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"An event? What are you talking about?"

Ekko leaned forward, resting on the table with a smile that combined enthusiasm and a bit of nervousness. "It's for the kids in the neighborhood. I'm organizing a sort of fair. Games, music, food... you know, something to help them forget for a while everything that's going on down here."

The morning passed organizing ideas. Ekko had an almost contagious energy, moving around your apartment like a whirlwind while making lists, dividing tasks, and talking about his plans.

"So, what do you think of a painting workshop? We could get some cheap canvases and brushes. I'm sure the kids would love to express themselves that way."

"I love it," you replied, watching his face light up. "How do you have so much energy for this?"

"It's important," he said, his tone turning more serious. "These kids... a lot of them don't have anyone who really shows them that they matter. If I can do something to change that, even for just one day, I will."

Your heart tightened as you listened to his words. There was something deeply inspiring about his dedication, how he used his own pain as fuel to improve the lives of others.

"So, where do I fit into all of this?" you asked, crossing your arms with a smile.

"Simple. You're my right hand. Plus, no one can resist your brilliant ideas and that smile of yours," he said, winking before turning back to focus on his plans.

In the afternoon, Ekko took you to his loft to check out some materials he had gathered for the event. His home was filled with curious objects: disassembled tech pieces, unfinished paintings, and notebooks full of sketches and notes.

"This place is like your brain made into physical space," you commented, looking around with a mix of awe and amusement.

"Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely."

You went up to the roof, where there was a small area Ekko had transformed into a personal retreat. There, he showed you his next project: a portable device designed to help people with motor disabilities perform everyday tasks with greater ease.

"How does it work?" you asked, taking the gadget in your hands.

"It's a prototype," he explained, sitting next to you. "The idea is for it to adapt to different needs. For example, someone with trouble holding objects could use it for a firmer grip. It's simple, but it could make a difference."

You looked at him, impressed. "Ekko, this is amazing. How did you come up with it?"

"I guess... I've always wanted to fix things. People, places, systems... whatever." He paused, looking at the horizon. "I don't know, I feel like it's the only thing I really know how to do."

The sincerity in his voice moved you. "You're not fixing things, Ekko. You're improving them. That's something very different."

Later, as you both worked on the final details for the event, Ekko looked at you with an intensity that made you feel uneasy.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally said, breaking the silence.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you always keep your distance? Sometimes I feel like you're here, but at the same time, you're not. Like there's something you don't want me to see."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't expect Ekko to be so direct.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Yes, you do," he insisted, his voice firmer. "I've noticed how you avoid certain topics, how you change the conversation when something gets too personal. Is it that you don't trust me?"

"It's not that," you replied, feeling the frustration building inside you. "There are just things I don't need to share. Not everything has to be so... open."

"Not with me?"

His question hit you like a punch to the stomach. You stood up from the chair, unable to stay seated under his probing gaze. "Ekko, it's not as simple as you think."

"Then explain it," he said, standing up as well. "Because from here, it seems like you're more concerned with what you're hiding than with what we have."

What you two had was complicated. You weren't friends, you were more than that, but you weren't a couple either. It was complicated. And you didn't like to think about complicated things.

"You have no idea what you're saying!"

The raised tone of your voice surprised both of you. You felt the stress and physical exhaustion begin to take their toll. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

"Baby, are you okay?" Ekko stepped toward you, but before he could reach you, your legs gave out.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of his voice, filled with panic.

You opened your eyes under a cold, white light. The smell of disinfectant confirmed what you feared: you were in a hospital. You turned your head and saw Ekko sitting next to your bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands intertwined.

The room was silent, only broken by the soft sound of the monitor marking the rhythm of your breathing. The sunlight filtered through the hospital window, creating patterns on the floor, but the calm was deceiving. You knew Ekko was worried, hurt, but what worried you the most was what Ekko had started to suspect. You couldn’t keep hiding it, and you knew the time to talk had come.

Ekko had probably been sitting in the chair next to your bed for hours, staring at the wall, lost in thoughts that seemed to consume him. You didn’t know if he hated you or if he was just trying to process what had just happened. After all, you had fallen unconscious in his arms, leaving him with a heavier emotional burden than any gadget prototype or community event. Now, he was paying the price for your secret.

“Ekko?”

He quickly lifted his head, and the mix of relief and worry on his face broke your heart.

When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t the same as usual. There was something broken in it.

“Baby, what’s going on? What haven’t you told me? The doctor... the doctor told me that...”

It was obvious that the doctor had given him more details than you had wanted to share. You hadn’t planned on opening up to him like this. But something in his gaze, the clear worry, and the deep sadness, made you say what you had kept hidden for so long.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, taking a deep breath. “The illness I have has no cure.”

After a long silence, and before everything could completely fall apart, you decided to explain more deeply about the illness that was consuming you because you knew Ekko needed to understand it fully, even though you weren’t sure you could save what was left between you both.

“Ekko… what I have is a rare, autoimmune disease. My immune system is attacking my own organs. It’s called Systemic Lupus Erythematosus, and there’s no cure. It’s like my body is fighting against me all the time, little by little.”

Ekko stared at you in silence, as if he couldn’t process every word. He knew that everything you had said before, although important, wasn’t enough to understand what was really happening.

“When?” he asked, his voice tense, almost inaudible. “Since when?”

“I started feeling bad when I was 23,” you continued, your voice trembling. “It hurt all the time, and the fever wouldn’t go away. At first, I thought it was something temporary. But then I fainted once, and that’s when they admitted me to the hospital. That’s when they told me that what was happening in my body was much worse than I imagined. From there, my life completely changed. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I lost energy, I lost weight, and the flare-ups became more frequent. It’s like my body is in a constant war, and there’s no way to win it.”

The feeling of vulnerability overwhelmed you as Ekko, standing at the door, continued to look at you with a mix of disbelief and pain.

But before he could say anything, you threw out one last statement that seemed to come from the deepest part of your soul:

“And I don’t know how much time I have left, Ekko. I just know that I can’t live knowing I’m dragging you with me.”

Ekko stood still for a moment, processing your words. His breathing became heavier, as if an invisible weight had fallen on him. Finally, his eyes sought yours, and what he saw in them wasn’t surprise. It was like, somehow, he already knew, as if he had sensed it all this time.

“Your parents?” Ekko asked again, his eyes fixed on you, searching for answers that you couldn’t hide anymore.

“My parents don’t know,” you said, letting out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within. “They have no idea. How am I going to tell them that? How am I going to tell them? No… I don’t want them to see me as a project they need to save. I want them to see me for who I am, to see me as their daughter, not as a broken thing they need to take care of. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m not going to be a burden.”

Ekko looked at you, his eyes filled with frustration, but also with a sadness so deep that it made you question whether he really knew you as well as you thought.

“Baby, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide all of this from me? Did you think you could protect me from the truth? What were you really protecting—me or yourself?”

The punch of his words was like a gut punch. The wound you had tried to seal with lies and evasions started to bleed, and the emotion overflowed in you like a river that couldn’t be stopped.

“I don’t know…” you stammered, tears threatening to fall. “I don’t know, Ekko. I wanted… I wanted all of this to keep being normal. For it not to be so… so heavy. I wanted to do everything I’ve always wanted to do before… before it ended. I wanted to leave my mark on the world before I’m gone, to leave something that was worth it.”

Ekko began to pace back and forth. His frustration became more palpable, but there was something else in his attitude, something you hadn’t recognized at first.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he yelled, and the vehemence in his words made everything in the room feel even denser. “I don’t understand why you had to carry all of this alone. Why did you shut me out, baby? Why did you make me believe that everything was okay?”

“Because it was easier that way,” you said, the words tumbling out. “Because what’s happening inside me… how do you explain that to someone who doesn’t understand? How do I explain that my body is already losing the battle, that I won’t be here much longer, that everything I touch will fade?”

The anger in Ekko’s eyes faded for a second, and what remained was a sadness so deep it seemed to swallow the light in the room.

“And what about me, baby?” he said, his voice softer, more broken. “What about us? Did you really think I didn’t care? Did you really think I could go on without knowing what’s happening to you? That I could keep smiling and helping you as if nothing was going to change?”

At that moment, something inside you broke. Without thinking, the words left your mouth, sharp and like a dagger:

“Stop looking for it in me, Ekko. I’m not your mother. I’m not her. Don’t project that onto me! I don’t want to be the memory of what you lost. I don’t want to carry that responsibility, or the guilt of not being what you expected.”

The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. Ekko took a step back, his face contorting with a mix of pain and confusion. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“How could you say that?” he whispered, his voice broken, as if every word he spoke cost him more than the last. “I never ‘projected’ her onto you. It’s just… I don’t want you to keep pushing me away. I don’t want you to keep hiding your fears from me.”

And then, both of you stood there, in that emotional abyss that neither of you knew how to cross. Frustration, fear, love, and sadness intertwined in the room, as if time had stopped completely.

Finally, the silence became unbearable. You sat up in bed, defeated, while Ekko turned and walked toward the door. His body tense, his breathing ragged, and the pain in his face made him feel more real than ever.

Before leaving, he stopped and looked at you one last time. “If you had used your psychology for yourself instead of for everyone else, maybe you could’ve avoided this.”

The door slammed behind him with a dull thud, and you were left there, alone, with the echo of his words ringing in your ears.

Time had passed. The days and nights blurred into a mixture of conflicting feelings, unfinished memories, and a void that both of them tried to fill without success. The argument between Ekko and you had left deep scars, although both of you knew it couldn't be the end. Not for you. However, there was something neither of you had been able to face: fear. Fear of love, fear of tragedy, and fear of losing each other before either of you expected it.

You had distanced yourself for a week. A week that had been heavier than you ever imagined. In every corner, in every solitary moment, in every thought, Ekko was there, like a persistent shadow. No matter what you did, how you tried to ignore him, the emptiness left by his departure enveloped you more and more. You tried to convince yourself it was for the best, that moving on without him was the right thing to do. But you were lying to yourself, you knew you couldn't continue without him. Not that way.

Finally, after days of deliberation, finding the strength to face your own fear, you decided to go find him. You had to talk to him, make amends, and make a decision. If you were going to die, you would do it without regrets, without leaving words unsaid, or missed opportunities. You wouldn’t care about the shadows of the future, but you couldn’t keep living with the weight of silence between you two.

You found yourself standing in front of his door, hands trembling and heart pounding in your chest. You knew what you had to say, what you wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in your throat.

The door slowly opened, and there he was, Ekko, with that gaze that, though intense, still carried a hint of sadness. There was something in his face that told you he had been searching for you in his mind as well, though his eyes didn't yet recognize it.

"Ekko…" you finally said, your voice trembling, "I need to talk to you. Can I come in?"

Without saying a word, Ekko took a step back and opened the door, inviting you inside. The atmosphere in the room was heavier than you remembered, as if everything unsaid still lingered in the air.

You stood in front of him, your eyes fixed on his, while the words that needed to come out didn't come immediately. But in the end, you decided.

"Ekko, I know I failed you. I know, and I’m deeply sorry. It was never my intention, it never was." You took a deep breath, struggling to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "But I'm here because… because I need to know if you're still willing to fight with me. If you're willing to continue this battle, to stay by my side for as long as I can."

Ekko stared at you for a moment, his face impassive, but his gaze was full of something you couldn’t decipher. There was a long pause, and then, with a sincerity that made you shiver, he responded:

"I’ve always been willing, baby. From the moment I met you, I’ve been willing to fight for you, for what we have. I don’t care what comes, I don’t care how long it is. What matters to me is that you don’t leave, that you don’t leave me behind."

Those words were everything you needed. No more doubts, no more fears. You embraced his answer with your soul, with the certainty that, finally, both of you were ready to accept the truth. The truth of who you were, what you felt, and what the future held for you.

From that day on, things changed. Although you knew each moment was a fleeting gift, you decided to make the most of it. Ekko never stopped being by your side, and you did the same for him. You were determined to live intensely, no matter how short the life you had left. And he, he was willing to love you until the end.

He accompanied you to every medical appointment, always with a smile, always willing to do anything to lighten the pain caused by the treatment. The hospital visits weren’t easy, but his presence made everything more bearable. He held your hand before entering the consultations, hugged you after every diagnosis, and never let the moments of uncertainty crush you.

"I don’t want you to be afraid," you said one day, after one of your doctor visits, while walking together through the streets, taking a break at a small café. "But I know you feel it. I know every time we go in there, it kills you a little inside."

Ekko looked at you, his gaze full of both pain and tenderness. "It’s not fear," he replied, his voice soft. "It’s not knowing how to save you. I don’t know what to do when I see you so fragile. All I can do is be here, by your side."

And that was enough. Even though both of you knew you couldn’t stop time, nor the illness, what you could do was share every second, every laugh, every small victory, and every defeat.

But it wasn’t only moments of pain and fear. There were also moments of joy, of beauty, and of creation.

Together, you started working on the project you both dreamed of—the gadget you had envisioned, which could change the way the world saw technology. Even though your health was becoming more fragile, Ekko made sure you didn’t stop. You worked side by side, sharing ideas, making decisions, and facing obstacles, but always together. It was your way of fighting, of resisting, of holding on to life amidst the chaos.

One day, while working on the final design, Ekko surprised you with an idea. "How about, in addition to all this, we paint something? Something that’s ours, something that represents what we’re doing together."

At first, you didn’t completely understand what he meant, but soon you did. Together, you would create something more than just a gadget. You would paint a mural, one that symbolized not only your dreams and love, but also the struggle you shared. The mural would represent life, love, and hope, even though you knew time was limited.

In your mind, that mural became the testament of your story, a reminder of what you had built together. The colors shone on the wall, the shapes wild and beautiful, just like your love. The mural wasn’t just a work of art, but also a promise. The promise that, no matter what else might crumble, your love would never fade. No matter how much time you had left.

The last strokes were made one sunny afternoon, in a deep, shared silence. The piece was finished, and as you stepped back to admire it in its entirety, both of you knew you didn’t need words to understand what it meant.

The mural was more than a reminder of your love; it was a testament to what you had built together, of how, even in the darkness, you had found light. Though the future remained uncertain, the mural would stay there, eternal, as a trace of what once was and would always be.

As the days passed, time seemed to grow more valuable, more scarce. You knew that every minute spent with Ekko was a gift. And although illness had taken much from you, it had given you something you never imagined: a deep, real love that feared no tragedy.

One afternoon, while resting together in his loft, Ekko looked at you seriously, more serious than you’d seen him in a long time. In a soft voice, almost as if afraid of the answer, he asked:

"Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

You paused for a few seconds, feeling the weight of the question. But in that moment, something inside you broke. You smiled tenderly, a smile full of love and resignation.

"Ekko," you said softly, moving closer to him, "we’re so much more than that."

The smile he gave you was the answer both of you needed. You didn’t need labels, you didn’t need promises of an uncertain future. The only thing that mattered was that, in that instant, you shared something so deep and real that it didn’t need to be defined by words.

And, without another word, your lips met in a first kiss, a kiss full of love, despair, and hope. A kiss that marked the beginning of what both of you knew would be a short story, but one that would last a lifetime in your hearts.

The weeks following the reconciliation were a whirlwind of emotions. Even though you knew time was running out, you decided to live each moment with Ekko as if it were the last, because in reality, it was. Sometimes, the smiles were forced, but in the most sincere moments, you could see in his eyes the reflection of a love so strong it took your breath away. Every time he looked at you, every time he held your hand, there was a mix of hope and pain, but neither of you wanted to face the inevitable.

The illness progressed rapidly. Every day, your body seemed to fall apart a little more. The doctors had told you, warned you, but you never imagined how quickly the end would come. You had learned to live with the pain, the fatigue, the moments of weakness, but nothing had prepared you to see Ekko closely watching the changes happening inside you.

You had already told your parents about it, and when you did it he was there with you, by your side, ride or die. And of course they didn't take it well, but there was nothing they could do. They just let you be happy with Ekko.

Sometimes, when you woke up in the morning, you’d see him sitting beside you, his gaze lost in some undefined point, as if he were waiting for you to wake up from the shared dream. He’d ask you how you were feeling, and you’d always say you were fine, even though the truth was you could barely bear the weight of your own body.

You saw him trying to distract you, taking you to places that made you happy, but you knew nothing could escape that reality. He didn’t want to accept what was happening, and neither did you, but neither of you wanted to say it out loud. No one wanted to mention what was already so obvious.

That night, after another doctor’s appointment that you could barely endure, you lay down hoping to rest, even though it was becoming harder and harder to find deep sleep. Your body no longer responded the way it used to, and the symptoms had started affecting you more brutally. You could barely move your hands without feeling pain, your breathing grew more labored with every effort, but you kept smiling. You had to, not only for Ekko, but for yourself.

Ekko was sitting beside you in the chair he always occupied when taking care of you. His presence was as comforting as it was painful. You knew he was holding onto every fragment of his strength to not show you how devastated he was, but you could feel it in his eyes. He gently stroked your hair and whispered, as though afraid that if he spoke any louder, everything would collapse.

“I promise we’ll get through this. Together, we’ll make it. I won’t let you leave me, not without a fight.”

You looked at him, knowing he was struggling not to cry. But his words, although full of love, only reminded you of the harsh reality. There was no more time for promises, no more room for fighting. The end was near, and you knew it.

“Ekko…” you said, your voice weak. “You don’t have to fight anymore. I’ve loved you so much, you know that, right?”

His eyes filled with tears, but he made an effort to smile. “I know. I know, baby. And I love you more than words can say.”

But what you didn’t know was that, at that very moment, Ekko was also fighting his own pain. While you rested, trying to gather some strength, he was in the workshop, working frantically on the gadget, the project you both had shared. The same gadget that, in his mind, represented everything you had built together. The gadget wasn’t just an object. It was the manifestation of what you two could accomplish when united, when you fought as a team.

Ekko knew the gadget couldn’t save you. He knew nothing could save you. But still, he felt that if he finished that project, a piece of you would remain. A trace of the hope you had brought into his life.

Hours passed, and the night stretched on in heavy silence. Ekko was so focused on his work that he didn’t realize time was slipping away. The light in the workshop flickered as he soldered pieces, making adjustments, checking everything over and over, as if somehow he could turn back time, change the course of history. But he knew he couldn’t.

When he finally gave up on the gadget, exhausted from the intensity of the night and the weight of worry, he went up to the bedroom. He wanted to see you, wanted to make sure you were still breathing, even though he already feared what he might find. He entered the room with the hope that, by some miracle, everything had changed. But what he found was the silhouette of your body lying still. In the absolute silence of the room, Ekko slowly approached, his heart pounding, and when he reached your side, he touched your hand gently. It was cold. Too cold.

The shock paralyzed him for a second. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t accept that you were no longer there, by his side, where you had always been. He looked at you, observing your pale face, your peaceful expression, as if you were simply sleeping, but deep down, he knew there was no turning back.

Desperation washed over him. The pain hit him so hard it felt as though his chest would explode. How was it possible? How could something so beautiful, so real, vanish in the blink of an eye?

He knelt by the bed, gripping your hand tightly, as if by doing so, he could bring you back to life. “You can’t go,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the tears he could no longer hold back. “Not now. Not like this.”

But deep in his heart, he knew it was the end. He knew he couldn’t bring back what was already gone. He couldn’t revive the irreparable. And for the first time in his life, Ekko didn’t have a solution, he didn’t have a plan. All that was left was the pain, and that painful acceptance that it was all over.

In the following week, Ekko lived in a limbo. No one saw him, no one knew how to face his pain. Memories of you were everywhere. In the bed where you slept, in the gadget he completed, in the mural you painted together, in the streets where you both walked, always hand in hand. Everything that had once been a dream was now just an echo, a shadow.

Sometimes he’d find himself in front of your photo, the smile you shared on a random afternoon, one that he could no longer remember without the lump in his throat becoming unbearable. The reality hit him harder each time: you were no longer there.

Ekko became a shadow of himself. His mind still searched for you, as though somehow you might return, as though he could find a way to save you. But nothing could change what had happened.

In his darkest moments, Ekko would remember the last words you had said: “I’ve loved you so much.” Those words gave him strength to keep going, to not give up completely. Though the pain was unbearable, he had loved you, and that was something he would never forget.

And with the gadget in his hand, looking at the mural you both painted, Ekko made a promise, a silent promise: he would live to honor what you shared. He wouldn’t let your death be in vain. Your love, your fight, your story would live on in his heart, forever.

The city, as always, continued its course, indifferent to everything Ekko had lost, to everything that had changed in his world. But for him, the day was no longer just a succession of hours; every second was a struggle to find something that gave his pain and love meaning.

Months had passed since you left, but it felt like your absence was so recent, so sharp, that Ekko couldn't stop feeling that his entire being was stuck between life and death. No matter how much time had passed, your image was engraved in his mind, not as a memory, but as a constant presence, a voice whispering in his ear, as if you had never left.

Today, in particular, everything seemed to pull him back to the pieces of his pain. The project you had worked on together, the gadget, was finally ready. After so many sleepless nights, so much effort and sacrifice, the moment to present it had arrived. It had been a creation of love, passion, and farewell. A tribute to you, to what you shared, to what still remained of you in his heart.

Ekko walked with firm steps toward the community event where he would present the gadget. Around him, the people, some curious, others hopeful to see the result of years of teamwork. But he couldn't see them. He couldn't see beyond his own thoughts, the image of you floating in his mind. Sometimes, he thought that everything he had done in the past few months was just a way to avoid facing the truth: that you were gone and that, despite everything, life had to go on.

He entered the venue, a large hall filled with tables covered in technology, art, and brilliant inventions. The gadget was there, on a pedestal, waiting to be presented. Ekko stared at it in silence for a moment, recalling every afternoon spent working on it together. The design was sleek, full of details that reflected his intelligence and your ability to come up with unimaginable solutions. It was more than just a gadget; it was a piece of you, a piece of what they had been together.

The event began, and Ekko, with a calm that only he could have, presented his creation. He explained, with soft but firm words, how the idea had been born, how you had been the spark of inspiration for something that transcended technology and reached the heart. As he spoke, the words intertwined with memories, with your laughter, your jokes, the long nights spent debating the design, the future, and what they wanted to do. Every word felt like a sigh from the past, a sigh that tried to make the present make sense.

But inside him, Ekko knew that everything he was doing was just an echo of what had been. What remained was the emptiness, the absence you had left in his life.

When he finished, he stepped away from the stage, letting the gadget speak for itself. No one in the room understood what that creation really meant. No one knew how much it had cost, not in terms of hours of work, but in terms of love, sacrifice, and farewell. They didn’t understand that every screw, every adjustment, had been made with the hope that, in some way, it would bring you back, even if only for a second.

After the presentation, Ekko moved away from the bustle, walking slowly toward a secluded corner of the city. There, on the wall, was the first mural that he painted of you. The mural was a mural of love, hope, and pain. A mural that reflected every laugh they shared, every glance, every moment they had lived together. In the mural, you were more than just a figure; you were a story told in colors and shapes, in every stroke Ekko had made, in every brushstroke you had guided. The mural wasn’t just art; it was a piece of his soul, his heart, of you.

When Ekko stopped in front of the mural, the wind gently blew, moving some fallen leaves on the ground. His eyes, moist, traced every part of the painting, as if he were searching for something he would never find. He remembered how you had smiled while he was painting you, how you had loved it so much when he showed it to you.

The mural showed a version of you that was etched in his memory. He saw you, with your serene smile and your eyes full of dreams and desires. But what really stood out in the mural was your figure, as if everything else was just a stage for you, for what you meant in his life.

"We did it, baby," Ekko whispered, as if he could hear your voice responding, as if you were still there. "We did it together. Everything we dreamed, everything we wanted... we did it."

His tears began to fall, one by one, flowing like a torrent he could no longer hold back. His heart broke once more, but there was something in the sadness of that moment that gave him a strange sense of peace. Maybe it was because he finally understood that, even though you had gone, the love you shared could not disappear. Love doesn’t vanish with death; it stays, like a shadow that always follows the light. In the mural, in the gadget, in his memories, you would always be a part of him, forever.

Ekko stepped away from the mural, glancing one last time at the figure that now represented everything he had lost. He looked toward the future, toward the horizon, where the lights were beginning to flicker on, and the streets once again filled with people who knew nothing of what he had been through. An uncertain future, but a future he would have to face, because at the end of the day, what really mattered was how he would live after the loss.

With the image of the mural etched in his mind, Ekko moved forward. And in his heart, a promise: he would never forget what you both shared, he would never forget the legacy you left, and he would move forward with the strength of your love, because now he understood that love didn’t die, it transformed, just like art does. Like you did.

[nutcoffin]

I would like to call out and formally ask miss @shittyzinkoo to stop tracing other peoples art. And not just for a certain amount of time. Stop it for good.

What am I talking about, you may ask?

Well a few months ago i have found her youtube account because of her kinitopet animations. It was all fine untill I looked into her community posts, where she has been tracing the following artists:

@sin-simps (on tumblr)

Original:______________________________________

Traced/copied:_________________________________

//Note: These have been deleted since, because Sin-Simps talked to her about it(as long as I know). Although this doesn't change the fact it's happened.//

@Scarletwaltz (on tik tok)

Original:______________________________________

Traced/copied:_________________________________

//Note: It's still up on her youtube account.//

@nutcoffin (me on tumblr)

Original:______________________________________

Traced/copied:_________________________________

//Note: The only reason I added the second picture, is because of the same KinitopetAU name that I have. I give the benefite of the doubt though, that its a coincidence. At least I hope so.//

In my case, the one that was on pinterest has been also deleted for my request since:

//Note: She answered that she already deleted it a long time ago, I just couldn't screenshot properly the chat so her answer can be seen//

To be honest it's already a scumy thing to trace a drawing that was made for someone as an answer for a submission-

BUT AFTER A MONTH SHE UPLOADED IT AGAIN

At least I believe so, because I was browsing on pinterest a few days ago and I have found it again without searching for her account or opening a link for the post. The only difference was that the comments were locked so I couldn't wrote that "Hey, this is traced!" in there as I did before.

I have to say I wasn't so nice the second time -

//Note: After a few minutes of my response, this also have been deleted.//

And I would like to apologise for this. I wrote to you in anger and because of that I was rude, but you have to understand that it's not okay to steal other peoples art. Tracing is stealing. Even if it's just a stupid little doodle. You can draw just fine without it, believe me.

For the end I would like to inform you that from now on every time you repeat this with anyone's drawing, your work will be reported. Doesn't matter what platform do you use or if you block this account of mine.

Thank you for reading.