#it's been a month and i thought it might help to say something

[docrobinavitch]

say goodbye like you mean it | part two

dr. robby x f!charge nurse!oc content: 18+ mdni, domestic violence, explicit sexual content, swearing, vague age gap (oc mid to late thirties) words: 4.8k PART ONE

synopsis: gwen keating is still adjusting to her new role in the pitt while juggling her feelings for dr. robby. a case comes into the ER that threatens to jeopardize everything she's built. a/n: thank you all for the love on part one!! i hope you all enjoy this next part. there will be at least two more.

The ER had adjusted quickly to Gwen’s presence over the next month or so, showing her the same deference they showed Dana. After a couple of weeks, Gwen began covering all her shifts and Dana only came in once a week to see how she was doing. The transition was going smoothly.

It was a Monday morning and the shift change was beginning to occur. Javadi and Santos watched as Robby came up behind Gwen, a hand on the small of her back as he said something quietly in her ear. She smiled and placed a hand on his forearm, saying something indistinguishable to them.

Santos popped open a Redbull, “They’re definitely fucking, right?”

Javadi looked at her with wide eyes, “You think so?”

“All I know is I have never seen Dr. Robby so goddamn happy,” She sipped her Redbull, “It makes me nauseous.”

Javadi smiled, “I think it’s sweet.”

The truth was, though there had been gentle touches, loaded glances, and light flirtation between them, nothing further had occurred since that night at the bar. And the tension between them was taut because of it. It didn’t interfere with their jobs, but the yearning was palpable in every glance.

They were discussing supplies, Gloria, and the usual who could be discharged and who was still waiting for a bed upstairs. 

“We had a couple nurses call out sick just before the shift change, so you’ll be seeing more of me with the patients to compensate,” Gwen said as she looked through the charts on the iPad.

“Okay,” Robby nodded, “Do we need to call anyone in?”

“Um,” Gwen blew out a breath and her hair fluttered around her face with the breeze, “We really don’t have anyone on call today. If it gets really bad, I’ll have to call some people from the night shift, but that’ll leave them short. We might be able to manage without.”

Robby shook his head, “Have you told Gloria?”

“Yeah, but she gives me the same excuses she gives you.”

At that moment, McKay walked by with a woman in a wheelchair, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her abdomen. Her wrist was very clearly broken as well.

“Dr. Robby?” McKay said as she passed, “Could use your help with this one.”

Robby nodded and grabbed some gloves, “Gwen?” He turned and faced her walking backwards, “Would you like to assist?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Porting her iPad, she grabbed a pair of gloves and jogged after him.

Dr. McKay presented, explaining that the woman had fallen down the stairs, and broken her wrist on the fall. She recommended some X-rays and they examined her abdomen for internal bleeding or broken ribs. Gwen noted with some apprehension that some of the bruises on her abdomen appeared days old rather than hours. The doctors didn’t seem to notice.

And then the husband came in. 

“Sorry, baby, I was just parking the car.” He immediately rushed to his wife’s side and when Gwen saw the smallest flinch from the wife, her brain went into overdrive.

She watched as Robby and McKay explained to the wife and her husband about her injuries and next steps and she watched as the husband spoke for his wife. By the time the exam had finished, she thought she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. 

“Dr. Robby?” She said as they began to leave the room, “Can I talk to you for minute?”

“What’s up?” He said as they stepped away from the patient and he rubbed some sanitizer into his hands.

“There’s something wrong in there.” She couldn’t properly form the words, she knew she sounded stupid. The panic was building in her chest like a tidal wave, “With the husband.”

“What do you mean?”

Gwen closed her eyes, shaking her head, “Those injuries were not accidental.”

It took him a moment, but he caught up eventually and placing a hand on her back, he ushered her into an empty room and closed the door behind them, “How do you know? Her injuries seemed consistent with a fall.”

“The bruises on her abdomen, many of them were older than just a couple hours. I bet when the imaging comes back, the wrist fracture will be a couple days old, you’ll probably see older breaks as well. When he came close to her, she flinched away from him and wouldn’t meet his eye. She wouldn’t look at any of us either once he came in and he spoke for her the whole time.”

Robby nodded slowly, “Okay, we’ll keep an eye on it. Why don’t you alert Kiara and we’ll see if we can separate them at some point?”

Gwen was shaking her head and frustration built as she felt tears prick her eyes, “No, we have to call the police.”

Robby tilted his head, “It’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“He could take her out of here at any second if he thinks there’s any chance we’ve caught on—“

“And if we call the police and they don’t think there’s enough evidence, you could make things worse for her when they go home.”

She was still shaking her head, growing more and more upset as the conversation went on, struggling to breathe and tears beginning to spill over.

“Hey, why don’t you sit down and—“

“Excuse me.” Gwen said abruptly and brushed past him back into central.

“Gwen,” Robby called loudly after her, loud enough that most of the nurses and doctors around stopped to look as she fled to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind her, she slid to the floor, desperately trying to slow her breathing as the sobs came in full force.  It’s not James, she repeated to herself, He’s not here. James is not here. He can’t hurt you.

Her hands shook as she ran them through her hair, trying to soothe herself. Images of him screaming at her, kicking her, punching her bombarded her every sense and she couldn’t see or hear anything else.

She was vaguely aware that Robby was banging on the door and calling her name. She wished he would stop causing a scene. She had had episodes like this in the past, granted, not for many moons now, but when she had they had subsided in about ten minutes. She just needed to be left alone.

Eventually, the panic began to subside, but it left her shaky and feeling tired. Robby had stopped banging on the door, but she could vaguely hear him talking to someone on the other side. Checking herself in the mirror, she reclipped her hair and hastily swiped at the mascara that had leaked below her eyes before opening the door.

Robby looked at her with surprise and concern on his face. She didn’t wait to see what he had to say, simply breezed past him and went back to the hub.

Unfortunately, he followed. She pretended not to notice and sat behind her computer, logging in as he parked himself in front of her, “Are we going to talk about that?”

“Talk about what?” Gwen said.

“Dr. Robby! We need you in trauma one!”

He sighed and bent his head over his hands, “Call Kiara, but I don’t want you in that room. Assign her a different nurse.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” She immediately regretted her snarkiness, but did not look up or make any indication that she was remorseful. 

“Gwen,” He said softly, pleadingly. She didn’t deserve the patience he was giving her. Any other attending probably would have reamed her out by now.

“Dr. Robby, we need you now!”

“Coming!” He shouted, “Gwen?” He said again softly.

She looked up at him, “I’ll take care of it. Call Kiara, reassign the bed, consider it done.”

“Good.” He said and then he was gone.

***

Gwen did her best to focus on other patients and all the other work she needed to get done, but she kept walking by the room with the patient she suspected was being abused. She had assigned Princess to her instead and had asked for updates, which she had given. As Gwen had suspected, the imaging came back with aged breaks and the wrist fracture was a couple of days old.

Robby hadn’t sought her out since her breakdown, but Gwen had watched him talk with Kiara a few times now in the last couple of hours. She had done a good job of distracting herself thus far, but the panic was beginning to build again. She needed to know they were taking care of her, that they understood acutely how much danger that woman was in.

She caught Robby as he was coming out of the bathroom, “Hey, can we talk about Central 4?”

“You’re not supposed to be on that case anymore.”

“I’m not, Princess is.”

“So go talk to Princess then.”

She supposed she deserved that, “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier, it was disrespectful of both you and the patient. It won’t happen again.”

“Great,” Robby said and began walking past her.

“That said, I was hoping you could give me an update?”

He slowed to a stop, sighing and turning back to her, “Gwen, you know I respect you very much, but I don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interest for you to be involved on that case. At all, even at a distance. Kiara and I are taking care of it, that’s all you need to know.”

“But—“

“Gwen, please,” He put his hands together, “We will discuss it later, I promise.”

And then he left her there, standing in the middle of the ER. She knew she had no right to be upset, but she could feel herself drowning in the knowledge that she had no control over the outcome of this case. It triggered the feeling of her own helplessness when she was the one being punched and kicked at home. When she thought there was no way out.

She couldn’t stand the thought that there was another woman in this very room that was going through that at this moment. Nobody else seemed to be dealing with it with the urgency she knew it needed.

Gwen could feel herself unraveling, following a path she wasn’t sure she could come back from. There were four hours left of this shift and she really wanted to still have her job by the end of it.

“Gwen?” 

She blinked and realized Whitaker was standing in front of her, “Sorry, Whitaker, what do you need?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… Are you okay? You seem off today.”

She forced a smile, “I’m fine, thanks. How are you doing?”

He shrugged, “It’s okay, today. Haven’t had to change my scrubs yet so I count that as a win.”

She was grateful for the distracting conversation, she could practically feel her heartbeat slow.

She could do this. She could get through this shift without losing her job. She could put the woman in Central 4 into Robby and Kiara’s hands and trust that everything would be fine.

***

Two hours later, Central 4 was being discharged and Gwen couldn’t breathe. 

“What did you do?” Gwen asked Robby in disbelief as the husband began wheeling his despondent wife out of the ER.

“Let’s go talk about this in private, hm?”

He began to guide her into an empty room and despite her rage, she let herself be guided.

“What the fuck did you do?” She snarled as the door closed behind them.

“Kiara tried, but she insisted the injuries were accidental. We gave her a card so she could call if she changes her mind. It’s out of our hands.”

“Like hell it is,” She pulled her charge phone from her scrubs pocket, “I’m calling the police.”

Robby plucked the phone from her hands, “No you’re not. What is going on with you today? And I don’t want the bullshit excuse that everything’s fine.”

“Of course it’s not fucking fine! We just sent a woman home with her abuser and the next time she comes here she’ll probably be DOA.”

He sighed deeply, pressing his hands into his pockets, “Is this somehow related to the gap in your resume?”

Her eyes watered, but the rage remained, “Fuck you,” She said and then tried to move around him to leave.

Instead, he stood against the door like a fortress, “I can’t let you go back to work like this,” He said softly.

“Again, I’ll remind you that you are not the boss of me.”

“No, but I’m positive if I called up the Nursing Director she’d agree with me,” He shook his head slowly, “I don’t want that. I like having you here, but you need to talk to me if this is going to work.”

There was a part of her, beneath the rage and pain and fear, that knew she was being irrational. Knew that he was right, that they had done everything they could. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. She knew that better than anyone. She had once been the woman who didn’t yet want help. Who thought she could salvage it.

After everything today, Robby was still looking at her with those kind brown eyes. She wanted him to look at her like that forever. But he wouldn’t, not if she couldn’t get it together.

She took a shaky breath and sat down on a stool in the room, rubbing at her eyes as she desperately tried to find the strength to tell this story. The one she had never explained in full to anyone.

He sat across from her and their knees knocked together. He waited patiently.

Gwen’s hands trembled and she clasped them together hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“I was twenty two when I met him. It was my first shift in the ER. Four hours in, cardio sent down their senior resident to consult on a case.” Closing her eyes, she could see him still, more than a decade younger. His easy smile and the one dimple on his left cheek, “He charmed me. We fell in love. The first year or two was… magical. Until it wasn’t. He started with emotional manipulation, gaslighting me. I felt crazy, like I couldn’t trust my own feelings. I was sad and angry all the time and he made me feel like it was my fault, that he gave me everything and why couldn’t I just be happy?”

Gwen swallowed and avoided looking at Robby. She knew if she did she might fall apart before she finished. “The first time he hit me… I thought… He convinced me it was an accident. We were fighting and he was just gesticulating a lot and he didn’t mean it when he punched me in the face.” Gwen almost laughs, rubbing at the tears in her eyes, “I feel so stupid now, that I believed him.”

Robby let his hand fall to her knee, squeezing reassuringly, “You’re not stupid. You wanted to believe the best in someone you loved.”

Gwen had heard this all before, so she nodded almost mechanically, “Anyway, the abuse escalated, as it does. Working in the ER made it harder to hide the injuries, but everyone knew who I was dating and he was more important than I was. I found eventually that even if I didn’t cover it up, no one said anything. If I asked, an attending would patch it up silently. No one would ask how I got hurt. The one time a nurse tried to get me help, they moved her to the night shift. Not that it mattered, I still thought I could fix it. Get him to go to therapy, anger management classes. Naive dreams that kept me in his grasp.”

“Until, one night, he got so mad…” Gwen shakes her head, hands trembling more violently now. Robby silently covered her hands with his own and it grounded her, “I don’t even remember what I did to make him so mad. I just remember that one second we were talking and the next I was on the floor and he was kicking every inch of my body as hard as he could. I eventually lost consciousness, but I was told later he waited at least a half hour before deciding to call an ambulance. I almost died. I was in a coma for days. When I woke up, the police were there.”

The memory of it all overwhelms her. What a coward she was, how terrified. The way she ran. The way she was still running.

“The first thing I did was ask after him, if he was okay. I remember the way the cop looked at me, like she was disappointed, or disgusted.” Gwen sighed, “I dropped all charges and got a restraining order. I didn’t want to go through a trial and I didn’t want to see him in prison. Left Manhattan and moved back in with my parents, felt the weight of their disappointment with every breath. It took me almost the full two years to really understand all the ways he broke me.”

Finally, she looked at him. She expected to see pity or disgust, but his eyes still held the same kindness they always had. “Thank you for telling me.” He said softly and squeezed her hands, “But just so you know, he didn’t break you.”

Gwen laughed and looked away, tears falling to her cheeks, “I was hysterical today, it was embarrassing. I can’t even do my job.”

Robby tilted his head to regain eye contact with her, “You caught something today McKay and I both missed.”

“You would have seen it once the imaging came back.”

He shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. The point is, we were a better care team because of you and your experience. I would say that’s a far cry from being broken.”

Before Gwen could say anything, he stood and opened the door, “Now, unless you need anything else, let’s get back to it,” He glanced at his watch, “Only an hour left of our shift. You good?”

She scrubbed at her face with her hands and sighed, standing as well, “Yeah. Good.” She reached into Robby’s pocket and pulled out her charge phone, “See you on the other side.”

And then she was back at the hub. McKay came to Robby’s side, Javadi trailing after her, “Is she okay?” Her eyes followed Gwen.

Robby sighed, “She’ll be fine. Tough day.”

“Huh,” McKay said smirking, “I was unaware there was anything other than tough days around here.”

Robby huffed a laugh and tore his gaze away from Gwen, “You have a case for me?”

***

“Gwen?”

She turned when she heard Robby call behind her, only a block away from the hospital. 

“Robby.” She said in acknowledgement when he was close enough.

“You okay?” He asked.

Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, “You jogged all this way just to check in with me? I thought we already did that.”

“There’s a difference between checking in during shift when you have no choice but to be okay and checking in after. So, are you okay?”

Gwen hummed in response, “I’ll be fine. Unless you’ll be recommending to Dana that she find a new charge nurse.”

Robby shook his head, “We all have bad days sometimes that make it difficult to do our work, it doesn’t mean we’re not good at our jobs.”

“Hard to imagine the infallible Dr. Robinavitch having a bad enough day to affect his work.”

He laughed, “Oh, you haven’t been around long enough yet. You should ask my residents, hell, ask Dana. I’ve done much worse than what you did today.” He reached out and touched her arm, slowing her to a stop, “Hey, um, we haven’t talked about what happened at the bar last month—“

“We don’t have to—“

“I disagree.” He said quickly and dropped his hand from her arm, “I… thought you were just being nice when you said you weren’t ready for a relationship, but now I…” He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that… whenever you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I would love to take you out—“

Before he can properly finish his sentence, Gwen kisses him. It takes Robby only a moment before he’s reacting, arms pulling her closer, mouth searching hers hungrily. 

He guides her back until her back hits a tree and she gasps softly, “This okay?” Robby asked against her mouth.

“Yes,” Gwen said, “Don’t stop.”

His hands tangled in her hair, pulling to give himself access to her neck which he sucked at greedily, “Can I take you home?”

Gwen’s eyelids fluttered as she refocused on the man in front of her. She wanted him badly and he made her feel desirable, something she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe since college.

For once, she wanted to just give in to her own desire, without thinking about what was best, what rules she was breaking. And Robby was a good man. They hadn’t known each other very long, but she was still sure about that.

“Please.” She said.

He grinned and laced their fingers together, “Follow me.”

Robby pulled her gently after him and they giggled like teenagers as he led her to his apartment.

Once inside, they picked up right where they left off, Robby pushing Gwen up against the door as he closed it, reattaching their mouths as quickly as possible, “I’ve been fantasizing about this since the first day we met.” He breathed into her mouth.

Gwen ran her hands through his hair, “Me too.”

“Oh yeah?” Robby’s fingers began wandering under her scrubs, calluses scraping against the soft skin of her belly. Gwen hummed her affirmation.

“And what were you dreaming about, pretty girl?” 

Her breath caught and warmth pooled between her legs. His hands wandered north until he palmed one of her breasts, sighing reverently into her neck, “I’ve never known you to be short on words.” He said teasingly as his thumb ghosted over her nipple.

Gwen pushed her hands down between them, unbuttoning his cargo pants before pushing her hand to meet his erection. Pumping him just once had him immediately quiet and Gwen grinned, “Two can play at that game, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He pulled her hand back up out of his pants, kissing her as he did so, “Bed. Now.”

Robby tugged her behind him again until they got to the bedroom. He turned back to her and began tugging at her scrubs, pulling her shirt over her head, and then he stopped, sighing as he took her in.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” He said, guiding Gwen onto the bed.

“I’m a little nervous,” She said eventually, “It’s been… a long time for me.”

He nodded, “Me too. We can take it as slow as you need.”

She nodded back, pulling him back to her. He kissed from her mouth, down her neck, to her chest, gently taking her nipple into his mouth. 

Robby was true to his word. He maintained a slow, almost reverent pace as he explored her body. Learning what made her moan, what made her arch her back, what got her toes curling. “I want to touch you,” He said and fingered the waistband of her scrubs in question, “Would that be okay?”

Gwen nodded and he needed no further encouragement. He kissed her stomach as he wriggled her out of her bottoms, and then he held her gaze, “You still okay?”

“Yeah,” She said, breathless and almost dizzy with want, “You?”

He kissed her neck as his hand gently pushed her thighs apart, “Never better,” He murmured into her skin.

They both exhaled in sync as Robby gently slipped a finger inside her, “Fuck’s sake,” He swore as he felt her.

“Feels good,” Gwen said breathlessly, hands wandering under his shirt and kissing his neck.

“Yeah?” He crooked his finger inside her and rubbed his thumb around her clit, “How’s that?”

She rutted her hips into his hand, at a loss for words. It was embarrassing how close to the edge she felt already. 

“Fuck, Michael, please—“

He laughed, “Michael, now, is it?”

“This is funny to you?” Gwen asked breathlessly, fighting for her life as he continued to stroke her, “I’m about to enter cardiac arrest and you’re laughing?”

“Yes, actually,” He smirked, “I’ve never seen you so… out of control.” He watches her with an almost clinical interest as he adds another finger, “It’s very sexy.”

Her eyelids flutter closed as the pleasure becomes overwhelming, “I’m close.”

“Look at me,” Robby said, “I want you to look at me while you cum.”

With effort, Gwen manages to lock eyes with him and Robby speeds up his thrusts just enough to push her over the edge, “There you go,” Robby says as she cries out, “Good girl.”

Almost immediately, Gwen is reaching for him, pulling his shirt over his head and pushing him down on the bed.

Robby allows this, the adoration clear on his face when she straddles him, “Condom?”

He leans over to his nightstand, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a foil packet. He tears it open with his teeth before handing it to her.

“You okay?” She asks.

He nods and brings a hand up to her cheek, pulling her gently until their foreheads touch. Robby kisses her slow and gently as she works the condom onto him.

Never breaking contact, she lowers herself onto him, their sighs of pleasure in sync, “Oh, fuck,” Robby swore.

Gwen rides him slowly and he’s a fucked out mess beneath her. “Is that good?” She asks.

Robby grabs her ass with both hands and guides her up and down on his cock, “So good.” He groans, “Could you turn around for me?”

Gwen smirks, but nods. Slowly, she moves herself off him and positions herself on all fours. Robby hummed his approval, pulling her hips up just a bit and peppering kisses all over her back and ass. 

His hands gripping her hips, Robby slowly pushed himself inside her. The feel of him filling her up at this angle was so delicious, Gwen felt herself tear up a little.

Slowly moving in and out, Robby leaned over Gwen, “Think you can cum for me again, sweet girl?” He crooned in her ear.

She felt herself go molten at his gentleness, his attentiveness. It had never been like this for her in bed. She had had a few one night stands in college, selfish boys just taking what they could get, never repaying in kind. With James, making her orgasm during sex was just another thing to complete off a checklist. A chore, another obligation. 

With Robby, the idea of pleasuring her seemed to excite him just as much getting himself off. A novelty to her.

“Yeah,” She said breathlessly. 

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and pulled back slightly, slipping his hand to her front in order to stroke her clit while he thrust into her.

She moaned at the sensation and he responded in kind, increasing the speed of his strokes, “There you go, baby,” He encouraged, “You can do it, cum for me.”

Gwen unraveled for a second time, moaning Robby’s name as he coaxed her through. The contractions of her orgasm almost immediately pushed him to climax as well and they came down together.

Robby didn’t immediately pull out. Breathless, he pulled Gwen down with him to the bed, holding her so her back pressed to his chest.

He kissed her shoulders, “That was good?” He asked after a few moments.

She laughed and kissed his fingers, “Very good. Was it good for you?”

He kissed up the side of her neck to her ear, “Excellent,” He ran a hand soothingly through her hair, “Would you like to stay the night?”

“We have a shift in the morning.”

Robby hummed in affirmation.

“You want everyone to see us walk in together?”

“They’re gonna talk anyway, you know how it is in there. But if you’re not comfortable, I can walk you home.”

“No.” She said quickly, too quickly. She cocooned herself tighter in his arms, “I’d like to stay.”

“Good,” He peppered kisses on the side of her face, “I’m going to run us a shower.”

When he pulled away, she missed his touch already. As she watched him walk to the bathroom and heard the sound of the shower starting, she realized that this was the first time she had felt safe alone with a man who wasn’t her father in the last ten years.

[halfway-happyyy]

frank looking out for s/o who works at a diner, even though frank can't blame how pretty she looks in that cute waitress outfit and lace aprin but whenever a guy tries to be a creep around her, he saves her but not cause a scene cuz he doesn't want s/o to lose her job but as soon as that guy gets out of that diner, frank as his own way to tarch this guy a lesson.

I kind of love the idea of this, so allow me to run with it a bit.

warnings: mentions of blood, frank tunes a guy UP

frank had stumbled upon the diner by total fluke one morning. the rain that had begun as a drizzle when he first left his apartment had morphed into a full-on downpour, and the mere thought of a fresh cup of hot coffee was too enticing to pass up. so, soaked to the bone and in dire need of a caffeine boost, he stepped into the unassuming hideout.

he hadn't expected the place to be as soothing as it was, but for some inexplicable reason, he felt entirely at home tucked away in the cracked leather booth in the far corner. the mouth-watering scent of frying butter and freshly ground coffee beans permeated the entire establishment and helped to cement the notion that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

small black and white tiles decorated the floor, and a myriad of vinyl records from the 50s and 60s took up space up on the wood-paneled walls. it reminded him of the spot in jersey that his old man used to take him to after his baseball games; the unexpected familiarity of it all causing a lump of emotion to swell in the hollow of his throat.

"goodness, you look cold..." her voice startled him from his reverie as she reached for his cup. "this'll do wonders for you, fresh from about five minutes ago."

frank swallowed hard and nodded his head. "thank you, ma'am."

she turned to leave, but hesitated. "I can take your coat for you, if you want... sling it over a vent in the back?"

frank was surprised at how much her offer touched him. eventually, he shook his head.

"ah, i'll be alright. thank you, though."

she seemed unconvinced but offered him a small smile regardless.

"alright, well you're welcome to stay as long as you need. i'll be sure to come around again before your cup runs empty."

"thank you, ma'am."

while he tried in vain to focus on the novel he was halfway through reading, he couldn't help but be a bit enamored with her. she moved around the place with a grace that only came from doing the same job for a long time; greeting everyone with a genuine zeal. while it was out of the realm of normality for him entirely, he could not help but be charmed by her. and true to her word, she never once let his cup run low.

when she brought him the bill, she subtly set a small to-go box beside it.

"I couldn't help noticing that you didn't order anything to eat, and in the interest of wanting to keep my customers happy, and returning, I insist that you take a slice of honey crisp apple pie home with you."

at a loss for what to say, frank simply nodded. "yes ma'am. thank you."

"I do hope to see you again, soon."

he couldn't think of a single thing that might hinder him from returning, so he simply cleared his throat and said, "I'll be back."

He made a habit out of spending most mornings in his booth. He could blame it on being annoyingly routine-driven, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. There was something about her that kept him coming back. He'd spent most of his life (after maria and the kids) denying himself of any semblance of goodness, so he figured he would let himself off the hook a bit with her.

"good morning, frank."

that damn voice - like warm honey.

"mornin', ma'am."

her frown was unmistakable as she reached for his mug.

"you've been coming here for months, frank, we must be on a first-name basis now, don't you think?"

he wasn't exactly sure how to explain to her that it was simply a respect thing. he had seen so many customers refer to her with disrespectful pet names that the idea of being lumped into the same category as them made his skin crawl.

he eventually murmured her name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue and smiled softly. "you look really nice today, by the way."

her cheeks turned a rosy hue, which made his smile even wider, and did a once-over of the lace apron that covered the ankle-length dress she wore underneath. "I wear the same thing every day, frank."

He nodded. "You look nice every day."

with a breathless sigh, she shook her head and murmured - "you silver-tongued devil, you."

"hey sweet cheeks!" a patron smacked the table twice and beckoned her toward him. "need a little help over here."

she glanced at frank with wide eyes and then left to tend to the men a couple tables over.

frank had been gripping the coffee mug so tightly, his knuckles grew white.

"tell me, sweetie, is this a standard diner uniform you got on, or do they make you wear a sexier one on account of that sweet, sweet ass you got behind ya?"

the men with him erupted in a cacophony of obnoxious laughter, and it was all he could do, not to wander over there and knock their blocks off on the spot.

she kept it professional and polite the entire time, and when she went back to refill frank's cup, she noticed the expression on his face immediately.

"it's okay," she urged. "I get it all of the time."

frank's lips twisted into a scowl. "it's not even remotely okay. it's disgusting."

"yeah, well, unfortunately for us women, they don't really make men like you anymore, frank." she glanced at the watch on the underside of her wrist and sighed. "I'm done in about an hour anyway - please don't make a scene."

frank took a deep breath and tried to savor the rich taste of the coffee on his tongue. tried to focus on anything other than ringing all of those - pathetic excuses for men's - bells. "I won't, of course." silence settled between them before he quirked a brow in mild amusment and mumbled, "I look like the kinda guy who would make a scene?"

"honestly, yes." she laughed.

he wasn't sure where the need to protect her had come from. he hardly knew her. but it was there, and he was growing tired of ignoring it.

he didn't offer to walk her to her subway stop this time, instead telling her that he wanted to stay a little longer to finish his book. she seemed dubious, but she didn't question him about it, only asking him if she would see him tomorrow morning.

he nodded once before confirming that he would be there.

"bye, frank."

he lifted a hand in a wave. "take care of yourself, kid."

it slipped out before he could catch it. he wasn't sure of her exact age, but he figured she was younger than him by a good stretch. in any regard - she didn't seem to mind the nickname at all. he might have even spotted the ghost of a smile on her face as she turned to leave.

frank waited patiently for the men to finish their meals, and when they rose to leave after paying their bills, he did too. there were three of them; all of which - he noted with satisfaction - could be overpowered all too easily. it took the one who was beaking off at her a good ten minutes to realize they were being followed, and he turned to frank, chest puffed and ready to rumble.

"there a reason you're following us?"

frank had backed them into a dead-end alley.

he hooked a thumb over his shoulder and spoke in a low, measured way.

"you owe that lady back there an apology for the way you spoke to her."

the men exploded in a fit of laughter that itched just beneath the surface of his skin, and caused his fists to flex at his sides.

"I don't owe that piece of ass a goddamn thing, asshole."

frank was on him in seconds, wailing on every part of the man's body he could get his fists on. he had expected the friends to join in - frank would have taken them as well, but when he glanced back, they were gone.

the roar that erupted from him was inherently primal - unfamiliar even to his own ears, and he knew then that he was reaching a precipice, of which there could be no return once crossed.

"you had enough yet? huh? you done?"

the man could barely form words - blood gushed from a myriad of cuts in his face, and he was missing a couple of teeth. frank ripped himself away from the sack of flesh in front of him, before wiping away the sweat from his brow.

"learn some fucking manners, man. try thinking twice before you ever speak to a girl like that again." he spit on the man for good measure and stalked off.

true to his word, he was back in his booth the very next morning.

"rough night?" she simpered, as she leaned over to fill his cup.

frank flexed his impossibly sore knuckles and shrugged. "I've had worse."

she slipped into the seat before him, and reached over to run a cool fingertip over the swollen curves of his knuckles. he fought the urge to shiver into the pleasant sensation.

"are you alright, frank?"

he cleared his throat. "yeah, I'm fine."

she gave him a last, longing gaze before getting up to continue her rounds. he caught her just as she was about to head to next table.

now or never, frankie-boy.

"will you have dinner with me?"

she seemed surprised, but in the place of that surprise, a wry smile tugged at the edges of her lips.

"are you asking me on a date, Mr. Castle?"

frank nodded. "yes ma'am, I am."

"well alright then," she beamed, and frank felt the warmth from her smile like a ray of sunshine on his face. "I'd love to grab dinner with you."

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ just keep breathin

chapter summary: There's a new member of the team that takes a special liking to Rogue. The Avengers come back to the mansion for some help.

word count: 23k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright, so i felt like this was dragging a bit so this covers around 3 years of time. there are more than just the avengers that we're gonna see - maybe a certain cajun man...👀

(also, wow. longest chapter in some time!)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, one smut scene, unprotected piv, overstimulation, creampie, the avengers, mentions of brainwashing, mentions of ww2, alludes to hydra, protective!logan

series masterlist - chapter 12 → chapter 14

You rubbed Rogue’s back as she cried—well, it was more like sobbing—into your shoulder. She had been holed up in her room for the past month, barely coming out for food and water.

It was actually Logan who made the first move, almost breaking down her door to ask “why the hell she hasn’t left this damn room.”

Turns out, when Bobby had left for UCLA, he called it quits with Rogue. The rest you weren’t able to understand due to her heavy sobbing and slurred words.

Logan had briefly come in to check on the two of you and Rogue had thrown a flower vase at him, to which he cleaned up while grumbling about how he was “lettin’ it slide this one time.”

You ran your hand over Rogue’s hair, still quietly and soothingly shushing her. Her sobs came in waves, hiccups breaking up the cries that had wracked her body for the past hour. You didn’t say much, letting her grief spill out in whatever form it needed.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whispered softly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will be.”

Rogue sniffled, lifting her head just enough to look at you through puffy, tear-filled eyes. “I gave him… everything, Y/N,” she choked out. “And he just—he just left.”

Your heart ached for her. “I know,” you murmured, reaching for a tissue from the bedside table and handing it to her. “But that’s not on you. It’s on him. He didn’t deserve everything you gave if he couldn’t appreciate it.”

Rogue dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, her hands trembling. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “I thought he loved me.”

You hesitated, unsure if there was anything you could say to ease her pain. “Sometimes people don’t know how to hold onto something good,” you finally said. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You deserve someone who loves all of you—who knows how to stay.”

Rogue didn’t respond, but the faintest nod told you she’d heard you. She leaned into your shoulder again, her sobs quieter now, as though exhaustion was starting to take over.

The sound of the door creaking open made you glance up. Logan poked his head in, his brows drawn together in concern. “She doin’ okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual.

“She’s getting there,” you replied softly, your hand still stroking Rogue’s hair. “Might take some time.��

Logan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He crouched down next to you, his eyes scanning Rogue’s face. “You eat anything today, kid?”

Rogue groaned, her face still pressed into your shoulder. “Don’t wanna eat.”

Logan huffed. “Tough. You’re gonna eat somethin’. Even if it’s just soup.”

Rogue lifted her head slightly, glaring at him through swollen eyes. “You gonna force-feed me, old man?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Logan shot back, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You bit back a small smile, recognizing the warmth beneath Logan’s gruffness. “Maybe some tea and toast?” you suggested gently. “Something easy.”

Rogue sniffled again but didn’t argue. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Tea and toast.”

Logan gave a satisfied nod and stood up. “I’ll make it,” he said, glancing at you. “You stay with her.”

You nodded, watching as he left the room. Rogue exhaled heavily, her body sagging against yours. “He doesn’t give up, does he?” she mumbled.

“No,” you said with a small smile. “And neither do I.”

---

Later that evening, after you’d finally coaxed Rogue into eating and she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, you found Logan in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, his gaze distant as he stared out the window.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly as you approached.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening when he saw you. “Didn’t mind,” he replied. “She needed it.”

You leaned against the counter next to him, crossing your arms. “She’s lucky to have you, you know.”

Logan snorted, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re the one who got her to come outta that room,” he said. “Not me.”

You shrugged, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Still. You care. More than you let on.”

Logan turned his eyes back to the window, his jaw working slightly as though he was chewing over your words. After a beat, he spoke, his voice softer than you expected. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Despite his gruff exterior and the biting humor he wielded like armor, moments like this reminded you just how deeply he felt. It wasn’t something he ever said outright, but it came through in his actions—in the way he’d throw himself headfirst into protecting the people he cared about, even when they didn’t ask for it.

"You okay?" Logan asked suddenly, cutting through your thoughts. His sharp gaze flicked to you, the concern in his tone catching you off guard.

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in focus. “Me?”

“Yeah, you," Logan said, leaning an elbow on the counter. "You’ve been sittin’ with Rogue all day, takin’ on her mess. That kinda thing can weigh on you. So… you okay?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Leave it to Logan to sneak in concern like he was trying not to let it show. You leaned back against the counter, crossing your arms as you considered his question. “Honestly? I could go for a beer. Or two.”

Logan’s lip twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism. “That right?”

“Yup.” You nodded, pushing off the counter to grab a glass from the cabinet. “In fact, I think I’ve earned it.”

“Sit down,” Logan said, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll grab it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you let him guide you to a seat at the small kitchen table, watching as he pulled two beers from the fridge and popped the tops off with practiced ease. He slid one across to you before settling in the chair opposite, his posture relaxed but his eyes still quietly observant.

You took a sip, letting the cool, bitter taste settle on your tongue. “Thanks,” you said after a moment. “For this. For helping with Rogue. For… all of it.”

Logan shrugged, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Ain’t nothin’. That’s what we do, right? Look out for each other.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to stick around,” you pointed out. “You could’ve walked away when she threw that vase at you.”

His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Wouldn’t be the first thing someone’s thrown at me. Won’t be the last.” He took a sip, “though I didn’t know that she had a mean throwin’ arm. Had a bruise on my chest from that damn vase.”

You let out a giggle, “that lasted a few seconds. That doesn’t count.”

Logan smirked, leaning back in his chair and tipping the bottle of beer toward you. “A second’s all it takes for somethin’ to leave a mark, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes, a warm smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so dramatic. It was a vase, not a grenade.”

“She’s got a helluva arm, though,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Remind me not to piss her off again. Next time, she might aim for my head.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension that had been building all day. The quiet clinking of bottles and the hum of the refrigerator filled the comfortable silence between you two. Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you could feel his steady gaze.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Nothin’,” he said with a small shrug. “Just thinkin’... You’re good with her. Better than me.”

You gave him a look. “That’s not true. You got her to eat, didn’t you? And cleaned up after the vase incident. That counts for something.”

Logan grunted, but his lips twitched in a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah, well… you’re the one who sat there all day, lettin’ her cry it out. That takes patience.”

“It takes love,” you corrected softly.

Logan’s expression softened, his rough edges smoothing out for just a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone of admiration.

You took another sip of your beer, the bitter liquid grounding you. “She’s been through a lot. It’s not fair.”

“No, it ain’t,” Logan agreed, his tone grim. “But she’s tougher than she thinks. She’ll pull through.”

You nodded, tracing the edge of the bottle with your thumb. “Yeah, she will. She just needs time. And us.”

---

The shrill alarm of Logan’s clock woke him up as he swatted his hand at it, turning it off. As he blinked he noticed the time was 8:56, meaning he missed his first class and the start of his second one. And he never even had an alarm set for this time either.

He didn’t get to think about it any further as you opened the bedroom door, carrying a large tray in what he could only describe as a cute, rugged outfit. His clothes on you were a tad too big, and it looked like you had flour on your cheek.

"Good morning," you said with a smile as you walked to Logan’s side of the bed, balancing a large tray in your hands. The sight of you in his oversized flannel shirt and sweatpants brought a rare softness to his face. There was flour smudged on your cheek, and your hair was a bit messy, as though you’d been hard at work for hours.

Logan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. His gaze flicked to the tray, noting the steaming cup of coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice, and what looked like cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing. “What’s all this?”

“I thought you deserved to sleep in for once,” you replied, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Scott owed me a favor, so he’s covering your classes today. Jean’s taking mine. I even changed your alarm.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. “That explains it. Thought I was losin’ my mind when I saw the time.”

You smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Nope, just me meddling with your routine. Happy anniversary, by the way.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Like I’d forget. Ten years, darlin’. Not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, leaning in to kiss his cheek before gesturing toward the tray. “I made cinnamon rolls. Thought we’d start the day with something sweet.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully. “I thought you were makin’ bread last night. Found you in the kitchen elbow-deep in dough.”

You grinned, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “You don’t know the difference between bread dough and cinnamon roll dough, do you?”

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nope. Just know it smelled good.”

“Well, now you get to taste it.” You handed him a plate, watching as he picked up one of the warm, gooey rolls and took a bite. His expression softened immediately, the faintest hum of approval rumbling in his chest.

“Damn, these are good,” he said around a mouthful, licking a bit of icing off his thumb. “You’ve been holdin’ out on me. Could’ve had these ten years ago.”

You lYou laughed, grabbing your own plate. “Ten years ago, I didn’t know how to bake this.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something more affectionate. “Guess we’ve both come a long way, huh?”

You nodded, savoring the sweetness of the cinnamon roll and the moment. The past decade had been filled with highs and lows, struggles and triumphs, but through it all, you’d built something solid, something worth celebrating.

After a quiet moment of eating, Logan reached out, his rough hand covering yours. “Thanks for this,” he said, his tone gruff but heartfelt. “For all of it.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Thanks for sticking with me. Even when I was a complete mess.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’,” Logan said, squeezing your hand. “We’ve been through the wringer, sure. But I wouldn’t trade a damn thing. Not a single second.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned in to kiss him, the tray of food momentarily forgotten. When you pulled back, Logan’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a bit of flour you hadn’t realized was still there.

“Gotta say, though,” Logan added with a smirk, “you wear my clothes better than I do.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got my own wardrobe, you know.”

“Yeah, but this? This looks damn good on you.” His voice dropped slightly, and the intensity in his gaze sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Flatterer,” you teased, swiping a bit of icing from his plate and dabbing it on his nose. Logan blinked, momentarily surprised, before a grin spread across his face.

“Oh, you’re askin’ for it now,” he growled playfully, setting his plate aside.

What followed was a mix of laughter, teasing, and icing being smeared in places it definitely wasn’t supposed to go. It was messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect—just like the ten years you’d shared together.

---

You and Logan were walking down the hallway, Rogue in between the two of you, as the three of you made your way to the kitchen since Rogue wanted to bake cookies with you.

As you passed the main entrance, Charles' familiar voice called out. “Logan, Y/N, Rogue, could you come here for a moment?”

The three of you paused mid-step, exchanging glances. You adjusted your glasses, slightly wary. Logan’s hand instinctively found the small of your back—a reassuring gesture more than anything else.

Approaching the entryway, you found Charles sitting in his wheelchair, flanked by Scott and Jean. Standing slightly apart from them was a man you hadn’t seen before: tall and lean with tousled brown hair falling into his sharp, mischievous eyes. A hint of charm radiated from his smirk, making you immediately wary.

“Meet Remy LeBeau,” Charles said, gesturing toward the stranger. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

Remy inclined his head, his voice dripping with a southern drawl. “Call me Gambit. Pleasure to meet y’all.”

Your eyes briefly flicked to Logan, who was already narrowing his eyes at the new arrival. Rogue, on the other hand, seemed intrigued, stepping forward with a curious smile. “What brings you here, Gambit?”

“Ah, now that’s a long story, cher,” Remy replied smoothly, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long before shifting to Charles. “Let’s just say I got tangled up in a little trouble. Your professor here said y’all might have a place for me to lay low—earn my keep in the meantime.”

Logan crossed his arms, his stance as solid and unyielding as a mountain. “And what exactly do you bring to the table?”

Remy chuckled, unfazed by Logan’s gruff demeanor. “Cards, good aim, and a little flair for the dramatic. Don’t worry, mon ami—I’ll pull my weight.”

Jean cut in, her calm voice keeping the exchange from escalating. “Logan, let’s give him a chance. We’ve all been newcomers at some point.”

You placed a gentle hand on Logan’s arm, silently coaxing him to ease up. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said softly, offering a polite smile.

“Enchanté,” Remy replied with a wink that earned him a warning growl from Logan.

Rogue, however, was clearly fascinated. “So you’re from Louisiana?”

“Born and raised in Nawlins,” Remy said with a dramatic flourish. “And you, cher? Got a hint of Southern charm yourself.”

Rogue blushed lightly but kept her tone composed. “Mississippi.”

Logan’s attention stayed glued to Remy, his instincts screaming to watch this guy like a hawk. “Hope you’re not plannin’ to cause any trouble.”

Remy’s smirk widened, giving Logan an exaggerated bow. “Not a bit, mon ami. I’m a peaceful guy, believe it or not.”

Scott’s tone was firm as he addressed the room. “Let��s give him space to settle in. There’s a room down the hall by ours, Gambit. I’ll show you where it is.”

As Scott led Remy away, Logan muttered under his breath, “This oughta be fun.”

Charles’s voice pulled your attention back. “I trust you’ll help him adjust, Y/N. A steady presence like yours should be beneficial.”

You nodded hesitantly, adjusting your glasses again. “Of course, Professor.”

Rogue grinned, nudging your arm. “And maybe we can talk him into helping with cookies.”

Logan groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If I find flour on the floor again, don’t think I’m cleanin’ it up this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him back gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the kitchen survives.”

Rogue grabbed your hand eagerly. “Come on, let’s get started!”

As she dragged you toward the kitchen, Logan trailed behind, his protective gaze lingering briefly in the direction Gambit had disappeared.

Something told him this guy would stir things up—but if anyone dared cause trouble, Logan would handle it. Always had, always would.

---

Jean was standing in the foyer when her eyes lit up at the sight of you and Logan walking toward her.

“Aww,” she cooed, grinning mischievously as her gaze bounced between the two of you. “Don’t you two just look adorable?”

Jean gestured dramatically at your matching black pullovers. While you had styled yours with a knee-length skirt and cozy tights, Logan wore his sweater with his usual jeans, the casual look somehow making his rugged demeanor even more pronounced.

“I know, right?” you teased, nudging Jean with your elbow. “Getting him to agree to this was a battle. You should’ve seen him at the store—grumbling like I’d asked him to wear a frilly dress.”

Jean laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “I can totally imagine that. So what finally convinced him?”

You smirked, lowering your voice like you were sharing the mansion’s greatest secret. “I told him we could skip the couples’ yoga next week with Ororo if he’d wear it.”

Logan’s groan cut through your laughter. “You two realize I’m standing right here, right?”

“Barely,” Jean quipped with a dramatic flip of her hair, earning a chuckle from you. “It’s okay, Logan, matching sweaters are just a sign of love. Besides, you look cute!”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly as he muttered under his breath, “not cute.”

You and Jean waved him off, entirely ignoring his protests as you started giggling again. He crossed his arms, staring at the two of you like you were a particularly troublesome duo. “You two are gonna give me an aneurysm, I swear.”

You shrugged innocently, giving him a playful look. “If you can survive the end of the world, Logan, you can survive a little sweater bonding.”

Jean raised a finger. “Exactly. Consider this a heroic act of love.”

---

Your morning classes had gone smoothly, leaving you a bit of downtime before your afternoon session. You were tidying up your desk when the door opened, and you turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said, casually walking in. “Figured you could use some company.”

Smiling, you gestured to the chair near your desk. “Always happy to see you.”

Logan’s eyes scanned the room, pausing when he noticed your black sweater draped across a table behind you.

“Wait a sec.” His tone was amused but slightly accusing. “Where’s your sweater?”

You blinked, glancing down at your blouse. “Oh, I took it off. It got warm while I was setting up for the lab.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and walked over to the table. Picking up the sweater, he turned toward you, holding it out like it was a major offense.

“Warm, huh?” he said, moving closer. “You make me wear this thing all day, and then you just ditch yours?”

You rolled your eyes, a warmness rising to your cheeks. “Logan, it’s not that serious—”

Before you could finish, Logan set the sweater over your head with surprising gentleness. His hands worked methodically, pulling it down over your torso while making sure the fabric didn’t snag on your glasses. Once it was on, he stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Better,” he declared, reaching forward to adjust your glasses, which had shifted during his efforts.

You stared up at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement swirling in your expression. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Logan replied, his hands lingering just a moment longer before dropping back to his sides. “We match again. That was the whole point, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his grin softening into something more tender.

The moment lingered between the two of you, comfortable and quiet, until the sound of approaching students broke the spell. Logan tilted his head toward the door.

“I’ll get outta your hair,” he said, stepping back. “But if I hear anyone makin’ fun of the sweaters, just say the word.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “You’re such a knight in flannel armor.”

Logan’s smile lingered as he turned to leave. “Always, darlin’. Always.”

---

Ever since Bobby broke up with Rogue and went away to college at UCLA 3 months ago, she was either attached to you or Jean.

Even now, during movie night, Logan sat on one side of the couch and Rogue on the other. You were nestled against Logan's side, his arm casually draped behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder—a quiet but grounding touch. Rogue, however, sat a bit stiffly, holding a pillow tightly in her lap as the rest of the room settled in with popcorn and snacks.

The rest of the group was either on the floor in bean bag chairs or seated on the other couches in the room.

“You sure this was the right movie choice?” Logan muttered to you, jerking his chin toward the screen. A horror movie was starting, one Jean had picked.

You You smirked, adjusting your glasses and whispering back, “Well, someone vetoed my sci-fi idea.”

“Damn straight.” He took a swig from the beer in his hand, the bottle clinking against the armrest.

As the opening scene played out, the common room door opened, and in sauntered Remy. He carried a bag of candy in one hand and his ever-present deck of cards in the other. His easy smirk was in full effect as his eyes scanned the room, settling on Rogue.

"Don’t mind me, chère," he said casually as he strolled toward her. Without waiting for an invitation, he plopped down next to Rogue, setting the candy between them. “Got room for one more?”

Rogue glanced up, startled but not displeased. “Oh, um… sure. Movie just started.”

Logan’s gaze snapped to Remy, and you could feel him tense beside you. “Fantastic,” Logan muttered under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear.

“Logan,” you whispered, nudging his side. “Play nice.”

His only response was a low grunt, though he didn’t look away from Remy, who was now leaning slightly toward Rogue, cracking some joke that made her laugh softly.

“Candy?” Rogue offered, holding out the open bag.

Remy took one with a flourish, tipping an invisible hat. “Merci, chère. Always knew you had good taste.”

“God, he’s insufferable,” Logan muttered, cracking open another beer. You couldn’t suppress a laugh at his tone, which only made him scowl playfully at you. “What’re you laughin’ at?”

“You,” you replied, grinning up at him. “You’re acting like a dad watching his daughter date for the first time.”

“‘Cause that guy’s a walking headache,” Logan said, waving the beer bottle in Remy’s direction. “If he tries anything—”

“He won’t,” you cut him off gently, resting your hand on his arm. “Rogue’s an adult. Let her enjoy herself a little.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, though you noticed his protective glare lingered on Remy for the next several minutes.

As the movie unfolded, Rogue and Remy seemed to fall into an easy rhythm of side comments and laughter. You could tell Rogue was enjoying herself—maybe more than she had in weeks.

Eventually, Logan leaned in closer, his lips near your ear. “You’re good with this?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now.

You glanced over at Rogue, her posture finally relaxed for the first time in days. “She’s been so down lately,” you murmured back. “If he makes her smile, I’m okay with it. For now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened for a moment, but he nodded, relenting. “Just say the word if you need me to step in.”

“I will,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

---

After the movie ended, most of the group dispersed. Jean and Scott headed upstairs, and the others began drifting off in pairs or small groups.

Rogue lingered, though, still sitting on the couch with Remy. They were deep in conversation about something, their voices too low to catch from where you and Logan stood by the door.

“You ready for bed?” you asked, stifling a yawn as you stretched.

“Yeah,” Logan said, though his gaze flicked toward Rogue and Remy one last time. “You sure she’s okay?”

“She’s fine,” you assured him, resting a hand on his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

Logan let you tug him toward the hallway, but not without a muttered, “Still keepin’ an eye on that guy.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you headed to your room. “Of course you are. That’s why I love you.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

The door to your room clicked shut behind you, and for the first time that night, Logan seemed to truly relax, the tension easing from his shoulders.

---

You woke up with a gasp, your chest heaving as you propped yourself up on your elbows. The remnants of your dream lingered, vivid and disjointed. Your pulse thudded in your ears as you tried to piece together the fleeting fragments, but they slipped through your fingers like water.

Beside you, Logan stirred, muttering something under his breath before blinking awake. His brow furrowed as he turned toward you, voice low and rough with sleep. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Another nightmare?”

You shook your head, still catching your breath. “No... not exactly.” You leaned back against the pillows, running a hand over your face. “It was... strange. Like a dream, but it didn’t feel like one.”

Logan shifted to face you fully, his gaze steady and grounding. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, struggling to put the jumbled images into words. “It was bits and pieces. I was in Japan... I think? There was a funeral, and you were there too. But then it turned into chaos—fighting, running... and there was this man with a sword, and someone... someone said you were mortal.” Your voice trailed off as you frowned, trying to make sense of it.

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression unreadable. “Mortal?” he repeated, his voice laced with a flicker of unease.

You nodded, looking at him. “It didn’t make sense. None of it did. It was like seeing flashes of a movie I didn’t understand.”

Logan reached over, his hand warm and steady as it found yours. “You’ve had these dreams before, right? The ones that feel... different?”

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. Your powers had always been tied to time and possibilities, and sometimes that meant glimpses of what could be—a future, a path untaken. But this dream was unlike any you’d had before. It felt almost more complete, even without the full story.

Logan squeezed your hand gently. “Whatever it was, it’s just a dream for now. Don’t overthink it.” His voice softened, pulling you back to the present. “Come here.”

You leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. His warmth and steady heartbeat began to calm the storm in your mind. “You always know how to bring me back,” you murmured against his chest.

“That’s my job, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice a soft rumble. “Now, get some sleep. We’ll deal with whatever this is if it comes up again.”

You nodded, allowing his presence to ground you. Slowly, your breathing evened out, and the tension in your body eased.

Logan brushed a kiss against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and as sleep began to pull you under, you believed him.

---

You took the lid off of a candle called ‘Snickerdoodle’ to quickly smell it. It wasn’t one you loved so you put it back down.

Logan had said he was ‘going to be right back. Imma go get somethin’ real quick,’ and had been gone for around 10 minutes.

You grabbed another candle, this one called ‘Mango Delight’ to give it a smell. As you held it up to your nose, someone called out your name. You looked behind you to see Rachel Uplet, a girl you knew from college. Of course, you weren’t close to her, you didn’t really have any friends during your time at Stanford, just acquaintances.

She walked over to you, holding a Gucci purse, “it’s been so long! How’ve you been?”

You turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice, the smell of the mango candle lingering in the air. “Oh, hey, Rachel,” you said, offering a polite smile. “It’s been a while. I’ve been good—busy with work, mostly. How about you?”

Rachel’s perfectly polished smile didn’t falter as she stepped closer, her Gucci purse swinging slightly with the movement. “Busy, of course. You know how it is—social obligations, charity events. And my husband insists we redecorate our entire house every other year. It’s exhausting,” she said with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze drifted to your left hand, and her eyebrows lifted slightly when she noticed your ring.

“Oh!” she said, tilting her head. “I didn’t realize you were married. That’s... lovely.” There was an undertone to her words you couldn’t quite place, somewhere between genuine and condescending. “I remember in college you went on that date with, what was his name... Parker? Or Preston? One of those polished legacy boys. I always figured that was your type—y’know, academia chic.”

You adjusted your glasses, letting out a short laugh. “Logan’s not exactly... academia chic,” you said, glancing down at your ring and smiling softly at the thought of him.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, and before she could ask anything else, you saw Logan approaching. He held a medium-sized shopping bag in his hand, his expression unreadable but somehow effortlessly commanding.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, his eyes moving between you and Rachel. “This where you wandered off to?”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up as she took him in—his rugged demeanor, weathered jacket, and distinct confidence contrasting sharply with the polished, business-suit men she likely spent most of her time around. Her smile shifted slightly. “And this must be... Logan?”

“That’s me,” Logan replied, his voice even. He offered a small, polite nod in her direction before shifting his focus entirely to you. “Found somethin’ for you,” he added, pulling the item from the bag with a little too much nonchalance.

Your heart practically stopped as you realized what he was holding. “Logan, wait!” you said quickly, your cheeks warming as you grabbed his arm before the delicate lace of the lingerie dress could be fully revealed. You could only imagine the look on Rachel’s face at the sight of it.

Logan smirked, clearly amused. “What? Thought you’d like it,” he said, his tone deliberately casual.

You shot him a look, your voice low. “Not in front of company.”

Rachel was visibly struggling to hide her surprise—or amusement, or both—as she looked between the two of you. “Wow,” she said, managing to keep her tone light. “You’ve certainly gone for someone... unexpected, Y/N. I always thought your type was more like mine.” She gestured vaguely as a man in a tailored navy suit approached, holding a sleek black leather briefcase. “Speaking of which, here’s James.”

“Hey, babe,” James said, leaning in to give Rachel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning his attention to you. He offered a polite smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is Y/N,” Rachel said, gesturing to you before turning back to Logan with an almost exaggerated level of casualness. “And Logan.”

James extended a hand toward Logan, who shook it firmly. There was a slight flicker of discomfort on James’s face, likely from Logan’s stronger-than-necessary grip. “Nice to meet you,” James said, his tone even.

“Likewise,” Logan replied simply, his piercing gaze holding steady.

“Well,” Rachel said after a brief pause, the energy between the group tipping toward awkward. “It was great catching up, Y/N. You’ll have to tell me more about... everything sometime.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward the bag Logan still held. “And, Logan, it’s been a... pleasure.”

“Sure,” you replied, offering her a polite nod. “Take care, Rachel.”

As she and James walked away, Logan waited until they were out of earshot before speaking, his smirk returning. “Your friend seems nice.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against him slightly. “She’s not my friend. Just... someone I went to school with.”

“Figured.” Logan glanced at the bag in his hand. “So... you don’t like this?”

You laughed, reaching up to press a kiss to Logan’s cheek. “You’re impossible. Let’s just get out of here before she comes back.” You turned to place the candle back on the rack, glancing at him over your shoulder with a sly smile. “And maybe I’ll wear it for you tonight.”

Logan’s smirk widened, and as the two of you began walking toward the store’s exit, you felt his hand playfully swat your ass. You startled slightly, eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed, but Logan didn’t seem to care about that in the slightest.

“You better keep that promise, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice carrying just enough gruffness to make your face heat. He casually hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer as you walked.

“You’re such a menace,” you muttered, nudging him with your elbow. “You really couldn’t wait until we were in the car?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

---

There was a knock at the front door of the mansion, which was highly unusual. You and Logan looked at each other, you were only at this part of the mansion because you just had a meeting with Charles.

Logan walked ahead, gently pushing you behind him as he opened the door to come face to face with a woman who had bright red hair.

“Who are you?” Logan growled. You finally peeked around Logan’s frame to look at the woman. She looked like one of the women in your nightmare some weeks ago.

“I’ve been looking for you. To give you this.” She grabbed the sword from her back, holding it out to Logan, “my employer wanted you to have it.”

“Who?”

“Master Yashida.” The woman said as you felt Logan tense up beneath your hands. “He said it belongs to you; that he’s paying all his debts. Master Yashida is dying, and he wants to say thank you for saving his life all those years ago. He knows you are a busy man, but he wants to say goodbye in person.”

Logan’s body went rigid at the mention of ‘Master Yashida,’ his jaw tightening as if the words themselves carried a weight he didn’t want to bear. You felt the tension ripple through him, his muscles tensing beneath your hands where they rested lightly on his back.

“Yashida,” Logan muttered, his voice low and almost inaudible. It wasn’t a name he said often, and hearing it now carried layers of something unspoken.

“Yes,” Yukio confirmed, holding the sword out further. “He wishes to repay you before it’s too late.”

“Repay me? He doesn’t owe me a damn thing,” Logan said, his voice gruff, but there was a flicker of something—an old memory, perhaps—dancing behind his hardened gaze.

As the weight of the exchange sank in, something in your chest twisted uncomfortably. The woman, with her red hair and confident stance, wasn’t just here for small talk. Her presence set off an alarm inside you, and you couldn’t shake the familiarity of her appearance. Your nightmares. This was her.

You swallowed hard, gripping Logan’s arm as you whispered, “Logan, can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”

Logan glanced down at you, his furrowed brow softening slightly as he took in the seriousness in your expression. “Yeah, sure.” He turned back to Yukio, jerking his chin toward the door. “Wait here.”

She nodded once, standing statue-still as Logan stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave the two of you alone in the hallway. His attention was fixed entirely on you now, his posture shifting slightly into something more relaxed but still alert. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” he asked, his voice gentler.

You hesitated, gathering your thoughts and trying to find the best way to explain what you knew. “Logan,” you started, your voice trembling slightly, “do you remember when I told you about that nightmare I had? The one with flashes of... Japan?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded. “I remember.”

“Well, I know I said it was just... bits and pieces of a story, but…” You let out a shaky breath. “It wasn’t just a random dream. I think it was a warning. I’m sure of it now. She was in it. And it wasn’t... good.” You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Logan, something bad will happen if you go with her. Please. Don’t go.”

Logan studied your face for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You sure about this?” he asked finally. There was no skepticism in his tone, only concern—his protective instincts kicking in.

You nodded, gripping his arm a little tighter. “You know how sometimes you tell me not to go on missions because they’re too dangerous? Because you don’t want me to get hurt?” Your voice softened, cracking just slightly. “I’m telling you the same thing now. I’m begging you. She’s part of my nightmare.”

Logan’s expression shifted, his resolve firming as he reached up to gently cup the side of your face, his calloused thumb brushing against your cheek. “Alright, darlin’,” he said quietly. “If you’re this sure, then I ain’t goin’.”

Relief washed over you like a wave, and you leaned into his touch. “Thank you.”

He pulled away after a moment, stepping back toward the door. He opened it and faced Yukio, his demeanor as unyielding as ever. “I’m not goin’ to Japan,” he said bluntly. “Tell Yashida thanks for the sword and for tryin’ to clear his conscience, but no.”

Yukio’s confident stance faltered just slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Master Yashida said—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Logan interrupted firmly. “It’s not happenin’. That’s my answer.”

Yukio hesitated, her grip on the sword tightening as though debating whether to press further. Ultimately, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll deliver the message.” With that, she turned and walked away, the sword still in hand.

Logan closed the door behind her, locking it before turning back to you. His hand found the small of your back as he gently pulled you closer. “There. You don’t need to worry ‘bout it anymore.”

You looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze making your chest ache with gratitude and love. “You didn’t have to listen to me, but you did. Thank you.”

Logan gave a small smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re worth listenin’ to.”

---

You and Jean were enjoying the first Monday of summer break, which meant Jean also coerced you to having a mimosa at 11 in the morning.

Rogue walked into the kitchen, wringing her hands. “Uh, I kinda need to talk to y’all.”

Jean gestured with her glass for her to sit down, “what’s going on?”

Rogue sat down at the kitchen table with a hesitant sigh, her hands twisting nervously. You and Jean exchanged a quick glance, sensing her discomfort, and set your mimosas down.

“What’s going on, Rogue?” you asked softly, leaning forward to give her your full attention.

She hesitated, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s about Bobby,” she said finally, her accent faint but still present in moments of vulnerability. “I was talkin’ to him last night, and he told me somethin’... well, unexpected.” She took a deep breath, then rushed the words out before she could lose her nerve. “He said he’s gay—and he’s got a boyfriend.”

Jean blinked in surprise but recovered quickly, giving Rogue a warm, understanding smile. “Wow,” Jean said gently. “That’s a big thing for him to share. How are you feeling about it?”

Rogue bit her lip, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know. I mean, it’s not like I’m mad or anything—it’s his life—but it’s... it’s kinda weird, y’know? Like, all this time, I thought I did somethin’ wrong, but now I’m thinkin’ he just didn’t want me at all. Maybe not even anyone like me.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her emotion.

You felt a pang of sympathy for her, remembering how painful breakups could be, let alone finding out something like this months later. “Rogue,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “it’s not about you. It sounds like Bobby’s been figuring out who he is, and that doesn’t mean you weren’t important to him. Sometimes people just... discover things about themselves later.”

“Y/N’s right,” Jean chimed in, her tone reassuring. “And trust me, you’re not the first person to go through something like this. Back in college, Scott and I broke up for a little while, and I dated someone else—a guy named Alex.” She paused to take a sip of her mimosa, her expression turning almost nostalgic. “We were seeing each other for about three months, and then one day, out of the blue, he told me he was gay.”

Rogue’s eyes widened slightly. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Jean confirmed with a small laugh. “It was a little shocking, and yeah, I was upset at first, but it wasn’t about me. He was figuring things out, just like Bobby is.”

“That must’ve sucked, though,” Rogue muttered, her hands still fidgeting.

Jean shrugged. “It wasn’t great in the moment, but looking back, I’m glad he was honest. It helped both of us move on, and he’s really happy now. And I got back together with Scott eventually, so it all worked out.”

Rogue nodded slowly, processing Jean’s story. “I guess... I guess it just feels like everyone else knows where they’re goin’ in life, and I’m still tryin’ to figure out how to live with all this.” She gestured vaguely to herself, the mention of her powers unspoken but understood.

You reached out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone in that, Rogue. Everyone’s figuring things out in their own way—even Bobby. It doesn’t happen all at once.”

Jean smiled warmly, raising her glass. “And hey, you’ve got us. Summer break’s here, so that means plenty of mimosas and bad TV marathons to distract us, right?”

Rogue let out a small laugh, a genuine one this time, and you felt a sense of relief at seeing her relax a bit. “I appreciate y’all. Seriously. Thanks for not makin’ this awkward.”

Jean clinked her glass against yours. “We’re your friends. Awkward is part of the deal.”

You nodded, chuckling as you raised your glass as well. “And we’re not bad at giving advice, either. Sometimes.”

Rogue smirked. “Sometimes.”

For the first time in weeks, you could see her shoulders loosening, the weight of Bobby’s revelation slowly starting to lift. As you all sipped your drinks, the summer sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen—a small but welcome reminder that brighter days lay ahead.

---

You grumbled, trying to wiggle out of Logan’s hold. The heat of the summer night clung to your skin like a stubborn second layer, and Logan’s warm, solid frame wasn’t helping. You planted your hands against his chest, pushing lightly.

“Logan,” you muttered, voice muffled against the pillow. “You’re like a furnace. Let me go.”

Logan let out a low, amused growl, his grip tightening just enough to keep you close. “Stop squirmin’, darlin’,” he rumbled. “You’re fine.”

You huffed, craning your neck to glare up at him. “I’m not fine. I’m sweating. Are you seriously not hot?”

“Course not.” He shrugged lazily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You forget—I run hot all the time. This is nothin’.”

You groaned, flopping back against the mattress dramatically. “I can’t do this. I need to cool off. Can’t we turn the AC up or something?”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Or we could head to the pool,” he suggested, his voice casual but laced with a teasing undertone. “Cool water, starry night... might even get you to relax.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the suggestion. “The pool?” you repeated. “At—what is it—midnight?”

“Why not?” Logan leaned closer, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Unless you’d rather keep fightin’ me all night.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the heat was unbearable, and the idea of a refreshing swim was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, pushing the blanket off. “But I’m blaming you if I freeze the second I get out.”

“Deal,” he said, already climbing out of bed with his usual ease as you slipped on your glasses.

The two of you padded quietly through the mansion, careful not to wake anyone. When you reached the pool area, though, you stopped short, suddenly realizing the flaw in this impromptu plan.

“Logan,” you said slowly, crossing your arms. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

He turned to you, an eyebrow quirking as he gave you a once-over. “So?”

“So?” you repeated, incredulous. “What am I supposed to do? Swim in my pajamas?”

Logan shrugged, that infuriating smirk back on his face. “Or,” he drawled, “we could just skinny dip.”

Your face heated instantly, and you sputtered, taking a step back. “Are you serious? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. “Ain’t like it’s somethin’ I haven’t seen before, sweetheart.”

You gaped at him, your brain scrambling for a coherent argument. “That’s—that’s not the point!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and you hated how it made your stomach flip. “C’mon, Y/N,” he said softly, his expression shifting into something more genuine. “Ain’t nobody around. Just you and me. What’s the harm?”

You hesitated, his words disarming you more than you’d like to admit. The idea was embarrassing, sure, but there was also something freeing about it. And, if you were honest with yourself, you trusted Logan completely.

“…Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “But if you laugh, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Logan’s grin widened, but he wisely held back any smart remarks. Instead, he simply turned away, giving you the chance to undress at your own pace.

“You’re stalling,” he called over his shoulder, the teasing edge returning to his voice.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly shedding your clothes and slipping into the water before your nerves could catch up with you. The cool water enveloped you immediately, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. “Oh my god, this feels amazing.”

Logan followed suit, slipping into the pool with far less hesitation. He moved toward you, the moonlight catching on his wet skin, and you found yourself momentarily distracted.

“Told ya,” he said, his voice softer now. “Better than sweatin’ it out, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Okay, fine. You were right. Happy?”

“Always,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that made your heart skip.

The water rippled around you as he closed the distance, his hands finding your waist beneath the surface. You leaned into him instinctively, the cool water and his steady warmth balancing each other out.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the gentle lapping of the water. Then Logan leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice so low it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, your shyness creeping back, but you couldn’t look away from him. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was overwhelming. The rest of the world faded, leaving just the two of you under the stars.

---

Logan had looked in 2 storage closets already to find the right lightbulb you had to replace in your lab. He closed the door and walked to another one and opened it with a bit of frustration.

It only rose. “What the fuck?”

Logan stood in the hallway, staring at the scene before him with a mix of disbelief and frustration. Rogue, her cheeks flaming, shoved Remy into a shelf, creating a loud clang as a box of spare cables toppled to the floor.

“Logan!” Rogue exclaimed, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and panic. “It’s not—this isn’t—”

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Logan growled, crossing his arms. His piercing gaze shifted between the two younger mutants, lingering on Remy with particular suspicion.

Remy straightened his jacket, attempting to maintain his composure despite the tight quarters. “Cher,” he began smoothly, though the slight flush in his face betrayed him, “it’s nothin’, really. We was just talkin’.”

“In a storage closet?” Logan shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. He jabbed a finger in Remy’s direction. “You’ve been here less than a year, Gumbo, and you’re already causin’ trouble? Not a good look.”

“Logan—” Rogue tried again, but he cut her off with a sharp look.

“You,” he said, fixing her with a stern glare, “oughta know better. You think this is what we’re about here? Sneakin’ around like a couple of kids?”

Before Rogue could stammer out a response, you rounded the corner, clipboard in hand, your lab coat swishing lightly as you walked. “Logan, what’s taking so long?” you asked, adjusting your glasses. “It’s just a lightbulb—how hard can it be to—”

You trailed off as your gaze landed on the open closet. Rogue’s bright red face, Remy’s slightly rumpled appearance, and Logan’s looming figure all painted a very clear picture. Your brows lifted in realization, and you pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Ah,” you said simply, glancing at Logan. “Now I see why you’re delayed.”

Logan huffed, his frustration still evident, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a hint of amusement. “Ain’t funny, darlin’,” he muttered, though his tone softened slightly in your presence.

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to peer into the closet. “You’re right. This is a very serious misuse of storage space,” you deadpanned, turning your attention to Rogue and Remy. “You two know this isn’t exactly subtle, right? Half the mansion probably heard that shelf crash.”

Rogue groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Y/N, please don’t make this worse.”

“I’m not,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But maybe next time, pick a better spot—or better yet, don’t sneak around at all.”

“Listen to her,” Logan added, his tone gruff but less harsh now. “You’re both adults. Start actin’ like it.”

Remy, ever the charmer, offered a small, sheepish grin. “Noted, mon ami. Won’t happen again.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced, but stepped back, allowing them to leave the closet. As they hurried down the hall, Rogue mumbled a quick “thanks” under her breath, while Remy gave a casual wave, as if this were all perfectly normal.

Once they were out of earshot, you turned to Logan, crossing your arms with a knowing smile. “You’re enjoying this a little more than you’re letting on.”

He snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t enjoyin’ nothin’. Just wonderin’ what kinda circus we’re runnin’ here.”

“Come on,” you teased, nudging his side lightly. “You’re not fooling me. You like having someone to lecture every now and then.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer to you. “Maybe. But you’re the one who keeps me from goin’ too far.”

“Glad to be of service,” you quipped, handing him the clipboard as you tilted your head. “Though, don’t you think that was a bit narcissistic? I mean, remember that time Charles found us in a storage closet? I mean—I’m actually pretty sure this is the exact one too.”

Logan stared at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he smirked, shaking his head. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t ya?”

“Why not?” you replied with a sly grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “It’s not like it was my idea to—what was it again? ‘Test the structural integrity of a closet shelf,’ or so you told Charles.”

He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders relaxing as the memory washed over him. “Yeah, and he wasn’t buyin’ that for a second. Probably why he called it ‘an inappropriate misuse of shared spaces.’” His voice deepened mockingly, imitating Charles with an exaggerated seriousness that made you laugh.

“Poor Charles,” you teased, adjusting your glasses. “The things he’s had to put up with because of us.”

Logan tilted his head, his gaze softening as it settled on you. “Worth it,” he said simply.

You felt your cheeks warm under his attention but rolled your eyes to deflect. “Still, you might want to cut Rogue and Remy some slack. I mean, they didn’t even get a chance to—”

“Don’t,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “Don’t finish that thought. They don’t get slack. They get rules.”

“And what about us back then?” you shot back playfully. “Where were the rules for us?”

Logan shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Rules didn’t apply to us. We were... special circumstances.”

“Oh, of course,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “That sounds fair and not at all like a double standard.”

He stepped closer, crowding your space in that way that always made your heart race. “Darlin’, if memory serves, you didn’t mind breakin’ a few rules yourself.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking as you met his gaze. “Fair point,” you admitted. “But you’re still gonna have to let this go, Logan. Rogue’s an adult. You can’t intimidate every guy she shows interest in.”

Logan’s brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “Not about intimidatin’—it’s about makin’ sure she’s treated right. Don’t trust Gumbo as far as I can throw him.”

“And yet, you let him stay,” you reminded him gently. “You trust him enough for that.”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s different.”

“Not really,” you countered with a smile. “You just don’t like how much he reminds you of... well, you.”

Logan opened his mouth to argue but froze, narrowing his eyes at you instead. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re treadin’ dangerous ground.”

You laughed, brushing past him into the storage closet. “Oh, please. You’re an old softie under all that gruff exterior, and you know it.” Your fingers skimmed over the shelves until you found the lightbulb you needed. Holding it up triumphantly, you turned back to him. “See? Mission accomplished. No drama required.”

Logan grunted but didn’t argue as he took the bulb from you, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Let’s get this done,” he said, his voice softer now. “Before someone else decides to make a scene in another damn closet.”

---

2015

“Uh, don’t you think I should… you know, learn to ride a bike first?” You asked Logan.

“You know how to ride a bike,” Logan said, his brows furrowed. When you didn’t answer, his head turned slowly, eyes narrowing at your silence. “...Right?”

You hesitated, feeling heat rise to your face as you avoided his gaze. “Well... technically? No. Not really.” You adjusted your glasses nervously and crossed your arms like a makeshift shield.

Logan’s face softened slightly, though his confusion lingered. “You’re tellin’ me you never learned to ride a bike?”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar prick of shyness creeping in. “My grandma didn’t have much money, and bikes weren’t exactly a priority. It’s not like I could just borrow someone else’s either—believe me, I tried. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

Logan leaned back against his motorcycle, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. His teasing smirk melted into something gentler. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter but still firm. “That explains bikes, but why the hell didn’t you mention it when I said I’d teach you to ride this?”

You glanced at the hulking metal machine beside him. “Because I didn’t think it mattered! I mean, how hard can it be? It’s got an engine. And wheels. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

Logan’s laugh was low and gravelly, and the sound made your cheeks flush further. “Darlin’, it ain’t the same thing at all. You’re gonna need balance, coordination—”

“Which I have!” you cut in, bristling at his tone. “I teach physics, Logan. I know how it works.”

He arched a brow. “Sure, you can explain the mechanics, but can you actually do it?”

You glared at him, then sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of your neck. “Okay, fine. Maybe not. But I can learn.”

Logan shook his head, his smirk returning. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He pushed off the bike and gestured for you to come closer. “Alright, let’s start small. I’ll teach you the basics first.”

You hesitated, your nervousness bubbling up again. “You’re not gonna let me fall, right?”

His expression softened as he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I got you,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “Ain’t gonna let you fall, I promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Logan spent the next few minutes walking you through the basics—how to balance, how to hold the handlebars, and how to use the clutch and throttle. He was patient, surprisingly so, and his gruff encouragement kept your nerves at bay.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping back slightly but keeping a hand on the seat. “We’re gonna try movin’. Just a little. I’ll walk beside you.”

Your grip tightened on the handlebars as you glanced at him nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he said, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Trust me, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

With a deep breath, you followed his instructions, easing the clutch and gently twisting the throttle. The motorcycle lurched slightly, and you yelped, but Logan steadied you instantly.

“Easy,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re okay. Just like that.”

You tried again, and this time, the bike moved forward smoothly. Logan stayed beside you, his hand steady on the seat as you slowly made your way across the driveway. The grin that spread across your face was impossible to contain.

“See?” he said, his own smile widening. “Told ya you could do it.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you as you kept the bike moving. “This is kind of amazing,” you admitted, glancing at him. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing it.”

Logan chuckled, his hand still firm on the seat. “Told ya. You’re tougher than you think, darlin’.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt a surge of confidence. Maybe this was just the first step, but it was a step nonetheless—and with Logan by your side, you knew you could take as many as you needed.

---

“—according to eyewitnesses, Sokovia appears to be flying. The Avengers are on the scene, fighting what appears to be a…”

“First SHIELD falls apart, now there’s a damn robot flyin’ around?” Logan muttered. Almost everyone in the mansion was in the common room, watching the news.

“Technically, it’s an android,” you corrected, adjusting your glasses as you leaned against the back of the couch. Your voice was calm but carried the faintest note of amusement at the scene playing out on the TV screen.

Logan glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Sure, let’s call the murderin’ metal monster what it prefers. That’s the priority here.” He crossed his arms, his gruff tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jean, sitting nearby, let out a small chuckle. “Well, he’s not wrong. Ultron’s not exactly top of my list for respectful terminology.”

You smiled faintly and shrugged. “Fair, but if I’m going to critique somethin’, I might as well use the right terms. It’s a professional hazard.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head. “Professional hazard, huh? Remind me again how bein’ a physics teacher leads to defendin’ killer robots.”

“Androids,” you corrected again, your lips twitching into a teasing smile. “And it’s not defending; it’s just precision. You know, the thing you constantly roll your eyes at when I explain why your motorcycle’s not defying the laws of physics.”

He leaned closer, his smirk widening. “That’s ‘cause I prefer ridin’ it to overthinkin’ it, darlin’.”

“Is that so?” you shot back, tilting your head up at him. “Maybe that’s why you haven’t managed to fix the gearshift properly.”

Scott, perched on the arm of another chair, let out a low whistle. “She got you there, Logan.”

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead throwing a glance at the screen where the Avengers fought tirelessly against Ultron’s forces. The destruction was massive, and the gravity of it wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

“We’re not goin’, right?” Rogue asked quietly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she sat on the floor. She glanced between you, Logan, and Jean, her brows furrowed with uncertainty.

“No,” Jean said firmly. “This isn’t our fight. The Avengers have it handled, or at least they’ll try. Charles made that clear.”

Logan grunted in agreement. “They can handle their own mess. Last thing we need is to wade into it and make things worse.”

Rogue nodded slowly, though her expression remained troubled. “Still feels weird, just watchin’.”

“It’s not weird,” you said softly, your gaze still fixed on the screen. “It’s strategic. If we jump in every time something goes wrong, we spread ourselves too thin. We’ve got enough on our plate without throwing Sokovia into the mix.”

Rogue’s eyes flicked to you, then Logan, before she gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess.”

The room fell into a thoughtful silence, save for the muffled sounds of the battle being broadcast. Logan turned his attention back to you, studying your profile as your focus remained on the news.

---

"Aw, man. Can’t believe Jubilee of all people got Boardwalk," Rogue playfully complained, throwing her hands up as Jubilee beamed triumphantly from her spot at the coffee table.

"What can I say?" Jubilee grinned, holding up her brightly colored stack of Monopoly money. "Luck’s got my back tonight."

"Luck?" Remy raised an eyebrow, his Cajun drawl teasing. "Pretty sure you’re just distractin’ everyone with that flashy jacket of yours."

Jubilee gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "Excuse me, Gambit. This jacket is iconic."

"Iconic or not," Kitty piped up, carefully counting her cash, "you’re gonna have to deal with the wrath of everyone else when we land on that property."

"Speak for yourself," Jean said with a smirk, nudging Scott. "Scott’s too busy trying to stay out of jail to care."

Scott glared playfully at her. "I’m not trying to stay out of jail. I’m strategically avoiding taxes."

"Strategic avoidance," Logan muttered, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "That’s one way to put it, Slim."

"Don’t even start, Logan," Scott shot back, though his tone was more amused than annoyed. "You’ve been sitting on Baltic and Mediterranean this whole game like they’re gold mines."

"Least I’m not spendin’ every turn beggin’ for a loan," Logan countered, giving Scott a pointed look.

You smiled faintly, adjusting your glasses as you picked up the dice. “Can we all agree that the real villain of Monopoly is whoever came up with income tax?”

"Yes!" Rogue said emphatically, leaning back against Remy’s legs where she was seated on the floor. "Every time I get ahead, bam—back to square one."

"Maybe if you invested more wisely," Remy teased, running a hand through her hair. "But don’t worry, chère, I’ll cover your bail next time you land in jail."

Rogue rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning her head back against him. "You’re all heart, Remy."

As the dice clattered across the board, Jubilee groaned. "Oh, come on, Y/N, that’s doubles! Again?"

"Looks like she’s on a roll," Logan said, his tone laced with amusement as he watched you move your piece. "Better watch out, Jubilee. That Boardwalk might not be safe for long."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Careful, Logan. You sound suspiciously supportive. People might think we’re teaming up."

He chuckled low, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Wouldn’t wanna give anyone the wrong idea, sweetheart."

Jean nudged you gently with her elbow. "Watch him. He’s always got a plan brewing."

"You say that like I don’t already know," you replied, your voice light but tinged with warmth. Your fingers brushed against Logan’s as you passed him the dice, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you before shifting back to the board.

The game continued, filled with lighthearted banter and occasional protests—mostly from Scott whenever Jubilee made a trade that seemed less than fair. As the hours wore on, the pile of snacks in the center of the table dwindled, and the room settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Logan leaned toward you as Rogue argued with Kitty over a contested property trade. His voice was low, just for you. "Y’know, you play it quiet, but you’ve been hustlin’ this whole game."

You shrugged, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. "Maybe I’ve just got a good poker face."

"Poker, huh?" His lips quirked into a smirk. "Remind me to never let you deal me in."

"Deal’s a two-way street," you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile. "Think you can keep up?"

"Always," he replied, his tone gruff but soft in a way only you would notice. His hand brushed against yours briefly before he reached for his drink, and though the moment was fleeting, the warmth lingered.

The dice passed to Rogue, and the focus shifted back to the game. You caught Jean’s knowing smile from across the table, and though she said nothing, the glint in her eyes spoke volumes. You felt a flicker of heat rise to your cheeks but quickly focused back on the board, your heart a little lighter than it had been all day.

---

Logan’s birthday was never a huge affair. He didn’t enjoy parties or people making a big deal about it. Which is why it usually just involved a cake and candles, but no happy birthday song.

You had already gifted him a new pair of boots which you knew he desperately needed but never went out to get new ones.

Your other gift was a bit different. About 3 years ago when you made your affection binder, you had also made your sex binder. And while that particular binder had never been put to good use, you figured there was no better day than today.

With your hands on your hips, you looked up at Logan, your shy demeanor softened by a teasing smile as you held the binder out. “You can only pick one thing from that.”

Logan raised a brow, crossing his arms as he took the binder. “One thing, huh? Not really how I remember binders workin’, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses. “Just read it, Logan.”

He chuckled, sitting down at the edge of the bed as he flipped it open. The binder was heavier than it looked, and as he started skimming the first few pages, his lips twitched with amusement. “You put tabs in this thing? Like, organized it with sections?”

“Yes.” Your tone was a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “It’s efficient.”

“Efficient, huh? Color-coded too.” He smirked, glancing up at you.

“Just keep reading,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Logan’s grin widened, but he didn’t tease further. He flipped through each section, his sharp eyes picking up every meticulous detail. There were notes written in your neat handwriting, concise explanations next to bullet points, and even small diagrams for clarity.

“This part’s highlighted,” he observed, gesturing to one page. “Somethin’ you were hopin’ I’d notice, darlin’?”

“It’s just… suggestions,” you stammered, trying not to fidget as you leaned against the dresser.

“Hm.” He skimmed further, his fingers brushing the tabs as he took in the various ideas, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Logan paused at one section labeled Sensation Play. He tapped his finger against a specific note before glancing up at you.

And that’s how you ended up face down, ass up in bed and 3—4?—orgasms in.

The sheets were a mess, tangled and damp with sweat as you clawed at them, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. Logan’s grip on your hips was bruising, his calloused hands grounding you as he drove into you from behind with relentless precision. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your overstimulated body, your moans muffled against the mattress as your fingers curled tightly around the fabric.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Logan growled, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. He leaned over you, his chest grazing your back as his teeth caught your earlobe. “Don’t you dare tap out on me now.”

You tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked whimper, your body betraying you as another orgasm tore through you like a lightning strike.

“Look at you,” he rumbled, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he straightened, his hands sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades. The new angle had you crying out, and he grinned wickedly. “Such a good girl. Taking everythin’ I give you, huh?”

Your answer was a broken gasp, your mind too foggy to form words. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending singing as Logan pushed you beyond your limits.

“Too much?” he asked, though his pace didn’t falter. The smirk in his tone was impossible to miss.

“Y-yes,” you managed to stammer, though it was quickly followed by a breathless, “No. Don’t stop.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “That’s what I thought. You can handle it, sweetheart. You always do.”

He shifted slightly, one hand leaving your hip to slide around your waist. His fingers found your clit with unerring accuracy, and the sharp jolt of sensation had you keening into the mattress.

“Logan!” you cried, your voice cracking as your body arched against him. He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips like that.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. “Perfect for me. Always have been.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your emotions as raw as your body. Logan’s words always hit differently, carrying a weight that went beyond the moment. You clung to them as he pushed you over the edge again, your body convulsing around him as you cried out his name.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan’s movements stilled, his hands grounding you as his warmth enveloped your trembling form. He shifted, sliding out of you slowly, and the sudden emptiness made you whimper softly. His voice was a low, gravelly murmur. “Turn over, darlin’.”

Your legs felt like jelly, but you obeyed, rolling onto your back. The cool sheets felt foreign against your overheated skin, and you blinked up at him, your vision hazy from exhaustion and lingering pleasure. Logan’s expression was unreadable for a moment, his sharp eyes tracing over every inch of you—the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath, and the glimmer of tears that clung to your lashes underneath your fogged-up glasses.

He leaned down, his hands bracketing your head as he kissed you. It was softer this time, almost tender, but there was still that unrelenting hunger beneath it. When he pulled back, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Ain’t done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs. He pulled you closer, aligning your hips as he settled between your legs. The intimacy of the position made your heart stutter, your cheeks burning hotter as he pinned you with that intense gaze.

“Logan…” you started, but the words caught in your throat when he thrust into you again, slow and deliberate. A shudder wracked your body, your head tipping back as a gasp slipped past your lips.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to spill out. It was instinct, a habit born from years of living in the mansion, where privacy was a luxury and thin walls carried whispers. Logan noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as his thrusts deepened.

“No, none of that,” he growled. One hand slipped up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. “Don’t hold back on me.”

“Logan, I—” Another sharp thrust stole your words, your gasp turning into a soft, broken moan. He grinned wickedly at the sound, his eyes glinting with triumph.

“There it is,” he rumbled, his thumb pressing lightly against your lip before he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna give me more than that, darlin’. Gonna make sure the whole damn mansion knows who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

A whimper escaped you, and he chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand slid up your side, his calloused palm rough against your sensitive skin. When he reached your breast, his thumb brushed over your nipple, drawing another gasp from you. Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle as your body arched into his touch.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling. It wasn’t loud, not yet, but it was enough to spur him on. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“That’s better,” he praised, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. “But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

You shook your head, biting down on another moan. “I can’t… they’ll hear—”

Logan’s hand left your breast, sliding up to capture both of your wrists and pin them above your head. His grip was firm but not painful, his strength effortlessly restraining you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Let ‘em hear.”

The commanding tone sent a jolt of arousal straight through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that spilled out this time. It was louder than before, raw and unrestrained, and the sound made Logan’s breath hitch. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he drove into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and strained. “Knew you had it in you.”

You felt yourself unraveling again, the pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo as Logan continued to push you further. Tears slipped down your cheeks, the overwhelming sensation too much to contain.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening as he saw the tears. He slowed his movements, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured, “You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N. Never get tired of seein’ you like this.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you surged up, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. He returned it with equal fervor, his hands releasing your wrists to cradle your face instead. The connection felt deeper this way, as if the years of longing and heartbreak were pouring into every touch, every kiss, every whispered word.

When you finally came undone again, it was with his name on your lips, your voice unrestrained as you fell apart in his arms. Logan followed moments later, his groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself deep inside you one last time. The weight of him against you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, was the only thing anchoring you to reality as the aftershocks rolled through your body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Logan pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his thumb brushing away the tears that still clung to your cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with concern despite the obvious satisfaction etched into his features.

You nodded, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder. “Yeah. Just… give me a minute.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of damp hair away from your face. “Take all the time you need, darlin’. Not goin’ anywhere.”

A quiet laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you reached up to adjust your glasses, which had been knocked askew at some point. “That’s an understatement,” you teased, your voice still shaky. “Pretty sure I’m not going anywhere either. My legs don’t work anymore.”

Logan’s grin widened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the gesture achingly sweet. “Good. Means I did my job right.”

---

“Where ya goin’ dressed up like that?” Logan asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his sharp eyes catching Rogue as she descended the staircase in a sleek black dress and a pair of matching heels.

Rogue paused, one hand gripping the bannister as she gave Logan a sheepish look. “Nowhere special,” she said lightly, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off her dress.

Logan snorted, his arms crossing over his chest. “Yeah, ‘cause ya always wear heels to ‘nowhere special.’ Try again, kid.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, exasperation flickering across her face as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m just goin’ out with Remy.”

Logan’s brows knit together, and his gaze narrowed slightly. “Out where?”

“Dinner,” Rogue replied, her tone clipped as she adjusted one of her gloves. “We’ve been datin’ for a year, you know. It ain’t news.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna ask,” Logan muttered, straightening up. “What time’ll you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” she said with a cheeky grin, grabbing her coat off the nearby rack.

“Rogue,” Logan growled, his voice dropping to that familiar gruff tone that usually got everyone’s attention.

With a sigh, Rogue stopped at the front door, one gloved hand on the knob. “Logan, I get that you’re protective, but I’m not a kid. Remy’s a good guy. You trust him, don’t you?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t immediately answer. Instead, his eyes darted to the ceiling as if considering. Finally, he let out a resigned grunt. “He’s a smooth-talking Cajun who cheats at cards.”

“Not all cards,” a voice drawled, and Remy appeared in the doorway, his usual smirk firmly in place. “Just the ones where the stakes matter.” He winked at Rogue before shooting Logan a friendly nod. “Don’ worry, mon ami. I’ll have her back safe and sound.”

Rogue smiled at Logan, a softness in her eyes. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Go. But you let me know if somethin’—”

“I will,” Rogue interrupted, her tone warm but firm. She pushed up on her toes, planting a light kiss on Logan’s cheek. “Thanks, Logan.”

As the pair disappeared out the door, Logan shook his head, muttering, “Damn Cajun.”

You stepped into the room, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “You know, for someone who acts all grumpy and aloof, you’re pretty much a softie.”

Logan turned, his gaze landing on you as he huffed. “I’m not a softie.”

“You let her date Remy, didn’t you?” You adjusted your glasses, tilting your head at him. “If that’s not soft, I don’t know what is.”

He crossed the space between you and stood close enough that you had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. I’m not lettin’ anything happen. I’m just pickin’ my battles.”

��Mhm,” you murmured, your smile growing. “And the battle you didn’t pick tonight was keeping Rogue home.”

“Watch it,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “How’d you get so good at teasin’ me, huh?”

“Years of practice,” you quipped, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He chuckled, his hand brushing briefly against yours before he stepped past you. “C’mon, let’s find somethin’ to eat. I ain’t sittin’ here all night worryin’ about the Cajun’s drivin’.”

---

The team walked into the dimly lit warehouse, their boots echoing against the concrete floor. The space was eerily quiet, illuminated only by the faint orange light of a single overhead lamp swaying slightly in the still air.

“Pretty cozy,” Logan muttered, his voice low as his eyes scanned the empty space. His senses were on high alert, his every instinct telling him something wasn’t right.

“This is the last known location of the shipments,” Scott said, frowning as he checked a map on his tablet. “There should be something here.”

“Should be,” you repeated, adjusting your glasses as you stepped further inside. “But looks can be deceiving.”

Jean’s voice chimed in softly behind you. “Spread out. Look for anything—papers, labels, anything out of the ordinary.”

The group split up, scattering throughout the open floor. Logan stayed close to you, his steps quiet but purposeful. His eyes shifted toward every shadow, a habit borne from years of battle and survival.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered, his gruff tone breaking the silence between you.

You glanced at him, your brow furrowed. “What? The empty warehouse or the general sense of impending doom?”

“Take your pick, darlin’,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A small laugh escaped your lips, easing some of the tension. “I’d go with the second option. The lack of dust in here makes me think it hasn’t been abandoned long.”

Logan grunted in agreement, his attention pulled to a series of file cabinets along the far wall. “Might be somethin’ in here.” He tugged the drawer open with little effort, the lock snapping under his grip.

You crouched next to him, peering into the contents. Folders upon folders sat neatly inside, but most of them were unmarked, filled with papers in languages that seemed out of place. “Nothing that screams ‘illegal operation,’ but…” You reached for a document that stood out—a glossy pamphlet bearing the word Transigen.

“Transigen?” you muttered aloud, showing it to Logan. “Ring any bells?”

Logan stared at it, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Nah, but I don’t like it. Feels off.”

“Agreed,” you said, flipping through the rest of the papers. There wasn’t much else of note—no names, no dates, no clear locations.

Jean and Scott joined you a few moments later, carrying a sparse collection of other documents. “What’d you find?” Jean asked.

You handed her the pamphlet. “Not much. Just this. None of us have heard of Transigen before.”

Scott frowned as he skimmed the cover. “Could be nothing, or it could be their way of staying off the radar.”

“We take it back to Charles,” Jean said, tucking the pamphlet under her arm. “See what he can find out.”

---

“Logan, I don’t think anyone nowadays needs to know how to drive stick shift,” you said, gripping the wheel of the ancient car in the mansion’s garage. It reeked of age—leather seats cracking under your weight and the faint scent of old gasoline hanging in the air. You adjusted your glasses nervously as you glanced at Logan.

“Says the one who stalled it three times just tryin’ to back it out,” he shot back, leaning back in the passenger seat, his arms crossed. His smirk was laced with amusement, his hazel eyes gleaming.

“Okay, that was not my fault. Who decided reverse should be up and to the left? It’s… counterintuitive,” you grumbled, your voice soft but laced with frustration.

Logan chuckled, the deep sound filling the space. “Darlin’, that’s the point. Makes sure not just anyone can mess with it.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you quipped, biting your lip as you shifted into first gear. The engine gave an ominous growl, and you glanced at Logan for reassurance. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow.

With a deep breath, you eased your foot off the clutch and onto the gas. The car lurched forward, sputtering but somehow staying alive. “See?” you said triumphantly. “I’ve got this.”

“For now,” Logan replied, though there was no malice in his tone. He gestured for you to keep driving. “Get outta the garage, then we’ll see.”

Carefully navigating the narrow space, you maneuvered the car out onto the long drive leading away from the mansion. The sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees, casting dappled shadows over the pavement. Your confidence grew with each foot traveled.

“So why the sudden need to teach me how to drive stick?” you asked after a moment, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead.

“’Cause,” Logan said simply, shrugging. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“That’s vague,” you replied, glancing at him. His expression gave nothing away, though the smallest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“It’s a skill,” he said after a pause. “Besides, keeps you sharp.”

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about everything, though. Like chopping wood. Who chops wood in 2015?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I didn’t enjoy the blisters,” you countered, though there was a warmth in your voice.

The car gave a sudden jerk, cutting the banter short. You let out a startled noise, gripping the wheel tighter. Logan reached over, steadying it without hesitation. “Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re just ridin’ the clutch. Give it more gas.”

“I’m trying,” you said through gritted teeth, your frustration showing. But you followed his instructions, and the car smoothed out again.

“There,” he said approvingly. “Told you you’d get the hang of it.”

“You’re awfully encouraging,” you said dryly, though a small smile played on your lips.

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan replied with a wink, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious.

You shook your head with a small laugh, the car jolting slightly as you shifted gears. “I think you just like watching me suffer.”

“Nah,” Logan said, leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “If I wanted that, I’d let you figure this thing out on your own. But I’m too nice for that.”

“Oh, sure. Logan Howlett, the king of kindness,” you teased, glancing at him before quickly returning your focus to the road.

“Don’t forget it,” he shot back, his smirk widening.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the hum of the car filling the air. Outside, the trees blurred together in shades of green and brown, the sunlight cutting through the branches and casting fleeting patterns across the dashboard.

“Y’know,” Logan started after a while, breaking the quiet, “you’re doin’ better than I expected.”

“Oh, great. High praise from the guy who’s been driving since the 1800s,” you said, adjusting your glasses with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel.

Logan chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Ain’t my fault I’ve had a lot of practice.” He glanced at you, his hazel eyes softening. “Still. You’re doin’ good, darlin’. You’ve always been a quick learner.”

Your grip on the steering wheel relaxed a little at his words. “Thanks. I think.”

He nodded toward the road ahead. “Keep goin’ straight, then we’ll loop back to the garage. Shouldn’t push this old heap too much on her first run.”

“First run? Logan, this car looks like it’s survived two wars,” you said with a grin, earning a laugh from him.

“Probably has,” he admitted.

The drive back to the garage went smoother, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride as you pulled the car into its original spot without stalling. Turning off the ignition, you leaned back in the seat with a satisfied sigh.

“See? Told you I could do it,” you said, glancing at Logan.

He gave a small nod, his lips quirking up into a faint smile. “Guess I owe you that one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? No sarcastic comment? No snarky remark?”

“Not today,” he said, his tone softer now.

Something in the way he looked at you made your breath catch—there was a weight in his gaze, like he was seeing more than just the present moment. He’d been like this sometimes, staring at you as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every little thing about you.

“What?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan shook his head, the moment passing as quickly as it came. “Nothin’. Let’s head inside. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

You climbed out of the car, still feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze as the two of you walked back toward the mansion.

---

Logan walked into your lab, his heavy footsteps echoing against the sterile tiles as he eyed the setup on your table. Various gadgets and pieces of equipment blinked and whirred, wires snaking between them like a miniature city of technology. He stopped just short of the table, crossing his arms as he gave you a skeptical look.

“Alright, why’d ya call me in here?” he asked, the gruffness in his voice softened slightly by curiosity.

You adjusted your glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Because you, Logan, need to learn something new. Consider it payback for all those hours spent stalling cars in the driveway.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Pretty sure drivin’ a stick’s more useful than whatever this is.”

You ignored the jab, your fingers deftly adjusting a small control panel. “Maybe. But when you thought Hank’s laser pointer was going to burn your skin, I realized you might need a crash course in modern tech.”

Logan scowled. “It was brighter than it needed to be.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you picked up a small handheld device. “This,” you said, holding it up like a prized artifact, “is a low-intensity laser emitter. Completely harmless—unless you point it at someone’s eye for a really long time. But we’re not doing that.”

He narrowed his eyes at the device, taking a small step back. “Still don’t see why I gotta know about it.”

“Because,” you said patiently, “in our line of work, it’s good to understand what we’re dealing with. Plus, if you’re going to make fun of me for not knowing how to drive stick, I get to make fun of you for thinking this little thing is gonna cook you alive.”

Logan huffed but didn’t argue, watching as you adjusted a few dials and pointed the emitter at a piece of metal on the table. You pressed a button, and a thin red beam shot out, cutting a small groove into the surface.

“See?” you said, gesturing to the clean line. “It’s just concentrated energy. Controlled and precise.”

Logan tilted his head, leaning in slightly to inspect the mark. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you repeated, feigning offense. “This is incredible, Logan. It’s a tool, a weapon, even a way to—”

“Save the sales pitch, sweetheart,” he interrupted, a smirk forming on his lips. “You’re already more excited about this than anyone else’ll ever be.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine. But now it’s your turn.”

Logan straightened, his expression immediately shifting to one of suspicion. “What d’ya mean, ‘my turn’?”

“I mean,” you said, holding out the device, “you’re going to use it.”

He stared at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. “I’m good.”

“Oh no,” you said firmly, stepping closer and pressing the emitter into his hand. “You’re not getting out of this. I had to learn how to keep an ancient car alive; you can learn how to use a laser.”

Logan sighed, his grip on the device awkward. “You’re relentless, y’know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you replied with a grin, stepping back. “Now, aim it at the metal—carefully—and press the button. That’s it.”

Logan hesitated, glancing at you for reassurance. When you nodded, he turned his attention to the table, holding the emitter with surprising precision. He pressed the button, and the red beam sprang to life, tracing an uneven line across the surface.

“Not bad for a first try,” you said encouragingly.

“Doesn’t feel like much,” Logan muttered, though there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes as he turned off the beam.

“Because it’s not,” you said. “This is just a demonstration. Real lasers are a lot more powerful. They can cut through steel or even—”

“Okay, okay,” Logan interrupted, holding up a hand. “I get it. Lasers are fancy. You happy now?”

“Very,” you replied, your smile softening. “You’re a natural.”

He snorted, setting the device back on the table. “Don’t push it.”

---

2016

“Maybe we could rewatch The Force Awakens. You know Jones likes that movie.” Jean suggested.

You shook your head, “I don’t disagree with that kid much, but on that I do. That movie is not better than the other six ones!”

“Well, maybe not but—”

Loud, insistent knocking cut Jean off as the two of you looked at the main door. You both looked at each other, then the door, before slowly walking towards it.

You gave Jean a nod before quickly opening the door, revealing Peter standing outside, disheveled. His usually neat hair stuck up in all directions, his face was pale, and his clothes—though clean—were wrinkled as if he’d been wearing them for hours. His backpack hung off one shoulder, sagging with weight.

“Peter?” you said, startled. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

His wide brown eyes darted between you and Jean, and he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, visibly struggling to find the words. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” he finally blurted, his voice trembling. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Jean said gently, stepping aside to let him in. You quickly closed the door behind him, your brow furrowed with concern.

Peter shuffled inside, dropping his bag by the entryway with a soft thud. He looked around, his gaze lingering on the familiar halls of the mansion, but there was none of the boyish excitement you remembered from his visits years ago.

“Pete,” you said softly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “What’s going on? Is it your aunt? Is she okay?”

He shook his head quickly. “Aunt May’s fine. It’s not that. It’s—” He paused, swallowing hard. “It’s me.”

Jean stepped closer, her expression kind but cautious. “Did something happen? You can tell us, Peter.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he let out a shaky breath and looked directly at you. “I think… something’s wrong with me.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Jean before returning your focus to him. “What do you mean, ‘wrong’? Are you hurt?” You reached out instinctively, but he took a small step back, shaking his head.

“No, I’m not hurt. It’s just…” He hesitated again, clearly wrestling with how to explain. “Weird stuff’s been happening. Like, really weird. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Start from the beginning,” Jean urged, her tone calm and reassuring. “What kind of weird stuff?”

Peter hesitated, his face contorting as he tried to find the words. Finally, he held up his hands, palms out. “It’s hard to explain, but… I’m different now. Stronger. Faster. And—”

“Slow down,” you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “What happened, Peter? When did this start?”

“A few days ago,” he said quickly. “I was on a field trip, and this… spider bit me. It hurt, but I didn’t think much of it. Then the next day, I woke up and—” He took a shaky breath. “I could climb walls. And my hands stick to stuff. And I broke my desk without even trying.”

Your mind raced, piecing together the details. “A spider? Did anyone else on the trip get bitten?”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Just me. I—I Googled it, and nothing normal explains what’s happening. I thought I was going crazy until—” He stopped short, looking down at his hands again.

“Until what?” Jean prompted, her voice soft.

“Until I almost hurt someone,” Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Some guy at school tried to mess with me, and I… I didn’t mean to, but I shoved him. He flew halfway across the cafeteria.” His shoulders slumped, and he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

You exchanged another glance with Jean, whose expression had shifted to one of understanding. She nodded slightly, silently agreeing with what you were already thinking. Whatever was happening to Peter, it wasn’t just some random coincidence—it was something bigger.

“Okay,” you said softly, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “You did the right thing coming here. We’ll figure this out together.”

Peter’s lip quivered, but he managed a small nod. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” Jean said, her voice steady and calm. “You’re part of our family, Peter. You always have been. Whatever this is, we’ll help you. But first, how about we get you to the medbay? I can run some tests, and we can figure out what’s going on, yeah?”

Peter hesitated for a moment, his shoulders still tense. “Okay,” he said quietly, glancing between you and Jean. “But… what if it’s bad? Like, really bad?”

You stepped closer, offering him a reassuring smile. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. You’re not alone in this, Pete.”

Jean placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Y/N’s right. Let’s take this one step at a time. You’ve already done the hardest part by coming here.”

Peter nodded slowly, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he murmured.

The three of you began heading down the hall toward the medbay. The mansion was quiet, the late hour leaving most of the residents either in their rooms or scattered in common areas. Peter’s footsteps were hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should really be there, but you made sure to keep close, walking just beside him.

“You’ve grown a lot since the last time you visited,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think you’re taller than me now.”

Peter managed a small smile. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

Jean chimed in, her tone light. “Taller, but definitely still the same kid who tried to sneak cookies out of the kitchen when Logan wasn’t looking.”

That earned a faint laugh from Peter. “He caught me every time. His hearing’s, like, too good.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a tough one to fool. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

As you reached the medbay, Jean gestured for Peter to take a seat on one of the examination tables. “Okay, just sit tight for a second,” she said, moving to grab some equipment. “I’m going to start with a simple scan, see if there’s anything unusual we can pick up.”

Peter fidgeted nervously on the table, his hands gripping the edge. You perched on a nearby stool, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine,” you said. “Jean’s the best at this stuff.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, but his voice was still uncertain. “I just… I don’t know what to expect. What if this isn’t something you guys can fix?”

Jean glanced over from where she was setting up the scanner. “Peter, this isn’t about fixing you. You’re not broken. Whatever’s happening, it’s a part of you now. We’re just going to figure out how it works so you can control it.”

Peter nodded, but his unease was still clear. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone,” he murmured.

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “You came here because you care about doing the right thing. That already says a lot.”

Jean activated the scanner, and a soft hum filled the room. She positioned it around Peter, carefully monitoring the readouts on a nearby screen. “This might feel a little weird,” she warned. “Just hold still for a minute.”

Peter froze in place, his wide eyes darting nervously between the scanner and the screen. You leaned forward slightly, watching as Jean studied the results.

After a few minutes, she let out a soft hum of interest. “Well, this is definitely unique,” she said, turning the screen toward you.

“What is it?” Peter asked anxiously.

Jean smiled reassuringly. “Your DNA’s been altered, but not in a way that’s harmful. It looks like the spider that bit you carried some kind of genetic mutation. It passed that mutation on to you.”

“So… what does that mean?” Peter asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It means your powers aren’t random,” Jean explained. “They’re a result of the mutation. Your strength, your speed, your ability to climb walls—all of it comes from the changes in your DNA.”

Peter stared at her, processing the information. “So I’m… like a mutant now?”

Jean hesitated, then nodded. “In a way, yes. But this doesn’t define who you are, Peter. It’s just a part of you.”

Peter let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to help you figure this out, Pete. You’re not in this alone.”

He looked at you, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Jean smiled, her tone warm. “That’s what family’s for.”

As the three of you continued to talk, a familiar, gruff voice cut through the quiet. “What’s all this about a family reunion?”

You turned to see Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed and a curious expression on his face. Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Logan,” you said with a small smile. “Perfect timing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What’d the kid do?”

“Nothing,” Jean said quickly, shooting him a look. “He’s just… going through some changes. And he could use some guidance.”

Logan’s gaze shifted to Peter, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah? Well, stick around, kid. You’ll learn a thing or two here.”

Peter nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked like he might actually believe that everything was going to be okay.

---

A few months later, Ororo and Charles were walking out of his office, talking about the small lead they had on Transigen, which was only that they seemed to be stationed in Mexico City.

But then there was loud knocking on the front door, causing both their heads to turn towards the door. Ororo looked down at Charles as the older man focused on who was outside.

“Ah, I don’t suppose you could fetch me Scott and Jean?”

---

Jean opened her eyes, her hands hovering over the sides of Bucky’s head. “Well, I’m not saying it’s impossible… I’ve just never tried to undo someone’s… conditioning.”

Her voice was calm, but there was a note of uncertainty, one that didn’t go unnoticed by the others in the room. Bucky remained seated, his jaw tight, hands gripping the edges of his chair so hard that the metal creaked under the pressure. Steve stepped closer, his expression a mix of concern and resolve.

“Jean,” Steve said, his voice low, “if there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you.”

Jean glanced at him, offering a faint smile. “I appreciate the confidence, Steve, but this isn’t just about skill. What was done to him… it’s layers upon layers of trauma. I can try to help him regain control, but there’s a risk.”

“What kind of risk?” Wanda asked, standing near Sam, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Jean hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “If I push too hard or go too deep too quickly, I could make it worse. His mind is like a minefield. One wrong step, and I could trigger something—memories, programming—that we don’t want activated.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Jean, his voice gruff but steady. “Do it.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, but Bucky held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I’ve lived like this for too long,” he said, his tone firm. “If there’s even a chance she can help, I’ll take it.”

Jean exchanged a look with Scott, who stood by the door, his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame. “It’s his call,” Scott said simply. “But Jean, don’t push yourself too hard, either.”

She nodded again, her fingers tapping lightly against her palm before turning toward Charles. “Professor, can I talk to you real quick?”

Charles gave a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgment, his wheelchair moving forward as Jean followed him out of the office and into the hallway. The rest of the group lingered near the open door, their hushed voices echoing faintly in the quiet mansion.

Jean’s face was tight with tension as they walked. “Professor, I’ve done this kind of thing before—helping someone unravel memories—but nothing like this. The level of conditioning… it’s terrifying. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not sure how deep I can go without risking it all.”

Charles stopped, his gaze steady and calm as he looked up at her. “Jean, you’ve always had an extraordinary gift—not just your abilities, but your compassion. That compassion is what will guide you here. Take it slowly. Listen to him, and listen to your instincts. You are capable of far more than you give yourself credit for.”

Jean hesitated, glancing down at her hands. “I just… I don’t want to fail him. Or the team.”

“You won’t,” Charles reassured her. “This isn’t just about skill; it’s about trust. He trusts you. Let that be your foundation.”

She gave him a small smile, her tension easing just slightly. “Thank you, Professor.”

Meanwhile, back in the office, Steve and Bucky had moved closer to the open door. Their conversation stalled as their attention shifted toward the sound of laughter echoing from down the hall. Logan’s gruff voice mixed with the playful chatter of students, and they saw you in the distance, wrangling a group of younger kids who were clearly full of energy.

One of the children, not paying attention, accidentally walked straight into your leg. You stumbled slightly, wincing and reaching for the wall to steady yourself. Before you could catch your balance, Logan was there, his hand firm on your arm. “You alright, darlin’?” he asked, his tone gruff but warm.

You waved him off with a sheepish laugh. “I’m fine, Logan. It’s just the bruise acting up again.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re pushing it. Come on, let me take ‘em to class.”

“Logan, I’m not made of glass—” you started, but he cut you off by scooping you up with ease, earning gasps and giggles from the students. “Logan!”

“Relax,” he muttered, carrying you down the hall as you continued to protest. “You’ll thank me later.”

Bucky froze, his brows furrowing as he watched the interaction. His voice was low and uncertain. “It’s her. She’s alive—”

“No,” Steve interrupted sharply, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure that’s her.”

Bucky’s gaze lingered in the direction where Logan had disappeared with you, his jaw tightening. “It’s her, Steve. I know it.”

Before the conversation could continue, Jean reentered the room, her expression resolute. “Alright,” she said, looking directly at Bucky. “Let’s get started.”

---

Jean walked into the kitchen, her fingers kneading her temples, exhaustion clear on her face. You glanced up from the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, the aroma filling the cozy kitchen. “Rough day?” you asked softly, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with your wrist to avoid staining them with sauce.

“You could say that,” Jean replied, offering a tired smile. She leaned against the counter, stealing a quick glance at Logan, who was seated at the kitchen island, newspaper in hand. He acknowledged her with a brief grunt but didn’t look up.

“Dinner’ll be ready in ten,” you added, stirring the pot, a little smile tugging at your lips. “And you’re welcome to join if you want.”

Jean’s smile widened slightly. “You’re a lifesaver. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

Logan snorted, flipping a page of his newspaper. “You’re pushin’ yourself too hard, Red.”

“Says the king of overdoing it,” Jean shot back, though her tone lacked heat. She turned her attention back to you. “Can I help with anything? Set the table?”

“I’ve got it,” you assured her. “Just sit down. You look like you’ve been through it.”

Jean gave you a grateful look and slid into the seat next to Logan, resting her chin in her hand. “Thanks. You know, for everything.”

Before you could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder until Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Wanda appeared in the doorway. They hesitated at the threshold, clearly picking up on the low-key energy in the room. Steve’s gaze immediately found Logan, and the two men exchanged a silent nod—acknowledgment between old soldiers who had fought on the same side a lifetime ago.

“Smells good in here,” Sam commented, breaking the quiet.

“It is good,” Logan said, not looking up from his paper. “And it’s spoken for.”

“Logan!” you scolded gently, though your face warmed in amusement. You turned to the Avengers. “Sorry about him. There’s not much left, but if you’re starving—”

“They’re not stayin’,” Logan interrupted, finally lowering the newspaper and fixing the group with his usual no-nonsense glare. “Go find your own dinner. This one’s off-duty.”

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we get it. Sheesh.” But he was smiling as he turned and nudged Wanda to follow him. The others trailed after, though Steve lingered for a second longer, his sharp blue eyes flicking between Logan and you before giving a brief nod and stepping out.

The quiet returned, but not before you caught Jean hiding a laugh behind her hand. “He doesn’t do sharing, huh?” she teased.

Logan leaned back, his hands behind his head, smirking. “What’s mine is mine.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead grabbing three plates from the cabinet. “Jean, do you want wine with dinner?”

“Definitely. Do you have red?” she asked as she watched you pour the sauce over the pasta and sprinkle Parmesan on top.

“Got a bottle open already,” you said, reaching for it.

Logan grunted as if annoyed but didn’t complain when you set a plate in front of him. “You don’t spoil me like this,” he muttered, picking up his fork.

“You don’t deserve it,” you teased lightly, flashing him a smile that made his usual scowl soften.

Jean glanced between the two of you with an amused but warm expression. “You two are really something, you know that?”

You chuckled, carrying your plate to the table and sitting beside Logan. “Yeah, something stubborn.”

Logan snorted into his plate, but his hand found your knee under the table, a subtle gesture that made your heart do a little flip. For all his roughness, there were these little moments that reminded you just how much he cared.

Dinner passed with quiet chatter and comfortable silences. Jean eventually excused herself with a full stomach and a little less tension in her shoulders. When she was gone, Logan leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on you as you started cleaning up.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Not with the kitchen,” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing. “But you can check the bruise on my leg if you’re feeling generous.”

He arched a brow, his lips twitching into a rare grin. “Always generous for you, sweetheart.”

---

“Alright, think ya can drive around the driveway on your own?” Logan asked, holding the motorcycle upright with you seated on it.

“Uh… mayb—”

“’Course you can, sweetheart,” Logan said, his gruff voice laced with an unusual softness as he steadied the motorcycle. His hands remained on the handlebars for a second longer before he stepped back, giving you space to get your bearings. “Just remember, easy on the throttle. Don’t get cocky.”

“Noted,” you replied with a small smile, gripping the handlebars tightly. You adjusted your glasses on your nose with a quick nudge from your shoulder and slowly eased the bike forward.

Logan took a few steps back, watching closely as you started your first lap around the driveway. He crossed his arms, his stance protective yet relaxed. “She’s got it,” he murmured, though his voice carried an edge of tension he couldn’t quite mask.

Nearby, Ororo stood with Jean, arms folded as she watched you maneuver the bike. “You’ve been teaching her how to ride for months now,” Ororo commented lightly, arching a brow at Logan. “She’s not going to crash, you know.”

“She better not,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Or she’ll be hearin’ about it from me.”

Jean smirked. “And here I thought you were all about positive reinforcement, Logan.”

He shot her a sideways glare, but his focus never wavered from you. “I’ll reinforce plenty when she parks that thing without scratchin’ it.”

You completed the first lap with minimal wobbling, and a surge of pride flashed across your face as you passed by Logan. He gave you a subtle nod of approval before turning toward the other two women. “Not bad for a beginner.”

Jean chuckled. “Coming from you, that’s practically a glowing review.”

As you started another lap, Logan stayed close for a moment, then drifted over to where Ororo and Jean stood. “She’s pickin’ this up faster than I thought she would.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re such a great teacher,” Jean teased, earning herself another grunt from Logan.

Midway through the second lap, you felt a strange sensation wash over you—a ripple in time, a distortion that pulled you away from the present. The world around you blurred as your vision tunneled, and you found yourself somewhere else entirely.

A sterile, white building loomed around you. The air was heavy, the kind of suffocating stillness that hinted at danger. A little girl, no older than five, crouched behind a counter. Her wide, frightened eyes were locked on a man advancing toward her. Without warning, she leapt forward, two metal claws extending from her tiny fists. The claws pierced the man’s chest with terrifying precision.

The scene shifted violently, and you were suddenly thrust back into the present. The driveway came back into focus, and panic clawed at you as you realized the motorcycle had veered off course. Your hands trembled as you fumbled for control, but the bike swerved sharply.

“Bucky!” someone shouted.

Before you could process what was happening, strong hands gripped the handlebars, forcing the motorcycle to a halt. The momentum caused you to tumble off the seat, hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Pain bloomed across your side as the air was knocked from your lungs.

“Y/N!” Logan’s voice was sharp and urgent as he was instantly at your side, dropping to one knee. Jean and Ororo followed closely behind, their faces etched with worry. Logan’s hands hovered over you, searching for any obvious injuries. “Are you alright? What the hell happened?”

You blinked up at him, your vision swimming for a moment before settling. “I—I’m fine. Just lost focus for a second.”

“That wasn’t just ‘losing focus,’” Logan growled, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Jean knelt on your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you have a vision?”

You hesitated, your breathing still unsteady. “Yeah. It—it wasn’t clear, but there was a girl… She had claws, like Logan’s. She was protecting herself. It felt… real.”

The three exchanged tense glances. Ororo spoke first. “Do you think it’s something that might happen? Or was it one of those could-be futures?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But it felt important.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he turned to Jean. “Help her up. I’m takin’ her inside.”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you protested, but he wasn’t listening. His arms slid under you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

Jean rose to her feet, brushing off her hands. “We should tell Charles about this. If it’s tied to—”

“First, we’re dealin’ with her bruise,” Logan interrupted, carrying you toward the mansion. His tone left no room for argument. “Charles can wait.”

---

Jean sat in front of Bucky for another session to try and undo his conditioning. Steve stood nearby, leaning against the wall.

As Jean’s hands hovered over the sides of his head, Bucky spoke up. “Is she okay?”

She let out a hum, “who?”

“Y/N.”

Jean opened her eyes and grabbed a pen to jot something down on her clipboard. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just a few scratches. Could’ve been worse if you didn’t stop the bike.”

Bucky sat back slightly, his jaw tightening. “Guess I was in the right place at the right time.”

“Lucky for her,” Jean said with a small smile, her tone light but genuine. She glanced at him, noting the tension in his posture. “You okay? You seem… distracted.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I just… She looks familiar. Like someone I used to know.”

Jean tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Someone from before?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s hard to pin down. But when I saw her earlier, it was like…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Like a memory trying to surface?” Jean offered gently.

Bucky nodded, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Jean looked thoughtful for a moment before writing another note. “It could be worth exploring, but let’s take it one step at a time. For now, let’s get back to where we left off, alright?”

He gave her a tight nod, sitting up straighter. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

---

Meanwhile, Logan stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully rolling up the leg of your jeans to inspect the fresh bruise forming on your calf.

“You’re lucky that’s all you got,” Logan said, his voice gruff but tinged with concern. He stepped into the room and crouched in front of you, gently taking your leg in his hands to get a closer look.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, though your wince betrayed you.

Logan shot you a look, his thumb brushing lightly over the unbruised skin just above the mark. “Not that bad, huh?” he said, his voice gruff as his gaze stayed locked on the forming bruise. “You’ve got a knack for understatement, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tugged at your lips. “It’s just a bruise, Logan. I’m fine.”

“You’re always sayin’ you’re fine,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over the edges of the mark. “And every time, it’s somethin’ worse than you let on.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, and you glanced down at your hands. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen,” you said softly. “I just… zoned out for a second.”

Logan let out a quiet sigh, his hand dropping to rest on his knee. “I know. That vision shook you up.” He looked up at you, his intense gaze softening. “You don’t gotta act like you’ve got it all under control. Not with me.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “I just… I don’t know what to do with what I saw. It’s like these pieces of something bigger, but none of it fits together yet.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly. “Together.”

The sound of voices down the hall interrupted the moment, and Logan’s jaw tightened. “Figures,” he muttered, standing and stepping toward the door. “Bet it’s Stark, loudmouthin’ again.”

You stifled a laugh as you pushed your glasses up your nose. “You do realize Tony thrives on getting under your skin, right?”

“Yeah, well, he’s got another thing comin’ if he tries it today.” Logan glanced back at you. “Stay put. I’m not done talkin’ to you yet.”

“Is that an order, Wolverine?” you teased, earning a low growl as he left the room.

---

You walked into Jean’s lab with a box of new beakers that the two of you had ordered. You had already taken your share and now you were coming by to give her hers.

“Hey, Jean.” You said, as you pushed the door open with your elbow, “got those beakers.”

“Okay! Can you set them down on the table and come help me real quick?”

You placed the box down and walked over to Jean, where she was patching up a few cuts and scratches Bucky had. You looked over at her, a silent question in you gaze.

She opened a roll of gauze. “Apparently, your husband went a little rough on him and Steve,” Jean said with a hint of exasperation as she dabbed antiseptic onto a particularly nasty cut on Bucky’s forearm.

You blinked, surprised. “What? Why?”

“Something about training getting too ‘intense.’” Jean shot you a pointed look, then gave Bucky a sympathetic smile. “Logan doesn’t exactly know the meaning of ‘dial it down.’”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, though he winced slightly when Jean pressed the gauze to his arm. “It’s fine. He was testing us.”

“Testing you?” you echoed, raising a brow as you perched on the edge of the counter. “You’re the Winter Soldier, and Steve’s Captain America. What could he possibly be testing?”

Bucky glanced at you briefly before looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “Maybe he just wanted to see if I could keep up.”

“Or maybe he just likes knocking you and Steve around,” Jean quipped as she secured the gauze with medical tape. “Okay, that should hold for now. Don’t take it off for at least a day.”

Bucky flexed his arm, testing the bandage. “Thanks, doc.”

Jean snorted. “I’m not a doctor. I just patch people up when your husband forgets to stop swinging.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll talk to him.”

Bucky shrugged, the ghost of a grin on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle him.”

Jean raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned back to you. “Thanks for the beakers, by the way. Can you grab a few more from the box and put them on the top shelf? I’d do it myself, but someone—” she shot Bucky a look “—got blood on my gloves.”

You smirked as you hopped off the counter. “Sure thing.”

As you worked, Bucky watched you carefully. His brows furrowed slightly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Jean noticed the look but kept quiet, her curiosity simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, Bucky broke the silence. “You’re a teacher here, right?”

“Physics,” you said over your shoulder, placing the last beaker on the shelf. “And I help Jean out sometimes when she’s swamped.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You… uh, ever think about doing anything else? Something outside the mansion?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him. “Not really. Why?”

Bucky hesitated, his expression guarded. “Just wondering.”

Jean glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “Okay, what’s going on here? Did something happen?”

You shook your head, brushing off the odd exchange. “No, it’s nothing. Probably just the aftereffects of Logan’s ‘training.’” You glanced at Bucky, your tone softening. “Seriously, though, if he gave you or Steve a hard time, let me know. He can be a bit… much.”

Bucky gave you a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. But I think we’re good.”

Jean crossed her arms, watching as Bucky stood and rolled his shoulder experimentally. “You know, for a guy who’s been through hell, you’ve got an impressive pain tolerance.”

Bucky shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Comes with the territory.”

You exchanged a glance with Jean, and she gave you a subtle nod, her way of telling you to let it go—for now. But as Bucky left the lab, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his questions than he let on.

---

“What do you think ‘bout this one?” you asked, turning around slowly to show off your outfit: a black blazer over a beige turtleneck, paired with black flared trousers. The gold buckle on your belt added just enough polish to the look.

Logan, seated on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed, let out a low grunt. His expression didn’t give much away, but the way his eyes lingered told you he was paying attention.

“You look good, darlin’,” he finally said, his voice gruff but warm. “Classy. Not too flashy.”

You adjusted the blazer slightly and glanced at the mirror, pursing your lips. “Not too flashy, huh? Are you sure that’s what Rogue had in mind for a double date?”

Logan let out a snort, leaning back slightly. “Rogue knows better than to drag me anywhere that’s too flashy. ‘Sides, you look fine no matter what you wear.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at the compliment. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to deal with Remy for longer than you have to.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the mention of him. “You’re not wrong.”

You turned back to him with a soft laugh. “Logan, you’ve had over a year to warm up to him. Rogue’s crazy about him. Can’t you at least try?”

“I am tryin’,” Logan shot back, his tone defensive. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be goin’ on this damn double date.”

“Fair enough.” You grabbed your purse from the dresser and glanced at him over your glasses. “But maybe don’t scare him off tonight? Rogue would never forgive you.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath as he stood, adjusting the leather jacket he’d shrugged on. “No promises.”

---

The restaurant Rogue picked was cozy, with soft lighting and a jazz trio playing in the corner. You and Logan arrived first, Logan’s grumbling already earning him a teasing nudge from you as the two of you were shown to your table.

“Relax,” you said, setting your purse down and adjusting your blazer. “It’s just dinner.”

“With Gumbo,” Logan muttered, pulling out your chair before settling into his own. “This better be good.”

Before you could reply, Rogue and Remy appeared, the younger woman beaming as she tugged Remy toward the table. “Hey, y’all!” Rogue greeted, her Southern accent thick as ever. She gave Logan a quick hug before turning to you. “You look amazing, Y/N! Doesn’t she, Remy?”

“Oui, belle comme toujours,” Remy said smoothly, his eyes flicking over you with a charming smile. He offered you a slight bow before glancing at Logan. “Logan. Lookin’... sturdy as ever.”

Logan grunted in response, his lips twitching slightly in what could almost be mistaken for a smirk.

The four of you settled into an easy rhythm as dinner was served, the conversation bouncing between Rogue and Remy’s latest antics and Logan’s dry quips. You chimed in when the teasing got too much, gently steering the conversation back to lighter topics.

As the evening wore on, you noticed Logan’s stance soften, just a little. He even shared a rare chuckle when Remy recounted a particularly wild story from his time in Louisiana.

By the time dessert arrived, the tension at the table had mostly dissolved.

---

Later that night, as the two of you walked back to the car, you glanced up at Logan with a small smile. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He huffed but didn’t argue, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek before slipping into the car. “Thanks for trying, Logan. It means a lot to Rogue.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he started the car, you caught the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well. Don’t make a habit of it, sweetheart.”

---

You got on your tiptoes, holding onto the boxing ring’s ropes to steady yourself as you pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s lips. “I’ll make you that smoothie.”

“You better not put any grass in it this time!” Logan called after you, his voice laced with mock irritation as you headed toward the kitchen.

“You mean spinach?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk.

“Same damn thing!”

You laughed, leaving him shaking his head as you disappeared through the doorway.

Logan turned back toward the center of the ring, adjusting the wraps on his hands when Steve, who’d been leaning casually against the wall, straightened up.

“Mind if I go a round or two with you?” Steve asked, his tone friendly but direct.

Logan raised an eyebrow, eyeing him for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Your funeral, Cap.”

Steve climbed into the ring with an easy grin, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up. “Just a friendly sparring match, Logan.”

“Sure,” Logan muttered, his tone noncommittal as he sized up the taller man.

The first few exchanges were straightforward—calculated jabs and dodges, neither man pushing too hard. Steve broke the silence after a few moments. “So, how long have you and Y/N been together?”

Logan’s movements didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened. “Long enough.”

Steve nodded, his punches measured as he pressed on. “She seems like a good fit for you. Never pegged her to be a physicist, though.”

Logan’s stance stiffened, his punches coming in faster, heavier. “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

Steve backpedaled, his hands raised defensively. “Nothing bad. Just… when I met her—”

Before Steve could finish, Logan swept forward, catching him off guard with a hard shove that sent him sprawling onto the mat. Logan crouched over him, claws unsheathed and glinting under the overhead light.

“Keep talkin’,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low.

Steve blinked, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I didn’t mean any offense.” He paused, catching his breath. “It’s just… Bucky and I knew someone who looked just like her. Back before the war. She grew up with us in Brooklyn.”

Logan didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as Steve continued.

“When Bucky went off to fight, so did she,” Steve explained, his voice softer now. “Not as a soldier, but as a nurse. And later, when I joined the Howling Commandos, she was assigned to us for a while. She wanted to do more, though, so she volunteered to go to Italy.”

Logan finally backed off, retracting his claws and giving Steve room to sit up. His expression was guarded, unreadable, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

Steve studied him, tilting his head slightly. “You’re not surprised.”

Logan grunted, stepping out of the ring. “She didn’t grow up in Brooklyn,” he said flatly. “Didn’t serve with you either.”

Steve frowned, wiping at the sweat on his brow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She wouldn’t remember,” Logan said gruffly, grabbing his towel from the corner.

Steve’s brows knitted together in confusion, but Logan didn’t give him a chance to ask more. Without another word, he headed for the kitchen, leaving Steve alone in the ring.

---

You were stirring a smoothie when Logan walked in, his expression tight. He leaned against the counter, watching you silently for a moment.

“Did Steve ask you anything weird?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You glanced at him curiously, setting the blender cup down. “Weird? No, why?”

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening. “No reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could press further, Logan stepped closer, brushing a hand along your arm. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, Logan,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

He gave a slight nod, though his eyes lingered on you as if searching for something. “Yeah, darlin’. Just… tired.”

You reached up to adjust his hair, smoothing it back gently. He leaned into your hand until you pulled back, “he… told you something, didn’t he? Did he know me—”

Logan looked you in the eye, “would it matter?”

You blinked, mulling it over. Would it matter? It’s not like you could remember any of it. If Logan hadn’t told you about your past lives, you wouldn’t have known they’d even existed. “I… guess not,” you said, meeting his eyes.

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing as he stepped closer. His rough hands reached out, gently cupping your face. “See?” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “None of that matters anymore. What matters to me is that you’re here right now.”

The warmth in his eyes left no room for doubt, and a soft smile tugged at your lips. “That’s what matters to me, too.”

He bent down slightly, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, grounding you both in the moment. It was tender, as though he was reassuring himself that you were real—that this life, your life together, was solid and unbreakable despite the strange fragments of the past.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and you couldn’t help but grin at his soft expression. “Feel better now?” you teased.

His lips curved into a rare smile, almost playful. “I’ll let you know after I’ve had some of that smoothie.”

You laughed, stepping out of his hold to grab the blender. As you poured the thick green liquid into a glass, Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious, almost wistful expression. “Y’know,” he said after a moment, “Steve knows how to dig stuff up from the past, but he doesn’t get what it’s like to carry it all with you.”

You handed him the smoothie, your brow furrowing slightly. “He means well,” you offered, trying to smooth over the lingering tension.

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan replied with a shrug, taking a reluctant sip and grimacing. “What the hell did you put in this?”

“Spinach, just like always,” you said with an exaggerated sweetness.

“Just like always, huh?” Logan chuckled, setting the glass down on the counter with a soft thud. He took a slow, deliberate step toward you, his eyes glinting with a mischievous edge. Instinctively, you backed away, your eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Logan,” you warned, holding up your hands as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, darlin’.” His grin widened, the deep timbre of his voice laced with playfulness. “Guess you’ll have to learn what happens when you keep sneakin’ grass into my smoothies.”

“It’s spinach!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling up despite your attempts to stay serious. You took another step back, but your retreat was cut short when your back hit the edge of the counter. “Logan, I swear—”

Before you could finish, his arms were around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised yelp as he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly, his low chuckle rumbling in your ears.

“Guess you’re gettin’ punished now,” Logan teased, carrying you toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. You squirmed in his grip, your hands pressing against his back.

“Logan! Put me down!” you cried, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Not until you promise no more spinach,” he said, his tone mock-stern.

“Never!” you shot back, trying to sound defiant but failing as you burst into laughter.

Logan shook his head with a grin and gave your thigh a light pat. “Stubborn as ever.”

this takes place over 2014, 2015, and 2016!

and for anyone wondering about the connection with reader, bucky, and steve, my idea is that before reader and logan met in italy, she was a nurse for the howling commandos. but before that, she was friends with steve and bucky before the war in brooklyn. so when bucky was shipped out, reader signed up to be a nurse.

then when steve became captain america, and was going around putting on shows, you wanted to do more and you decided to get shipped off. i had this idea when i first thought about including the avengers, then i thought "wait, wouldn't it be weird for someone else to recognize you, not just logan?" because yes, logan has been around for some time, but he's not the only one.

anyways, next chapter is going to be super exciting! (might have a little something to do with transigen👀)

[pin-k-ink]

for those of you who wanna know,

i know i’ve been super silent and i’ve been avoiding messages, and honestly, it’s because i’ve been dealing with a lot of shit that i just couldn’t bring myself to talk about

so here’s the deal: earlier this year, around february, my stepdad decided he wanted to move us to another city. he made me, my mom, my little brother, and my stepsister move with him. i had to quit my job because he didn’t want me driving all the way back to my old place every day and promised he’d help me find a job here (that never happened so i’m still stuck with no job, no nothing)

then came ramadan, and i was already stressed as hell. my mom kept working at her old job, getting home at like 5 pm, and i was left to deal with everything for iftar. i thought my stepsister would help me, but she was literally no help at all. she sleeps during the day and stays up all night, and every time i go to cook, she’s knocked out. she wouldn’t even clean the room we shared, and when i was cleaning the other day, i found her used tampons UNDER THE BED!! yeah that happened 🧍‍♀️

i was so fucking mad because i was doing all the cooking and cleaning for five people by myself, and she wouldn’t even wash a dish. i asked my mom to talk to my stepdad and have his daughter at least do something, but she didn’t. and the worst part is that my stepdad justified all of it by saying she’s depressed and doesn’t want to push her too hard because it might trigger her. like, ok, but what about me? i’m literally doing everything, and no one gives a shit. and i’m apparently now allowed to say that to her face because she’s older than me and because of that, i’ve to respect her

then, one night, in the middle of ramadan, my stepdad kicks me, my mom, and my little brother out of the house. just like that, in the middle of the fucking night. mind you, we weren’t even there a month. and of course, i had to leave behind most of my stuff. my clothes, my books, everything. all because i asked my stepsister to help me cook.

so now, my mom and stepdad are divorced (idk if it’s the same in every religion, but once that word is said in our religion, it’s done. no papers, no nothing), and we had nowhere to go. we drove to my aunt’s place in another city, and we’ve been stuck there since. we could barely afford to rent an apartment, and i ended up blowing through all my college savings just to survive. oh, and my stepdad changed the locks on the old house so we couldn’t even get our things back.

so yeah, that’s where i’ve been. still technically homeless, no job, no stability, and trying to figure my life out. i’m dealing with all of this, and it’s hard as fuck to focus on anything else. i haven’t even had the energy to write or do anything for the past couple of months, and that’s why i’ve been silent. i’m really sorry to all of you who’ve been waiting for updates or wondering what happened to me. i didn’t mean to disappear, but everything’s been just too much.

i’ll be back when i can. if i can. but for now, i just need to deal with all this mess. thanks to everyone who’s been patient. i really do appreciate it more than you know <3

[sillylilsquid]

almost, always

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - after everything fell apart, you and hyun-ju keep finding excuses to stay in each other's lives. some loves don't end cleanly. some loves find a way back, even when they shouldn't. warnings - au!hyun-ju, afab!reader, angsty angst, brief sexual content, pre-bottom surgery hyun-ju. 18+, minors dni! 5.2k words

It was always the little things that piled up first. The unanswered texts. The late nights you spent waiting, wondering if she forgot, if she cared, if she was just tired or if it was you.

The arguments that started small and stupid–where to eat, what time to meet–and ended with slammed doors and swallowed apologies.

“You never take anything seriously,” she said once, standing in the kitchen, arms crossed so tight you thought she might snap in half.

You laughed–sharp, defensive. “It’s not that serious, Hyun-ju. It’s just dinner.” 

But it was never just dinner. It was never just one thing.

It was the thousand tiny disappointments that neither of you knew how to voice until they turned into something ugly.

It was her needing structure, needing something solid to hold onto–and you needing something a little freer, a little softer, something she couldn’t give without breaking herself apart.

It was both of you pretending you could fix it, even when you knew you couldn’t.

Until one night, after one too many fights, one too many wrong words, she said, quietly, almost kindly: “I can’t take care of both of us anymore.”

You didn’t fight her. You just stood there and let her walk away.

Present

It’s been six months since you broke up. Six months of pretending you don’t think about her every time you pass a cafe she liked. Six months of telling yourself you’re better off, even though every bone in your body knows you’re lying.

So when your kitchen light goes out–and the broken stool in your closet mocks you–you do the stupidest thing you could possibly do.

You text her.

hey. can you help me? my light’s out and i can’t reach it

It’s pathetic. You know it is. You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen, heart pounding. You almost delete it. But before you can, the typing bubble pops up.

Hyunnie omw.

Three letters. No hesitation. Just like that, you’re right back where you started. Waiting for her.

You don’t have to wait for long. 

Fifteen minutes, maybe less, before you hear the soft knock at the door–the same rhythm she always used. Three quick taps. One long one.

You hesitate with your hand on the doorknob. Some stupid, stubborn part of you still thinks: if I don’t open it, maybe I won’t have to feel all of it.

But you open it anyway.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju, standing in your hallway like no time has passed at all. Black sweater, faded jeans, keys hooked on her thumb. Tall and steady in the way you never learned how to be.

Her eyes flick over you–taking you in, checking for damage you’re not sure you even show–and then she smiles.

Small. Careful. Like if she gives too much away, you’ll both fall apart.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” you manage, voice catching in your throat.

You step back to let her in. She kicks off her shoes without being asked, setting them neatly by the door–because of course she remembers how you hated when she used to track dirt across your floors.

The apartment feels too small with her in it.

Or maybe it just feels too full–with everything you’re trying not to say.

You point toward the kitchen lamely. “It’s the light in there. I can’t reach it.”

Hyun-ju nods, already moving. Efficient and calm. Like she didn’t once rip your heart out with her bare hands.

She grabs the chair from your table without a word, balancing carefully as she reaches up. You stand back, watching her–the stretch of her body, steady confidence of her hands, the way her brows furrow slightly in concentration.

Your throat tightens.

It’s stupid. It’s just a lightbulb.

But once, it would’ve been your how she was fixing. Your broken things she was trying to make better.

Now it’s just…charity.

She steps down lightly, flipping the switch. The kitchen floods with warm light. “There,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Good as new.”

You smile weakly. “Thanks.”

Silence stretches. You wonder if she can hear your heart beating through the walls. 

She clears her throat, rocking back on her heels. “You doing okay?”

Same question as last time. Same lie waiting on your tongue.

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a smile. “Fine.”

And for a second–just a second–you think she might call you on it. Might reach for you like she used to.

But she just nods. Tight. Careful.

“Good,” she says, too quietly.

You walk her to the door even though she doesn’t need help. Even though you don’t want her to leave. She hesitates at the threshold. And so do you.

But nothing happens. No apology. No confession. No miracle. 

Just two people still too close and too far at the same time.

“Text me if you need anything else,” Hyun-ju says, voice low. 

You nod, heart splintering. “Yeah. Sure.”

She hesitates like she wants to say something more. But she doesn’t. She just slips out the door, leaving you standing there, holding all the things you’re still too scared to say.

Six months ago

You never meant to fight that night.

You meant to talk. To fix it. To make her see you were trying. But somehow it always ended the same way.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Hyun-ju said, standing in the doorway, arms crossed so tight across her chest you could almost hear the bones creaking under the strain.

You sat on the couch, hands trembling in your lap, staring at the coffee table because looking at her hurt too much.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, voice cracking. “We just had a rough week. That’s all.”

Hyun-ju laughed–sharp and broken. “A rough week? You missed your interview. You forgot about dinner with my parents. You left the gas on in the kitchen.”

You flinched. “I said I was sorry,” you whispered.

“You’re always sorry,” she said, and her voice cracked too, despite everything. “I’m tired of having to pick up the pieces every time you forget how to live.”

You shot to your feet, chest burning. “I never asked you to do that!”

“You didn’t have to!” she snapped. “I love you, you idiot. I loved you enough to try. And you made me feel like I was holding this whole fucking relationship together by myself.”

Silence.

Just the sound of both of you breathing, ragged and uneven.

You stepped forward, desperate. “I can be better.”

She shook her head. Tears glinting in her eyes that she refused to let fall. 

“It’s not about being better,” she said, voice small. “It’s about me not wanting to feel like I’m drowning every time I look at you.”

You hated her for saying it. You hated yourself more for knowing it was true. You opened your mouth to argue. To plead. To promise you’d change.

But she was already grabbing her keys. Already putting on her shoes. Already walking out the door.

And you–you just let her. Because you didn’t know how to ask her to stay without hurting her even more.

Now

You don’t talk about that night anymore. You don’t even let yourself think about it if you can help it.

But Hyun-ju still texts sometimes.

When her car won’t start. When she locks herself out. When she needs someone at two in the morning and there’s no one else she trusts to come without asking questions.

You still text her too.

When you burn yourself cooking and need someone to yell at you until you ice it properly. When you get a flat tire and don’t know what the hell to do. When it’s late and you’re lonely and you tell yourself you’re just being practical–not desperate. 

Each text feels like stitching yourself back together with thread that’s already frayed.

Temporary. Inevitable.

Neither of you ever says too much.

Never how are you unless something’s wrong. Never I miss you even when it’s obvious. Never I’m sorry even though it hums under everything.

Just these small, bleeding moments of almost-love you both pretend are nothing. You know it’s stupid. You know you’re only hurting yourself.

But you also know: if she texts again, you’ll answer. 

Every time.

You pick a quiet place.

Small, tucked away. Half-lit and half-empty, the kind of restaurant where you can pretend you’re not two people who fell apart.

Hyun-ju’s already there when you arrive–sitting at a booth in the back, scrolling absently on her phone.

She looks up when she hears you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was nervous.

Only now–you notice it’s longer.

Falling a little messier over her shoulders. Softer somehow. 

“Your hair’s gotten long,” you blurt without thinking as you slide into the seat across from her.

She touches it self consciously, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. Guess I got lazy about cutting it.”

“It looks good,” you say, maybe too quickly.

Her smile deepens, a little more real. “Thanks.”

She lets her eyes wander over you for a second, lingering in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.

“You look good too,” she says, quieter. “Healthier. Happier.”

You duck your head, pretending to read the menu even though the words are blurring.

“Trying,” you mumble. And she hums–low and thoughtful, and for a second it almost feels easy. Almost.

Dinner is…easy, at first.

Small talk. Work. The weather. You both pretend this is normal.

You poke at your pasta, your foot brushing hers under the table, and it feels like it used to.

Almost.

And maybe that’s why you say it. Maybe that’s why you finally crack open your ribs and spill it out like it’s something worth offering.

“I’ve gotten better, you know,” you say, trying to sound casual and not desperate.

Hyun-ju looks up, surprised.

You rush on before you can lose your never. “I use the planner you bought me. Every day. I don’t miss appointments anymore. I even set like five alarms so I’m not late for anything.”

You laugh awkwardly, scraping your fork across your plate. “I’m…I’m more responsible now,” you say, quieter. “I’m not the same.”

Hyun-ju’s face softens.

She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand–just once, quick, like she’s afraid of what it might mean if she holds on too long.

“That’s good,” she says, voice warm. “I’m proud.”

And you smile. You smile because you’re supposed to. Because she’s proud of you.

But deep down, it feels like someone’s wringing the air out of your lungs. Because for one stupid, impossible second, you thought maybe–

Maybe if you got better–

Maybe if you fixed all the things she hated–

Maybe she’d come back.

But she just smiles across the table. Kind. Distant. Done.

Proud of you. Not in love with you.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, pretending you didn’t just bleed out in front of her. “Yeah,” you say, voice almost steady. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Neither of you says what you’re really thinking. That it’s too late. That getting better doesn’t undo the past. That some bridges don’t burn–they just…fade.

You finish dinner. You laugh at her jokes. You hug goodbye. And when she pulls away, she doesn’t linger. Not like she used to.

Back at your apartment, you stare at your planner–the one she gave you–open on the kitchen counter.

Tomorrow: meetings. Grocery run. Doctor’s appointment.

Everything neatly written out. Everything structured. Everything good.

You’ve gotten better. You really have. But it doesn’t matter. She’s still gone. And you’re still her–mad at yourself for wanting her anyway.

A few weeks later

The texts don’t stop after dinner. If anything, they come more often now.

You send her pictures sometimes–small glimpses into your day. Your coffee in the morning. Your planner spread out across your desk, scribbled full of meetings. Your smile, shy and proud, after hitting the gym for the first time in weeks.

Hyun-ju always answers.

proud of you.

you look good. happy. 

And it’s enough to keep you breathing. For a while.

You didn’t mean to send the next text. Not really. 

You’re just feeling reckless one night–buzzed off loneliness and one too many glasses of wine.

Your skin warm. Your heart stupid.

You take a few more photos. First one, smiling at the mirror, hairy messy, t-shirt too big. Second one, slipping the t-shirt off one shoulder, baring skin you know she used to worship. Third one, lower, suggestive, soft and a little desperate even though you don’t say anything.

You hit send without thinking. And immediately regret it.

She doesn’t reply. Not right away. You spend an hour lying on the floor staring at your phone, heart pounding, stomach flipping.

Finally, the screen lights up. Incoming call. Hyunnie.

You answer without thinking, “Hey,” you breathe.

She doesn’t answer for a second. When she does, her voice is wrecked. “We have to stop this.”

You sit up too fast, panic slicing through you. “What?”

“We can’t keep talking like this,” she says, a little steadier. “It’s not fair. To either of us.”

Your throat tightens. “Please don’t–”

“I can’t…” She exhales sharply, and you can hear her struggling with it.  “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to come over there every time you send me something like that.”

Tears sting in your eyes, hot and fast. “I’ll stop,” you whisper desperately. “I’ll be good. Just–don’t leave.”

Silence hums across the line.

“I promised myself,” she says, voice breaking, “I promised myself I’d take care of me this time.”

You press your fist to your mouth, trying to stay quiet, but a choked sob slips through.

And that’s what does it. That’s what breaks her. “I–shit,” she mutters. “I’m coming over.”

The line goes dead.

You’re still curled on the couch, wearing the same stupid oversized shirt, wiping tears off your cheeks with the sleeves, when you hear the knock at the door.

Soft. Three quick taps. One long one.

Hyun-ju stands there–messy, breathless, soaked from the light drizzle outside, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world she ever learned how to love.

Neither of you says anything. You just launch yourself at her.

She catches you easily, arms wrapping around you so tight you can barely breathe–but you don’t care.

You press your face into her neck, inhaling the scent of rain and sweat and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against her skin.

“No,” she says fiercely, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry.”

She presses a kiss to the top of your head. Another to your forehead. Another to your trembling mouth.

It’s not careful. It’s not clean. It’s messy and hungry and wrong.

But you let her kiss you. And you kiss her back. Because neither of you ever learned how to let go properly. And maybe you never will.

Hyun-ju kisses you like she’s drowning.

Like she thinks if she stops, she’ll realize how stupid this is–how doomed you both are–but she can’t stop. Her hands are shaking where they grip your hips, holding you close like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

You break apart for a second, gasping.

“This is a bad idea,” she says, voice low, wrecked, forehead pressed against yours.

You nod, heart hammering against your ribs. “I know.”

Her fingers trail up your arms, ghost-light, hesitant. “We shouldn’t,” she breathes against your lips.

“You can stop,” you whisper back. “If you want.”

You feel her shudder. But she doesn’t stop. 

She leans in again–slower this time–mouth brushing yours so lightly you could almost pretend you imagined it. Another kiss. And another. Each one a little deeper. A little more desperate. 

Her hands move like she’s afraid to touch you and terrified not to.

She presses you back into the couch, following you down, the weight of her body so familiar it makes your chest ache.

You arch into her, fingers threading through her damp hair, pulling her closer, and she groans–wrecked–into your mouth.

“I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” she says, voice cracking.

“You are,” you whisper, thumbing over her cheekbone. “You are.”

Another kiss. Harder. Rougher. 

Her hips slot between yours, and you gasp, feeling the heat of her, the way she’s already trembling.

“Tell me to stop,” she pleads, breathless.

You cup her face,  forcing her to look at you. “I won’t,” you say softly. “I want this.”

Her eyes slam shut. Her forehead drops to your shoulder.

And then she’s moving.

Sliding her hands under your shirt. Mapping the skin she used to know by heart. Kissing her way down your throat, across your collarbone, dragging her teeth lighty where she knows it’ll make you shiver.

Clothes fall away, messy, half-forgotten on the floor.

And the whole time–

The whole aching time–

She keeps whispering, “We shouldn’t be doing this,” even as she presses deeper into you, even as her hands roam desperate and frantic over your body.

You arch against her, moaning softly, and she curses under her breath, breaking apart at the seams.

“Hyun-ju,” you whisper, guiding her hand lower. “Please.”

It’s the please that shatters her. She sinks into you like gravity gave up, mouth finding yours again, kissing you slow and deep and broken.

When she finally pushes inside you–slow, careful, trembling–you both gasp at the same time. And it’s not rough. It’s not quick. It’s aching. 

Like she’s trying to memorize the shape of you. Like she knows it’s the last time she’ll get to have this.

You clutch at her, nails digging into her shoulders, pulling her closer, closer, closer.

And she gives you everything. Every broken piece. Every unfinished sentence. Every fucking thing she spent months trying to bury.

You come undone together–messy, desperate, whispering each other’s names like prayers neither of you believe in anymore.

She doesn’t pull away immediately. She just rests her forehead against yours, both of you trembling, both of you too full of regret and relief and sadness to move.

“We’re so stupid,” she whispers hoarsely.

You close your eyes, feeling tears prick. “I know,” you say. But you don’t let go. And neither does she.

The room is dark now. The rain tapping against the windows is the only sound.

You’re lying in Hyun-ju’s arms, both you stripped down to nothing, skin cooling where it was just burning minutes ago.

Sheets tangled around your legs. Your head tucked into the curve of her neck. She’s holding you too tight, like she’s scared you’ll disappear if she lets go.

You keep your breathing slow. Even. Pretending you’re asleep. You’re not. You’re so awake it hurts.

You feel her shift slightly, her hand brushing gently up and down your back, so light it barely feels real.

And then you hear it. Her raw voice, low, barely a whisper into the darkness: “Fuck,” she mutters. “I miss you.”

You stay perfectly still. Hyun-ju exhales shakily, pressing her nose into your hair.

“These past six months…they’ve been hell.”

Her fingers tighten on your hip, grounding herself. Or maybe holding herself back.

“I tried,” she breathes. “I tried seeing other people. I tried moving on.”

Another shaky breath. “But fuck…you’re always on my mind.”

You close your eyes tighter, tears pricking at the corners. “I’m so stupid,” she whispers. “We can’t do this. I can’t hurt myself again.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t hurt you again.”

You want to turn around. You want to tell her you’re awake. You want to tell her you don’t care–that you’d let her break you a hundred times if it meant feeling like this for even one more second.

But you stay still. Frozen in place between what you want and what you know you can’t have. Hyun-ju presses a soft, broken kiss into your hair.

And then, quieter than before, “I love you.”

It’s not loud. It’s not for you to hear. But you hear it anyway. And it shatters you.

You wake up first. For a few minutes, you just lie there–watching the way Hyun-ju’s chest rises and falls, the way her hands curl instinctively against your hip like she’s still holding onto you in her sleep.

You wonder if she dreams about you. Or if you’re just another bad habit she can’t kick.

When she stirs, blinking awake slowly, the first thing she does is pull you closer, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

Neither of you says anything.

The air is thick. Too heavy with everything  you can’t take back.

Eventually, she pulls away, sitting up slowly, rubbing her face with her hands like she’s trying to scrub away the night. You sit too. 

Both of you fully dressed now, standing awkwardly near the door, pretending this isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever done.

Hyun-ju grabs her jacket. Hesitates.

You reach for the doorknob but don’t turn it.

You glance at her–at the way her jaw clenches, the way her hands twitch at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she shouldn’t.

It would be so easy. One more kiss. One more excuse.

But she steps back. Gives you space. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else.

“I’ll see you around,” she says softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She leaves without looking back. You close the door behind her and lean against it, pressing your forehead to the cool wood, trying not to cry.

A few days later you text her.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing serious. Just hey and how are you and you left your jacket here.

Left on read. Every time. You tell yourself to stop. 

You don’t. You just keep staring at your phone like if you hope hard enough, maybe it’ll light up. Maybe she’ll come back. Maybe this time it’ll be different.

Four days later. Almost a week. Finally.

Hyunnie: can we meet up

Your heart stutters. You don’t even think, you just reply. Where?

Hyunnie: my place

You knock once. The door swings open almost immediately.

She’s standing there, hair messy, eyes dark, wearing that same oversized hoodie you always loved. For a second, neither of you moves.

Then she’s pulling you inside, slamming the door shut behind you, kissing you like she’s been starving without you.

The clothes fall away faster this time. It’s rougher. Less careful. More desperate.

Hands grabbing, mouths bruising, bodies colliding like you’re both trying to tear something out of yourselves.

You lose yourself in her–the way she gasps when you bite her lip. The way her hands tremble when she pushes inside you. The way she says your name like it’s the only thing tethering her to earth.

You come undone together again, messier this time, more broken.

But when you’re lying tangled in her sheets afterward, skin still buzzing, you can’t stay quiet anymore.

You trace slow circles into her arm, your voice barely above a whisper, “If you just…if you just want sex…” you trail off, swallowing hard. “I’m fine with that. I just…I just want to know you. Even if it’s only like this.”

Hyun-ju stiffens under your touch. You keep going–because you have to.

“I’ll take whatever you can give,” you say, blinking back tears “Even if it’s just…being your hookup.”

The silence after that is deafening. You can feel her breathing change–sharp and uneven. She pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face. Her own face crumples–like she’s breaking in front of you. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

You shake your head, trying to smile. Trying to make it easier for her. “It’s fine,” you lie. “Really. I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

Hyun-ju cups your face in her hands, pressing her forehead to yours. “You were never just sex to me,” she said with a shaky voice. “Never.”

But she doesn’t promise anything more. And you don’t ask her to. Because you already know how this ends. And you’re still choosing her anyway.

You try to stay. You really do.

You lie still in Hyun-ju’s bed, your face tucked against her bare shoulder, breathing in the warmth of her skin like you can memorize it. Like you can make it last.

But you can't.

You can feel it–the ache growing heavier by the second. The way her arm around your waist isn’t tight enough. The way she shifts in her sleep, turning slightly away from you. The way everything between you feels unfinished and unsaid and already slipping away.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time. The digital clock on her nightstand glows red. 

3:17 AM.

You peel the blanket back slowly, careful not to wake her. You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head, slipping your jeans back on with shaking hands.

You glance back once. She’s still sleeping. Peaceful. Beautiful. So far away.

You want to crawl back into bed. You want to stay. You want to believe that this time will be different. But it won’t be. You know that now.

So you slip out the door. You don’t leave a note. You don’t send a text. You just walk down the empty hallway, out into the cold, and let the night swallow you whole.

You curl up on your couch, pulling your knees to your chest, burying your face in your hands.

And you cry.

Not the pretty, cinematic kind of crying. The ugly, gasping kind–the kind that shakes your whole body and leaves you feeling hollow afterward.

You cry because you love her. You cry because she loves you too, but not enough. You cry because some part of you still thinks if you were just better, different, more, she’d stay.

But you know the truth. You could become everything she ever wanted. And it still wouldn’t be enough to erase the cracks that already splintered you both apart.

You fall asleep on the couch, tear stained and shivering, clutching your phone like it might save you. It doesn’t buzz. She doesn’t call. And you don’t know if that makes it better or worse.

It’s been three days since you left her bed in the middle of the night. You haven’t texted. You’re halfway through convincing yourself she’s moved on–again–when your phone buzzes.

Hyunnie: dinner tomorrow night? 7pm. i made a reservation. wear something nice.

Your stomach flips so hard it makes you dizzy. You typed out a hundred different replies. You settle on one word. Ok.

The place is beautiful. Dim lighting. Crisp white tablecloths. Waiters in black ties gliding between tables like something out of a dream.

You set out of the taxi feeling underdressed even in your nicest dress. Your hands shake a little as you walk through the doors.

And there she is.

Hyun-ju–waiting just inside. Hair sleek, dark red dress perfectly fitted, holding a small bouquet of white roses. 

When she sees you, she smiles–wide, real, shy–the kind of smile that used to be just for you.

Your breath catches. She steps forward, offering you the flowers without a word. You take them, fingers brushing hers.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“Hi,” she says back, softer.

And somehow, the world tilts back into place.

She pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman, brushing her hand along your waist as you sit. You’re too stunned to say anything.

She orders a bottle of wine–something expensive, judging by the look the waiter gives her–and glances at you across the table like she’s memorizing your face.

You don’t ask why. You just let it happen.

The food is perfect. The wine is better. The conversation is easy in a way you forgot it could be.

She tells you about her work. You tell her about your little wins lately–showing up, staying steady, building a life piece by piece.

She listens like every word you say matters.

When the dessert comes–some fancy chocolate cake with fresh berries–she doesn’t even ask. She just grabs two spoons and slides one across the table to you, smiling that soft, crooked smile that makes your heart hurt.

You laugh under your breath and dig in, bumping her foot under the table accidentally–and not moving it away. Neither does she.

The check comes. She waves it away without looking. The waiter retreats, and for a long second, it’s just you and her, the candles between you flickering.

Hyun-ju clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking,” she says, voice rough, like the words are stuck in her chest. “About us.”

You hold your breath. 

“I miss you. Not just the…easy parts. I miss everything.” You blink, hands tightening around your napkin.

“I thought I had to let you go,” she says quietly. “I thought…that was the right thing. For both of us.”

A pause. A breath.

Her eyes lock on yours.

“But I don’t want to live the rest of my life wondering if we could've gotten it right.”

Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your fingertips.

“I want to try again,” her voice is steady now. “I want us.”

The room blurs at the edges. You’re not sure if you’re breathing. But your voice is calm when you answer in a whisper, “Yeah. I want us too.”

And when she reaches across the table to lace her fingers through yours–this time, you don’t hesitate.

You hold on. Tight. Like you’ll never let go again.

The night air is cool when you step outside the restaurant. The streetlights buzz softly overhead, the city humming around you–but it feels like you’re moving through a world made just for the two of you.

Hyun-ju slips her hand into yours without asking. You squeeze her fingers, and she squeezes back.

You walk slowly, no destination in mind, just soaking it all in–the warmth of her hand, the quiet rhythm of her footsteps next to yours.

It feels fragile. It feels real.

You pass a little park, empty this late at night. The fountain glitters under the streetlamps, tossing little shards of silver across the pavement.

Hyun-ju tugs you toward it, grinning shyly. You let her.

At the edge of the fountain, she stops, turning to face you, her free hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“You’re beautiful,” she says quietly.

You flush, ducking your head. “You’re just saying that because you fed me three courses of fancy food.”

She laughs, a real laugh, the sound curling around your heart. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You meet her eyes–steady, calm. For a moment, neither of you moves. And then she leans in.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft.

Her lips brush yours–gentle, slow, careful like she’s relearning you piece by piece. You kiss her back, arms sliding around her neck, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between you.

When you finally pull away, she presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“I’m not perfect,” she whispers. “I’m gonna fuck up sometimes.”

You smile, thumb stroking her jaw. “Me too.”

“But I’m staying this time,” she says, voice shaking a little. “I’m staying.”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes, but you laugh through it. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I'm not letting you go again.”

Hyun-ju kisses you again–longer this time–and you let the city blur around you, let the world fall away.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like the two of you are finally standing still. Finally choosing each other. Not because you’re scared. But because you’re ready. Together. This time for real.

[f1shart]

something i've been trying to answer for a couple of months is Which base game hood has the most Face Template Sims?

by Face Template, i mean sims whose faces are just. the premade maxis presets (and by sims, i really mean the main alive ones.) i feel like people often point to pleasantview when discussing the most basic/template-y of the hoods, but after looking at strangetown i can't help but wonder… Are we really sure about that?

i mean, you have sims like pascal and lazlo and jenny and buzz and tank and the singles who all seem to look EXACTLY like in-game face templates ..............................right?

So, which base game hood has the most Face Template Sims?

In order to figure out once and for all which hood has the most Face Template Sims, I put together a little Notion document(!) to juxtapose their faces with the closest templates, as well as with their suggested feature templates from C.Syde's Wiki (so credit to that guy ^^).

Something I quickly found out as I was piecing this together, though, was that Maxis put in a little more effort than I thought… Every single Sim has at least some slight modification to their face, with the exception of four: Alexander Goth, John Burb, Puck Summerdream, and Desdemona Capp. Two from Pleasantview, two from Veronaville. Ironically, at least to those who are familiar with it, Veronaville is known as the hood with the most unique Sim faces out of the base game trinity. Sure, you have your Vidcunds and Dinas and Nervouses, but Veronaville has threefold what the others do with Sims like Consort, Tybalt, Hermia, Isabella, Romeo, Benedick, etc. etc.

With this in mind, how is it that Veronaville is the true answer to this question? Well, Alexander Goth actually has a modification made to his jaw, but the difference is so slight that I counted him anyway. The same is true for John Burb with a slight modification of his forehead. Basically, not only is Veronaville the base game hood with the most Face Template Sims, it is the only base game hood with any Face Template Sims at all!

But what if we redefined "Face Template Sims"?

Even if Sims like Jenny and Buzz don't technically fall under this category, they bear enough resemblance to templates that many simmers consider them such anyway. Maybe, in this case, Face Template Sims just strongly resemble the templates they're based on. Here's a problem, though: how in the world do you qualify what it means for a Sim to resemble their template? It might sound simple enough—just use your eyes and compare, stupid!—but when does a Sim's face cross the threshold from "looking like a template" to true uniqueness? Here are some examples.

Until I started looking into this topic, I never realized Circe was so similar to Template #27! There are significant edits to her eyes, with lesser edits to her brow area and nose and even lesser edits to her jaw. Despite her strikingly distinctive eyes, I think Circe definitely lies closer to the "Template-y" end of the spectrum. Another example:

Something that continues to surprise my friends is that Mercutio actually shares many similarities with Template #2. I'd argue it's much less obvious in his teen stage, but here we can see that the upper half of his face is basically identical to it. Though I'll never accept this fact myself, Mercutio is unfortunately a bit basic!

Compared to the other two, I'd say Goneril is much more "unique." Maxis definitely shot for a very sharp look for her and, in my opinion, they really cooked ngl... However, when you notice the unchanged eyes and nose, you can start to see exactly how the other template features were changed to achieve her look, which almost ruins her previously assumed uniqueness. One final example:

When the closest template is nowhere near how the Sim actually looks, that's how you know you're dealing with an entirely new species. It's quite funny to flip through the two images and watch the mouth remain entirely unchanged, though.

Even with his unchanged mouth, Loki is by far the "most unique" Sim out of these examples, and one reason for that might be the eyes and nose. At least for me, the eyes and nose are the two most defining features of a face as they sit right in the center. A significant change in either of them leads to a significant change in perception of the overall face, which may explain why Circe seems so distinctive and why Goneril seems to bear more of a resemblance to her template despite the considerable edits in other areas.

Then comes the question of well, are they Face Template Sims or not? You could argue no, that even with some features remaining the same, particularly in the cases of Circe and Mercutio, there are still enough differences to distinguish them from their presets. However, these are outstanding examples; Sims like Buzz, Brandi, Jenny, Titania, Mary-Sue, and the Singles—those often regarded as the most template-y—similarly have these small edits made to different areas of their face that may surprise you in how effective they are at creating a Sim distinct from its given template!

This is all to say that attempting to define a Sim as a "Face Template" really falls into the realm of subjectivity. The technical answer to this question, as I said before, is Veronaville. If that displeases you, perhaps because of its association with basicness, take things into your own hands and decide for yourself which Sims fall into this category.

Or, alternatively, celebrate how unique Sims can look despite their basicness! Surely I'm not the only one who didn't realize that Pascal and Lazlo have essentially the same face for a good stretch of time? Or that Ophelia and Circe are based on the exact same template? Or that Cornwall and Consort look oddly similar when you remove their facial hair… huh.

[benjaminobrien493]

No Ordinary Boy - Chapter Eleven

WARNING: This chapter contains references to suicide. If this is something that you feel may upset and/or anger you, read on at your discretion.

I hope you understand I did not make the decision to include this lightly.

  The next morning was a struggle, to say the least.

  Natalie’s head was pounding, as she lay in Tommy’s arms. Images flashed through her head of the previous night… the doomcoming, talking about college, Tommy taking her on the cool, soft moss, over and over again…

  Her thighs were aching in the most wonderful way. Natalie smiled at first, then felt the smile slide off her face at the memory of her begging for Tommy to finish inside her.

  Could she be pregnant now? Shit. She might be.

  It’s about to be winter. How could I have been so reckless?

  Then more of Natalie’s memories filtered through her head. The shrooms. Of course.

  But how had they ended up in the soup? Could Mari have mistaken them for another type of mushroom?

  When they had first begun foraging for food, Tommy and Coach Scott had pointed out several types of mushroom within the forest that were safe to eat. But that had been what, four months ago now? Plenty of time for someone to make a mistake.

  I guess we should count ourselves lucky Mari didn’t accidentally kill us instead. Still, I need to watch myself. I could always ask Shauna for tips, just in case-

  And then at the thought of Shauna, Natalie finally remembered the third act of the previous night. Jackie locked in the downstairs closet, Lottie laughing like a madwoman, Travis imprisoned in the tree stump while Shauna drew a knife across his throat…

  Travis. At the thought of her hunting partner, Natalie finally began to move. Due to the shrooms, she hadn’t thought much of it at the time when he had run off after she and Tommy had saved him, but now… he could be hurt, he could even be dead if one of the girls had followed him and decided to finish the job…

  “Tommy.” She shook her boyfriend awake.

  “Mmmm?” Tommy blinked sleepily.

  “We have to go; we need to find Travis.”

  “Wha…” Tommy trailed off, then she saw his eyes clear as he remembered. “Oh. Oh my god, you’re right.”

  He rose out of their makeshift bed, clearly alert, though Natalie was sure he was feeling the after-effects of the shrooms as much as she was.

  My Tommy. Even now, Natalie couldn’t help but admire his strength, and she stepped forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

  “Could you…” she whispered. “Could you say it one more time?”

  Tommy smiled. “I will love you until the day I die, my darling.”

  “Likewise. My darling”, Natalie giggled, despite herself. Wherever she went, she knew Tommy would be with her, and she felt her own resolve grow as he kissed her again.

  000000000000000000000000

  Tommy walked with Natalie through the cabin, where Tai, Van and several of the other girls were stirring feebly on the floor.

  Probably a good idea to stay in the attic, Tommy thought, as he stepped past them. Who knows what might have happened if we’d crossed paths with them?

  He and Natalie quickly dressed back into their hunting clothes, and stepped outside, where they were surprised to see Ben cooking something on the fire.

  “You guys alright?” He asked them. “If you’re hungover, I boiled some water.”

  Better than nothing, I suppose, Tommy thought, as he and Natalie each took a cup. His head was pounding. Last night was the first time he had taken anything stronger than weed, and he was in no mood to try it again, despite last night’s sex with Natalie being far and away the best they’d ever had.

  I hope I didn’t get her pregnant. Please, God, don’t let me have gotten her pregnant. 

  It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to have kids with Natalie one day, but out here? No. No way in hell.

  They gingerly sipped at the boiling water. “So, uh…” Ben cleared his throat. “What exactly did you guys get up to last night?”

  Tommy instantly felt his face redden. “Not much”, he lied through his teeth. “Just... snuck off and watched the moon rise.”

  “Mm-hmm”, Natalie said, her face turning as red as his felt. “What about you?” She asked Ben.

  “Honestly… I’m not sure. I left the party, and I’m pretty sure I spent about six hours lying down, looking up at the sky before I fell asleep. Not sure what was in Mari’s wine, but-”

  “It wasn’t the wine, it was the soup”, Tommy interrupted. “Natalie reckons there were shrooms in there.”

  “What?” Ben asked, his mouth dropping open as Natalie nodded.

  “I’ve done them once before, last night felt just like it did last time.”

  “Oh, my god”, Ben held his face in his hands. “If that’s true, it’s a good thing Mari didn’t kill us by mistake. I think we’re going to have to re-do the lesson on which mushrooms are safe to eat.”

  “I agree”, Tommy said, as he finished drinking the water. “Do you know where Travis might be?”

  “I saw him go around the other side of the cabin”, Ben pointed, and Tommy and Natalie headed around the cabin to find their hunting partner, washing what looked like blood off his throat.

  Tommy winced. Shit. They should have followed him last night, instead of heading back to the cabin.

  “Hey, man”, he greeted Travis. “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “What?” Natalie asked. “Don’t you remember what happened last night?”

  “I’m fine. No, actually, I’m better than fine. I finally got laid, so I’m fucking great.”

  Jackie. No wonder she was so upset. 

  “Travis, we saw them hold a knife to your throat”, Tommy said. “Nobody would be okay after that-”

  “I said I was fine, didn’t I?” Travis snapped. He set down the washcloth he was using. “I’m gonna go look for Javi.”

  “He’s not here?” Natalie asked, as Travis began to walk off. “Well, do you want any help?”

  “Nope!”

  Travis walked further away, and Tommy saw Natalie look at him.

  “We have to help him”, she said.

  “We will”, Tommy said, as they both set off after Travis. All three of them knew the woods around them better than anyone, and they checked all the hiding spots they could think of, without any luck.

  Poor Javi. Probably saw the girls screaming like banshees and bolted like a rabbit. But where on earth could he have gone?

  Tommy looked up to see Travis heading further away, but as he made to follow him, he began to feel the effects of last night bubble in his stomach.

  Uh oh. Tommy bent his head, and vomited out what looked like a large stream of grape juice onto the forest floor.

  Mari’s berry wine. I’m not in a hurry to be drinking that again, that’s for goddamn sure.

  “Are you okay?” Tommy heard Natalie say, as she soothingly rubbed his back and shoulders. “Maybe you should go back to the cabin, we can keep searching out here-”

  But Tommy wasn’t listening to her. He was too busy staring at the ground in horror. How on earth could he have missed the tracks?

  000000000000000000000000

  “Just leave the rifle, we might need it-” Natalie said.

  “You have no idea”, Tommy interrupted her, pointing at the ground he had just puked into.

  Natalie followed his finger, and felt her blood turn to ice as she saw the pawprints in the ground. She hadn’t actually seen this type before, but there was no mistaking them.

  Bear tracks. And they’re FRESH. 

  “It’s heading towards the cabin”, Tommy said, and Natalie felt even colder as she realised he was right.

  “Oh my god-”

  “Stay here”, Tommy said, sliding the rifle off his shoulder and setting off into the direction of the tracks.

  “W-what? What are you gonna do?”

  Tommy looked at her, and Natalie instantly realised his plan. “No. No, please. Tommy, no-”

  “We have no choice. Stay here.”

  “No!” Natalie screamed at him. “You and me. Remember?”

  Tommy looked at her like he was going to argue, then shook his head. “Okay. Just… be careful.”

  000000000000000000000000

  Van woke up groggily on the floor of the cabin, wrapped in Taissa’s arms.

  Uggghhhh…

  What the hell happened last night? She remembered feeling on top of the world, having amazing sex with Tai by the creek, then stumbling back here…

  Were we drunk? Guess that’s what we get for drinking berry wine none of us have any real clue how to make. 

  After shaking Taissa awake, the two of them dressed in their more casual clothes, then joined Coach Scott by the fire outside, where they gratefully accepted his hangover cure of boiling water.

  It wasn’t long before Misty came outside as well, though she stayed away from them as she sat on the porch, reading a book as she kept shooting glances at Coach Scott.

  Jesus, Van thought as she snorted. How does she not realise he’s gay? After four months in the wilderness without Coach Scott sneaking a single glance at any of the girls’ chests, it had become blindingly obvious to the rest of them, but Misty still seemed oblivious.

  She’s in for a nasty shock, that one. If she wasn’t so creepy, I’d almost feel sorry for her. 

  At the sound of footsteps, Van looked up to see Lottie, Shauna, Mari and Akilah creeping around the cabin’s corner, still in their doomcoming dresses.

  “Hey”, Coach Scott greeted them. “I boiled some drinking water, if you guys are as hungover as I am.”

  “Has anyone seen Jackie?” Shauna asked, as Van saw the team captain appear in the doorway.

  This isn’t gonna be good, Van thought, as images flashed through her head of them all locking Jackie in the closet.

  “I have nothing to say to you”, Jackie snapped. “To any of you. I mean… what the fuck?”

  “Yeah, like you’re so innocent”, Mari mumbled.

  “Hey! I’m not the one who went completely fucking insane last night.”

  “Right, no, you were too busy screwing Travis”, Van retorted. Though they had kept it from Tommy and Natalie, for their sake, it was well known amongst the rest of the girls that Jackie had been nursing a crush on Tommy the last few months.

  But Tom’s the most loyal boyfriend in the world, so she settled for Travis. Seriously, who does Jackie think she’s fooling? 

  “Look”, Coach Scott spoke up. “I’m sure that we all said and did some stuff that we regret last night on account of the shrooms.”

  The WHAT? Van thought. Oh, my god…

  “So, I think that the best thing for us to do is just…”

  “Wait, wait”, Shauna interrupted. “Shrooms?”

  “Okay, yeah. That makes sense”, Van rubbed at her face. But how on earth had-

  “Oh, shit”, Taissa said. “The broth?”

  Mari’s broth? Van turned her head to Mari, but the JV goalkeeper was looking right at Misty.

  Akilah was doing the same. “You drugged us?” She asked Misty, and the small, curly-headed girl looked as though she wanted to sink into the ground.

  “No, I didn’t”, she said, in a soft, quiet tone that wouldn't have fooled anyone. Then Misty got to her feet.

  “Okay, yeah, but… it was an accident. They were meant for Ben.”

  Not helping your case, Van thought.

  “Oh, my god”, Mari groaned. “Do you have any idea how crazy you are?”

  “They were my mushrooms”, Misty said. “And you stole them to put in your stupid soup. Besides, none of this would have even happened if he wouldn’t have tricked me into falling in love with him.”

  Van’s jaw dropped open. He did what?

  “Oh, Misty, would you-”

  “Wait, stop!” Lottie interrupted Coach Scott. “Do you hear that?”

  Hear what? Then something reached Van’s ears. Something that sounded… big…

  As Van leapt to her feet and turned around, her worst fears came true, and a fully-grown grizzly bear walked right into their campsite.

  Sweet Jesus, Van thought.

  “Oh, God. Oh, my God!” She screamed, as everybody headed for the porch. No wonder Tom wanted us to stay out of the woods. Look at the SIZE of him. 

  “Okay”, Coach Scott said. “Alright, everyone stay calm.”

  “How the fuck are we supposed to do that?!” Mari asked him.

  “Who- who has the gun? Where’s the gun?” Taissa asked, looking around.

  “Tommy. Tommy has it”, Coach Scott said.

  Oh, fuck. By the time he gets here, it’ll be too late, Van thought.

  Then Lottie quietly whispered “Shauna, the knife”, and Shauna passed her the hunting knife she was carrying.

  What the hell?

  “Lot, don’t”, Van called out, but Lottie marched determinedly towards the bear.

  Oh, God. That thing is going to rip her apart-

  But just as Lottie seemed one second away from becoming the bear’s next meal, the great big beast… knelt down in front of her.

  What the HELL? Van felt her mouth drop open.

  But just as Lottie raised the knife, a shot rang out, and Van saw the bear’s side explode in blood.

  000000000000000000000000

  Tommy knew he would have to get the bear from the side. He had never put down one of the great beasts before, and his instincts were telling him to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. But he couldn’t leave the girls at its mercy. If it got into the campsite, there was no telling how many of them it may kill before it was satisfied.

  Then as he drew closer to the campsite, he saw the grizzly approach the cabin, the girls screaming in fear as they backed away.

  Tommy flanked the bear, heading around to the side as fast as he could.

  “Stay here”, he whispered to Natalie. She may have chosen to come back with him, but she would not be dying today, if he could help it.

  Then as Tommy came out of the bushes, he saw Lottie… approaching the bear, with a tiny little knife in her hand?

  What’s that mad girl doing now? Tommy groaned internally, as he opened fire. 

  His first shot hit the bear in the side, but Tommy knew he had missed its heart.

  Shit. The bear turned around to face him, standing on its hind legs, but Tommy had already fired again.

  The next two bullets took it in the throat. The bear reeled back, and Tommy advanced, putting the next three in its chest, where he knew its heart would be.

  The bear crashed to the ground. Tommy knew it was mortally wounded, but he was taking no chances, and he fired the seventh and final bullet right between its eyes.

  Tommy loaded the rifle with seven more rounds, just in case, and approached the fallen bear cautiously, poking it in the eye.

  It didn’t so much as budge, and he felt himself let out a sigh of relief.

  “Is everyone alright?” He asked the group, as Natalie emerged from the brush.

  Then as everyone started to breathe a bit more easily, he heard Natalie scream.

  “Behind you!”

  Tommy whipped around, expecting another bear, only to see Lottie advancing on him with the knife. Tommy’s survival instincts kicked in, and he smashed the butt of the rifle into Lottie’s face, knocking her onto the dirt.

  “Oh, my God!” He heard Van say, as Lottie clutched her nose, rolling around on the ground.

  “What the hell did you do that for?!” Natalie screamed at Lottie. “You could have killed him!”

  “That wasn’t what it wanted!” Lottie howled. She turned to look at Tommy, and despite the fact that she had just tried to kill him, he was alarmed to see the damage he had done to her nose.

  “You aren’t doing what it wants!” Lottie said to him, as blood streamed from her nostrils.

  “Doing what… what wants?” Tommy asked. But all Lottie did was glare at him, and Tommy’s gaze was drawn to the knife in her hand.

  “Please don’t tell me you thought that tiny little knife was going to do anything more to the grizzly than piss it off”, Tommy said, as Natalie moved to stand beside him. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and it was only now Tommy realised he was shaking, though whether it was from fear or anger, he couldn’t quite figure out.

  “That thing would have ripped you apart,” Tommy said to Lottie, “and don’t try pretending any different.”

  “You didn’t have to intervene”, Lottie insisted.

  “Jesus Christ, Lottie”, Tommy said. “Are you sure the shrooms have worn off?"

  000000000000000000000000

  Lottie went inside, most likely to sulk, and after almost two hours worth of skinning, gutting and slicing the bear apart, they sat down to eat the animal in silence, Natalie sitting next to Tommy, as both of them kept an eye on Lottie, and Misty as well.

  Coach Scott had quietly informed them that Misty, not Mari, was responsible for the shrooms ending up in the soup. As for Lottie… Natalie knew it would be a long time before she forgot the image of Lottie advancing on her boyfriend from behind, with a knife in her hand and murder in her eyes.

  If she hadn’t called out a warning when she did, Lottie would have stabbed Tommy in the back. The thought of killing anyone hadn’t crossed Natalie’s mind since the day her father died, but as she sat next to Tommy, eating in silence, Natalie knew that if Lottie Matthews had killed her boyfriend, she would not have hesitated to grab the rifle and empty it into the other girl.

  Did that make her dangerous? Probably. But Natalie knew she did not want to live in a world without Tommy in it, and it looked like they were officially sharing a cabin with not one, but two unhinged psychopaths.

  “We should say a prayer”, Lottie said quietly, and to Natalie’s surprise, some of the Yellowjackets bowed their heads. Tommy didn’t, of course, and neither did Coach Scott. Jackie and Van looked about uncertainly as well. But everyone else bowed their heads with Lottie.

  What the hell is wrong with all of you? Natalie wondered.

  “To the spirit of the bear, who sacrificed so that we could survive, we give our thanks.”

  “Thank you”, some of the girls whispered.

  “And to the ancient gods of the sky and the dirt, we give our thanks”, Lottie finished.

  To the… what? Natalie wondered. Maybe it’s a good thing Laura Lee isn’t here. I can almost hear her ears burning.

  “You didn’t say it”, Natalie heard Misty whisper, looking at them.

  “They didn’t say it!” Misty called out to the group.

  “We know you’re responsible for the shrooms, Misty”, Tommy said. “Tread lightly.”

  He spoke softly, but Natalie knew her boyfriend well enough to detect the rage beneath his calm appearance.

  Tommy’s words appeared to have given Jackie courage, because she suddenly spoke up.

  “Thank you, Tommy”, she began. “And no, we did not thank the dirt for bringing us a goddamned grizzly bear.”

  Jackie looked furious. “What is even happening right now? The fuck is wrong with you all? Misty poisoned us, then Lottie tried to murder Tommy for saving our lives, and now you’re all acting like it’s just water under the bridge?”

  “It’s fine, Jackie”, Taissa said. “You don’t have to-”

  “Oh, shut up, Tai”, Jackie scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t a part of it. What, we’re… we’re just not gonna talk about it? We just howl at the moon now and have fucking orgies?”

  “Wait, what?” Natalie asked. Travis hadn’t mentioned that.

  Then Natalie suddenly remembered Travis was still out there, looking for Javi. In the rush of Tommy killing the bear and almost dying at the hands of Lottie, she had completely forgotten about that.  

  “Yeah, that’s right”, Jackie said. “And somehow, we’re the ones that did something wrong.”

  “Jackie, calm down”, Shauna spoke.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down”, Jackie shouted.

  She put down her bowl and rose to her feet. “What were you gonna do to Travis last night, Shauna? I spoke to him this morning. He had a lot to say about you.”

  Shauna looked down, shame on her face.

  “Well? Answer me.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t… remember.”

  Bullshit.

  “Bullshit”, Jackie echoed Natalie’s thoughts. “He said you had a knife to his throat. If Nat and Tommy hadn’t come, you would have killed him-”

  “Just shut up!” Shauna yelled, standing up. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you, if you hadn’t-”

  “Hadn’t what?” Jackie smirked. “Huh? Stolen him? Wow. The irony.”

  What? Natalie was confused. Did Shauna like Travis?

  Then Jackie explained, and Natalie felt her sense of horror grow.

  “Shauna was fucking Jeff behind my back, you know that?” Jackie announced to the group. “Yeah. That’s who’s really responsible for her little… bundle of joy.”

  “Oh, my God, Shauna”, Natalie said.

  “Thank you, Nat”, Jackie spoke up. Natalie wasn’t really sure why Jackie suddenly seemed to think of her as a friend, but she went on anyway.

  “How could you?” Jackie hissed at Shauna. “You were my best friend. You don’t even like him-”

  “And how would you know?!” Shauna suddenly exploded. The two of them descended into a screaming match, and Natalie stopped listening, as she closed her eyes and looked down. It was too much like home. Too much like her mom and dad-

  She felt Tommy’s hand in hers, and she opened her eyes to look at him staring at her in concern.

  It’s okay, he mouthed at her, as she squeezed his hand gratefully while Jackie and Shauna kept right on arguing.

  “You know what? That’s it. That’s it, get- get out”, Jackie yelled, pointing towards the door. “Go on, get out!”

  “No”, Shauna said, tiredly.

  “I can’t be around you. I can’t even fucking look at you right now!” Jackie screamed.

  “Well, that sounds like your problem. So maybe you should leave”, Shauna said. She sounded exhausted, and Natalie didn’t blame her. She felt sorry for Jackie, but hanging around her all the time would exhaust anybody.

  “Maybe you’d be better off”, Mari said to Jackie. “Since we’re all so crazy.”

  “Okay”, Coach Scott spoke up. “Everybody just stop. Nobody is going outside-”

  “Stay out of it, Coach”, Lottie said to him.

  “Or what?” Natalie asked her. “You gonna try to stab him, too?”

  A very tense silence followed her words. No matter how much they tried to sweep it under the rug, or dismiss it as Lottie just acting her usual, crazy self, there was no denying that she had crossed a line when she tried to stab Tommy, and Natalie made a mental note to keep Lottie away from the knives in the future.

  Then as Jackie looked around the cabin, she scoffed again.

  “You know what? Fine.”

  She grabbed her pillow and blankets, and stepped outside.

  “Jackie, come on”, Taissa called out. “Don’t go outside-”

  “Don’t pretend like this isn’t what you wanted the entire fucking time”, Jackie snapped, as she headed out the door.

  “I don’t even know who you are anymore”, she said to Shauna.

  “Or maybe you never did”, Shauna replied, and Jackie slammed the door, making Natalie jump.

  She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to get away from here, as fast as she could, where she didn’t have to worry about being drugged or stabbed by people she’d once thought were her friends.

  She stood up and strode out the door, and heard Tommy’s footsteps as he followed behind her.

  000000000000000000000000

  Van watched as Tommy and Natalie left. After the events of this morning… she didn’t know what to think. What Tommy had done, advancing on the bear as he put round after round into its body, knowing full well it would rip him to shreds if he failed to bring it down, had been the bravest thing she had ever seen anyone do.

  But before Tommy had emerged, the bear had laid down on the forest floor, right in front of Lottie, almost like it was offering itself up to the group to be eaten. Van had seen it. They all had seen it.

  On the other hand, Tommy was the expert when it came to hunting wild animals, and if he believed Lottie’s knife wouldn’t have been enough to kill the bear, Van was inclined to believe him over Lottie, who had grown up in the lap of luxury compared to the rest of them- certainly nowhere near the wilderness Tommy had spent years of his life hunting in.

  And then when Lottie had charged at him, brandishing the knife… in that moment, Van had never been more scared, not even when the grizzly presented itself to them.

  If Natalie hadn’t warned him… Van buried her head in her hands. She herself had frozen in that moment with shock at what Lottie was doing. Killing Tommy, the group’s main source of food in their time out here, would all but guarantee their deaths during winter, and yet Lottie had tried it anyway.

  I can’t freeze again. I don’t know if we’ll make it through winter… but I do know we’re not making it through if Tom dies. 

  000000000000000000000000

  Tommy walked with Natalie through the forest, looking for Travis and Javi. They had been searching for so long that night had started to fall, but still they kept looking.

  “What do you think?” Natalie asked him. “Should we try the north side again, or-”

  “Natalie”, Tommy spoke softly.

  “Yeah?”

  She turned to him, as the tears began brimming in his eyes.

  “I- I know we haven’t talked about it yet”, Tommy said. “But… when the bear went down, I thought ‘okay, that’s it, the scariest moment of my life is over now’.”

“Then…” Tommy swallowed hard. “I saw Lottie coming at me with the knife. I… I don’t think I will ever forget the look in her eyes. It was… absolutely, one hundred percent serious. I had just saved her life, and she was going to stab me-”

  “I saw it too”, Natalie whispered, and Tommy felt the fear rush in. He had spent the last few hours in a state of shock that Lottie had looked capable of murder in that moment, but now it seemed as though that shock was giving way to terror. 

  They were supposed to share the cabin with Lottie tonight, for God’s sake. Misty too. How the hell were they going to sleep, knowing that either one of them was likely capable of murder? Tommy remembered Misty bringing the axe down on Ben’s ruined leg, of Lottie smashing her own head into a window while babbling in French about an ‘it’ wanting blood. Clearly, neither was afraid to wreak havoc when they believed the occasion demanded it.

  Then Tommy felt Natalie’s arms go around him, as she buried her head in his chest.

  “I love you”, his girlfriend whispered. “I won’t let Lottie or Misty or anyone else lay a finger on you that you don’t want.”

  Tommy wrapped his arms around Natalie, and placed his head on top of hers.

  “I love you too”, he said. “I won’t let them harm you, either, and if they do, I’ll… I’ll…”

  Kill them. The words went unspoken, but Tommy knew Natalie understood.

  Could Tommy really do it? Did he have what it took to pull the trigger on a fellow human being? He had done the same to dozens, potentially hundreds of animals over the course of his life, but another human?

  Tommy felt Natalie’s hands cup his cheeks, her fingers stroking them softly as she looked at him. In that moment, gazing into her beautiful face, Tommy knew that he would not hesitate to kill Lottie, or Misty, or any of the others if they attempted to harm Natalie. But what did that make him?

  000000000000000000000000

  Natalie stepped forward, and softly pressed her lips to his. It felt like kissing a statue, but she persisted, and eventually Tommy opened his mouth up to hers.

  “We’ll get through this together”, she whispered. “Winter… the girls… anyone or anything that might do us harm, we face together… and make them sorry for ever thinking they stood a chance.”

  She smiled at him, and Tommy smiled back as he kissed her again.

  It would be okay. As long as they had each other, they would survive.

  “Oh, by the way”, Natalie mumbled as she pulled away from his lips. “Obviously we don’t know if I’m pregnant from last night just yet, but… we need to be more careful. What we did… it can’t happen again. Not while we’re out here.”

  “I understand.”

  Natalie looked deeply into his eyes.

  “One day”, she said, softly. “One day I want to have your kids, I promise. Just… not right now.”

  “I can live with that”, Tommy whispered, as he bent his head to kiss her again.

  They kept looking for Travis and Javi, but after it got even darker, they heard wolves howling in the distance, and took it as their cue to head back.

  As they walked up to the cabin, Natalie was surprised to see Jackie sitting outside.

  She’s still out here? 

  They had passed her on their way out to the woods, struggling to light a fire, and now there was indeed a small flame going. If Jackie’s attitude hadn’t repeatedly pissed Natalie off over the previous four months, she would have been impressed that Jackie finally seemed to have learned something to help her survive.

  “Jackie, what are you doing out here?” Tommy asked.

  “I can’t go back in there”, Jackie said, continuing to stare into her tiny flame. She sounded so flat and defeated, just so small, it was hard to identify her as the same girl who had led the Yellowjackets to victory in the all-state championship.

  “Jackie, this is stupid”, Natalie said. “It’s getting colder. If you stay out here, you might freeze to death. Come on.”

  She held out her hand, but Jackie didn’t move a muscle.

  “I’m fine, Nat. You go ahead.”

  Natalie looked at Tommy. What they were supposed to do, drag Jackie inside?

  “Jackie, will you please come inside? It’s not safe out here”, Tommy said.

  “Thanks, Tommy, but… I’m okay out here, for now.”

  “Then at least let us make the fire a bit bigger”, Tommy said softly. “You can come in when you’re ready, okay?”

  There was a pause, then Jackie nodded mutely.

  “Okay”, Tommy said. He and Natalie spent the next few minutes gathering branches and kindling, building the flames up until, a few minutes later, Jackie had a steady fire going. But she still hadn’t moved, continuing to stare ahead blankly.

  “Jackie?”

  “I said I’m fine, Nat.”

  “Look”, Tommy began. “Just… don’t fall asleep. Alright? Come in when you’re ready.”

  “Okay”, Jackie said, in the same tired voice.

  Tommy nodded, but Natalie wasn’t convinced this was enough.

  “Jackie, please come inside, it isn’t safe-”

  “I said I’m fine, Nat!” Jackie suddenly snapped, and Natalie moved back.

  Jesus, Natalie thought, shaking her head as she followed Tommy inside the cabin, towards the attic. Taissa and Shauna were staying up there, but neither of them said anything.

  She’ll come in when she’s ready, Natalie told herself, but as she changed into her pyjamas and lay down in Tommy’s arms, she couldn’t shake the feeling that after four months in the wilderness, Jackie Taylor had finally given up.

  000000000000000000000000

  The early hours of daylight made their way into Tommy’s eyes, and he turned his head away from them, snuggling deeper into Natalie.

  Brrr. The attic was a lot colder than he remembered it being the previous morning.

  We have meat for today, he reminded himself. We can postpone the hunt, at least for now. Good thing too, I don’t know why it’s so cold-

  Then Tommy’s eyes snapped open as he realised what had happened. He looked to the attic’s window, hoping he was wrong, but there was no mistaking the snow on the windowsill.

  Winter. How could it be here already? He rose out of bed and walked over to the window. It should have been another couple of weeks at least, how could this be happening-

  Then Tommy saw the figure laying down in front of the now-burned-out campfire.

  “Jackie”, he breathed. “No!”

  His shout woke the girls in the attic.

  “Tommy?” Natalie groaned at him. “What’s going on-”

  “It snowed last night”, he interrupted her, beginning to pull on his shoes. “Jackie’s still out there.”

  “She’s what?!” Shauna screamed at him, throwing aside her own bedcovers.

  Oh, God, Tommy thought, scrambling down the ladder and charging out the door, stepping on several sleeping girls in the process.

  “Ow!”

  “What the hell?!”

  “Oh, my God. It snowed?”

  Tommy ran over to Jackie, frantically brushing the snow away from her face, which showed none of its usual colour.

  No. Don’t be dead. PLEASE don’t be dead. Why didn’t you come inside, you stupid girl-

  Then Jackie feebly flicked his hands away from her face.

  “What are you doing?” She whispered.

   Tommy was gobsmacked. Jackie was still alive? But as he was about to sigh in relief, he noticed Jackie’s fingers were bright white, while her fingernails were blue as the sky above them.

  They were hard to the touch, and Tommy realised what had happened. Frostbite. No, please no. 

  Then Tommy noticed for the first time that the edge of Jackie’s nose was waxy and white, with a slight bluish twinge.

  “Oh no”, he whispered, as he felt the tears coming to his eyes.

  He scooped Jackie up, ignoring her protests, and carried her inside.

  “We need to light a fire, and boil some water! Get all the spare blankets we have!” He called out, as he lay Jackie down, removing her shoes and socks.

  “Tommy, no. Don’t-”

  But Tommy had already seen. From the tips of her toes to halfway down her feet, Jackie’s skin was white as the snow outside, and her toenails were an even darker blue than her fingernails had been.

  000000000000000000000000

  “We need to get her clothes off. This isn’t the time for modesty, I’m afraid.”

  “We’ll do it”, Natalie stepped in, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

  Why? Why did she have to stay outside? We should have dragged her in, kicking and screaming- 

  Natalie swiped at her eyes, and helped the others remove Jackie’s clothes.

  “No, don’t. Stop it-”

  “You heard him, Jackie, this isn’t the time”, Natalie snapped.

  “Please, stop it-”

  They removed Jackie’s clothes, covering her in all the blankets they could spare.

  “I can’t feel my fingers. Or my toes. I can’t… I can’t really smell anything, either.”

  “You have frostbite”, Taissa said to her. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna fix you up.”

  She smiled at Jackie reassuringly, but the team captain didn’t smile back.

  “You should have let me freeze”, she said flatly. Her tone was quiet, but everyone in the room stared at her in shock.

  “W-what?” Natalie gaped at her. Had Jackie been… had she really been staying outside so that she could…

  Now Jackie turned her head towards Natalie.

  “You shouldn’t have made the fire bigger”, she said, in the same eerily calm tone of voice.

  Then she laid her head down on the floor, and did not speak again.

  000000000000000000000000

  “Can we talk?”

  Tommy turned to look at Ben.

  “Uh… okay?” He followed his brother into his room.

  “What is it? Are we doing something wrong?”

  “Not exactly”, Ben said. He winced, but Tommy was confused.

  They had wrapped Jackie in all the spare blankets, parked her in front of the fire, and placed her white, hardened hands and feet in bowls of the boiled water. Tommy was sure they were following the correct procedures, though he wasn’t certain what to do about Jackie’s nose-

  “She’s going to die”, Ben said.

  Tommy stared at him. “What? N-no.”

  “She is. Unless of course, we amputate her hands and feet, and nose as well, but we don’t have any bone saws, nor do we have the resources to keep her from bleeding out.”

  Ben looked at him, grimly. “I’m sorry, but… she’s too far gone. You saw her skin. That’s third-degree frostbite, no question about it. At that stage of it, way out here… she’ll be lucky to make it to next week before the gangrene stops her heart.”

  “No”, Tommy whispered, felling the tears beginning to slide down his cheeks.

  “We tried to tell her to come inside. Why didn’t she listen-”

  Ben put his arms around Tommy as he started to cry into his big brother’s shoulder.

  What do we do? What the ever-loving fuck do we do?

  000000000000000000000000

  Natalie stared at Tommy in shock as he told her what was going to happen to Jackie. She didn’t want to believe him, but she saw the seriousness in his reddened eyes.

  Oh, dear God, she thought, as she felt his arms go around her. We didn’t save her life with the fire. We postponed her death.

  It was horrible to even consider, but maybe they should have just left Jackie alone, without bothering to make her fire any bigger. At least then she might have died quietly in her sleep, instead of staying warm just enough to survive the night while catching frostbite that, according to Tommy, would only kill her slowly without the proper medical treatment.

  “M-maybe we could amputate her fingers and toes?” She said, hopefully.

  “With what?” Tommy asked. “None of the knives we have are strong enough to saw through bone.”

  “Maybe an axe, then? If we heat it up in the fire, we can-”

  But just as the words left Natalie’s mouth, she realised how stupid they sounded. They weren’t in a hospital. None of them were doctors. They were a bunch of frightened teenagers and a crippled twenty-four-year-old soccer coach, stranded in the Canadian wilderness, which had just entered winter.

  In that moment, Natalie knew that any attempt from their inexperienced hands at removing Jackie’s dying fingers and toes would more than likely cause her to die from blood loss, if she didn’t go into shock first.

  She’s going to die. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it. 

  000000000000000000000000

  Jackie hadn’t moved since they placed her hands and feet in the bowls of hot water, and she hadn’t said a word since telling everyone that they should have let her die.

  As night fell, the others curled up asleep around them, and Tommy and Natalie tried to swap out the bowls of cooling water Jackie’s hands and feet were in with some more of the freshly-boiled stuff.

  “No”, Jackie said, still staring into the fire as she lay on the floor.

  “Jackie, please”, Tommy whispered, “You need this to get better-”

  “I’m not getting better.” The corners of Jackie’s mouth twitched, and it looked to Tommy as though she was almost smiling.

  “You think I don’t know what frostbite does to people if they don’t get proper treatment?”

  “You… y-you-”

  “It’s frostbite, Tommy. I’m not stupid.”

  “I-I’m sorry-”

  “It’s okay”, Jackie said. “I was never going to make it out here, no matter how hard anyone tried to help me. I’m just… not built for this.”

  She turned her head to look at Natalie. “Nat, I have… I need something from you.”

  “Uh… ok?”

  “Can Tommy hold me? I’m not going to try anything, I promise, I just… want him to hold me. Please?”

  Tommy saw Natalie hesitate. He knew how protective she was of him; how vindictive she could be if any of the girls dared to make a move on him.

  Then he watched as Natalie swallowed, and nodded.

  “I’m going to go to bed”, she whispered to him. “Come up when you’re done, alright?”

  “Alright”, Tommy whispered back, as Natalie put a hand on his chest and kissed him, deep and slow, before heading up the ladder that led to the attic.

  “She really loves you”, Jackie said.

  “And I really love her, so if you do try anything, I’m leaving you on the floor and joining her.”

  “Deal.”

  Tommy slowly sat on the floor, and gently began to pick Jackie up. As he folded the blankets around the both of them, he was relieved to find that Jackie had been redressed in warm, dry clothes, as she placed her head on his chest.

  “You have a strong heart”, she murmured.

  “Thanks. Nat thinks so too.”

  “Yeah, I bet she does.”

  They were silent for a minute, before Jackie started to speak.

  “I’m sorry, Tommy. I never… I never knew just how good you are at what you do, before we came here. If I did… I wouldn’t have looked twice at Jeff, I promise.”

  She chuckled at the surprised look on Tommy’s face. “Maybe Shauna would have slept with you instead then, huh?”

  “I would have said no." 

  “I believe you. I honestly believe you. You… you are nothing like any of the guys we’ve gone out with before. No wonder… no wonder Nat loves you. And you… you love her so much. I doubt I would have known that kind of love even if we’d never ended up here.”

  Then Jackie cleared her throat, and he saw her smile leave her face. “I’m so sorry. For… the way I’ve acted all this time. It’s just… I’m scared, Tommy. I’m so, so scared.”

  “I understand. I’m scared too. But we can’t give up. We can get through…”

  Tommy trailed off as he saw Jackie turn her head to look at him.

  Oh. Right. There was no we, here. In her condition, Jackie would be dead long before winter ended.

  Tommy wasn’t sure what to say.

  “Jackie, I’m… I’m so sorry this is happening to you. We should have done more for you. We should have brought you inside-”

  “Don’t be sorry. I wanted to die.”

  She said it so calmly, so casually, Tommy could almost pretend that he had misheard her. Almost.

  “What?”

  Jackie shrugged, and her mouth curled slightly upwards.

  “We’re never gonna see home again. This is all there is for us. I wanted out, so… I chose dying in my sleep over going through winter out here. And if you and Nat hadn’t tried to help, that’s exactly what would have happened.”

  “But now…” Jackie trailed off. “Maybe there’s something you can do to… help me along, so to speak.”

  “Uh… what?”

  Then Jackie gestured with her eyes, and Tommy saw she was looking down at the hunting knife on his belt.

  “No. Jackie, no. That’s not going to happen-”

  “You think I don’t know this is going to get worse?” Jackie hissed, holding one of her hands out to Tommy.

  He winced. Despite soaking them in hot water all day, her fingers hadn’t lost their pale, waxy sheen, and her fingernails were still sky-blue.

  “There’s no helping me, Tommy. There’s only… ending it. Please.”

  “No”, Tommy said, disentangling himself from her.

  “Please.”

  But Tommy ignored Jackie’s pleading, and marched straight up the ladder into the attic, where Natalie waited for him.

  000000000000000000000000

  “Did she try anything?” Natalie grinned at Tommy teasingly as he lay down next to her.

  “She wanted me to…” Tommy motioned towards his chest, holding an invisible knife.

  Natalie’s eyes widened. “Did you...”

  “No. No, I left her and came straight up here.”

  “Oh”, Natalie said. A part of her was relieved, but the other part…

  “So… what do we do with her?” She asked him.

  “I… I don’t know. Make her comfortable, I guess, until… until…”

  She dies. So, that was it. There was no hope for Jackie Taylor. It was only a matter of time before she passed on, and their group dropped down to eighteen people. Seventeen, if you didn’t include Javi, and after seeing what a single night in the cold had done to Jackie, neither Natalie nor Tommy were optimistic about his chances, though they didn’t mention this to Travis.

  It took a long time for sleep to come for Natalie that night, and the second morning of winter did not bring good tidings. A blizzard sprung up, trapping them all inside, and for the first time since arriving at the cabin, Natalie and Tommy did not venture outside of it.

  They had to resort to using one of the cabin’s buckets as a toilet, and at the end of the day, after drawing straws, Travis ‘volunteered’ to go outside and dispose of their waste. Natalie had wondered if he’d seen Jackie out in the cold on his way back from searching for Javi. When asked, he claimed that he had come in using the cabin’s back door, and hadn’t seen her, but he looked away from Natalie when he said it, and she suspected he was lying.

  If he was, she couldn’t blame him for feeling guilty, not with Jackie in her current state. Lying on the floor the whole day through, the Yellowjackets’ captain didn’t move a muscle, didn’t eat a thing, and didn’t say a word. When they checked her fingers, Natalie recoiled as she saw they had only become even more pale and stiff, and her fingernails, toenails, and nose had become a much, much darker shade of blue. They even smelled different now. They smelled like… well, like death, Natalie supposed.

  Natalie saw Tommy wince as he gazed at Jackie, and Natalie knew he was feeling the same guilt as her, though she tried to tell herself that nobody but Jackie was to blame. She had wanted to die, and Natalie wasn’t sure what would happen if she tried to make another attempt.

  000000000000000000000000

  Tommy knew he would likely not recover from this. He knew that there would be those amongst the group that would not understand, and hate him for doing it. But as he saw Jackie lying on the cabin’s floor, looking utterly defeated and at death’s door, he began to reconsider what she had asked of him.

  Should he tell Natalie? He didn’t want to, but… he felt like she would understand.

  Please, please let her understand. 

  How different could it be, really? Tommy had killed so many animals over the years, he was sure the difference would be… marginal, at best.

  Except it isn’t. Because you’re talking about murder.

  It isn’t murder, it’s mercy!

  Tommy wrestled with his thoughts. He needed to talk to Natalie, so he motioned her over, and they shut themselves in Ben’s room.

  “I know I said I wasn’t gonna do it, but…” Tommy motioned towards the other room. “Jackie’s not going to get better.”

  That was all he said, and he saw Natalie’s eyes widen, then narrow in sadness.

  “Are you sure? Are you really, truly sure there is no other way?”

  “I am. I wish there was another way, but… there just isn’t.”

  Tommy paused. “She’s going to die, regardless. At least this way… she won’t have to go through days, maybe weeks of suffering.”

  He was trying to convince himself more than Natalie at this point, but as he saw the tears gather in her eyes, he also saw her nod.

  “Okay”, she whispered, as the tears began to fall down her cheeks. “When… when will you do it?”

  “Tonight. After everyone has gone to bed.”

  “Do… do you want me there with you?”

  “No”, Tommy said, firmly. This terrible, murderous act he was considering would not be witnessed by anyone but himself.

  As they left the room, Tommy saw Shauna sitting next to Jackie, trying to convince her to eat something. Jackie didn’t so much as twitch, and Tommy immediately felt an immeasurable sadness.

  They had no idea. No idea at all that this would be the last day they spent together.

  000000000000000000000000

  When Natalie lay down with Tommy that night, she could feel him shaking, and she snuggled further into him. She had been quietly relieved when he said she didn’t have to accompany him, but she did not envy him for what he was about to do.

  The idea of killing someone, even out of mercy, repulsed her, but Natalie remembered the sight of Jackie’s pale, dead skin and darkening nails, and felt her heart harden.

  It had to be done. The thought didn’t make things any easier, but… there was no other way. Natalie hoped the others would be able to accept that.

  At some point during the night, Tommy disentangled himself from her arms, quietly dressed, and left the attic.

  Please make it quick, Natalie thought, as she felt a tear sliding down her cheek.

  000000000000000000000000

  Tommy slowly approached the sleeping Jackie, gripping the knife. His entire body was trembling.

  I need to be strong. I need to be ruthless. I need to be… merciful.

  He gently shook Jackie awake. She blinked up in annoyance at him, but as she saw the knife, he saw her eyes widen, before she nodded.

  Jackie rose into a sitting position, and Tommy knelt beside her. He was still shaking hard, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

  “I…”

  “Please, Tommy. Please”, she whispered.

  He put one hand on Jackie’s shoulder, and heard her let out a sigh of what seemed like relief as his other hand slid the knife between her ribs.

  000000000000000000000000

  As Natalie awoke, shivering, she realised Tommy was not next to her, and she instantly knew where he would be. She dressed slowly, hoping to stall for time, but eventually she quietly clambered down the ladder, to where Tommy was sitting, cradling Jackie in his arms. She looked like she could be sleeping, but Natalie saw the dark stain on her shirt, right where she knew Jackie’s heart would be.

  So, that was it, then. Jackie Taylor, the captain of the Yellowjackets’ Girls varsity soccer team, was dead.

  As Natalie sat next to Tommy, she held out one of her hands, and he took it. Natalie wasn’t sure where things would go from here, but she knew she would not leave Tommy’s side.

  “You and me”, she whispered, and Tommy nodded, the tears staining his face as she squeezed his hand.

  They stayed there in silence for a moment, before Natalie saw Tommy’s eyes widen. 

  “What are you guys doing?”

  Natalie jumped. She hadn’t heard Shauna approaching behind her. 

  No. God, please no. Not Shauna. Don’t let Shauna be the one to find out about- 

  “Jackie?” Shauna croaked, right before she started to scream.

And that's the end of season one. It has been an adventure getting here, but I am truly grateful if you have decided to read through the whole thing.

Season Two coming soon.

Vale, Jackie Taylor. Rest in peace.

[stickdoodlefriend]

Upcoming Damian's POV in Death Outside the Family

"Do you think you would ever stop being a vigilante?"

Over the phone, he hears Richard's quiet laugh and the brisk wind through a tunnel like he's train surfing again, "I've been doing this for more than twenty years. I never thought I'd—I think there are a lot of different ways we can save people. And if there is something that fits you better, then take a leap. You'll always have someone to catch you."

"Duke said I should start by helping with Dr. Thompkin's clinic," Damian tells.

"Best person to learn from, I'd say," when Damian says nothing, Richard adds, "You have reservations?"

"Thomas Wayne was touted as a prodigy for his reforms and medical acumen by age 16. I have only a year to uphold his legacy if I am to deviate from father's," Damian hurries to add, "Not that this would be an issue for me."

"You know when I thought you would be a great Robin?"

"When I bested you in combat?"

"Someday that might be true," Richard chuckles, "It's when you made that awful pun, two months into wearing that uniform."

"All puns are awful. Some subpar excuses for irony and wit made you think I would be a great Robin?"

"Because it was about doing the best you could and not being the best."

"What's the difference?" Damian traces the hard calluses on his hands, weathered to survive the hilt of a blade and grip the cold mountainside. Perfection is wrought like metal to hone sharpness into a razor edge.

"If you're trying to be the best, then whatever you do is about you, not who you are helping. If you really want to help, go find where it is needed, and do the best you can for the people around you. And if you keep doing it, then you'll find yourself bigger than the legacy you came from."

"A better doctor than Thomas Wayne?" Damian raises his eyebrow even if Richard can't see it.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't have to be bad, to take a given name and change its meaning," Richard's voice is wistful and something else Damian can't name.

[pnsge]

never beating the developing crushes on friends allegations part 2: return of jafaar

[fingertipsmp3]

First volunteering shift tomorrow 😵‍💫

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

.

[psychemochanight]

Headcanon that Dick's siblings (-Tim, he knows everything) have no idea that he has a new job every time, and think he's still a cop.

Like Dick every time they mention his police job and he says "I'm not a cop anymore, I'm..." and he names something different every time, they think he's lying.

Jason: Isn't it ironic? One brother is a cop and the other is a crime lord.

Dick: Although I'm not a police officer anymore, I'm a gym teacher.

Jason, thinking he's being sarcastic: Yeah, and I'm not a crime lord anymore as well.

Dick: Good for you.

Damian: Richard, why aren't you in the office? I thought this was your working hours.

Dick, who went to pick up Damian from school: Now I work in the afternoon and at night, I am a bartender.

Damian, doesn't believe him because Dick is Nightwing at night: hm...

Steph, on the phone : Dick, do you think you can get me some reports from the office? There's a case here in Gotham and I think it's spread to Blüdhaven, they probably have them there in the records.

Dick: Steph, I haven't been a police officer for months, but I'll see if I can get through an ex-colleague for you. I'll call you later, I'm in the middle of a photo shoot.

Steph: ok, thank uuuu.

Steph, hanging up the call: If he didn't could help me right now he could say so, there was no need to make up that excuse.

Cass: He might be in an undercover job right now.

Steph: Maybe you're right.

Duke simply refuses to talk to him anymore because he still thinks he's a cop.

Tim: You've been in this job for two months, I think that's a record. Do you like it?

Dick, hanging upside down in the cave: Something like that? I just don't know what I want to do now and I don't want to be unemployed until I decide.

Tim: Hmm... I don't think you want to be in an office again, do you?

Dick: I'm not going back to WE, once was enough for a lifetime.

Tim: Fair enough. Can I at least ask you for a photo shoot for a season to promote the new line?

Dick: Sure, it was fun being a model for a while.

[mercvry-glow]

Busy Bee

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

summary. you and your son take a trip to the pitt after an encounter with a bee. unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, your husband's working.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader is allergic to bees, overprotective!jack, boy-dad!jack, typical hospital setting, no death, hurt/comfort but mainly comfort, other pitt characters, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. local boy dad truther hopped into the pitt fandom, but this popped into my mind and I haven't been able to let it go. these will probably be a set of drabbles and one-shots if it gets enough traction, but please enjoy and any feedback is appreciated! also I am not a medical professional, but I tried my best to sound realistic.

wc. 2700+

side drabble of the aftermath

part two: where we fit

“We got a woman in her late twenties to early thirties, went into anaphylactic shock at the park due to a suspected bee sting. Vitals stabalized after we gave her Epi, but the swelling in her throat and the hives covering her chest, neck and arms is pretty extensive.” 

Just another normal day in the Pitt. 

“It is starting to be that season,” Dr. McKay said lightly as she did her own assessment while a few interns watched, “Did she have anyone with her? Who called?” 

The EMT gave a small gesture to her partner who was walking in behind them with a small boy, maybe five or six, who looked worried. “Couple of joggers passed them and found him with her failed EpiPen, they called after that.” 

Cassie could only nod as she thought about her own son experiencing that, “Alright Mohan come with me we’re gonna take her to south-15. Mel, can you talk to the boy and see if there’s anyone we can call for him?” 

Going to their respective tasks, McKay and Mohan took the young mother and Melissa went to introduce herself to the boy. He was still standing with the EMT, clutching his hand tightly while watching the hustle and bustle that was the emergency department. 

“Hey… Can I talk to him?” Mel approached slowly and the EMT squatted down to look the kid in his eyes. “I have to go now but uh- Dr. King here is gonna take really good care of you while your mommy gets help, okay?” The boy just nodded, going to hold his own hand. 

“What’s your name?” Mel asked, offering her own hand for him to take as they walked away. His grip was soft, if not a little clammy, and he toddled behind her as she led him to the family room. “Lucas…” he took his own deep breath, unsure of himself and the situation. 

“I heard something pretty scary happened at the park. Are you doing okay?” Lucas gave a little shrug, giving her hand a squeeze at the mention of the incident at the park. 

“I think so, is my mommy gonna be okay? Daddy says bees are bad for her, and the pen is supposed to make her better but it didn’t...” 

Mel opened the door to the family room, having Lucas sit in one of the chairs near the small coffee table. She had learned in the past couple of months that children liked to be distracted in situations like these. Clearly the little boy was feeling down, his once peaceful day at the park now ruined by an unfortunate accident. 

She sat down beside him, helping him take off the backpack he was wearing hoping maybe there were some more identifying clues lying within the blue cloth.  “Well your dad must be very smart, but your mom is being taken care of by some really cool doctors and I think she’s gonna be okay and excited to see you again.”

Unzipping the bag, Mel gave Lucas a gentle smile as they pulled out the contents together. Inside were the usual kid essentials — a juice pouch, a small sketchpad with dinosaurs drawn in crayon, and a pair of cleats and matching socks balled up and forgotten at the bottom. She sifted carefully, searching for anything that might tell them who else to contact. A pair of car keys sat in the front pocket, but no wallet or any other identifying placards. The EpiPen sat visibly in the mesh side holster, unadministered and effectively useless now. The air was light between the pair while the Intern thought of her next moves, and Lucas had started coloring next to her to keep his mind off of things. 

  She thought about askin Robby or Dana for next steps, and definitely wanted Kieara to stop by. “Are we able to contact your dad? I’m sure he’d want to know what happened,” Mel said, stumped at what to do next. 

“He’s pretty busy and um- his number sheet is in my other bag in the car… Mommy was supposed to make two, but this is the fun bag so it wasn’t supposed to matter.” Lucas explained, though that’s fair considering he’s only five or so. 

“Oh! Well where does he work? We could try calling them and he should be able to come here,” 

Lucas closed his eyes and wiggled around in his chair as he tried to remember the name, “Uhhh- oh Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!” 

Mel’s eyes lit up at the mention of the very hospital they were in. “Well that’s where we are! Let me go grab someone real quick and we can start asking around, how does that sound?” Lucas silently agreed and went back to coloring as the blonde woman left the room. 

The Intern succuried around, hoping to find Dr. Robby in a moment of peace where she could talk to him about the situation. Thankfully, the older man was sitting near the nurses station typing away at one of the computers. 

“Dr. Robby! I uh- I have the son of a patient who was admitted not too long ago, he said his dad works here and I was hoping you could help us locate him? He’s only about five so he doesn’t remember too much besides that.” Mel stood expectantly, as the older man got up and pushed his chair in. 

“Lead the way Dr. King, let's find this boy's dad.” Robby ran a hand down his face as he followed after Melissa who was leading him to the family room. Putting on a brave face, he hoped to god this wasn’t going to lead into a hospital wide manhunt. They kept a steady pace, pausing outside the door. “What was the other patient admitted for?” He asked, needing to know if this would be bad or not. 

“Mom was taken to South-15 after experiencing anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. The uh- EpiPen failed and some joggers helped them out, Dr. McKay was trearting her and everything was stable when we left besides the swelling and hives she had.” she explained keeping her recounting of it short, really wanting to find Lucas’s father as soon as possible. 

The two stepped inside the small room, the young boy sitting in the same cramped chair, picking at the sleeve of his sweater. 

“Hey, Lucas. This is Dr. Robby he’s gonna help-” Mel could barely get the rest of her sentence out before the boy looked up and rushed into the arms of the man beside her. 

“Uncle Mikey!” he cried out, latching onto the older doctor who scooped him up. 

“Hey Luke, what are ya doing here buddy?” Still a bit shocked, Robby gave the boy a quick scan looking for any sign that something could be wrong, “I heard your mom got stung by a bee.” 

Lucas let out a small sniffle, resting his head on the shoulder of his uncle. “It was scary… an-and mommy left her phone in the car so-so I couldn’t call anyone!” He kept his little body close, fists locked onto the blue hoodie Robby was known for wearing. He was still scared, just now beginning to process everything that had happened in the past hour or so. 

Mel stood off to the side, letting the two talk amongst themselves for a few moments. “You know Dr. Robby, Lucas?” 

The pair turned to her and Robby adjusted the boy so he could see the woman a bit better. “Dr. King meet Lucas Abbot, I’m surprised he didn’t say so sooner-probably the nerves.”  The older man looked down to the boy who was still clinging to him, the only familiar person he had seen since arriving to the PTMC. “You wanna go find your dad?” 

Lucas nodded a resounding yes, keeping his face buried in the neck of the older man hoping he would keep carrying him. 

“Dr. King, I got it from here if you want to go back and work,” Mel took her leave after that, giving Lucas a small wave goodbye before going back into the fold. 

Robby set the small boy down, repacking the scattered items back into the bag. He tried not to think about the faulty EpiPen, or how Jack was going to react upon finding out what had occurred. If anything that man was protective, and if hearing that his wife had been admitted didn’t set him off—hearing his son was here and hadn’t been able to contact him definitely would. 

“Yo Dana, we have a visitor with us today.” The brunette gave the curls on Lucas’s head, a trait he got from his father, a small rub, as they got to the charge nurse’s attention. The blonde let out a small gasp as she bent down to give the boy a hug. 

“And what are you doing here, little man? Where’s your mama? Your Dad’s running all over the place today, have you seen him yet?” She looked back up at Robby, holding the boy close. 

The older man gave a small shake of his head, a knowing look in his brown eyes. “She’s uh- She’s in south-15 and we were actually looking for Jack, have you seen him?” 

Dana glanced at the board, “He was about to discharge a patient from north-8, you could probably catch him before the next Ambo pulls up.” 

“Alright, buddy,” Robby said, offering his hand to Lucas again. “Let’s go find your dad before he disappears on us.”

Dana gave the boy one more quick squeeze and a wink before standing up again. “Tell him to take five once you find him. He’s been running around since before you got here.”

They made their way toward the north wing, weaving between carts and stretchers, the bustle of the hospital constant. Lucas stayed close, wide-eyed but silent, clutching Robby’s fingers like a lifeline.

As they rounded the corner near North-8, Robby spotted him—Dr. Jack Abbot clipboard in hand, shoulder leaning into the doorway of a patient room as he gave discharge instructions with that familiar composed intensity. Even from here, Robby could see the stress around his eyes. Whatever calm Jack projected, it wasn’t rooted deep today. The patient stepped away into the crowd of people and Robby stepped into view, catching his eye.

Jack nodded a little when he saw him, expecting a routine update—until he saw the small figure beside him.

“Lucas?”

The clipboard hit the counter with a clack.

Lucas let go of Robby’s hand and ran straight into his father’s arms, the impact knocking the breath out of Jack for half a second.

“Hey—hey, what—” Jack crouched down, holding Lucas tightly, searching his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Lucas clung to him like a koala, cheeks red and eyes glassy. “Mommy’s sick,” he whispered. “The pen didn’t work. I tried, but it didn’t work.”

Jack’s face paled. His arms tightened instinctively. “Where is she?”

“South-15,” Robby answered quietly, giving the man a moment before continuing. “It was a bee sting. The EpiPen failed. She was treated right away, vitals are stable, McKay’s with her.”

Jack didn’t move at first, just held his son close, forehead resting against Lucas’s curls as he processed it all—the sudden fear, the guilt, the helplessness. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“I didn’t even know—no wonder she wasn’t answering her phone.” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay,” Robby reminded him gently. “And your son? Absolute champ. Kept his head until the crews showed up.”

Lucas pulled back just enough to look at him. “I didn’t cry. I was gonna, but I didn’t.”

Jack smiled through the tightness in his chest. “Good job, bud.”

He stood up slowly, Lucas still in his arms, and turned to Robby. “I need to see her.”

Robby nodded. “Go on, Brother. I’ll let Dana know what’s going on, let her know you’re clocking off early.” He handed over the backpack and let the father/son duo head off. 

Making their way to you, where you were taken was a bit more private than other rooms and the soft beeping could be heard from outside. The two stopped outside, Jack prepping the boy for what he was about to see. 

“Hey…So mommy’s probably gonna be sleepy and she might have a hard time talking okay? We should be able to see her though.” Lucas nodded into his dad’s shoulder, his small fingers tightening around the fabric of Jack’s black scrub top.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I won’t be loud.”

Jack gave a little smile at that, brushing his son’s curls down gently before reaching for the door. The soft click of the handle felt louder than it should have, and as they stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—like adrenaline and the memories embedded within the room.

The room was dimly lit, with only the overhead light above your bed on. You were propped up slightly, eyes closed, an oxygen cannula under your nose. Your arm had an IV line, and Princess was quietly making notes on the monitor screen.

Jack’s breath hitched in his throat.

Lucas didn’t say anything right away. His gaze was locked on you, his brown eyes wide and unreadable as he stared at his mom, so happy and full of life only hours ago, now tucked into white sheets with wires and machines surrounding her.

“Mommy…” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound, sluggish but aware. You turned your head slightly, the movement slow and pained, but unmistakably focused on him.

Jack stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed so Lucas could see you better.

“She’s awake,” Jack said softly. “You can say hi, baby.”

Lucas’s lip trembled, but he leaned toward you. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly. “I tried with the pen but it didn’t work and I was scared and I couldn’t call—”

Your fingers twitched and slowly reached for him, and Jack gently helped guide Lucas’s hand to yours. Holding the both of yours within his strong grip.

“You did so good, baby,” you said, your voice hoarse but warm. “I’m okay, and you were so brave.”

Lucas crawled gently onto the edge of the bed, careful not to bump into any of the cords or wires. He curled up beside your arm, still holding your hand tightly.

Jack sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing his face and finally letting out a shaky breath.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said quietly, half to himself, half to you. You gave him a tired smile, and Jack reached up to brush your hair from your face.

“But you’re here,” he said. “And we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky we weren’t closer to Pres, would’ve really lost your shit…” you gave him the best smile you could muster, while he gave you a knowing look. 

He let out yet another sigh, still keeping your hand in his. “We need to get you another EpiPen, and put my goddamn number in that park bag.” 

“You have fun with that, babe,” you murmured, voice still rough but tinged with just enough sass to draw a soft snort from Jack.

“Oh, I will,” he said, dragging the chair a little closer to the bed. “You’re gonna have a laminated emergency list in every bag we own. Backpack, baseball bag, glove box—hell, I’ll sew one into your damn jacket lining if I have to.”

Lucas perked up a little at that, lifting his head. “I can start baseball?”

Jack looked over at him, mock-serious. “Only if you promise not to spill a bunch of stuff in the bag again.”

Lucas giggled for the first time since they got there, that tiny sound easing something deep in Jack’s chest. You chuckled too, though it ended in a soft wince as your ribs reminded you what happened.

Jack leaned forward instinctively, hand pressing lightly over yours again. “Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, but your grip on his fingers said another thing.

I love you, I’m sorry. 

The room fell into a quiet rhythm after that—the soft hum of monitors, Lucas gently dozing off against your arm after hours of turmoil, Jack watching both of you with an expression halfway between exhaustion and fierce devotion.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a moment, just for him.

He looked up.

“For having such good doctor friends, for loving me… For being a good dad,”

Jack leaned in, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc short idea

Jason is Danny’s dad

Warning: Language

Jason had just returned to the family publicly about two weeks ago. It hadn’t even been that long for him to settle before something happened. The press weren’t even off his ass and he has Alfred requesting he return home for an urgent matter immediately, which is butler speak for get your ass here right now!

The family was happy but adjusting to everything. They had mandatory family dinners at least twice a month and voluntarily got together more frequently, mostly just the siblings, but every once in a while Bruce would sneak in for a movie in the family room.

Alfred was pleased with the progress the family has made over the course of many years. It finally felt like everything was coming together and maybe settling down. He knew he thought that too soon when he answered the buzzer at the front gate. They weren’t expecting any visitors and looking at the video feed it was a young woman with hands on her hips glaring back at the camera. There were two large bags with her and surprisingly enough a young child playing in the grass just a short distance behind her.

“Wayne Residence, Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I assist you, ma’am?”

“Lettin’ me in for starters,” she says back with venom on her tongue.

“My apologies, but you do not have an appointment.”

She snorts, “Nah, but ya see, I saw that bastard on the news and thought I’d drop off what he gave me.”

To get her point across, she turns and looks back at the little boy not paying her any attention.

“Danny!” She snaps and he jerks his head to look at, who Alfred is assuming is, his mother. “Come here.”

He hops up at his own pace and dusts off the grass on his knees before trotting over. She leans down to angle the young boy away from the camera and pushing back his hair.

He couldn’t see it well before by the way the boy was positioned before, but Alfred could clearly see a prominent patch of white hair on the left lower section by his neck. Just like the white batch on Jason.

“You gonna let us in now?” She asks rudely.

Alfred has already determined he did not like this woman. He still buzzes them in. He contacts Jason immediately followed closely with Bruce.

Alfred then helps the two carry in the bags, while subtly checking for any weapons or explosives. Instead he finds things meant for a child.

He really didn’t like this woman.

Bruce is the first one to arrive down the stairs, pausing towards the bottom. He glances at Alfred and can see the displeasure in the butler’s eyes.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you.”

“Fuckin’ everyone knows who you are, Brucie Wayne,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

Bruce glances down at the very young child who is hearing the foul language. He couldn’t be more than five, and completely oblivious as the little boy runs a hand along the wall and looks around at everything. He particularly keeps going back to the shiny chandelier above their heads.

“Who might you be?” He asks the woman, coming back to her as she almost touches the vase on the entry table. She draws her hand back to fold her arms across her chest.

“Grace.”

The name seems ironic compared to her behavior.

“And how can I help you, Miss Grace?”

“Your thought-to-be-dead son left something of his. I’m here to return it.”

It took no detective to determine she was talking about the boy currently using the door frame to the sitting room as leverage to rock back and forth, holding on with his tiny hands. Bruce could see the splash of white among the dark hair from this angle.

Bruce hums.

“Is that so?”

“I’ve already contacted Master Jason. He should be arriving soon. Shall I prepare some refreshments in the drawing room?” Alfred informs.

“Thank you, Alfred. Right this way,” he says to Grace, directing her toward the left while pulling out his phone to ask Tim to prepare the proper equipment downstairs.

“Danny!” The woman calls with impatience. She glares at the little boy who calmly turns to look at her, then skips behind them.

Grace huffs but doesn’t say anything else as they enter the room. She sits herself in the middle of the love seat and Bruce takes one of the chairs across from her. The boy, Danny, explores the room thoroughly, walking around without pattern and investigating every nook and cabinet to keep himself entertained. Very curious little child.

Bruce tries to engage her in conversation to dig up more information, but she firmly wanted to wait for Jason before divulging anything. He did however find out that Danny is four and needs to be enrolled in kindergarten next turn. Grace works night shift but wouldn’t say where.

Alfred came with three waters, one in a smaller plastic cup for Danny, and a plate of crackers and cut up fruit.

Grace eyes the butler with a raised brow. However, the first words Danny has spoken in their presence is a cute, “Thank you, mister,” before munching on a cracker and sipping from his cup. His curious eyes flick over the fruit and wanders over to his mother who picks at a rip in her jeans. He taps her knee and she sighs.

“What is it?”

“What’s that?”

Danny points to the fruit.

“What’s what?”

He creeps forward to point directly at the blackberries mixed in with the blueberries and strawberries.

“Blackberry,” she answers shortly.

“What’s it taste like?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

He must have approved of that suggestion and reaches in to clumsily wrap a tiny hand around one of the dark berries. He flips it over in his hand for a minute, observing it at all angles, feeling the texture of the little bumps, before shoving it in his mouth. Danny leans his body over the coffee table to drag the bowl closer and rummage through it for more goodies.

Really looking at him, Bruce could see Jason’s freckles and the few other similarities like his square jaw and lip shape. He hasn’t seen it yet but Bruce bets Danny has the same crooked grin as his son.

He has the woman’s pale complexion and nose shape. His hair was straight like hers instead of Jason’s curls, but Danny took his dark coloring compared to her light brunette.

The boy was an adorable mix of both his son and this woman. He almost felt the test was unnecessary, but he didn’t stop Alfred from replacing the plastic cup and take it back to the kitchen where he knew it would be handed off to Tim.

Thankfully it was a day where there weren’t any meetings for either of them to attend.

Surprisingly, it isn’t Jason that enters the room first, it’s Damian coming home from school. The fourteen year old, almost fifteen, holds a leash in one hand with Titus standing patiently next to him, ready for his after school walk.

“Father, I heard we have guests.”

The teen stops in the doorway and Danny turns with interest until he spots the animal, then his eyes bug with excitement.

“Mommy, doggie,” he whisper shouts.

She just hums in affirmative, looking the new arrival up and down.

Danny grabs a blackberry from the bowl and trots over to Damian. He holds out the piece of fruit.

“This is a blackberry,” he states proudly.

Damian blinks down at the small child. Titus tilts his head, his nose working hard.

“I’m aware.”

“You can have it, if you let me pet your doggie,” he negotiates like he needed to give something in order to receive permission.

Damian looks up to his father for answers.

“Jason will be here soon,” is what he gets instead, his father’s lips twitch.

Damian looks back down in sudden realization when he sees the similarities between the man and this boy. He sighs tiredly.

“Pennyworth. A wet washcloth if you please.”

“Right away, Master Damian.”

“Next time, you only need to ask to pet Titus, you do not need to give me anything in return,” he tells the child.

Danny looks down at the berry sitting in his stained hands.

“So you don’t want it?”

“…Maybe later.”

“Okay!”

Danny skips back to carefully set the berry off the side on the tray, as if to save it for Damian for later like he said. He jogs the short distance back to them.

“Can I pet your doggie now, please?”

Damian takes the washcloth Alfred hands him with a nod and crouches down to get level with the boy.

“We must wipe our hands first. We don’t want anything sticky in his fur,” he explains as he holds out the washcloth for Danny’s hands.

The four year old looks down at the stains to see what he means and then places his hands on the washcloth for Damian to get the juices off.

The teen then calmly explains how to properly approach a dog he does not know by letting Titus smell the back of his hand first and then to always stay calm and confident.

Titus, the gentle giant that he is, had no problems letting the tiny child pat him and run small fingers through his short fur. It was endearing to hear the giggles when Titus used his big nose to sniff at the child’s face and neck. Sitting down, Titus was taller than the child standing up, which would have been scary to some kids, but Danny seemed to love Titus instantly. The little boy easily telling the dog what a good boy he is even with the dog sitting there doing nothing.

“Titus needs his afternoon walk now,” Damian informs.

Titus stands at the word walk, clearly ready to go.

“Oh, okay.” Danny turns to the big dog to reach up and pat his head twice. “Bye-bye, Titus. Have a good walk.”

The two leave and Danny skips back over to hang over the arm of the love seat his mother sits in, typing on her phone.

“Mommy, did you see the doggie? His name is Titus. He’s a good dog.”

“Uh-huh,” she comments without really listening.

“Do you like dogs, Danny?” Bruce asks with a smile.

Danny looks at him like he forgot the man was there, tilts his head as he studies him for a moment. Bruce waits patiently until Danny deems him okay and perks back up with bright eyes.

“Uh-huh! I love dogs! Mommy says we can’t get one ‘cuz our ‘partment is too small and they’re dirty. You’s guys are lucky,” the boy rambles as he wanders around the coffee table to get closer to Bruce and away from his distracted mother.

“How do you feel about cats? Damian has a black and white one around here somewhere.”

Danny shrugs and they continue to have a rather pleasant conversation about different animals and foods and each of their houses. It takes up the amount of time for Jason to walk through the door, seemingly already informed of the situation from Alfred.

Jason was… flabbergasted. Bewildered. Caught unprepared. He was a lot of words. Mostly he was scared.

Did he really have a child? A son? If that was true then he missed so much. He missed all of his firsts. First words, first steps, first laugh, first everything.

Would the boy even like him? What if he saw all his scars and was scared of him? What if he didn’t want anything to do with Jason after not being in his life this whole time?

But the boy might not be his. There’s that. That could be… Jason didn’t like the disappointment that thought brought.

Grace was the first one he noticed. Her ripped jeans and low cut top being out of place among the antique furniture and Persian rug. She scowls at him, putting her phone down.

“Finally decided to show up?”

He bites back a comment. He broke several traffic laws to get here, it wasn’t his fault he was fourty minutes away at the time he got the call.

He glances over at Bruce and instead his eyes zero in on the child standing by the armchair Bruce was sitting in.

Just one look and he knew the boy was his.

He looks to Bruce anyway for confirmation, since he has no doubt he sent off a sample to Tim hiding like the troll he is in the basement. The man nods. Jason sucks in a deep breath and suddenly needs to sit down.

He sinks heavily in the matching armchair next to Bruce’s, separated only by a round end table. Jason can’t stop staring at those big, blue eyes that are filled with such curiosity and innocence he almost breaks down right then. But he can’t. He has to be strong. He can’t just walk away to get a handle on his emotions. He’s a dad now.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Grace folds her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been busy,” he answers lamely.

She humphs and looks away with a shake of her head.

The boy, Danny Alfred said his name was, creeps around Bruce’s legs to get closer, obviously seeing something in Jason enough to investigate. The room is quiet as they wait to see how Danny will react.

Coming to a stop right before his knees, Danny stares up at the large man with lots of scars and muscles from what he can see. He wasn’t scared. There was just something familiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looks… he looks like… and he also feels almost like…

Furrowing his brows in a pout, he knows his Mommy doesn’t like it when he does it, but he still makes his eyes burn with green.

The man gasps and his eyes also swirl into an angry green.

“Daddy?” Danny asks with hope and joy.

Daddy swallows and then nods.

“Yea, buddy, I’m your dad.”

“Daddy!” The boy cheers, jumping in place with a wide smile. “Daddy! Mommy, look! It’s Daddy!”

Danny wastes no time climbing into the man’s lap and wrapping his arms around him as far as they’ll go (not very far) to press his ear to Jason’s chest over his heart. He’s practically vibrating with excitement and Jason makes sure to set a large hand on his back to hold him close.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Grace hisses, her eyes wide at the display earlier. Both of their eyes had returned to their calmer blue and teal color, but everyone in the room saw it. “I knew he got it from you.”

His eyes narrow in warning, pulling the boy closer to his chest. He sets a hand over Danny’s exposed ear to protect him from the harsh words he’s probably already heard before.

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is to deal with a tantrum when your kid has fucking glowing green eyes?”

“Did you hit him?” Jason growls, the vibrations seeming to settle Danny even more.

“Please, I’m not my mother,” she dismisses with a sneer.

Could have fooled him.

“Everything was fine until he started doing freaky shit. I don’t know how to raise a meta kid, alright?”

“What are you talking about?”

Now he was just confused. What stuff was Danny doing that Grace thought he was a meta?

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t have powers too,” she points viciously.

“I’m not pretending. I don’t have powers. I don’t have the meta gene. What can he do?” He demands while being transparently clear.

She just glares back at him, obviously not believing him. That didn’t exactly matter at the moment.

“What can he do?” He repeats with emphasis.

She puckers her lips like she’s tasted something sour and then lifts her chin.

“Why doesn’t he just show you, huh? Danny- Would you stop babying him? Danny, show him the things you can do.”

After Jason takes the hand off the boy’s head, Danny turns to his mother warily.

“But you don’t like it,” he reminds, like she forgot.

“He wants to see it, so show him,” she waves a hand at Jason like he just asked for something he would regret.

Danny leans back to look up at his dad.

“You won’t get mad? Or scared?”

He sounds so unsure and scared. As if Jason could ever hate him. Jason really wants to punch something. Preferably something with her face on it.

“I promise I won’t.”

Another parent might have something more profound to say to reassure their child, but Jason was just starting out and honestly, it was more than Bruce would ever say.

Danny thinks for a second before wiggling to get down. He looks back once more at his mother who gives him a ‘get on with it’ motion.

The boy fidgets a little before covering his face with two hands like he’s playing hide and seek, then- disappears. Jason jerks at watching his son blink out of sight like a Martian.

“Boo!” Danny pops back into view, exactly where he was standing before with his hands out like any child on Halloween.

Jason blinks and then starts laughing. This was karma. Danny could literally become invisible, something the Bats train to do for years.

“That was good, buddy,” Jason chuckles, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Danny hesitantly smiles back, a bit of hope and pride in those eyes.

“There’s more,” Grace interrupts, seemingly uneasy with how well Jason reacted.

“Yea?” Jason directs to Danny, his focus on his son.

Danny gives a shaky nod, glancing over worriedly at Bruce who is just silently watching. Jason could see the tension in his shoulders but also the intrigue.

The boy places a hand on the coffee table and focuses on his hand. It took a few minutes of concentration before Danny’s hand went through the table like he was just dunking his hand in a pool instead of through a solid object.

He pulls his hand out and they could see it be slightly translucent.

“That one’s harder to do when I want to,” Danny mumbles.

“You mean it mostly happens on accident?”

Danny nods.

“I drop a lot. And get stuck sometimes.”

Yea, Jason can see how that could be a problem. He can’t imagine how terrified Danny was the first time a body part got stuck in an immovable object. He really wishes he could have been there for him in his panic.

“The last thing is hard too. But I’ve been practicing. Watch!”

Danny jumps once, twice, and on the third time he lingers in the air, coming down slowly like someone in water or astronauts on the moon. Danny pushes off the ground a fourth time, this time floating steadily higher like gravity meant nothing to him.

Despite the kid obviously have done this before and enjoying it with his giggles, Jason stands under him in case he falls. And falls he does. Suddenly, like the strings being cut and gravity taking hold of him again, Danny plummets into Jason waiting arms. The boy grunts on impact and then smiled sheepishly up at his dad.

“Sorry, Daddy. I promise I’m doing better.”

“That’s okay, squirt. I’m glad I was here to catch you.”

Jason plops back into the chair with his child in his lap.

“Anything else up that sleeve of yours?” He teases but is equally as serious.

Danny shakes his head enough to make his hair fluff. Jason looks to Grace for confirmation and sees she is still recovering from Danny’s fall out of the air. How many times has she had to catch him? Or wasn’t able to catch him?

She clears her throat.

“I don’t know if it’s part of it, but he never gets sick. Never even had a cough.”

Children always get sick, that’s how they build immune systems. For Danny to have never gotten even a cold, Jason doesn’t know if it’s worrying or a good thing.

“Any allergies?” Is the first thing on his mind, thinking of what Alfred will need to know.

She shakes her head with a negative hum.

“In one of the bags is a folder with all of his documents. Birth certificate, immunizations, doctor visits. I also made a list of some favorite things and things he hates. It has foods on there too.”

That was… honestly more than he was expecting from her. But it also cements the fact that she intended to drop him off with him and then never see them again. She raised him for four years and she doesn’t even want visitation? Does she not understand there are legal documents she needs to sign to transfer custody properly?

“There are some things you need to sign, but it will take some time to get it sorted,” Bruce chimes in all business.

Long nails swipe through the air like signing her rights away was trivial.

“My phone number and address are on one of the documents. Just tell me when and where.”

She stands to leave and Jason can feel Danny tense up.

“Are we leaving?” He asks worriedly, climbing down from his seat on his dad’s lap. He didn’t want to go.

“You’re staying here. With your dad,” Grace says shortly, not once looking at the boy.

“Are you going home to get the rest of our stuff?”

“No. I’m going home. You’re staying here. End of story.”

Danny visibly thinks on that for a second then scampers after his mother as she leaves the room.

“Is it like Robbie where his mom lives in one ‘partment and his dad lives in a different one?”

Grace sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She’s clearly flustered and is showing it as irritation, but Jason can’t help but trail behind in case she says something that she shouldn’t.

“No, Danny, it’s not like Robbie. I- I am leaving you here and I’m not coming back, okay?”

Jason takes a step forward to draw her attention and send her a look that says ‘choose your words carefully, this is a conversation he will remember for a long time’.

“But- but why? Is it ‘cuz of my things? I’m sorry I scared you, Mommy. I didn’t mean to. I won’t do them again, promise.”

Jason grits his teeth at how desperate his son sounds, trying to keep his mother with him. Even making a promise he can’t keep.

Grace finally looks at her baby. Sees the turmoil and tears in his baby blue eyes. She gets down on her knees to get level and places her hands on his tiny shoulders.

“You will do them again and that’s not a bad thing. Your things are part of you. That’s okay. You’re not in any trouble. I just- I’m in over my head here, Danny. I can’t take care of you the way you should be taken care of, okay? But your dad can, I hope. So I’m leaving you here. With him.”

Danny’s lip wobbles and she has to restrain herself from not hugging him like she always does when he’s upset.

“Then- then you’ll visit, right? Like Chase’s grandma visits him?”

Why is this so hard?

“I don’t think so, baby. I don’t think you’re gonna see me again. I’m sorry.”

Danny is silent for a while. He wipes his eyes and sniffs.

“Are you goin’ ‘way like Jamal’s dad?”

The ten year old in the same building as them lost his dad in a wrong place wrong time type situation. Jamal had told Danny his dad went away forever so he couldn’t see him again. Grace had told him that when people go away forever, they get put among the stars he loves so much to be remembered.

Grace wears such a pained expression Jason half thought she was about to burst into tears.

“Kinda,” she nods. “So give me a big hug, okay?”

Danny was in her arms before she finished speaking. Jason didn’t exactly know why she wanted to stop all contact, but he had a theory that if Danny really was a meta (and with his powers he was leaning toward believing it) then Grace would want to distance herself as much as possible to protect them both. He met her in Crime Alley, he knew they didn’t live in a good spot. If any one of those crooks saw Danny use any of his powers, they could steal him easily from his single mother. She didn’t want to give those kind of people leverage to get Danny and sell him off. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, she was just trying to do what was best for her kid, even if that meant cutting her out of his life.

He had a strange new respect for her he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Grace takes a heavy breath and pulls away showing Danny’s tear stained cheeks. She wipes them like it would do anything.

“I gotta go now, Danny.”

“No,” he cries and Jason’s heart breaks a little more.

“We gotta say goodbye now. Please.”

Grace is just barely hanging on. Jason knows as soon as she walks out that door she’ll break down.

“I don’t want to. Don’t want you to leave,” Danny whines, trying to keep a strong grip on his mother.

She holds his hands in hers and gives him a serious look.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re gonna be just fine with your dad.” She leans in and whispers, “You’re not alone, Danny. You are never alone. Just look up. Look at the stars, baby, and you’ll be okay.”

Danny pouts, but thinks about those words.

“I like the stars,” he mumbles.

She smiles, probably the first one in a while.

“I know you do.”

She kisses his forehead one last time and stands. Danny whines. She steps away.

“Bye-bye, Danny. I- I love you.”

“Mommy,” he cries, tears and snot coming full force now.

Jason can’t take anymore and picks up his son to hold on his hip.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you,” he assures. He turns to Grace who is having the internal battle of her life in the foyer. “I got him.”

It’s an assurance to her too, that he will take care of Danny, that he would be there for him. It was a promise.

Grace sees it for what it is and leaves out the front door without another word.

Danny screams and cries and struggles, but Jason holds on tight, scared he’ll fall or use his powers to get away and disappear. The man walks back to the drawing room so his son wasn’t staring at the door longingly.

As soon as Jason sits down, Danny struggles harder since they stopped moving. So Jason stands again, adjusting the boy in his arms and starts pacing a path around the room.

Bruce has already disappeared, not knowing what to do with a heartbroken child crying his eyes out. Alfred has cleared away the tray of snacks, leaving two waters on the table, one in a small, plastic cup. Jason spies Damian poke his head in for a second to see what the matter was, and upon seeing no immediate threat went off wherever. Other than that, father and son were alone to figure themselves out.

Danny was going through a lot for a toddler and Jason didn’t exactly know how to handle what happened either. He tried his best with speaking reassurances into the boy’s hair, but he didn’t know if Danny even heard him over his own crying.

It was a rough first meeting to be frank, but after a while (what felt like ages) Danny cried himself to sleep and Jason felt it safe to finally sprawl out on the loveseat with the boy laying on his chest. Compared to a grueling patrol, that was definitely worse. He never wanted to have to go through that again, but knew as a dad it was part of the job description.

[7nuh]

WAS IT 'CASUAL' WHEN...? — TWST 1ST YEARS

Headcanons on the 'casual' things you do with him that made him wish that there was something more between you.

CW 𓂃 sfw, gn!reader, reader is implied to fit in Deuce's clothes in his part, pining

CHARAS 𓂃 Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

AN 𓂃 mostly* edited now 😎👍

ACE TRAPPOLA — you slept in the same bed?

Ramshackle isn't exactly known for having the best facilities or furniture, and that is a fact Ace has to make peace with whenever he gets kicked out by Riddle. It's always a little too chilly at night and the floors still creak beneath his feet. Even with a makeover, half of the beds are broken and that stiff couch downstairs is your next best bet at getting some semblance of sleep.

You insisted you really didn't mind sharing a bed at all and Ace took you up on your offer. In his words, "if you say so then!" Just create an invisible partition down the middle and the two of you should be fine. Sure, yeah, that'll be infinitely more comfortable than the couch, and Ace absolutely agrees. He repeats the thought to himself over and over again— this is supposedly the better alternative, isn't it?

Yeah, totally. He tries to convince himself that it's really not a big deal for him to be inches away from you at night and feel your warmth spreading through the sheets. God, you'd think he's a weirdo if you woke up and caught him staring right now, but he could always twist it into a dumb joke about your sleeping face looking like an ogre. Consequently, he would have to watch your face twist in annoyance and pretend he wasn't watching every rise and fall of your chest. He would rather lose his magic entirely than admit the ugly truth and make himself vulnerable to you.

Ace does realize he's being embarrassingly sappy and romantic, and he's disgusted at himself for these thoughts, but he can't help it. He can't change the fact your lips look so soft and your eyelashes are so pretty. This is freaking him out so much more than it should. Does this really mean nothing to you? Do really only see him as a friend? Fine, then the two of you are just friends sharing a bed then!

It's really nothing! Ace was the one who joked about it months ago, after all. But things (and his feelings) have changed and he cannot ignore that. Back then it wouldn't have been such a big deal, but now it is and he cannot calm his heart down no matter how hard he tries.

You're right there. It's not the first time he had to share a bed with someone but it's different now because it's you. He did the math and the two of you are only 10 inches apart. Ace almost reaches for you in his weakest moment until he remembers that the two of you are supposedly just two friends sharing a bed. You're doing him a favor by sheltering him for the night, that's all.

Ace retracts his hand right away at the very last second. He might have as well taken the goddamn couch (lest either of you wake up in each other's arms).

DEUCE SPADE — he lent his clothes?

You came here with next to nothing. You had exactly one change of clothes and pocket lint for change, so Deuce, being the righteous and honorable student that he is, decided to lend you some of his clothes for the meantime. It's what a good friend would do! It's a temporary arrangement that would last only until Crowley spares enough change for you to buy another set of uniforms.

But this arrangement drags on for so long even when you have a functional closet and multiple sets of better-fitting clothes. Deuce never really noticed until recently that a third of your (albeit very limited) wardrobe actually belongs to him. But whenever you tug on his sleeves for his latest sweater, he doesn't have the heart to tell you no.

When he went home during break, his mom even noticed that certain sweaters and shirts had gone missing. "I left them at the college," he tells her as to not worry her. It's technically the truth— it's back with you in the college (and you're probably wearing them right now; the mental image is enough to fluster him all of the sudden when it never did before). He has to get them back eventually since those clothes are his. He's sure you wouldn't mind? Right?

Simply asking for them back is the difficult part for Deuce. You're there in front of him wearing one of his older shirts that fit snugly around your figure and he's at a loss for words. It's worn down and outright hideous as hell but the very first thought that comes to mind is that you look good in it.

Ah, yeah. You walk around campus on non-school days wearing his clothes 1/3rd of the time and nobody else knows that those jackets and shirts and sweaters and button-ups are all his. You make even the ugliest ones look good, or maybe it's because you're the wearer and you always looked good to him? Do his eyes need to be checked...? Deuce is tortured by these thoughts while merrily go about your day. You're laughing at something stupid that Grim said and he can't hear anything else. There's a fight in the courtyard but he can't see anything else. There's a midterm tomorrow but he can't think of anything else. You're too distracting.

When you finally do remember to return a shirt or two, Deuce tells you there's really no need to return them. He insists that they're better off with you, but you laugh and remind him that you're no longer the same pathetic charity case you were at the start of the year.

The truth is, your scent still lingers on recently returned shirts. It's the closest he'll get to being skin-to-skin with you, and Deuce is supposed to ignore that but he cannot. Or maybe he's the only one making this weird for the two of you because it doesn't seem to bother you in the slightest (and he's bothered by that).

But when Deuce looks at the recently returned shirts in his hands, he hopes he has a chance. He hopes you think of him as much as he thinks of you. He hopes the odds of him not actually liking you after all make your guts churn and set butterflies in your chest at the same time. He hopes he isn't the only one yearning for used shirts, lingering scents, and ghost touches. But at the same time, you've only ever asked these kinds of favors from him... Deuce doesn't want to assume anything, but a blush creeps upon his cheeks all the same and he continues to hope for more.

JACK HOWL — you played with his ears and tail?

Beastmen weren't a thing back in your world, so seeing them regularly made you morbidly curious about their animalistic features. Jack was easily the best candidate to satisfy your intrusive thoughts because just who else could you ask about this? Leona wasn't exactly an option and Ruggie might rope you into some scheme of his. And Jack owed you a favor, after all, so this is what you decided to ask of him.

Jack's ears twitched— did he hear you correctly? His face scrunches up in confusion because you barely knew each other for you to be asking something like this. How could you ask something so personal from him? It's in your innocently eager expression that he realizes what's going on... you just didn't know. Fine, it should mean nothing to you and thus he agrees to let you pet his tail and ears for five seconds. Maximum.

It's supposed to be a one time thing but he finds him involuntarily offering up his tail whenever you look him like that. He's not even sure how it got to this point. After all, there are romantic connotations of having your tail petted by someone else and... nevermind. Ruggie and Leona have started simultaneously teasing him over it the very moment they caught wind of this peculiar arrangement. It doesn't help that Jack's tail is particularly sensitive and reactive, but he keeps a straight face no matter how much it embarrasses him.

Jack doesn't understand why you're so fascinated by his tail and ears because there are so many others just like him. However, he supposes it's not an entirely terrible feeling, though, to have your fingers absentmindedly rake across his tail and hair as the two of you study. It's relaxing, even, but he won't tell you that. Jack will never tell you that it gives him goosebumps all over and makes him shiver whenever you play with his tail. Or that he's begun wondering what it would be like to have your hands elsewhere, or for him to touch you in similar ways in return.

He doesn't understand why he craves your company but doesn't question it either. All he knows is that your hands are so soft and gentle and that he likes the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you smile in satisfaction. And when you hum a soft tune as the gap between the two of you closes, he wonders if he's the only one feeling this tension.

"Again?" Jack huffs. The pretext of this being a silly favor has been long forgotten. He should probably tell you soon that you shouldn't be doing this, but you just look so pleased with yourself when the two of settle down in a lesser-known corner of the library. The routine persists, the cycle continues. Hours later, the both of you have gone through multiple bags of chips, two movies on his laptop, and his tail is now comfortably curled around your abdomen as you read a book and he tends to his beloved cactus.

Again? Jack silently asks himself whenever he sees your face in a crowd. Could the two of you spend hours in a comfortable silence while the unsaid implications haunt him? He's started to ask himself— were you just playing dumb at this point or just plain stupid? Or what if you had known all along and the two of you were just dancing around it?

EPEL FELMIER — you kissed him?

Epel eventually learns to use the way others perceive him to his advantage; there's strength in appearing to be weak and striking when the iron is hot. Still, he couldn't help but wish to be seen for his talents and strength instead of his beauty at the first glance. The first assumption everyone makes of him, for god's sake, is that he's a fragile little thing from a rich family, and, quite frankly, he's sick of it.

So he's secretly delighted when none of his charms worked on you and you yank him by the ear for even attempting. A few curse words and rough shoves later, both of you are on the floor, grappling and wrestling against each other. The two of you are laughing so hard and swearing so loudly that you'll probably wake up the rest of Pomefiore at this rate, but neither of you care. It's just the two of you right now grasping at each other like your life depended on it.

It's a nice change of pace to be openly exchanging insults instead of restraining himself. He enjoys the comfortable rhythm the two of you share— from all the brawls and the bantering and the hugs and to the kisses on the cheek. Yes, kisses. They started as simple thank you's after a few favors here and there, and just one of them is enough to make a mess out of Epel for weeks. Better yet, you only seem to be showering him with more and more of your attention and he relishes in it.

Ah, things are finally working out for him! He found someone he could confide in and he's sure that there's a spark between the two of you. By the end of the year, he might have someone to bring home and brag about to his relatives—

All the momentum halts when he sees you across the hall granting the rest of your friends the same levels of affection. From all the brawls to the bantering to the hugs and the kisses, none of those were ever solely his to take delight upon. It doesn't matter that he opened up to you about all his fears and insecurities because he was never special. You were just the kind of person who got along and felt comfortable with everyone around you, but Epel hates that he has no one to blame but himself. He willingly walked your warmth but it was never his to take.

It finally dawns upon him that you have never seen him in a romantic light and that was why you were so comfortable around him. In retrospect, the bond you two shared was more sibling-like than anything— and believe him when he says he's incredibly grateful that the two of you were that close —but it doesn't make it hurt any less to know that your affections never carried any romantic intentions after he had pinned for you for so long.

Even when he takes a step back, you're cruel in a roundabout way by continuing to be so kind and loving towards him. How was Epel supposed to make sense of your relationship after realizing he misunderstood you...?

And he also hates to admit this, but his self-confidence takes a huge blow from this. Epel genuinely thought he could be loved for who he was based on the time you spent together. It gnaws at him and eats him alive to finally know the truth, and sometimes he wishes he never found out at all.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT — you wrote him love letters?

So, Sebek asked (demanded) to be penpals...

It's all because Lilia told him it would be a good exercise of diplomacy, he insisted. As the young master's bodyguard, he will have to be as courteous as possible even in unpleasant company. He also rationalized, admittedly partly because of you, that forging bonds with magicless humans may be a worthwhile endeavor after all! It's all rather suspicious (and you suspect his real intentions have something to do with your friendship with Malleus), but Sebek has never been one to lie about his intentions. If anything, the popular opinion was that he's a little too honest and should learn a thing or two about holding back.

There's something very unconventional in sending handwritten letters in this day and age of modern technology, but also something very romantic and fantastical— much like the many fictional knights he had read about. It helps a lot that he's not directly confronted by the fact you are very much a magicless human who shouldn't be in NRC whenever he spills out his heart's contents unto multiple pages. It was a way for him to release his frustrations, celebrate his achievements, and talk about the dull, little things thats happened in his day-to-day life to someone who listened.

And listen you did. Turns out, when you're not subjected to his 1000 decibel shouting, Sebek is a rather earnest guy who worked hard and acknowledged others who also worked equally as hard no matter their disposition. To say the least, you understand why Lilia found it so entertaining to tease him.

It completely flies over his head that you had been flirting with him for months through these letters. Your everyday interactions with each other had been completely normal, so how was he supposed to notice?! It takes multiple rereads and many late-night discussions with the other Diasomnia dormers to decode and understand all the double entendres and hidden 'i love you's' in each and every letter. It was so needlessly difficult, but Lilia laughs in his face and pats him at the back for a job well-done.

"There's no way," he thinks to himself late at night and finds himself doubting Lilia's claims for once. But when Sebek steals a glance in your direction and you smile back in return, he's never felt weaker in his knees. You're absolutely and undeniably magic-less... but somehow you had casted a spell that made his chest tighten and shut him up. He hadn't even realized how much time he was spending with you and thinking about you when he wasn't.

Except nothing has changed in-person. You're acting like you hadn't meticulously hidden your affections for him in those letters, and he was starting to seriously doubt all of it. Yeah, were you event smart enough to pull off all that? As some magic-less human?

Actually... Sebek realizes that you are capable of outsmarting him after getting to know you much better through those letters. He's never been one to deny where credit it was due. Now, Sebek's just deeply ashamed that he failed to accurately assess your character before making judgements based on superficial traits. He knows better than anyone that you're witty, charming, brave, kind, beautiful, ambitious—

Oh no.

Oh no.

Sebek simply explodes on the spot once he realizes that he had been oblivious to his own feelings for you too. He had thoroughly examined every aspect of this conundrum except from within. Quite embarrassing from an esteemed knight of the prince of nocturnal fae to be this slow, really.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake: Parent by Circumstance, Dad by Choice

Tim had met Dani and Dan months into dating Danny, when they were already deep enough in their relationship that meeting Danny’s… kids (wards? clones? complicated existential crises?) felt like a natural progression.

They were, for all intents and purposes, Danny’s, no matter how strange their origins were.

And Tim?

Tim adored them.

Dani had taken to him immediately. She was smart, resourceful, and had the kind of cunning that made Tim terrified for when she grew up. She was all wild energy and big grins, full of trouble and ready to recruit Tim into it. Which, well—he was a Bat. He might not have the same mischief-making instincts as her, but he knew how to scheme.

Danny had sighed the first time he caught them conspiring, giving Tim a deeply exasperated look as Dani snickered behind his back.

“You’re supposed to be the responsible one,” Danny grumbled, arms crossed.

Tim had only blinked at him. “Why would you assume that?”

Dan, on the other hand, was rougher, quieter. More hesitant in a way that made something in Tim’s chest ache. He was wary at first, slow to warm up to Tim in a way Dani wasn’t—but Tim understood. Dan had sharp edges, but Tim had spent enough time around Jason to know that just meant he needed patience.

Which was fine, because Tim had plenty of it.

Besides, it helped that they liked him. Dani loved that he didn’t snitch when she roped him into pulling pranks on Danny, giggling wildly when they switched out the sugar for salt and watched Danny spit out his morning coffee with distaste.

So he didn’t push. He let Dan take his time, let him get used to having Tim around. The turning point had been, funnily enough, when Dan asked Tim to teach him how to fight.

Danny had sighed about that, too, shooting Tim a pointed look that was probably supposed to convey Do not encourage him.

Tim had ignored it.

Because what was he supposed to do? Say no?

He wanted Dan to know how to fight. To know how to protect himself properly. It wasn’t like he was teaching the kid how to snap someone’s neck—he was teaching him good habits. Controlled movements. Defense. Dan needed that, and Tim was happy to provide it.

Danny could roll his eyes all he wanted, but he wasn’t stopping Tim.

Dan, predictably, thought Tim was the best after that—well, second best. Jason had somehow stolen first place. Tim wasn’t even mad about it. Dan would sit next to Jason with wide, fascinated eyes, soaking up his stories and nodding along to every dramatic retelling of a fight. (“And then I threw the guy through the car door—” “Did he live?” “Unfortunately.”)

Tim was fine with being second place. Really.

—

Tim had almost been caught with the ring twice.

The first time, Dani had nearly found it when she tackled him over the couch, scrambling over him with zero regard for personal space. If he hadn’t been fast in twisting out of her grip, the box would’ve gone flying across the room.

The second time, Dan had almost seen it when Tim went digging through his duffel. The box had nearly slipped into view when he yanked out a hoodie, and Tim had barely managed to shove it under his gear before Dan could get a good look.

But the third time?

Dani found it.

Because of course she did.

Tim had been distracted—exhausted from patrol, too caught up in the warmth of Danny’s hands pulling him in by the waist. He’d tossed his jacket onto the couch, thinking nothing of it.

Dani had been snooping.

He didn’t even realize until later. She didn’t say anything. She just gave him a look—one that was far too knowing for someone her age—but she didn’t mention it. She just tucked the ring back where she found it and let the subject drop.

For now.

But later, when the house was quiet and everyone else had gone to bed, she sat beside him on the couch, feet tucked under her, eyes flickering to him with something unreadable.

Then, in a casual voice, she asked, “Hey… can I call you Dad?”

Tim froze.

His breath caught, and something in his chest lurched.

He turned to her, eyes wide, trying to process what she just said—what she just asked—but before he could even begin to figure out how to respond, Dan, from where he was leaning against the arm of the couch, just shrugged.

“Yeah,” he muttered, gaze a little too pointedly not on Tim. “You’ve earned it, I guess.”

And Tim—Tim had to swallow past the sudden tightness in his throat, had to blink fast against the prickling behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, voice rough as he said, “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Dani grinned, throwing herself at him without hesitation. Tim huffed as he caught her, laughing as she clung to him like she was sure he wouldn’t let go.

Dan rolled his eyes. But his lips curled up, just slightly.

Tim had never been happier.