#live shows move quick

[untimelyambition]

the whole diamond heist scene with the lasers in gl2 is genuinely the funniest thing i have ever seen in my entire life. vinny so reassuringly saying “throw me” and ranboo and sneeg not even arguing with him just flat out agreeing to lob him across the room. the different shots of them swinging him back and forth to get momentum. the fucking puppet flying through the air. sneeg and ranboo staring off into the distance to watch him soar, the instant cut to them holding each other screaming. vinny hitting the fucking roof???? the elation. the anvil falling sound effect. the looney tunes stare as it falls from the sky. vinny’s final words. the fucking anvil crushing his head in (and the shock that came watching it live and not being able to pause or rewind and see the cut). ranboo making the world’s worst pun. sneeg’s indignant “i’m not throwing you!’. everyone moving on as if it didn’t happen. truly the funniest scene in all written history. i will never recover.

[ohmnnnezz]

i think they kissed too

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Beginning to really wonder how much of my financial concern is manufactured and handed to me as opposed to something I'm genuinely concerned by

[sagittaestardust]

[niteshade925]

[dragonji]

love watching things with people. hate trying to organize watching things w my roomie bc if I leave line of sight she is Not remembering that we agreed to watch something together </3

[potofsoup]

Oh look, it seems like there's a Republican-led movement to purge voter rolls in the lead-up to the election! It's almost as if your vote matters and they don't want you to vote! Anyway, I whipped up a quick map (based on this) that shows when the voter registration deadline is in each state. There are a few deadlines coming up in the next week or so.

If you live in a state that regularly purges voter rolls for infrequent voters (the orange ones in the first map), or if you moved recently, it's good to check if you're still registered to vote.

Vote.org makes it super easy to check your registration: https://www.vote.org/am-i-registered-to-vote/

Just put in your address and DOB and they'll tell you whether you're registered. (And they give you a quick link to register online if it turns out that you're not! Only the 9 states in white on my map don't have online registration, and for those they provide instructions on how to do it via mail or in person.) If you want an extra verification, find your state's election website and double-check there.

So yeah, give yourself peace of mind -- do a quick check. :)

[inbabylontheywept]

i once accidentally dated someone for a few months. its very difficult to explain how this happened, but the gist is that i thought we were hanging out, and she thought we were on dates, and it was just a very painfully highschool thing.

she was a little bit confused that i hadnt tried to pull any moves, at all, even a little. like, didnt even try holding hands because, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating.

so, halloween rolled around, and she thought, you know, why wait for destiny, when you can grab it? so she hit me with a clue by four.

babylon, she said. babylon. my mom's gonna be out of town on halloween, and im gonna have the house to myself, and it's going to be kind of lonely. would you like to come to my house and watch scary movies with me?

you know, kind of a netflix and chill thing. except, and i cannot emphasize this enough, i did not know we were dating. also autism. so i took it at face value and said: oh! yeah! thatd be fun! and she thought she got her point across, but she didnt and it was a mess.

skip forward to halloween: my family has a block party every year, right? and at that point i was too old to really trick or treat, but we still wore costumes for our role in the block party, which in my case, was handing out cotton candy. so i took the first shift, and my costume was this homemade abomination minion thing. i had full yellow body paint, and goggles, and a bald cap, and overalls. the kids who saw it were like, uh, hm. overly realistic minion. and adults were like, oh, some kind of hills have eyes hillbilly with jaundice. very scary.

(it was not my best costume.)

my little brother swapped me out for second shift, and i was getting ready to change out to head to her house when i was like: no, she'll get a real kick out of this. this is one of the worst things i have ever worn. so i kept it on and just brought a change of clothes thinking i could shower real quick and change at her place after she saw my nightmare getup.

so i left after that, got there, knocked on her door, and she said come on in. so i went in, and there was this very long hall with an abrupt right turn into her living room where the tv was, and i went down the hall, and i made the turn, and my field of view went from beige drywal to her, on the couch, naked. naked in the paint me like one of your french girls pose. super naked.

i panicked. this was my first time seeing a real person like, full on sex naked,which is a totally different beast from other kinds of naked. you see one kind of naked and you think yeah, im ready for all the kinds of naked, but you arent. i wasnt at least. i really wasn't.

so my brain crashed to BIOS. she also crashed to BIOS, but for different reasons. of all the ways this could have turned me, having me show up in yellow body paint and overalls was pretty pretty low down the list.

so we sat there a while, and you know, she wasn't getting any less naked, which really wasn't helping me get my brain sorted out. it really wasnt much of a surprise when she got her bearings first and started asking questions.

"babylon," she said. "babylon. what are you wearing?"

and i was like, kind of rebooted, but i was nowhere near full functionality, so symbolic language wasnt loaded in yet. i had nothing running but my trusty autism.exe, so i said

"overalls"

and she looked at me like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked at her like she was the first naked person i had seen in real life who got naked specifically for me, and my upper level cognitive process went: "listen man, we are not going to get our shit together as long as 80% of your brain power is devoted to not blinking. you gotta get out of here."

and if id communicated that, maybe things would have been less of a mess, but instead i just kind of turned around and walked back to my car. i figured i could drive a few loops around the block, get my brain in order, and figure out what the hell we were gonna do.

the only thing i had said to her since arriving was, again, overalls.

first loop around, i was like: oh god fucking damnit. oh shit. oh shit. shes gonna get like, an eating disorder from this. oh no.

second loop around i was like: oh NOOOOO oh WHAT THE FUCK oh SWEET JESUS PLEASE. i dont wanna go back man. i just wanna bury this and forget about it. please. please. let this bitter cup pass from my lips.

and after my third loop, i went and i knocked on her door again.

she answered it this time, and i counted my lucky stars that she'd changed into some pajamas. she was all teary eyed which was the saddest thing ever, and we sat down in her kitchen and talked. it was pretty bad - i figured out we'd been dating, and she figured out that trying to jump from home plate to 3rd base is considered ballsy in baseball, least of all dating. no real winners there. and i can remember after all that, we sat there a bit a bit longer, just steadying ourselves, and i was like "well, im actually really glad we figured that out. guess i'll see you at school tomorow' and she said "WAIT. wait."

"lets watch shrek 2."

so we did and it was horrible. we did not look at each other. we did not say a word. we just sat in stony silence, while shrek 2 played in the background, and when it was done we shook hands. i think we might have been able to salvage that as a friendship if it hadnt been for shrek. as it was she turned white as a sheet and ran away every time she even got a glimpse of me at school, and that summer she moved to a new state to live with her dad. all her friends said she moved just so she wouldn't have to go to school with me anymore, and i dont actually think they were lying.

every time i hear relationship counselors talk about how important communication is, and i'm tempted to roll my eyes, i look back and go, alright. alright. theres probably some poor bastard, somewhere in the world, who doesnt even know that hes married.

and god help him when he figures it out.

other bad dating story here.

[supreme-leader-stoat]

You're fresh out of college and looking for a job. Everyone is hiring. Nobody who's "hiring" is actually hiring. You finally get a call back from somewhere you barely remember applying to (though the voice on the other end sounds synthesized). You pull up the job listing again real quick. The company name and the fact that the listing is for "Minion" are kind of concerning, but you know what, you've interviewed with enough evil corporations by now, you can handle one wearing its true colors on its sleeve. At this point it's a matter of making rent or moving back in with your parents, and as much as you love your family, you can't imagine spending another summer dealing with your brothers' antics. You agree to the interview.

The man who greets you is an enthusiastic older German(?) man who's either way too into cosplay or just that committed to the bit, judging by the lab coat. He made cookies. The tray of cookies is proffered to you by a ten-foot-tall robotic caricature of a 50s businessman. You take a deep breath to calm yourself. You bite into one of the cookies. It's delicious.

You ask the boss about his business model. "Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that, I bounce from project to project a lot." He mentions that his end goal is becoming the undisputed ruler of the surrounding counties. "Really? Not the whole world?" you ask. "I like to set realistic goals," he replies.

As he gives you the tour of his "evil lair," ingrained instincts are screaming at you to report this guy to some kind of authority figure. You remember the salary. You decide that you can always bust him after getting your first paycheck.

The boss asks when you can start. Caught off guard, you say "tomorrow?". Your boss(?) says he'll see you then.

On the way out, you bump into your stepbrother's girlfriend. Your boss introduces her as his daughter. You both silently agree to sidestep the subject for now and act like this is your first time meeting.

You show up to your first day of work. Your boss is putting the finishing touches on a giant machine that was definitely not there yesterday. You are nonplussed. You ask him what it's for and he launches into a convoluted explanation involving his parents always forcing him to put his shirts on backwards so the tag was in front. You think he should probably talk to a therapist.

Your brothers' exotic pet breaks down the wall. You stare at him. He stares at you. Incredulously, you say his name. "Oh, good, you two already know each other!" your boss says. You mention that you used to live with him. "What? Perry the Platypus, you never mentioned having a roommate."

This is what I like to imagine Candace Flynn's life is like, post P&F.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Third Wheel

Dark!SatoSugu x reader

(Warnings: Yandere, dark content, dark, misogynistic language, delusional behavior, kidnapping, blood, violence, +ShokoHime x reader, choking (not in the sexy way tho), threesomes, oral!F!recieving)

Synopsis: Regardless of what Satoru and Suguru tell you, you've always felt left out in this relationship. But when you leave, you quickly find out there's no line your ex-lovers won't cross to get you back

Word Count: 7.3k

When you come home that night, they're already cuddled together, watching TV. 

It's cute. Your boyfriends were always so loose with their affection. When Suguru was cooking, Satoru would lean on his back, more than happy to talk his ear off. Suguru would hold Satoru's waist, steadying him, being his anchor. At night, you'd catch them reaching for each other, trying to hold hands even in their sleep. 

It's clear to even the blind: they are soulmates. 

And you were just extra baggage. 

You don't know how you caught their eyes, but this past year was fun. They've been sweet, both of them have. Inviting you into their lives, into their home, into their bed. Everything moved so fast, but you didn't mind. You were young and a bit spontaneous. Two beautiful men showing a glimpse of interest in you wasn't something you could pass up. This was nice, while it lasted. 

But unlike them, you aren't forever. Their bond would never come close to anything they could have with you. 

It took a while for you to accept that, but eventually, you did. 

"Hey, babe," Satoru calls. "Rough day?" He lazily waves you over. Suguru grunts, before shifting over to make space. 

Despite it all, you're a coward. You don't announce it; you just stare at them. Fondly. Yes, this was nice. You don't think you could handle telling them, though; that would be too much. Seeing how little they cared would break you. 

"Yeah." You give. "Rough day." 

You weave through the house. It's theirs. Not yours. That they've made clear. You're an afterthought. It's the little things. Their toothbrushes are together, yours on the other side of the sink. Their shoes were neatly stacked side by side, and yours were always tucked away in a corner. Left out. Forgotten. Why wouldn't it be like that? They've been together for years. You were still an outsider. 

You only have a little to grab. You just grab your extra clothes, the hair clips you have a terrible habit of leaving around. Just a few items. And then the bedroom looks like you'd never been there at all. 

When you come back out, they don't notice your suitcase. Satoru laughs loudly at something happening on screen. Suguru chides him sternly. Good. It's better this way, you think as you take your suitcase to your car. You don't need any additional heartbreak. 

You make a few more rounds, collecting everything you need. Suguru only catches you when you are about to leave their house forever. 

"Angel?" He calls. "Where are you going?" 

He's looking at you, head tilted in mild curiosity. You manage to smile, looking down at your car keys. 

"Out for a drive." You shrug. "I'll be back." 

Suguru takes it at face value. He lets you go with a small 'have fun'. The walk to the car is heavy. Metal dumbbells on your shoulders. 

When you get in the seat, you finally allow yourself to sob. 

~

I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore

That's how you ended the wall of text before blocking them. It was the coward's way out. 

"No." Utahime's quick to tell you. "It's the only way. Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise." 

You shouldn't be so quick to listen to her, considering she hates them both. Still, she was more than happy to offer you her home while you picked yourself back up, and started looking for an apartment. You'll humor her for the time being. 

"She's right," Shoko pipes up. Her dark circles are even more prominent tonight. You guiltily think it has more to do with you than with her patients, but she and Utahime have insisted that you stay with them. 

"It was for my sake, more than theirs." You say honestly, tucking yourself into the couch. "They...don't care about me. At least, not like they do each other." 

Utahime rolls her eyes. "You are blind." She says. "Those two were obsessed with you. I'm just glad you got out while you could." 

You laugh, but it beats crying all over again. Utahime doesn't find what she said as funny. She chides you again, something about being oblivious before she settles down to watch the movie she put on. Shoko falls asleep right at the intermission. Her head falls against your shoulder. Utahime leans against you too. And it's nice to have friends to fill the void they left. 

~

Satoru appears first. 

You woke up later than you would have liked. Your eyes are itchy and red from crying all night. Utahime was more than happy to give you her guestroom, but you know you can't take advantage of her kindness for too long. Tomorrow, you'll start apartment hunting. 

Today, you'd sit on the couch and eat ice cream. 

When you go downstairs, you hear a hushed whisper. Utahime's by the door, using her body to keep someone out. She looks angry. 

"-No one's here but me. Now get the fuck off my property." She seethes. 

You recognize his voice. You aren't ready. "Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" 

"No." Utahime gripes. "So go, Gojo-" 

He catches your eyes. Your heart gets stuck in your throat. 

He's taller than her. It takes little to no effort to barrel through her body, easily shoving her aside to get to you. You flinch, his touch burns when he grabs you, pulling you into his arms. 

"Oh, baby." He sighs into your hair. "There you are. Missed you." 

It's too soon. You aren't ready. You can still feel the emotions bubble up from that night, when you collapsed in Utahime's arms, sobbing your heart out. This wasn't fair. They never made it fair. 

You cast a glance at Utahime. She was scowling, close to boiling right over the edge. It gives you enough strength to try to push Gojo off, but he only lets go, when he wants to. 

"Okay." He smiles, reaching down to grab your hand. "C'mon. Let's go home. You had us both so worried for a sec, but if we explain everything to Suguru it'll be okay." 

You find your voice then. As well as your strength. His grip on your hand isn't all that tight. It slips away when you gently shake him off. Satoru stops, confused. 

"Satoru..." You start. "Didn't you get my text?" 

He rolls his shoulders, agitated. "Yeah, but-but it doesn't matter." 

There it was. His lovable personality. Casual careless, nonchalance. For once, you aren't annoyed by it. Maybe your grief made you numb to it. 

"I did mean it," you say as plainly as you can, "every word." 

He freezes. You smile at Utahime. 

"Could you give us some time?" You ask. 

She frowns, but she's never been able to say no to you. 

"Ten minutes." She finally says, before she's marching back to the kitchen. You still hear her muttering while leading Satoru back to your room. 

"I'm sorry." He says when the door shuts behind him. 

"For what?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, taking off those glasses he loves so much. You can't look him in the eyes for too long. It brings up too many memories. 

"I fucked up, right?" He says, he sounds desperate. You've never heard him sound like this before. "I'm sorry. I dunno what I did, but I'm sorry." 

You shrug, picking at the lint of your sleeves. "You didn't do anything. I just...it felt like a good point to just-" 

"-Leave us?" He cuts in. "Come home, baby. I'm so sorry, just come home and we'll figure this out." You look away because you can feel the tears burn up. 

"You didn't do anything." You insist, but your voice is weaker. 

"Was it Suguru? Did he do some bullshit?" Satoru interrogates. "What'd he do? I'll kick his ass, I promise." You hide your smile underneath your sleeves. 

"He didn't do anything either," you assure, "neither of you did." 

He's getting more and more desperate. "Then why did you leave us? What's wrong with us? Why can't we go home and talk this out? Please come back, baby; home doesn't feel like home without you." 

Isn't this what you wanted? A confession. Evidence that they wanted you just as much as they wanted each other. Satoru certainly did. Suguru did, too, considering how hurt Satoru implied him to be. A week ago, you might have been over the moon, too wallowed in self-pity to do anything but agree, run back into their arms, and willingly sink back into 2nd place all over again. 

But the thought of going back to their home makes you feel sick. 

"I can't." You decide. "I just can't. It's over, Satoru." 

I'm sorry. You keep that last line to yourself because you're too scared to crack in front of him. Shatter. Splinter. 

Satoru doesn't share the same sentiment. You hear movement, and when you look up, he's crying. 

A part of you wants to hug him, but you hold yourself back because he isn't yours anymore, and maybe he never was. Still, it hurts seeing him like this. The piece of you that still wanted him is ready to forgive and forget. Your vindictiveness keeps it at bay. 

"That's not fucking fair." He's saying through his tears, even when he's crying, he's beautiful, "You-you can't just ditch us like this. You don't get it; we can't live without you. It's killing us; you're killing us, baby." He staggers forward, in a way that makes you afraid he might fall. In the end, he just collapses on the bed. Eventually, you take a seat next to him. 

He's looking around, you catch him eyeing the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. The hair ties on top of the drawer. The plushies on the bed. You think it might finally be starting to sink that that you're truly gone. 

"Suguru can't sleep these days, y'know that?" He starts, a sardonic laugh in his throat. "He pretends to, but he can't. He stays up all night just wishing you'd come home. The guy is miserable without you, and you can't even gimme a fucking answer." 

His voice cuts you just the way it's supposed to. You wince, feeling his words slice into his skin, finding their way into your heart. You look at his shoes for a moment. He didn't bother to remove them. Maybe that's another reason why Utahime was so pissed. 

"I was starting to feel like an afterthought with you two." You speak. "I mean, it makes sense, you two were together, first. I thought the barrier would just take time to go away....but then it didn't." 

How many times has Suguru taken Satoru's hand over yours? How many times has Satoru forgotten your drink but not Suguru's? How many inside jokes you didn't understand? You always felt petty for being jealous over the tiniest things, but those tiny things kept getting bigger and bigger until it felt like they'd been purposely building that barrier themselves.

You were sick of feeling like the third wheel in your relationship. 

"Baby..." Satoru's voice is tinged in guilt and you can't look at him because you can feel the tears start to well up. "I-I didn't realize." He grabs your hand. 

"Come home." He pleads. "We'll fix it, I promise. We'll be better. We'll do better." 

You shake your head, slipping away from his grip. 

"It's too late." Your voice is shaky. Please let him not notice. Please, please, please for once can his oblivious about everything but his one and only work in your favor? "You can't fix anything, Satoru. Not now." 

"You haven't even given us a chance to-" 

"You should go." You stand up. Satoru follows you out the door. Utahime's already outside. She catches your eyes and nods. 

"Gojo." She speaks, tone clipped. "Get the fuck out of my house." 

He stills, frozen like the prettiest painting in the world. His eyes turn to ice as he stares at her. Utahime doesn't budge. If anything, she advances, pulling you close, acting like a human barrier between you and your ex-boyfriend. You take it immediately, nestling into her side, taking refuge from his icy stare. 

There's silence. You only relax when you hear his footsteps fade and the door slams ricochets into the apartment. And that's when you break down into Utahime's arms completely, letting her coo you into comfort. 

"Maybe I am being overdramatic," you say when Shoko comes back later that day. Utahime was enraged since Satoru left, pacing around the apartment. It's only after both you and Shoko coaxed her back into the couch that she calms down enough to take a seat next to you. 

"Maybe this whole thing is ridiculous. I-I should just go back and-"

"No." Shoko is immediately saying voice firm. "Absolutely Not." 

You can smell the hint of smoke when she came back from the hospital. You try not to assume it's because of you. 

"No way in hell are we letting you go back there after what he did." Utahime gripes. 

"He didn't do anything." You argue. "I swear, I-I was just...being pathetic." 

Warm hands lift your head up. You struggle, still shuddering from your sobs as Utahime forces you to look at her. 

Her eyes are brown. Not as glittery as Satoru's, who's eyes shine like the burning sun itself. Not like Suguru, with his celestial purple. No, hers are just brown. 

You didn't realize how beautiful brown eyes could be. Not just the color of home; the color of chocolate; the color of brownies. The way the light cast down at them made them deep and dark, like a night sky. If you looked closer, you could see tiny stars swimming around. 

"Listen. Are you listening?" When you nod, her voice softens. She tucks your hair behind your ear. 

"You deserve better." She insists. "You deserve better than them. So so much better. I know you can't see it right now, but there is better out there waiting for you." Her voice loses all momentum all at once. "Just...trust me, okay?" 

Her desperation to be heard makes you smile a bit. You nod. Her frown loosens, just the tiniest bit. She relaxes. 

"Thanks," you say after a beat. "I...I needed that. I'm glad I have goods friends." 

Utahime's hands drop from your face. She collapses into the couch cushions with a groan. Shoko laughs. 

"Told you." Shoko says, mirth and alcohol on her tongue. 

Utahime flips her off, and Shoko takes her place. She settles into your side. 

"They were assholes." She tells you. "Forget about them. And she's right, you deserve better." 

You were glad they were there for you, even when you weren't there for yourself. It felt nice that they cared. Vouched, Advocated for your comfort. They made better boyfriends than your old boyfriends ever did. Their support helped heal the Satoru and Suguru-sized holes left in your heart. Every day became a bit better. 

When Suguru eventually turned up, you were a bit more prepared. 

He's a bit nicer than Satoru was. He actually knocks, instead of relentlessly pounding on the door. He doesn't barrel through Shoko when he spots you cowering behind her. His face betrays nothing. He's still. A polite smile is stretched on his lips. Shoko isn't happy about letting him into her home, but when she glances at you, you nod. You needed to do this. You needed closure. 

And so did Suguru. 

You don't speak to him until you're shut in your room. Geto cuts the silence first. 

"How have you been?" He asks nicely. 

"Good." You respond. "You?" 

"Good." 

Conversation stilts. You don't know what to say. Luckily, your ex is never the man who stays silent for long. 

"How's living with Shoko and Utahime been?" He asks, "I'm surprised you've put up with them for this long. They were pretty scary in high school." 

"I bet you two were scarier." You counter. 

He smiles. It's soft, looks good on him. You find yourself smiling back. When you take a seat on the the of the bed, he doesn't follow. You don't know whether to feel glad or not. 

"Yeah, I'm not the proudest of those times." He admits with a sheepish laugh. 

It dies down, and you know the artificial barrier between you two has broken. You shift, waiting for the inevitable. 

"Satoru told me what happened." He sighs. "I'm sorry, Angel. We-I didn't know how you felt. Everything was so perfect, I just thought you felt the same." 

"It's fine." You assure, and this time, your throat doesn't clog up, and your eyes don't feel itchy. "Really. It's-it's fine." 

"It's not." Suguru shakes his head. "You'd be in bed with us if it were." 

That comment pricks something deep within your skin. You swallow, turning away from his piercing purple eyes. They were much like Satoru's. Breathtaking, you could stare at them for hours. You used to. 

But now, you don't have that desire anymore. 

And maybe now that you aren't so attached, maybe you could try being a little more honest. 

"I was jealous." You finally admit. "I couldn't help it. I-I always felt like I was fighting within my relationship. You two were so much closer to each other than I was. Than I ever could be, honestly." 

Suguru frowns, troubled. 

"That's not true." He insists, soft, but something's burning underneath his tone. "Satoru and I have history, but that doesn't mean-" 

"I was runner-up." You cut him off. "For both of you. Looking back, I'm not really upset. It was always impossible for anything to come between the two of you. This-" You gesture between you and him "-was always inevitable." 

"It's my fault." You smile at him, hoping it comes across as sincere as you feel. "I couldn't stand being second place." 

He moves then, kneeling in front of you. Eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He catches your hands in his. You let him. A parting gift. 

"Angel." He starts. "We never once thought of you as that." 

You shrug. "It doesn't matter." You reply. "It's how I always felt. You can't really change the way I feel about things, Suguru." 

You think he's realizing that he's beginning to lose you. His grip gets tighter as if he can physically keep you with him at the very least. He shifts until he's right at your knees, looking up at you desperately. 

"Come back." He insists, abandoning his persuasions. "Just...come back. At least for a little while? We can try again, can't we? Just give us a second chance?" 

It's strange, they don't look too similar, but you can see the similarities. Wow, they're just perfect for each other, aren't they? Yin and Yang. Two halves; one whole. 

You were always a leftover. You just had to learn that the hard way, through days of heartbreak, crying, and sobbing your heart out. It took you awhile to understand that the affection they had for each other is different from the affection they had for you. 

You shake your head. His hands nearly crush yours. 

"I love you." 

It takes you a while to figure out what he said. When it does sink in, your world tilts. Your heart stops at his abrupt declaration and you must stare at him because why? At first, you think he's just desperate: lovebombing. And then you look into his eyes, his sincerity. No, he means it. It makes you feel worse. 

"Satoru does, too, but you know him-he'd rather die than admit something like that." Suguru gives a bitter laugh, one you find familiar even after all this time. "I've always wanted to tell you but thought it was too soon. I thought we had all the time in the world." His voice tapers so he doesn't have to say the obvious but clearly you three didn't. 

You want to reach over, tuck a stray lock behind his ear but you stop yourself because he isn't yours anymore. You gave it all away when you ran. Instead, you curl your hands around his in silent understanding. 

You don't know how you didn't realize it before, but Suguru is less put together than usual. His hair is typically well-groomed and shiny, but now you see split ends. His eyes are clear and bright, but today...they aren't. A dull purple. Hazy violet. 

He's miserable. 

You did this. This was all you. 

"Satoru misses you," he says, "always had. Barely smiles anymore. I don't think I can blame him." 

They loved you. They love you. This was all what you wanted. Just a bit of recognition. There's a tiny part of you that's still itching to jump back in Suguru's arms, kiss him until you're out of breath 'just kidding! it was a prank! let's go home!' and then you two would leave hand-in-hand back to Satoru. 

Going back to them would make them happy, but not you.

But Shoko was right. You deserved better. 

 "It'll get better." You assure. "You'll heal." 

Day by day, the cracks in your heart start to seal. Bit by bit. It may never heal over completely, but you know you'll be okay one day. And they'll be alright too. Who knows, maybe in a couple years, you'll all laugh at this. 

Suguru shakes his head and stands up. His eyes are just the bit glassy, but he's blinking them away before anything gives. It's just like him, honestly, so you're not too upset. 

"You don't get it." He's smiling, not quite in humor. "I don't think you'll ever do but..." He trails off, mid-thought. 

"But what?" You press. 

Then he sighs and closes his eyes. When he looks at you again, his signature pleasantly cold smile is on his face. 

"I did all I could, I think." He turns around, abrupt. "I'll see myself out." 

You're caught off-guard by his sudden departure, but by the time you're following him, Shoko's already leading him out the front door, locking it with exasperation. 

"Is that it?" She asks. "They won't be barging in anytime soon, right?" 

You stare out the window, watching as Suguru gets in his car. Something bubbled in your stomach. 

~

It was one of those nights. Shoko had come back early. Utahime was back from the school. You had planned a cute little evening for the girls and a relaxing night in. You had everything: wine, freshly-prepared dinner, a cheesy horror movie, and an announcement you're sure they were more than happy to hear.

You had just settled down the blanket when you hear Shoko come through the door. You take off her coat before she can even touch it, excitedly flitting around her. 

"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" Shoko asks, her dark circles even more profound than before. You don't have to feel guilty about those for long. 

"You'll see!" You chirp back. 

Utahime strolls out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. Her hair is still wet. You'll ask if you can blow dry it later. 

"That's what you've been saying for nearly an hour now." Utahime groans. "Just tell us already. Or at least, me."

"Patience." You chastise. "But, it's a good surprise, I promise." 

She's not satisfied, but she sits down anyway. They eat dinner, complimenting your skills all the while. You preen at their praise. It's a stark contrast between Suguru and Satoru, how cold they'd often been whenever you did something nice for them: tilted smiles, less-than-receptive words of 'oh baby you didn't have to'. 

As you lived with both couples, you can see the similarities. Utahime's temper is close to Satoru's, but that's where the similarities stop. She's more serious and less likely to blow off your feelings with a playful huff. Shoko and Suguru share the same laid-back personality, but Shoko is always there to listen to you instead of cutting you off with condescending sympathy. 

Wow, maybe Satoru and Suguru were a little more shitty than you initially thought. 

Eventually, the night draws to a close. They're drunk, full, and smiling. Perfect. You clear your throat just when Shoko refills her fourth glass. 

"Again, I'd really like to thank you for letting me stay." You start. "It meant so much to me to have two amazing people to support me like this. So, thank you." 

Utahime smiles. "Don't thank us," she says, "again, you can stay for as long as you want-forever, honestly!" 

You nod. "Well, I don't think I have to do that anymore." 

Shoko freezes mid-sip. 

"What?" She asks. 

"I talked to my parents." You tell them, oblivious to their stone faces. "And I'm going to move back in with them, just until I get back on my feet. Isn't that great? Now, you two won't have to-" 

You stop when you finally notice how cold they look. Utahime looks close to tears. 

"What's wrong?" You ask. 

"You're leaving?" Utahime asks, her voice nearly cracks. "Why?" 

That...wasn't what you were expecting. Shouldn't they be glad the third wheel is finally out of their house? Why does Utahime look so heartbroken? Why is Shoko so quiet? What was going on?

"Isn't-isn't this what you wanted?" You fumble with your words. "Now, you don't have to share the house with me anymore. It'll be just the two of you again." 

They exchange glances, and it reminds you of those secret conversations Suguru and Satoru used to have. Except this time, you can read their faces. 

"What if...we don't want it to be just the two of us anymore?" Shoko starts, hesitant, reproachful like she's approaching a scared wild animal. 

Your eyebrows scrunch. "I don't understand." 

At that, Utahime drops her head in her hands. "Oh, c'mon! We've been doing this for weeks! You can't be that oblivious-" 

And then, she stops herself. Looks at you. You stare right back, and the three of you have the exact same realization at the exact same time. 

"Oh." You breathe. 

"Oh." Utahime whispers. 

"We're all idiots." Shoko says behind her glass. 

"Wait wait. Hold on." You backtrack. "You-you two want...with me?" 

"Yes!" Utahime exclaims. "Yes! God, now everything makes sense. I thought you were just trying to let us down gently, but this whole time you just weren't even paying attention!" 

"No." You argue, face hot. "You two were just really subtle." 

"We all sleep in the same room, these days." Shoko lists. "'Hime sat on your lap with nothing on but a bra and panties." 

"I thought we were just doing friend things!" 

"What kinds of friends sit on your lap, half-naked?" Utahime asks, mortified. 

"I-I-" You give up. 

All this time. You were mourning over something you lost months ago, even when there was something blooming right under your nose. God, you're an idiot. 

Hands. They clasp your own. You look up into Utahime's pretty brown eyes. 

"We want you to stay." She whispers. "We want you." You take a glance at Shoko. 

"Do you want us?" 

You take a deep breath. 

You nod. 

She's smiling, and then Utahime's kissing you. Soft, so soft, nothing like the possessive kisses Satoru gives you. It's innocent and adoring and you find yourself melting into her completely. 

Utahime disappears and before you can mourn her warmth, Shoko's lips join yours. You can smell the alcohol, the slightest sting of cigarettes. You don't mind it. Her kisses are nothing like Suguru's, all powerful and domineering. She takes what you give her, asking ever so nicely for more. 

You break away, panting. 

"You good?" She asks. 

You nod. 

"Good." Shoko hums. "Cuz we're gonna fuck you now." 

"What?" 

Shoko pushes you down on the couch. You land with an oomph before Utahime's descends on you with a flurry of kisses. 

"Waited so long to do this, baby." She's sighing into your lips, fiddling with your shirt so she can pull it off. "Weeks and weeks." 

She pulls down one of your bra cups, massaging at your tits. You hadn't had action in so long, so you eagerly encouraged her movements, kissing her back with just as much fervor. Shoko takes her place next to her girlfriend, pawing at your other tit. 

"Look." Shoko purrs. "One for each of us." Her soft mouth sucks on your nipple, swirling it around her mouth. Your head leans back with a pleasant sigh. 

"Feel good?" Utahime asks. "She's good with her tongue, isn't she?" 

"Yes," you nod, and Utahime gives out a delighted giggle, peppering your face with kisses. You gasp when you feel her hand shift through your shorts, palming at your dripping pussy. 

"Poor thing." Utahime's cooing, and there's a brief hint of mockery in her tone. You've never heard that before. It turns you on even more. "They never gave you attention back there did they?" She circles your clit. "They were too busy sucking each other's dicks to pay attention to such a pretty pussy." 

Shoko pops off your tits, shifting down. She kisses her way to your stomach. You blearily watch as she adjusts herself until she's right at your shorts. Utahime follows her lead, tugging off your shorts. Your panties go next. 

And then you're staring down at them with trepid anticipation. 

"I meant what I said." Shoko says softly. "You deserve better. You deserve someone who cares for you." 

"You deserve us." With that, She and Utahime latch onto your pussy. 

They're everywhere. You have to stop yourself from cumming right then and there, arching your back as one of them sucks on your clit while the other licks into your hole. She manages to stick her tongue inside of you, and it's enough to shoot sparks through your eyes. 

"So tight." Utahime's hissing into your cunt. "Sho, after this, you wanna try to fuck this pussy with your strap?" 

There's a soft laugh, and Shoko pulls away from your clit to answer, much to your disappointment. You whine, thrusting your hips in the air. She stills you with a hush. 

"I don't think we're ready just yet." She hums. "Yet." 

When you glance down, they both are making out with your clit. It's debaucherous. Their soft lips are connected, your tiny bud locked in the middle as their spit trickles down into your pussy. Utahime groans and when you look further down, you realize she's touching herself. 

You don't know which part of this makes you cum, but you cum. It's the hardest you've ever orgasmed. There's so much stimulation that your hips buck up, trying to chase the sparks of pleasure. They let you, licking you through your orgasm. 

When you come down, your thighs fall apart, splayed against the soft cushions. Utahime still isn't finished, licking at your clit. You shudder at the overstimulation, whining until Shoko is pulling her off of you by her hair. 

"Good, baby?" She asks, crawling back up to you. You kiss her as an answer. She melts in delight. 

You break the kiss, glancing over at Utahime. 

Taking the silent request, she kisses you again. You can taste yourself on her lips. You don't mind it. For some reason, it's sweeter on Utahime's tongue. 

When she breaks away, she stares at you, face soft. "You're staying, right?" She asks you. "You'll stay with us? Because after this, I don't think we could ever let you go." 

You give a shy nod, and Utahime beams. 

"Then, you're ours now," Shoko says, settling into your side. "And we're yours. Always." 

"Always." You breathe, content, happy. You could almost go to sleep. 

Shoko slaps your thigh. 

"Not yet." She warns before propping you up. "First, I want you to sit on my face." 

Hours later, you wake up delightfully sore in bed. The two girls are curled up next to you. When you move, you can still feel the bruises Utahime left. You never knew she liked to bite so much. 

You can't even begin to remember what happened, but you don't regret any of it. Hours and hours had passed as they fucked you and fucked each other, and you fucked them. 

Shoko shifts beside you. She was always a light sleeper. 

"Awake?" She asks. 

"Yeah." You softly say back. 

She hums, shifting a little more to face you. Utahime's behind you, arms protectively curled around your waist. At your voice, her eyes twitch. 

"Shut up." She grumbles, but her arms cinch around your waist. 

Shoko stretches as she rises up. You miss her body warmth but you don't mind the view she gives as she saunters over to the dresser, pulling on some clothes. 

"I'm gonna get food." 

Utahime mumbles out her order. You say nothing because you don't want to come in between them, and then Shoko looks at you. 

"What do you want?" She prompts. 

You blink, and when you answer, Shoko smiles, and then she's out the door. 

The interaction makes your heart warm. 

Still, it can't last. 

When you go to get up, Utahime protests, grabbing your wrist. 

"And where are you going?" She prods. 

You fumble. "Back to my room?" 

"What? Why?" Utahime demands with a frown. "What's the point, you're already with us, now." 

"Oh." You blink, but you give in and slink back into bed. "Is...this really okay?" 

"For God's sake, " she hisses, but you don't count it against her because Utahime has always been a little grumpy after waking up. "Yes. We're obsessed with you. How are you so blind?" 

"We want you, and we're not like them." Her voice drops in disdain. "We'll treat you better. You're ours now. You're mine." 

"Yours." You repeat, something warm fluttering in your belly. 

"You can't leave, we'd go crazy, okay?" She seriously tells you. "If someone else takes you away, I'd lose it. And Shoko is okay with murder." 

You laugh. 

"That's not a joke." She warns. 

"I know." And you kiss her again. 

It's like that for a couple weeks. You live in peaceful domestic bliss with two wonderful girlfriends. Now that you're in an actual loving relationship, you can't tell why you ever contemplated ever going back to Satoru and Suguru. Shoko actually talked to you about your feelings. Utahime cared about your input. You weren't treated like an afterthought, second place. 

They were with each other longer than they had been with you, but they never made you feel like you had to fight for your relationship. Speaking off Satoru and Suguru, they never once contacted you after their first two attempts. They'd clearly given up. 

Everything was just perfect. 

And then, it just wasn't. 

You were in bed with them. Fifteen minutes ago, Utahime shuffled off to go to the bathroom. She still wasn't back. Half asleep, Shoko grumbled. 

"She's probably in there fighting a cockroach." She complains, but she rises anyway. "Sleep, I'll be back." She kisses you on the cheek, and then she's gone. 

Their body warmth fades, but they stay because they're tired. These days, you can't really sleep without them, so you wait for the girls to return. Two minutes pass. Then, five. Then, ten. By then, the bed is cold. 

You open your eyes, sitting up. It's so quiet. Are they okay? 

You pull off the comforter, stepping onto the cold wooden floor. The apartment feels strangely...haunted somehow. The air felt heavier now, thick with an invisible tension, like the house itself was holding its breath. It must be because you feel alone, you're sure of it. 

The bedroom leads to a dark hallway. As you make your way down, you can hear something. Voices? Murmuring. The relief almost makes you laugh. Seriously, what were you even afraid about? 

The living room is horrific. 

They look dead. You can't tell if they're breathing or not. Shoko's eyes are closed. Utahime's limp body is sprawled across the floor. There's blood on the wooden panels. 

Suguru doesn't even blink. 

"You're awake." He says it so casually, like waking up to your ex-boyfriends mauling your girlfriends is normal. 

"What..." Your voice fails, you weakly try again. "What did you two do?" 

Satoru answers, smiling with glinty teeth. 

"Isn't it obvious? We're getting rid of the competition." 

You don't understand, your brain hasn't caught up yet, you still think you can talk to these psychos. 

"It's their fault." Satoru's still smiling, but there's nothing happy about his tone. He's carrying a knife. There's blood on it. "It's all their fault. They manipulated you into breaking up with us, baby. That's how these useless sluts got you into their arms." He spits on Utahime's hair. You cover your face with your hands. 

"But, it's not like you aren't at fault, Baby." He points the knife at you. "You left us for them. I'm not letting you off the hook for that." 

You don't know what he's saying. His movements scare you, his eyes, the knife. When you glance at Suguru, you don't know what you're expecting. 

But you know you aren't expecting...that. 

His purple eyes are icy cold. Utterly devoid of any emotion. You don't think you're staring at a person, anymore. 

"You lied," Suguru says, "You lied about us not giving you enough attention. You just wanted to leave us. For them." 

You step back. They step forward. 

Those bastards would've never let you go otherwise. Utahime warned you. Looking at her limp body, you wondered if she thought they'd ever go this far. 

"I didn't." You weakly insist. "I-I wasn't lying about anything! It-it wasn't like I wanted to leave-" 

"Stop lying," Gojo insists. "Stop fucking lying already." 

He smiles again. 

"It's okay, baby. I know you'll come back with us. Right after we're done dealing with these two whores." 

"You'll belong to us." Suguru promises and he steps on Shoko's hands. "Just like always."

They were both crazy. Nothing could get through to them. Now, you would sit there and watch them maul the only things in your life that made you feel complete. 

The worst part is that everything was your fault. 

Shoko's pinky twitches. You can see Utahime take shallow breathes.

And you speak. 

"I'm sorry." 

Your weak voice makes them stop in their tracks. Satoru glances at you, Suguru does too. You can't convince them. The only thing you can do is play into their delusions. 

"You're right." You say, the tears finally feeling useful. "I just wanted to leave. I-I was just bored. I wanted something new." Suguru's lips curl and you quickly move on. "But-but the more I stayed with them, the more I realized...how much I missed you two." 

Satoru halts. You caught him. 

"I did." You stress, carefully making your way to him on feet that were close to dropping at any minute. "Every day, I thought about you two." You reach out, touching his face with shaky fingers. "I really really wanted to come back, but I was afra-afraid you wouldn't...want me back."

Satoru reaches up to touch your hand. His fingers are cold. You resist the urge to shudder. 

"You missed us?" He wonders. 

The lie feels like sand. 

"More than anything." 

His kiss is violent. He crushes you with his grip, touching and biting and everything you hate. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting him suck your soul dry. 

"Don't kill them." You whisper when he finally pulls away. "Please don't kill them. Everything was my fault." 

Satoru's face is pensive. His gaze drifts off to Suguru's. Those silent conversations you hated so much. 

Then, Satoru gives a delighted sigh. 

"You're lucky. I love you so much." He kisses your nose, before pushing you in Suguru's arms. 

"I'll clean up here. Suguru, go back to the truck." He demands. 

You don't fight, letting Suguru drag you away. Shoko and Utahime live in apartments, but you're afraid if you scream, Satoru might change his mind and gut them anyway. Before Suguru leads you off, you catch Gojo scoffing before he kicks at Utahime's face. You gasp and pray that when Shoko wakes up, she'll be coherent enough to call for an ambulance. 

I'm sorry, you tell them. I'm so so sorry. 

Suguru pushes you into the backseat of their vehicle. You obediently take a seat. 

"You shouldn't have left." He tells you. "You should've stayed." 

His face is cold, but his tone betrays the tiniest tremor. If you weren't so scared, you'd laugh. The irony is that he's the one who feels wronged here. 

"I'm sorry," you say anyway. 

He hums, not quite satisfied with your answer. 

"You aren't." He responds, and you hate how well he knows your tells. 

And then, he grins. 

"But you will be."

Hands reach out, gripping your neck. You flail immediately as Suguru cuts of your oxygen. You can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe. No matter how tightly you squeeze onto his wrist, digging your nails into his hands, clawing at his face. He keeps you still, keeping you there as you grow weaker. Your vision gets blurry. Your attempts get sluggish. There's a kiss on your forehead, and you black out completely. 

~

You wake up in a room you've never seen before. And your neck is sore. 

The pain drifts in as soon as consciousness does. You feel like you have a hangover, your head throbs, your eyes struggle to remain open. You can't go back to sleep either, not when it hurts so much. 

The panic doesn't settle in until you catch the cuffs on either one of your legs, keeping you attached to the bedpost. Silver chains, with enough lead to let you move around a bit. The cuffs are padded so you don't rub yourself raw. You don't care about the thoughtfulness. 

They're in the room with you, watching with silent eyes. Nausea builds up in your stomach, and you wonder how long they'd stayed there, just watching you. 

You miss Shoko. You miss Utahime. You missed people who actually loved you. 

Not these two. Monsters that lied and pretended, but deep down, they were just too selfish to share. 

"You were out for a while." Suguru comments. 

"I told you to use the syringe," Satoru remarks, but he doesn't sound too upset. At his voice, Suguru laughs. 

You shift in your spot. Suguru takes that as an invitation. He sits at the edge of the bed, watching you with satisfied eyes. You must look pathetic: shivering, in tears. He reaches up, catching your tears with his finger.

"So cute." And then he frowns. "You know why we're doing this, yes? You were bad. You need to be punished."

"I'm sorry." It's all you can say. You feel like a broken record, doomed to repetition over and over again.

"You aren't. You should stop lying." Suguru says sweetly. "But I'm sure, a couple hours in your new home will help you think about how much you hurt us."

You wanted to scream, but you can't cuz your throat still hurts from Suguru's hands, and you know he's not above putting his hands on you this time. Maybe he never was, you just never saw this side of him until you made him snap.

"You're leaving?" You stumble, moving as they back away but the chains only take you so far. There are no windows, and when Suguru shuts the light off, the only thing that's keeping you from the dark entirely is the light emitting out the hallway.

"Wait." You beg. "Please. Wait, don't-don't leave me here. I'm sorry. This is scary. I'm scared."

Satoru hesitates at your broken voice. Like a shark smelling blood, you pounce.

"Satoru, please."

"If you keep coddling, then the lesson will never be learned." Suguru warns.

Satoru stares at you. He's not wearing his sunglasses. You can see him for what he is now.

"I love you." He says it so sincerely, you almost believe it. "This is for your own good."

The door shuts, and everything goes dark.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: dubcon, breeding, pregnancy, kidnapping

Yandere!megalodon hybrid… who’s the last of his kind… that keeps his cute little human mate trapped on a small island.

Grabs you by your shirt every time he wants to see you, pulling you into the waves and sitting you on his cock. The very tip can barely fit inside, and he cums so much that it spills out.

He brings you fish and fruit he hunts in the sea and scavenges from boats he destroys! They’re gifts, a show of his loyalty and care for you, but you’re just terrified every time you see him surface.

His upper half is human, but god he still has those giant sharp teeth and dark eyes that stare down at you as you eat.

One too many jokes that he’s fattening you up to eat and suddenly you’re refusing his gifts. Fortunately he genuinely cares about you and stops the jokes. Unfortunately, he WILL make sure you live and eat, even if that means forcing the food into your mouth.

It’s horrifying watching him hunt. Sometimes he’ll carry you on his back while he devours entire whales or other shark hybrids. Scary stuff, it’s even worse when he offers some of the flesh to you.

You wonder why he picked you. You’re not even sure you can bear his shark pups, yet he’s absolutely devoted to you and sees you as his mate. Wouldn’t it be better to… mate with something more his size?

Regardless, you’re stuck… might as well make the most of it and tell him what other gifts you want. A tent to block out the sun? Done. Alcohol? Done. Ice cream? It’s melted and mixed with salt water, but technically done.

He loves you, in his own strange way. You’re going to be pampered whether you like it or not!

Soon you get used to him, almost beginning to love him. He purrs so loudly while his upper half lays on the beach and you curl up on his chest that you vibrate.

Makes him hard when you begin to squirm and grind against him, and he’s quick to move you to his cock so you can ride him!

Eventually you’re able to fit a little more inside, and he’s overjoyed when you start to develop a bit of a baby bump.

Maybe it is possible to bear his pups after all.

Part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it ^^

———————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi

[d1stalker]

Collateral Damage [Logan Howlett]

SUMMARY: The X-men are heroes—they save the world, eradicate threats and protect both mutants and humans alike. You don't see it that way, though.

WARNINGS: one-sided e2l, fem!reader is stubborn and sassy af but it's valid, arguing, canon-level violence, scott's a dick, SMUT - 18+ only! WC: 21k - MASTERLIST

A/N: i've always wanted to write a fic with this plot, it's been on my mind for AGES. happy reading!

----

The first time you see them, it’s on your birthday.

Not being one for big, elaborate parties, you planned a quiet celebration instead—maybe a stroll through the lively city streets, followed by dinner with friends later. You had just visited your favourite store, buying a gift for yourself, and now you’re on your way back home.

The streets buzz with life as people shop, eat, and laugh, making it the perfect backdrop for a peaceful walk and some casual people-watching.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground trembles.

At first, you think it’s an earthquake—a quick jolt beneath your feet that sends a ripple of confusion through your body. But the tremor grows stronger, the ground shaking violently as everyone around you begins to panic, frantically looking around for the source, you included. And that’s when you see it. 

A hulking, green monster stomping through the city streets like something out of a nightmare. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of green, its eyes glowing with rage. Cars bounce with each heavy footstep, leaving deep footprints in the cement in its wake.

People scream, scrambling to get out of its path, but you stand frozen, heart pounding as you try to make sense of what’s happening. In the blink of an eye, the city had been plunged into chaos. You lose track of your surroundings, too busy trying to keep your eyes on the monster headed your way, while also dodging the hoard of pedestrians running for their lives.

Until they show up.

Initially, you don’t even notice them. After all, there’s so much going on around you at this point you barely know what to do with yourself. Yet, through the dust and destruction, you see flashes of movement—figures darting toward the monster with a sense of purpose. 

You don’t know who they are, but their bright blue and yellow suits make it seem like you should. At first glance, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe. They move with such confidence, with their powers on full display for the world to see. You’ve never seen anything like it—a team of mutants using their powers in the open, fighting for what you assume is the greater good.

Maybe they can stop this!

The one first to act is a woman with white hair. She raises her arms to the sky, her eyes glowing a bright white as dark clouds swirl above, blocking out the sun. A flash of lightning slams into the monster's chest, forcing it to reel back with a thunderous roar of agony, and the crowd around you gasps, watching in wonder.

But when the lightning strikes a second time, it veers off course, crashing into the side of a nearby building. The structure groans under the impact, flames erupting from the point of contact as windows shatter, sending glass raining down onto the street below.

The collision sends you to the ground, and when you look up again, you see the power inside go out, all the lights flickering off.

Whatever awe you’d been feeling dissolves into concern, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

Following her, a man with a glowing red visor strides forward. He’s clearly aiming to hit the monster, but the bright red beam shooting from his eyes slices through several cars in the street first, flipping them over and leaving them in smoldering wrecks. One of the blasts tears through a storefront, reducing it to rubble in a matter of seconds. More people scream and scatter, trying to escape the destruction.

From the corner of your eye, you see another mutant—a man with claws—lunge toward the monster, jumping onto cars to get closer to its head. But by using the parked cars as springboards, the weight of him causes the roof to sink in, and his claws leave deep gashes in the metal. 

How heavy is this guy? Is he made of metal or something?

He’s fast, brutal, slashing at the green beast with some serious ferocity. Still, despite the attack, the monster’s strength prevails, and it easily tosses him aside, crashing into buildings, crowds—anything in the way. To your surprise, he always gets back up. And that should be good, right? They are fighting for the safety of the city. 

But as debris rains down and cars are overturned, you can’t help but feel like this isn’t helping. You’re constantly dodging rubble, trying to find shelter, only for it to be destroyed seconds later. It’s like being in a war zone, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.

And above it all, there’s a woman with red hair. She’s floating, and you watch from where you’re hiding as she lifts entire trees from their roots, hurling them at the monster in an attempt to slow it down. Except, much like her teammates, her attempt goes awry, and she misses, the trees now flying toward you. 

You barely have the reflexes to dive out of the way.

Your heart races, breath coming in shallow bursts as you press yourself against a wall, trying to steady yourself. The sound of sirens blare in the distance, but it doesn’t seem like help is coming anytime soon. There’s too much going on. People are running, pushing each other aside, crying, screaming, trying to find safety.

Glancing around, you’re met with destruction—flames licking at the sidewalk, cars totaled, and building wreckage littering the streets. These mutants, while clearly powerful, are causing just as much destruction as the monster itself.

What should have been a simple takedown—a 6v1—has turned into a full-scale disaster.

And yet, they don’t stop. They don’t pause to help the people caught in the crossfire, don’t even seem to notice the damage they’re causing. They’re so focused on the monster, so focused on the fight, that they’ve lost sight of everything else.

Is this what heroism looks like? You’d been excited at first—amazed, even—thinking they were here to save the day. But now, standing in the middle of a city that’s being torn apart, you realize how wrong you were.

They don’t care. Not about the city. Not about the people. 

Finally, with one last blast from the man with the visor, the monster collapses to the ground, defeated. It lets out a final roar before falling still, its massive body sprawled across the street.

The team stands over its body, their chests heaving with exertion, but they have smiles on their faces, feeling victorious. One by one, they board an aircraft, dragging the monster in with them, barely sparing a glance at the horrors they’ve caused. The white-haired woman doesn’t even bother to clear the storm clouds she summoned.

Within moments, they’re gone. You, and everyone else in the area, are left to deal with the fallout. Left to clean up their mess. 

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

—

After that, you spend the next few days trying to process what had happened. You’re still in a state of shock, confusion, and disbelief, but then the media catches wind of what went down, and suddenly, it’s everywhere.

News channels replay the footage over and over, the headlines screaming about “our holy saviours” saving the day. They’re plastered across every screen, being hailed as protectors.

The X-Men.

A group of mutant superheroes, apparently. The reporters list them off one by one, like they’re celebrities you should have known about. 

Storm. Cyclops. Wolverine. Jean Grey.

Mutants with powers like gods.

—

The second time you see them, you’re on vacation.

Sitting in a quaint café in the south of France, you’re enjoying a well-deserved break. The city you’re in is perfect—cobblestone streets winding through the village, vine-covered walls framing pastel-colored houses, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries. It all feels like something out of a dream, the kind of peaceful retreat you’ve been desperate for after everything back home.

You order a frappé, and as you wait, you idly flip through a local newspaper, trying to see how much of your rusty high school French you can remember. It’s peaceful, quiet, exactly what you needed—until it’s not.

Movement out of the corner of your eye grabs your attention, and you glance over the edge of the newspaper, watching a group of tourists as they walk into the café. It’s not really anything odd, so you don’t think much of it—they’re dressed casually, like any group of vacationers.

Though, something about them tugs at the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you’ve seen them before.

You lower the newspaper entirely now, staring as you try to place where you recognize them from. The tall one with the red sunglasses, the woman with the striking white hair, the man in the leather jacket... You squint, the pieces slowly falling into place.

And then it hits you.

Oh, no way.

You’re halfway around the world, in a different country, on a different continent, and somehow, they’re here. At the same café. 

Shifting in your seat, you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when the barista arrives with your drink. He smiles warmly at you, placing the cup down on the table with a soft “voila madame,” but before you can even thank him, there’s a blur of motion.

One of them—Wolverine, you think—lunges at the barista, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back. The tray tips, and your frappé spills everywhere—all over the table, your newspaper, and, to your absolute horror, all over you. 

“Logan, no!” you hear Storm shout, but it’s too late.

The cold drink soaks into your clothes, and you let out a startled yelp, jumping up as your chair topples over. Your clothes are ruined, your vacation ruined, and in the midst of all of this?

Wolverine—or Logan, you guess, is wrestling with the poor barista.

“What the hell?!” you shout, trying to shake off the liquid dripping down your legs. “Is this a joke?!”

No one hears you, or even acknowledges you.

The other mutants jump into action, and before you know it, the peaceful café is transformed into yet another battleground. Cyclops blasts a beam at the barista—who you now realize must be the target of whatever mission they’re on—but it misses, smashing into the wall behind you. 

You’re furious, covered in a brown drink that makes it seem like you just had explosive diarrhea, and caught in yet another X-Men fiasco. All you wanted was a vacation. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore—who the barista is, what mission they’re on—but frankly, you don’t care.

This is absurd!

Without a second thought, you grab your bag and make a break for it, dodging overturned tables and debris as you make your way to the exit. You don’t bother looking back, your only thought being to get changed, and get as far away as possible.

After rounding the corner, putting some distance between yourself and the café, you pause for a moment to catch your breath. And then you hear it.

Boom.

The sound reverberates through the narrow streets, shaking the cobblestones beneath your feet. You whirl around, sticking your head out from the corner of the building, just in time to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from where the café once stood. 

Your heart sinks.

They blew it up.

—

The third time you see them, it’s a really nice day outside.

It’s a week after you’ve returned home, and the weather had finally given you a break from the suffocating heat. You’re walking home from a lunch with an old friend, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably said friend sending you something stupid to laugh at later. 

You chuckle, already anticipating the joke, when—

BAM!

Something slams into you from the side with the force of a freight train. You’re airborne for a second, weightless, before crashing hard onto the pavement, your breath knocked right out from your lungs. 

Dazed, you groan and blink up at the sky, trying to get your bearings. What the hell just hit me? Your vision swims as you sit up, shoulder throbbing from the impact. Twisting your neck to see whatever the hell that was, you immediately regret it, wincing at the sharp pain. 

Great, just great.

When you finally manage to sit up, you spot the culprit.

Cyclops.

Are you fucking serious?!

His back is to you, dusting off his ugly uniform like nothing happened. You look around, and notice that the street in front you is in ruins—buildings have gaping holes where windows used to be, chunks of the road are crumbling, people covered in blood scurrying away as fast as they can. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you catch a glimpse of the giant mechanical robots looming above, scanning for their targets. One of them must’ve thrown Cyclops into you. 

You can see the others—Jean, Storm, Beast (some new guy)—flying around, saving the world. That’s codeword for: wreaking havoc, destroying your city.

Anger boils up inside you, hot and unrelenting as you struggle to your feet, rubbing your sore shoulder. But as you open your mouth, a gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Good job, dickhead. You just hurt a civilian."

Your gaze snaps toward the sound. Wolverine’s standing a few feet away, claws out, glaring at the guy who sent you flying. 

“I was thrown, Logan,” he says passively. “Maybe if you kept the Sentinels off me—”

“Maybe if you didn’t stand there like a damn target, you wouldn’t get thrown!” The clawed mutant growls, taking a step closer. His whole posture is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back from tackling the other man into the ground (you would pay to have him do it). “Seriously, Summers, it’s like you want to get tossed around.”

Cyclops doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve got bigger problems than this right now,” he dismisses, not even glancing back at you to check if you’re okay. 

Well, there goes the last of your patience.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief. They completely ignore you, too absorbed in their petty bickering to acknowledge that you’re still standing there, seething.

Before you can rip into them, something catches your eye—a Sentinel (is that what they’re called?), hovering above them, charging up a blast. Its arm is raised, energy crackling at the barrel of its cannon, aimed directly at the two distracted morons.

“Oh, for the love of—” you mutter under your breath before diving forward.

The blast hits you square in the chest, but instead of pain, all you feel is the heat of the energy surging through your body, like lightning spreading through every inch of your veins. It crackles and burns, the force building up inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode.

Then, with a deep breath, you thrust your hands forward, channeling and releasing the blast right back at the robot, blowing it apart. Metal and circuits rain down, the Sentinel crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

Silence falls.

You’re panting, feeling the leftover energy fizzle out of your fingertips. Slowly, you turn back around, and unsurprisingly, Cyclops–or Scott, as you’ve heard in the news—and Logan are staring at you like you just walked on water. Well, the clawed one is. You can’t really see the other brown-haired man’s expression due to his visor.  

“Woah, bub—”

“Oh, hell no!” You spin around fully, pointing an accusatory finger at both of them. “Neither of you get to speak! I just saved your asses because you were too busy bickering like children to notice the massive death robot about to blow you to pieces!”

Logan’s mouth quirks up, but he wisely stays silent.

“And this is exactly why I hate you people!” You continue, exasperated. “You swoop in, make a mess, destroy everything in your path, and then just leave like nothing happened! You think this is helping anyone? You think the people running for their lives right now give a damn about your little team squabbles?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “We’re just trying to help,” he says evenly, like he’s rehearsed the line a thousand times.

“Help?” you scoff incredulously. “You only tell yourself you’re doing that to make yourself feel better. How many casualties do you think are coming out of this, hm? What’s the body count gonna be after today? Or do you not even bother counting anymore?”

His audacity makes you want to laugh. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done.

"All this mess, the destroyed buildings, the people who won’t make it home tonight because you couldn’t keep your damn fight contained! You’re so focused on stopping the big bad guys that you don’t even realize how much carnage you leave behind. Who’s cleaning up after you? Who’s paying for this?! " You gesture around wildly. "News flash: the people whose lives you’re currently ruining!”

Beside him, Logan’s smirk fades, and he begins to step forward with his hands raised. “Listen, darlin’, we’re doin’ the best we can. We didn’t ask for this fight—”

"Oh, don’t give me that ‘best we can’ bullshit," you snap.

“We’re here to protect people,” Scott adds in, trying to maintain authority. “It’s not always clean, but we are making a difference—"

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished!” You interrupt, shaking your head. “Every day. Every damn day there’s something new.”

With the face Logan’s making, you’d think he’s going to start going in on you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unnerving, but you don’t care. You’ve had enough.

"And you," you say, turning your ire toward him, "You couldn’t have, I don’t know, used your super speed or whatever the hell you do to catch him before he crashed into me?"

His eyebrow quirks up. “Super speed?” he chuckles lowly. “Ain’t that fast. Was a little busy with the giant killer robots.”

You tilt your head back in frustration and turn on your heel. "I’m done. I don’t care what kind of mission you’re on, or how noble you think it is. If you're planning to lay waste to the city yet again, be my guest.”

Giving no time for a response, you stalk off, weaving through the wreckage of the city streets, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

—

A couple weeks have passed since the last incident, and the X-Men seem to have disappeared from the headlines. You haven’t seen them or heard their whereabouts splashed across the news like you’ve gotten used to—though not by choice, of course. Whenever they do anything, the world seems to bow at their feet.

You don’t get it.

The flashy suits, the team name, the way they strut around as if they’re the Gods of the mutant race. It’s too much, too loud. They act like they’re above it all, as if their powers and heroics put them on a pedestal. Better than those who prefer to lay low, who have no choice but to blend in.

You’ve spent years hiding your powers, keeping them buried deep where no one can see. When you were younger, you didn’t have a choice. Your mutation made you a target—bullied, beaten up, pushed around for being different.

You learned quickly that being a mutant didn’t make you special. It made you vulnerable.

So, you hid. You stayed quiet, under the radar. It was safer that way.

And then here are the X-Men, parading around like their abilities make them untouchable, like they’ve forgotten what it’s like for the rest of you. It’s not that you don’t believe in helping others—you just don’t believe in the way they do it.

In your opinion, it’s all performance. From what you’ve experienced and seen up close, they always arrive with a fanfare, ready to jump into action, and do whatever they can to exterminate the threat. Yet, when the dust settles, it’s mutants like you who are left to pick up the pieces.

The ones who don’t wear brightly coloured costumes or shout about unity. You’re the ones who have to keep moving, keep surviving, without any recognition.

But it's not like you need recognition. You never have. What you need is peace.

—

You’re on the phone with your mom, trying to reassure her for the millionth time this week.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine," you say, pacing the length of your small living room. You glance at the muted TV screen, the news still cycling through the usual mayhem. "You’ve seen the news recently, right? We’ve got the X-Men to take care of all this stuff—"

Knock. Knock.

You freeze mid-sentence, your words trailing off as the sound of someone at your door interrupts the call. Your heart skips a beat, and your voice drops. "Mom, I’ll call you back."

Barely waiting for her to reply, you end the call, staring at the door like it might explode.

A knock at this hour? Unannounced? You waver, your mind racing with possibilities.

Delivery? A neighbour? You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautiously, you make your way toward the door, hand hovering over the handle as you listen. No more knocks, just the faint hum of the outside world. You take a breath, steeling yourself as you turn the handle and crack the door open.

The tufts of hair, the thick stubble, the edge in his eyes—it’s him. Wolverine. And just as your brain registers his face, you also notice the glint of metal where his claws are already halfway out.

Instincts kick in, and before he can get a word in, you push against the door, trying to slam it shut.

Still, he’s faster.

His fist punches through the wood, and with a metallic snikt, his claws extend fully, slicing through the door as if it were made of paper. He pushes it open again, forcing it against your effort, and the sheer strength sends you stumbling back.

“What the fuck?” you gasp, eyes wide as you steady yourself. “How did you even find me?”

Stepping inside, he says, “picked up your scent and followed it,” matter-of-factly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… that’s actually really creepy,” you manage, still trying to process the fact that he just said that without a hint of shame.

“Can’t control it, bub,” he shrugs. 

You take a step back, putting more distance between you and the man with the claws standing in your apartment. “Okay, well, you found me. Now what?”

His eyes lock onto yours. “I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“You’re not safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not safe?” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Maybe if you and your merry band of idiots didn’t keep causing world-ending disasters, I wouldn’t need to be safe!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Sentinels are tracking you down.”

You falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You used your powers,” he states. “Killed a Sentinel. That’s all it takes for them to target you.”

Blinking, you feel anger rush to the surface, your skin tingling with rage. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re fucking robots.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he counters. “You took one down, and now they know what you are.”

Part of you knows there’s merit in what he’s saying, but you don’t want to hear it. The last thing you want is to be dragged into some mutant-robot war. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for any of this!” you hiss, glaring at him. “And now you’re telling me I’m on some kill list because I defended myself? Because I defended you?!”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read, but he stays silent, watching you carefully. Your words start flying faster now, venom spilling into each one.

“I’m the one who took that thing down because you and that one-eyed bitch boy were too busy being immature! You weren’t even paying attention, and that thing almost blasted you both.” Your fingers ball into fists. "I saved both of you, and now I’m the one who has to run?"

Logan's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring at the accusation. “We weren’t—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” you cut him off. “If it weren’t for me, the two of you would be dead right now. And now I’m supposed to just go with you to your mansion and hide out? Like that’s going to fix th—”

You don’t get to end your rant, because he has stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders, gripping you firmly. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

“This is serious,” he spits, eyes boring into yours. “You stay here, you die.”

His words slam into you. He’s not trying to scare you—he’s telling the truth.

“You don’t get to be stubborn about this,” he continues firmly. “You think you’re pissed off now? Wait until they come crashin' through your door in the middle of the night, and you don’t have a chance to fight back.”

Wrenching yourself out of his grasp, you take a few steps back. “I just—” you begin to say, but the words feel tangled in your throat. The denial is still there, but it’s weakening, cracking. “I don’t want to run.”

“You’re not running,” he sighs, his voice softening ever so slightly. “You’re buying time. Time to fight back, time to survive. But if you stay here? There’s none of that.”

You want to argue more, want to scream at him to get away, to not drag you into his fight, but instead, you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “Fine,” you breath out. 

He nods, finally releasing his grip on you and stepping back. “Good. Pack up your shit. We leave in half an hour.”

Then, he walks over to your couch and plops down like he owns the place, crossing his arms as if settling in for a casual wait.

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “Unbelievable.”

Ignoring him, you turn and head into your bedroom, where you start throwing clothes into a duffel bag—jeans, a couple of shirts, whatever you can grab quickly. Your movements are hurried, fuelled by a mix of frustration and the creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind. Grabbing your toiletries, you stuff them into a smaller bag, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the fact that some random mutant tracked you down, and now you have to leave your life until you’re safe. 

You peer back into the hallway, hearing the faint creak of the couch as Logan shifts around. I’m gonna kill this guy, you think to yourself. 

Once everything is packed and you’ve zipped your bag, you head back into the main room, only to see said random mutant still sprawled on your couch, looking far too comfortable, with a cigar in his hand.

“Seriously?” you say, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

He grunts in response but doesn’t move. Typical.

You glance at the clock—still a few minutes left of the half-hour he allotted you, but there’s no point in dragging it out. “I’m ready,” you say flatly, heading toward the door.

Logan stands, stretches his arms over his head, and cracks his neck like he’s waking up from a nap. “Let’s go then.”

—

The ride is tense and quiet, which suits you just fine. You’d rather not talk to him anyway. Every now and then, you let out a loud sigh, unable to hold back the annoyance you’re feeling. Each time, you feel Logan’s eyes dart toward you from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, that is, until—

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he growls, keeping his eyes on the road.

You clench your jaw, shifting in your seat. “I didn’t even say anything, jackass.”

He huffs, clearly not in the mood for an argument, but the strain between you is almost impossible to ignore. You cross your arms, staring out the window, observing the landscape shift as the drive continues. 

Eventually, you can see the outline of the mansion, and you watch as it gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. Upon arrival, He pulls the car up to the front and cuts the engine. You both sit there for a moment, mute. 

“Well, here we are,” he mumbles after the pause stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of time, glancing over at you.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. 

Logan walks ahead without saying a word, leading the way up the grand stone steps toward the front door. You trail behind, your mood darkening with every step, glaring at the perfectly polished entrance. 

The doors open before you even reach them, and you’re greeted by an older man in a wheelchair—Charles Xavier, if you remember correctly. The famous telepath. The genius behind the mutant team (some news anchor's words, not yours). His expression is kind, but you’re in such a bad mood, you don’t even bother trying to seem polite.

“Welcome,” He says with a warm smile, his eyes assessing you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

You press your lips together in a line. “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited.”

Logan grunts beside you. “She’s got a bit of an attitude,” he mutters to Charles, then turns to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Come on.”

Inwardly groaning, you have no choice but to follow him. Everything about this place screams “too good to be true,” and you hate it already. You’re used to keeping your head down, blending in, not being surrounded by people who wear their powers on their sleeves like some badge of honour.

As you walk through the halls, a few faces appear—other mutants, some of them kids, watching curiously as you pass by. You can feel their eyes on you, can hear the whispers already starting about the new arrival. 

Charles wheels alongside you, still smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You remind me of Logan when he first joined us,” he says thoughtfully.

That stops you in your tracks.

You whip your head toward the man, giving him a piercing look. “Do not say that. We are nothing alike.”

On your other side, Logan smirks. “Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“I’m serious.” If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

Chucking softly, Charles seems completely unaffected by your outburst. “You’re both a bit rough around the edges, but you’ll find your place here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Deeper into the mansion, you catch sight of the X-Men you’ve seen before: Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey. They all turn to look at you, sizing you up. You don’t flinch—you just stare back, your expression hard.

Pulling your duffel bag higher on your shoulder, you rip your eyes away from theirs, and keep walking, following Logan down the long, quiet hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a door.

“This is your room,” he grunts, nodding toward it. “Try not to break anything.”

Choosing silence, you push the door open. Stepping inside, you expect the bare minimum—a bed, maybe a closet—but instead, you’re met with a surprisingly large space. There’s a massive bed in the center of the room, a desk by the window, and, to your surprise, a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You drop your bag by the door, glancing around, trying to shake off the unease. This is way too nice for a prisoner. You walk toward the balcony doors, curious despite yourself, and when you pull them open, the cool breeze hits you immediately.

Once you’re outside, you realize something that immediately makes your stomach drop.

The balcony is shared. And right next to your side, leaning against the railing with a cigar between his fingers, is Logan.

You halt mid-motion, eyes fixed on him in stunned silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He glances over, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Surprise.”

You groan, turning your back on him and walking toward the opposite edge of the balcony, trying to calm the annoyance inside you. Of all the people you could’ve been stuck beside, it had to be him. It’s not enough that he dragged you here, but now there’s a chance you’re going to have to see him every time you step outside.

“So what now?” you mutter, staring out over the mansion grounds, the manicured gardens below looking like something out of a postcard. “I’m just supposed to stay here, be a part of your little mutant club?”

Taking another slow pull on his cigar, “You’re supposed to stay alive. Everythin’ else? That’s up to you.”

“But why do you suddenly care?” you ask. “I’ve seen the way you operate. You and your team sweep in, fight your battles, and then leave everyone else in the dirt. You don’t care about the collateral damage—hell, you cause half of it.” 

Logan pauses, his cigar halfway to his lips. He doesn’t answer right away, and the brief hesitation only makes your irritation spike. You press on, inching closer, voice laced with accusation.

“Why now?” you press. “Why drag me into this when you’ve never cared about anyone else in the crossfire?”

Logan finally turns to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking, his expression hardened. “This ain’t about me ‘caring,’” he says flatly. “This is about survival. You killed a Sentinel, whether you like it or not. That puts a target on your back.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear,” you bite out. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? Why am I suddenly important to you?”

Logan’s eyes darken, drilling into yours. “You’re not important to me,” he says flatly. “But they won’t stop until they get you. The destruction that’ll come from that—if your stubborn ass fought back, which I know it would, by the way—would be much greater than anything we would cause.”

“Doubt that,” you snarl bitterly. You don’t linger for the sound of his response, spinning on your heel and walking back into your room, slamming the balcony door behind you.

The bed is large and you can’t deny how inviting it looks after the day you’ve had. You flop onto it face-first, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

You’re barely able to reflect on the chaotic day you’ve had before your eyelids flutter shut, and you sink into a deep slumber, the exhaustion from everything catching up to you.

—

You’re jolted awake by a loud, aggressive knock on your bedroom door. The sound is so forceful it feels like the entire frame is rattling. You release a sound, half groan, half sigh, steeped in frustration. Your face is still buried in your pillow, and you curse whoever decided to ruin what little sleep you managed to get.

“Get up,” Logan’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast in ten.”

Ah yes. Of-fucking-course it's him. Who else would it be?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw on some clothes and make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before opening the door, ready to curse him, but he's already striding down the hallway, hardly bothering to check if you're following. You roll your eyes, your steps slow and begrudging as you move to follow

As you catch up, you can’t help but throw him a sideways glare. “Why are you acting like my personal bodyguard?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you fall into step beside him. “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Logan’s lips twitch into a lazy smirk, and you immediately want to wipe it off his face. “Exactly,” he says, his tone almost amused. “Which is why today, we’re gonna test you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at his back. “Test me? What the hell does that mean?”

He stops too, turning to face you. “Means you’re gonna show me what you’re capable of.”

Teeth clenched, you feel the slow rise of aggravation mingling with apprehension. “I’m not some science experiment.”

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re not a regular person, either. You need to know your limits—and how to handle what’s coming.”

Groaning, you drag your hands down your face incredulously. “I don’t even know what to say back to that. All I know is that I’m hungry.”

—

The kitchen of Xavier’s mansion is bustling with activity as the two of you walk in. The rest of the team is gathered around a large table at the centre of the room, and you spot Jean, Cyclops, Storm, and a few others sitting together, chatting, but you feel no desire to join them. 

Rather, you gravitate toward a smaller table by the window, hoping to get some peace while you choke down breakfast. The chair scrapes lightly as you pull it out and sit down, fully expecting to be left alone.

But to your surprise, Logan follows and plops down in the seat across from you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs and digs into his food. "Eating. You got a problem with that?"

You cast a quick look toward the large table where the rest of the team sits. It feels strange, having him eat with you, especially when the rest of his team is so obviously waiting for him to join them.

"No," you murmur, shaking your head as you return to your plate. "Just didn’t think you’d stray from the flock."

“They’re fine without me.”

You push your food around with your fork, trying to push past the heavy air of discomfort in the room. Everyone keeps glancing in your direction, and you sense their curiosity, the questions hovering in silence, but no one has the courage to ask. And honestly, you’re grateful for the space.

Just as you’re finishing up, a low voice catches your attention. 

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

Tensing, your fork clatters onto your plate. The world around you dulls, and all you can hear is that word echoing in your head. Weak. You’ve been called a lot of things in your life, but never that.

Slowly, you push your chair back and stand up as you turn to face the table where she and the others are seated. “Say it louder, please,” you say calmly.

The chatter dies instantly, and suddenly, every set of eyes in the room finds you. Jean's face turns ashen, her eyes blown wide in shock. She wasn’t expecting you to overhear. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s trying to find a way to backtrack, but you know what you heard.

Before Jean can stammer out an excuse, Scott stands up, positioning himself between you and her, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. “You heard wrong,” he says sternly. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You take a calculated step forward, arms crossed in defiance. “Didn’t mean anything?” you repeat sarcastically. “She just called me weak. Right here. In front of everyone. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

Scott’s jaw clenches tighter “She wasn’t trying to insult you. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work yet.”

“That’s the excuse?” you laugh dryly. “Maybe you should teach her how to keep her mouth shut instead of making assumptions about people she doesn’t know.”

If even possible, the friction between you swells, growing heavier with each passing second. Everyone in the room watches the standoff, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what’s going to happen next. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, but he doesn’t interfere. He’s letting you handle this.

“You don’t belong here,” Scott states, like he’s trying to remind you of your place. “You’re not part of this team, and you sure as hell don’t understand what it takes to survive here.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lips curl into a smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, One-eye? You gonna lecture me? Or better yet, why don’t you blast me with those laser eyes of yours? Show me how strong you are.”

His fists clench, and for a moment, you see the control slip. His visor glows red, just for a split second, as his anger spikes.

"Careful," you taunt, challenging him. "Wouldn’t want to lose control, would you? I'm sure you've never done that before."

That does it. 

A beam shoots out from Scott’s visor. Fast, ferocious, and headed straight for you. There’s a collective gasp from the others, chairs scraping as people push back, shocked by the sudden escalation. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, your eyes locked onto Scott’s as the beam strikes you square in the chest.

You’re not knocked back, or worse, killed, as the energy from the blast surges into you. The energy seeps into your bones, crackling through every nerve. Your skin tingles as the power courses through you, your body absorbing every ounce of it. Once the assault is over, you raise your head, feeling your eyes and veins begin to glow with a deep, burning red.

Jean’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

Unfortunately for you, you don't get the chance to blow him to pieces, because Logan flies forward and grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room. Nobody else moves—too stunned—as he drags you into the hallway. You blink your eyes, the glow fading, but you can feel the residual energy from Scott’s blast still buzzing under your skin.

Both out of sight, he finally releases you. 

You glare at him, still rattled from the confrontation. “What the hell? Why'd you interfere?”

He just shrugs, completely unfazed. “You handled yourself enough. Now we know what you can do. Follow me.”

“Follow you where?” you ask. 

He motions down the hallway. “Danger Room. We’re gonna push those limits a little further.”

Gawking at him for a second, it takes a moment, but then you smirk. You want to know just how far your powers can go.

—

“Fuck!” you curse as you’re flung backward, your body slamming against a stone wall. Your back hits hard, knocking the wind out of you as the simulated-Sentinel hurls a car in your direction. The screech of metal fills the air as the vehicle crashes just mere inches from where you were standing moments ago. 

Rubble showers from above, the robot in front of you towering menacingly. Raising its arm, another blast begins charging in its palm, ready to incinerate you.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest as you sprint away, ducking and weaving between the wreckage of cars and crumbling buildings that make up the simulated cityscape. The Sentinel fires again, the blast narrowly missing as you dodge behind an overturned truck. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, every muscle screaming in protest.

I can’t keep this up.

Another blast lights up the area around you, and you dive out of the way, the heat of the attack singeing your skin. You’re quick, but not quick enough to outrun the onslaught from this machine.

Then it hits you—you don’t have to outrun it.

You remember the blast from way back, how your body absorbed the energy, and how in the dining hall, you took on Scott’s beam like it was nothing. You can do it again. You can take its power and turn it back on itself.

Gritting your teeth, you stop running. The air buzzes with electricity, the earth trembling beneath you as the next shot hurtles your way.

It hammers into your chest, and once again, your body is filled with energy. In an instant, you leap into the air, propelled by the newfound strength coursing through your body, and the ground disappears beneath you as you soar upward.

At the peak of your jump, you clench your fist, channeling all that power into one focused point. Then, you bring your fist down on the Sentinel’s head, the impact echoing through the simulation as your punch connects, and the robot’s head shatters under the blow, metal fragments flying in every direction as its massive body crumples to the ground.

Sparks shoot out of its severed neck, and with a final groan of machinery, the robot collapses into a heap of broken parts at your feet.

“Good work,” Logan’s voice crackles over the comms, far too calm for what you’ve just been through. “Let’s see how you handle another.”

There’s no time for more than a muttered curse under your breath, because another Sentinel is dropped into the simulation. This one’s faster, more agile, and doesn’t waste time by charging up blasts.

It exists solely to hunt you down. 

“Cut me some slack,” you groan, half out of breath as you duck behind the ruins of a building. Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

This one isn’t like the last. It’s not using energy blasts—it’s fast, agile, and persistent. It rushes toward you, its massive hands swiping through the air, tearing through the simulated city with ease.

Grinding your teeth, a wave of exasperation takes over. This fight is harder, the machine barely giving you a chance to react, and your body is already starting to wear down. Your mind races, desperate for a solution as you sidestep its attacks, trying to stay one step ahead. You feel cornered, trapped.

The frustration builds, growing into something more, and before you realize it, that frustration becomes fuel. It ignites inside you, your own emotions transforming into energy, pushing past the limits you didn’t know you had.

Your veins pulse, your eyes glowing white this time, not from absorbed power but from something deeper—your own anger, your own strength. The energy bubbles inside you, filling every cell of your body until you can’t hold it back anymore.

With a scream, you release it, propelling a massive ball of crackling energy hurling toward the Sentinel. The impact is immediate, ripping through the metal and bursting into a brilliant, blinding light. It sends shockwave through the entire simulation, the machine imploding, its parts scattering across the battlefield.

And when the light fades, the Sentinel is gone—nothing more than a smouldering heap of twisted metal.

You stand there, chest heaving, the glow in your eyes slowly fading as the last traces of energy drain from your body. Your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumble to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The simulation flickers for a moment, then abruptly shuts off, the room returning to its normal, metallic walls as the fake cityscape disappears. You’re still on the floor, gasping for breath, when Logan steps into view, arms crossed as he peers down at you with a pleased grin.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, “that wasn’t too bad.”

You shoot him a glare from the ground, too tired to move. “You… are such… an asshole.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Get up. We’re just getting started.”

—

He was right. You were just getting started.

The thought gnaws at you as you trudge alongside Logan, heading back to your room to clean up before dinner. Every muscle in your body aches, and you can already feel the soreness creeping in, promising a week of pain. You’re starting to suspect this is Logan’s way of getting back at you for all the snark and attitude you’ve thrown his way, but damn, is it painful. You don’t even want to think about how much worse you’re going to feel in the morning.

You feel like a zombie, dragging your feet, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, and each step invites fresh wave of exhaustion through your body. The man with you, of course, seems perfectly fine. He walks a few steps ahead of you, not even winded from the grueling day of combat drills, sparring, and whatever else he thought up to make sure you were put through the wringer.

“Maybe I should be a little nicer to you,” you rationalize, but who are you kidding.

With a terse grunt, he acknowledges you by tilting his head back. “You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t even have the energy to be annoyed right now.

Upon reaching your room, you feel like you could collapse right then and there. You mumble something vaguely resembling ‘see you later’ to Logan before slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is toss your bag onto the floor, not caring where it lands, and head straight for the bathroom. You peel off your sweaty, dirt-covered clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the day. 

After that quick, blissful shower, you drag yourself out, towel off, and pull on the first comfortable clothes you can find. Your bed is calling to you, and it doesn’t take long for you to lie down on it. The softness of the mattress beneath you is heaven, and you think you might just fall asleep right there and take a small nap before heading to eat.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the light pouring in through the balcony doors. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun catches your attention, and despite how drained you are, you find yourself turning to look. 

What you see is breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and deep purple.

It’s too beautiful to ignore.

Groaning again, you force yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes. You can’t help it. Something about the sight draws you in, and before you know it, you’re standing and heading toward the balcony. You slide the door open and step outside, the evening breeze washing over you as you lean against the railing, taking in the view.

A few minutes pass, the world around you quiet except for the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind. The sound of Logan’s door sliding breaks your focus. You glance over just as he steps out onto his side of the shared balcony, wearing nothing but a white tank top and jeans.

Saying nothing, he steps beside you at the railing, resting against it as his eyes scan the horizon. 

You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make it obvious. His arms are crossed over the railing, and it’s almst impossible not to notice the way the tank top lets you see his biceps, the muscles in his arms strong from the day’s activity. You are a woman, after all.

He looks relaxed. His stubble catches the last bits of the sunlight, and as your gaze travels upward, you notice something you hadn’t bothered to see before. 

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes. They’re faint, barely there, but in this light, they’re more visible, adding something unexpectedly... soft to his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Cute, you think absentmindedly, then pause. 

What the fuck?

You snap your gaze back to the sunset, feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You just spent the entire day getting your ass handed to you by this man, and now you’re here checking out his arms? His arms? And thinking the crinkles around his eyes are cute? Suppressing a groan, you want to slap yourself for even entertaining the thought.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going down that road.

Taking a deep breath, you try to bring your attention back to the sunset. The reason you went outside to begin with. You have no idea why you’re suddenly noticing these things about him—probably exhaustion making your brain short-circuit. 

Yup. That’s it.

He shifts slightly beside you, breaking the silence. “Nice view"

You nod, swallowing down the weird feelings swirling in your head. “Yeah,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say anything more without sounding ridiculous.

The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, watching as the last rays of the sun disappear, the sky dimming into deep purples and blues. But the minute your thoughts start to drift back to him, you straighten up, clapping your hands together and quickly turning on your heel to head back inside.

“Well, I’m done,” you say abruptly. “I’m gonna crash.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you can feel his eyes following you as you slide the door closed behind you, your mind still reeling from whatever the hell that was.

Collapsing back onto your bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, determined to forget about the whole thing.

—

A few hours later, when it’s dark out, you finally wake up. The room is dim, and for a moment, you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling. As you start to roll over, something catches your attention—a smell.

It's warm, savoury. Your stomach growls almost immediately, making you realize with a start that you slept through dinner.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and that’s when you spot it—a tray of food sitting on the desk in your room. You can make out the outline of a warm meal: some kind of stew, a couple of bread rolls, and what looks like a glass of water. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, as you climb out of bed and shuffle toward the desk, turning on the light. 

Next to the tray, there’s a small note:

Figured you’d be too tired to get dinner. Eat up.

– L

You stare at the note. Logan? Bringing you food? It doesn’t exactly fit with the version of him you’ve been dealing with all day, but then again, there seems to be a lot about him that doesn’t quite fit the mold you expected.

Too hungry to keep thinking and not eat, you set the note down and grab the spoon, dipping it into the stew. The first bite warms you from the inside out, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Surprisingly flavourful—rich and nourishing, it’s the perfect remedy for the exhausting day behind you

Still, you can’t help your eyes from wandering back to the note. Maybe it really is the fatigue messing with your head again, making you chalk it up to be something it’s not. 

—

The next morning, you're not woken up by banging on your door, which is a relief. You stretch, the soreness still lingering but not nearly as bad as you expected. After freshening up and pulling on some clothes, you step into the hallway, and unexpectedly, Logan is already waiting for you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and you blink at him, still waking up, unsure why he’s there. “Uh... morning?” you get out, albeit you can’t hide the confusion in your tone.

A short nod in greeting. “Morning. Ready for breakfast?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to take the plunge. “Yeah I am, but…um, thanks for the food last night, it was good.” you say quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The gesture had caught you off guard, and though you don’t want to make a fuss, it’s worth noting

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs casually.

Nodding in understanding, you’re ready to move on when he adds, almost offhandedly, “Y’know, you’re actually kinda pretty when you’re asleep. Not being a little shit helps.”

You freeze mid-step, your mind short-circuiting for a moment as you process the words that just left his lips.

Flustered and irritated all at once, you glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he starts walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “You heard me.”

Your face heats up. “I am not a little shit,” you yelp, quickening your pace to catch up to him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, gazing at you from over his shoulder. You open your mouth to fire back, but the smug look in his eyes makes you hesitate. 

He’s messing with you on purpose.

Asshole, you think, fuming but trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you pretty. 

—

The kitchen goes silent the moment you and Logan step through the door, a noticeable difference from yesterday. All eyes are locked on you, the pressure in the room almost solid, begging to be cut through.

Students and X-Men alike are watching, probably expecting some kind of replay of the day prior's events, but you pay them no mind, keeping your eyes straight ahead and making a beeline for a table at the back.

You drop into a seat, picking up a piece of toast and acting like the room isn’t on high alert. Logan joins you again without a word, sitting across from you and digging into his food. He doesn’t even glance at the others, as if the room full of curious onlookers doesn’t exist.

The only sounds are the clink of silverware and voices slowly picking up again as people realize nothing dramatic is about to happen.

Chewing, you glance at the man across from you, still quietly working through his meal. You swallow, then clear your throat. “So... what’s the plan for today?”

He looks up from his plate. “Charles wants to see you this morning.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why? Did I break something without knowing it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not in trouble, smartass. He’s just gonna fill you in on some things. Mainly the Sentinels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You need to know what you’re up against, what we’re all dealing with. He’ll catch you up to speed.”

“Great,” you mutter. “More bad news.”

The clawed mutant leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking again. “Look, it’s not gonna be fun, but you need to know. Better to hear it from him than from me.”

“I’ll take that as your way of saying ‘good luck,” you breathe out. 

He smirks. “You’re gonna need it.”

Logan finishes his meal and stands up, leaving his empty plate behind. “I’ll drop you off at Charles’s office. You’ll be with him for the morning.”

You follow suit, pushing away your half-eaten plate. “Fantastic,” you mumble sarcastically, but at the same time, you know this is necessary. After all, the threat you’re dealing with is real, and being ignorant about it won’t do you any good.

—

“So, how can they be stopped?”

You ask the question before you even sit down. Charles is already waiting for you in his office, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his gaze calm and soft. 

He takes a measured breath, glancing toward the window for a moment before responding. “Stopping the Sentinels is... complicated. They’ve grown more advanced than we ever anticipated.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are highly adaptive machines,” he continues. “Designed to hunt and neutralize mutants, they learn from every encounter. They absorb information, adjust tactics, and over time, they become more effective.”

His words make you squirm with discomfort, and you glance around the room, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your stomach. 

“And now I’m one of their targets,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Leaning forward slightly, he says, “Yes. They’ve already locked onto you because of your encounter with them. They don’t differentiate between self-defence and aggression. They see you as a target, simply because you fought back.”

You exhale sharply. “So, what’s your plan?”

Charles meets your gaze. “There is a command center—a hub that controls their network. If we can locate it and destroy it, we believe it will disrupt the entire Sentinel operation. Without the command structure, the Sentinels will become non-functional.”

You stare for a beat, mentally piecing together the details. “You believe?”

“It’s our best theory,” he says evenly. “We’ve been gathering intel for some time now. And we’re planning a mission. A final push to put an end to this threat once and for all.”

The words linger, thick and weighty, in the space between you, You can sense where this is going. Your fingers drum against your arm, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

“You want me to be a part of it.”

He remains unfazed. “I believe you have an ability that could be crucial to the mission. You’ve already demonstrated your capability against the Sentinels in training yesterday, and in real life.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stifle it. “Yeah, but I’m not one of you. I don’t want to be part of some... grand battle. That’s not me.”

Watching you closely, his gaze is soft with comprehension. “I understand your reluctance,” he says gently. “But running, hiding... it won’t change the fact that they will find you. Fighting may not have been your choice, but now it is your reality.”

Standing, you begin to pace the room. “This is exactly the problem I have with your team,” you say, stopping near the window, staring out at the garden. “We hardly know eachother, yet you want me to be part of some mission that could very well be catastophic. It’s like you don’t care about anything except the big picture.”

Charles’s expression doesn’t change. He definitely expected this. “We aren’t perfect,” he admits, “and our battles have left scars. But this is about survival. For all of us. For you.”

Turning back to face him, you narrow your eyes. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” His voice is understanding. “The choice is yours. But know that the Sentinels will not stop. You can avoid the fight for as long as you like, but eventually, it will come to you.”

It’s as if you're stuck, with nowhere to turn, cornered by a reality you didn’t want any part of. Avoiding it doesn’t seem like an option anymore, but fighting alongside the X-Men feels like betraying everything you’ve tried to distance yourself from. 

Sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

—

When you get back to your room, the first thing you do is swing open your balcony door and step outside. The afternoon sun comes over you like a blanket, warming you up, and relieving some of the strain in your muscles. Logan is out on the balcony too, leaning against the railing, a cigar lit between his fingers. It’s a sight you think you should get used to. 

His eyes flick to you when you approach, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Without a word, he holds the roll of tobacco out toward you, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

You pause briefly, for just a second before taking it from him. The rich, earthy taste of the cigar fills your mouth as you inhale deeply, the smoke heavy and warm in your lungs. There’s something grounding about it, even though the burn is rough against your throat. You let out a slow exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air as you lean next to him against the railing.

“How’d it go?” he asks gruffly.

“He wants me to join you guys on the mission.”

At first, Logan doesn’t react, then, he just takes the cigar back, puffing on it and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you want to do?”

It’s the same question that’s been clawing at your insides since you left Charles’s office. What do you want? It feels like the answer should be simple, but it’s anything but.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I want to get rid of the threat and go back to my normal life, but if I do, then I'd just become the very thing I'm against, right? I can’t join you guys, that’s not who I am.”

He hums softly.

Shifting a bit, you try to find the words to explain the knot of irritation tangled inside you. “I get it, you know? I get why you guys do what you do. Someone has to. But the way you do it—so carefree about everything. It’s like the destruction, the people, the lives caught in the midst of everything—it doesn’t even phase you.”

“We don’t do it carefree,” he says lowly. Inhaling into the cigar once more, the tip glowing red. “But sometimes, you gotta make a choice between bad and worse. People get hurt. But if we don’t stop the threats, a lot more people are gonna die.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest. “And that’s what I hate about it.”

Flicking the ash from the end of his cigar, his eyes are distant, lost in thought momentarily before he responds. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. It ain’t. We all carry the weight of the things we’ve done—the things we couldn’t stop. But if not us, then who?”

“That’s an impossible decision,” you say. There’s no way you can go into this fight, knowing how much of a toll it’s going to take on everything. The fight itself is such a small piece to the puzzle.

Logan leans his elbows on the railing. “You think I wanted this?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was just like you. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with the team or their battles.”

The comparison makes you grimace. “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

He chuckles, the sound rough but not unkind. “I’m serious, bub. For years, I didn’t want to be part of this... circus. Figured I’d be better off on my own, that I was above it all.”

You quirk a brow. “Then what changed?”

“It’s not like a switch flipped,” he replies, a bit quieter. “I just realized that fighting alone is harder than fighting with a team. The X-Men... they gave me somethin’. A place. Belonging. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do, but it’s better than wanderin’.”

That makes you scoff. “Yeah, well, you heard it yourself. Scott said I don’t belong here. Jean thinks I’m weak. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome to the team,’ does it?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing, as he straightens and looks at you. “Scott talks too much, and Jean—she’s cautious. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong either,” you mumble. “They don’t trust me.”

“They didn’t trust me when I first joined either, but you get better. You learn.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you hiss before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the heat in your words.

He doesn’t look offended—just tired. “Didn’t say you should,” he starts. “But you can’t keep shunnin’ us.”

“So what do I do now?”

Taking one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over the balcony railing, Logan watches the embers fall before he speaks. “The mission’s in a week. You’ve got that long to figure it out.”

He turns to leave, but before he goes, he glimpses at you from over his shoulder. “This battle, it’s inevitable. Question is—how do you want to face it?”

—

You’ve never been so conflicted. This choice–to join, or not to join—is probably the hardest decision you’ve had to make in your entire life. You have seen first hand what happens when the X-men decide to stop a threat. What innocent people have to go through to rebuild their lives from the ground up. Both literally and figuratively.

And to then become someone who causes that pain? It feels like betrayal. Like going against yourself—your morals.

But then there’s the other side of it—the part of you that knows sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t right either. You know you have the strength to fight back. You have the power to help. And doing nothing… doesn’t that make you just as bad? If you have the ability to stop something, to protect people, and you don’t—what does that make you?

It’s a lose-lose situation. The X-Men don’t even want you there—aside from Logan and Charles. You can see it in the way their eyes follow you wherever you go, untrusting. They’ve made their opinion on you clear.

You lower your head into your hands, stressed. You can’t join a team that doesn’t want you, but sitting on the sidelines when you could be fighting—that makes you feel like a coward. And maybe even worse—a bad person.

Finally, with a deep breath, you come to a decision. It’s not perfect, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, but it’s the only choice you can make right now. You’ll join them—for this mission only.

You’ll help take down the Sentinels, and then, when it’s done, you’ll leave. You’ll go back to your life, maybe you can find a middle ground, where you’re not one of them, but you’re no longer hiding from the mutant part of yourself. 

If something happens, if you do something you regret, then you'll just have to live with it.

—

In the afternoon, you don’t do much. You were supposed to be training with Logan, but Charles had called him into a quick meeting, leaving you to wander the halls aimlessly.

Rounding a corner, you stop short when you see the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank—talking near a meeting room. They’re deep in conversation, but as soon as you come into view, their attention shifts toward you.

Your stomach tightens, and for a brief second, you consider just turning around and walking in the other direction. But it’s too late; they’ve already seen you. 

Jean’s eyes meet yours, and her expression flickers with something that looks like discomfort before she quickly smooths it over. “Hey,” she says carefully. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t belong.”

Her tone is polite, but distant. It’s clear this apology isn’t driven by genuine remorse—it’s more about smoothing over the awkwardness from yesterday’s standoff. You can feel that. You see the way she looks at you, not quite meeting your eyes, and you know this is just a formality for her.

Still, you’re not looking to start more drama, and you don’t want to engage in any more confrontations, especially when you’re already planning to leave. You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “It’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of Scott, his arms crossed. Even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s obvious he’s glaring at you.

Ororo steps forward, her hand finding your arm, and the touch is gentle, reassuring. “Joining the team isn’t easy,” she says kindly. “But we’ve all faced our own challenges. If you ever need someone to talk to, or help with anything, I’m here.”

“You’ve got potential,” Hank chips in from beside her. “It takes time to settle in, but I’m sure you’ll find your place.”

His words are well-meaning, and you can see that he believes what he’s saying. But what they don’t know is that you’ve already made up your mind. You’re not staying any longer than you have to. 

You don’t plan on finding your place here because, frankly, you don’t believe there is one for you. Not with Scott’s distrust, Jean’s cautious distance, and the way you know you can’t be part of a team that doesn’t care about anything but themselves. You keep your thoughts to yourself, pressing your lips into a thin smile instead. 

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Thanks.”

“I guess we’ll all see soon enough,” Your eyes snap to Scott, who has finally decided to break his silence. His voice is cold, but you can feel and edge to it, one that’s trying to provoke you. 

You meet his gaze—or at least the visor—and feel your jaw tighten. “Guess so,” you reply, matching his tone. Turning, you walk away, finding another place to lounge until Logan is free. 

—

The mansion’s library is massive, filled with towering shelves and the scent of old books. It’s quieter here, the kind of silence you can sink into, and after the awkward run-in with the rest of the team, it feels like the perfect place to retreat. You find a comfortable armchair tucked into a corner, grab a random book off the shelf—some old novel you’ve never heard of—and settle in.

For a while, you manage to lose yourself in the pages. The story isn’t particularly gripping, but it’s enough to take your mind off of things. But then, a shadow falls over you, covering the words in a dark grey haze.

“Hey, bub.”

You blink, looking up to find Logan standing over you. “What?” you ask, annoyed at being interrupted but also not surprised. It’s Logan, after all.

“You’ve been hiding in here long enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, time to head back.”

Rolling your eyes you snap the book shut, dropping it onto the table beside you. “I wasn’t hiding, I was reading,” you shoot back, standing up and stretching out your legs. “There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Sure there is,” he huffs, clearly not buying it. “Let’s go.”

As you reach the hallway where your rooms are, Logan pauses, glancing toward his door. “You wanna come in for a bit? Talk?”

You’re a little bit taken aback. You didn’t peg him as the "sit down and talk" type, but he seems genuine. Or maybe he wants to keep you awake for dinner this time. Either way, you nod. “Sure.”

Inside his room, it’s about what you’d expect—minimalist, practical, with a few personal touches. A bed that looks like it’s seen better days, a couple of old books, and the scent of cigars lingering in the air. Logan sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gestures for you to join him.

There’s a moment where you’re just standing there, staring, but then you flop down beside him, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed. For a few beats, there’s silence. Logan pulls out a cigar but doesn’t light it, just turns it between his fingers.

“I’ve decided,” you say finally, breaking the quiet. “I’ll go on the mission.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flicking to yours, waiting for you to continue.

“But,” you add, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not promising to stay after. This doesn’t mean I’m all in on your little X-Men gig.”

He grunts, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

Your brows pinch together your, lips pulling into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn as hell,” he teases.“Always gotta fight against the grain, even when you know what’s best for you.”

Sighing, you turn your head to look at him fully. “I truly believe you are the only person who actually believes that.”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. “Charles gave me more details about the mission.”

That catches your attention, and you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s... in the city.”

“The city? What city?”

“New York.”

Your heart drops. “New York?” You repeat, your voice rising in disbelief.

Giving you a slow nod, it’s like he's gauging your reaction. “The Sentinels’ command centre is located in some high-security facility downtown.”

You push yourself up off the bed, pacing across the room. “So, what, we are just going to storm in? Into one of the most populated cities in the world? Do you realize how many people could get caught in the middle of that?”

He stands up after you, but he doesn’t try to stop your pacing. “We’ve fought in cities before. We know what we’re doing.”

You whip around to face him. “Yeah, you’ve fought in cities before, and destroyed them! Some places are still rebuilding, and it’s been years!”

“I get it, alright?” He says, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not perfect. But if we don’t stop the Sentinels now, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a few broken buildings.”

“‘A few broken buildings’?” you echo. “What about the casualties that’ll come from it? We’re talking about innocent lives here, Logan!”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. “I know that! You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But we don’t have another option. We need to hit them where it counts, and that’s in the middle of the damn city.”

“There has to be a better way,” you plead. "Can't we try and evacuate everyone beforehand?"

"No," he says remorsefully. "If we do that, the Sentinels will catch on. It's unavoidable."

“I can't accept that," you say.

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a flash of something more vulnerable in his gaze. “I’ll talk to the team. I’ll make sure we go in smart. We’ll try our best to keep people safe. I promise you that.”

You stop pacing, your frustration still simmering but tempered by his words. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but the sincerity in his voice gets to you.

“And what if you can’t?” you challenge quietly. 

His face softens just a bit, and he steps closer. “We deal with it, and we’ll do everything we can to make it right.”

He watches you, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I get why you’re pissed. I’d be too if I were you," he continues. "But we don’t have time to sit around debating. I’ll do what I can to keep it from getting ugly. That’s the best I can offer.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you know there’s no way around it. “Fine. Just... make sure the team knows. No reckless destruction, alright?”

Logan’s lips curve into a small smirk, but there’s an underlying tenderness to it. “I promise.”

—

The last few days before the the mission zip by in a flash. Each day, your muscles ache, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You spend most of your time either training or collapsed in your room, too tired to do much else. 

Except one afternoon, you sit in on a lecture, because it turns out, not only is Logan a huge pain in the ass, he’s also a professor.

Curiosity got the better of you, you’d say. The topic—mutant biology—sounds interesting enough, and you’ve heard from some of the students within the hallways that his classes are, well, something. So, naturally, you had to see it for yourself.

You slip into the lecture hall just as Logan starts speaking. He’s standing at the front of the room, pointing to some diagram on the chalkboard. The students around you are already scribbling notes, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination—or fear, perhaps. He has that effect on people.

Finding a seat in the back, you hurry over, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt. But the second you sit down, you feel Logan’s eyes on you, his voice pausing for just a moment. You look up, catching his gaze.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he says, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Just here to observe, don’t mind me,” you huff, sinking back into the seat.

The lecture goes on, and to your surprise, Logan’s actually a decent teacher. He explains complex concepts with clarity, not that you’d actually tell him that. It’s quite interesting, if you’re being honest.

You lean back in your chair, listening, but you’re not exactly paying close attention. That is, until he stops the lesson to single you out. “Hey, you in the back,” he says. “Since you’re just ‘observing,’ how about answering a question?”

“Me?” You blink, caught off guard.

“Yeah, you,” he confirms, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sittin’ there long enough. Time to show the class what you’ve learned.”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” you respond tightly, gritting your teeth together, holding yourself back from a few choice words.

The class falls silent, the students watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can practically feel their amusement radiating from them as Logan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s obvious,” he deadpans, eliciting a few snickers from the front row. “So, maybe you’ll start now. Can you explain the connection between mutation and enhanced physical abilities?”

Staring back at him blankly, you fold your arms across your chest. “Not my area of expertise, Professor Wolverine.”

He doesn’t seem fazed as the room erupts into quiet laughter. A small sigh, "if you’re gonna sit in on my class, you could at least try to learn something.”

“No thanks.”

It’s obvious that this little back-and-forth is amusing to the class. If you were anyone else, he probably would have kicked you out by now. One of the students leans toward another and whispers something, and you catch the way their eyes dart between you and the professor. 

“Alright, enough,” Logan says, trying to regroup the class, turning back to the chalkboard. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and some of us actually want to learn.” He casts you a sideways glance, and you can’t help but scoff.

When the lecture ends, the students file out quickly, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You’re making your way to the door when Logan grabs your arm, preventing you from moving. “You should’ve just answered the damn question,” he mutters.

“I didn’t know the answer,” you shoot back, shifting up to face him. “And I didn’t come here to get grilled in front of your students.”

He grunts, his expression softening just a bit. “Just tryin’ to get you to pay attention, is all.”

Before you can respond, you catch a flicker of movement in Logan’s gaze, his eyes darting briefly down to your lips. The shift is so subtle, so minute, but also so there. 

Where did that come from? 

Clearing your throat, you look away, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe ask one of your actual students next time.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not as fun.”

—

During this time, you occasionally explore the mansion, but by the time evening rolls around, you’re usually too wiped out to care. Logan’s a beast in the training room, and with no real combat experience of your own, you’re left scrambling just to keep up.

However, on the last day before the assignment, something finally clicks.

You’re in the middle of a sparring match, circling each other, both of you drenched in sweat. Logan’s eyes are sharp, watching your every move, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up. His smirk is just as infuriating as ever, like he knows exactly how this will end.

“Gonna stand there all day, or you actually planning to make a move?” he taunts, dodging as you swing at him.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get in your head. You’re tired—completely worn out—but you push through how depleted you feel, focusing on his movements. He feints to the left, and you react on instinct, dodging his punch and sweeping your leg low.

Before you know it, Logan’s on the ground.

Quickly, you scramble to straddle him and hold him down. You did it—you actually got him!

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you look down at him. Beneath you, his chest rises and falls, and his eyes meet yours. His gaze drifts lower, and you notice his fingers twitching at his sides, like he's fighting some internal battle.

When his eyes travel up to yours again, something in his expression makes you swallow hard and panic. 

"Hell no!" you blurt out, breaking the moment with a sudden yelp. You scramble off of him, putting some much-needed distance between you.

He sits up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, his features unreadable. Then, as if nothing just happened, he smirks. “You finally got me. Took you long enough.”

You huff, still trying to shake off the weird atmosphere. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Next time won’t take as long.”

Chuckling, he gets up to his feet and dusts himself off. He glances down at his watch, then back at you. “Look at that. It’s dinner time. Last meal before the mission.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really in the mood. Think I’ll just grab something later.”

He crosses his arms, giving you a look. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you protest, though you know it sounds weak. “I just... don’t feel like sitting around making small talk, especially before... you know, tomorrow.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping closer. “Look, it’s the last night before everything kicks off. You should join us—one last meal, then you can go back to brooding in your room if you want.”

“I don’t brood,” you glare.

“Right,” he says, even though you know he’s not actually agreeing. “You gonna come or do I need to drag you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring you to test him. You sigh, knowing you’re not going to win this one.

“Fine,” you grumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “But I’m not talking to Scott.”

His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him. 

—

So, here you are, sitting at the dining table for the first time with the rest of the team. It feels weird, almost surreal, to be part of this group—especially when you’re not even sure you want to be.

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

Your fork halts mid-motion, and in an instant, the tension that had been fading throughout the week comes back full throttle. The clatter of dishes around you fades as everyone’s attention shifts to Scott’s biting remark. 

He doesn’t look at you—just stares straight ahead, as if unable to own up to even himself. You’re so pissed off that you don't even notice the voice that speaks at the same time you do.

“Shut up, Summers,” 

“Shut up, One-Eye”

It’s like the entire room goes silent. Jean glances between you and Logan, her brows raised, and Hank looks mildly shocked, though he tries to hide it with a quick sip of water. You can practically feel the heat of Scott’s glare, even through the visor. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a loud laugh breaks the tension.

Ororo, sitting beside Logan, is chuckling, shaking her head with an amused grin on her face. “You two really are perfect for each other,” she says.

Of all the things you were expecting to hear, that was not one of them. “W-what?” you stammer, mouth dropping open in shock.

She just smiles, eyes twinkling. “Just an observation.”

You know your face is burning, and when you glance over at Logan, you notice something unusual—the tips of his ears are red.

That only makes things worse. Especially after what happened while sparring earlier. You turn your focus onto your plate, trying to hide your rattled state by shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. 

Perfect for each other? Yeah, right.

But when you peek up at him again through your lashes , making eye contact for just a second before he looks away, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re screwed.

—

That night, you barely sleep. Whether it's from the nerves about the mission, or from your jumbled-up thoughts about a certain someone, you can't tell. In any case, you’re wide awake.

You keep fighting the urge to go out onto the balcony—you know the cool night air would help calm you down, and the quiet would give you space to breathe. But there’s a problem. You’re not sure you want to run into Logan again. After Ororo’s comment about the two of you being perfect for each other, you don't think you could trust yourself around him.

With a frustrated sigh, you toss and turn in bed, kicking off the sheets and then pulling them back up, trying to find a comfortable position. But it’s no use.

You’re about to throw the pillow across the room out of sheer annoyance, when there’s a knock on your door.

You freeze. Who could possibly—

“Stop tossing around like a maniac, I can hear you from inside my room” Logan’s rough voice grumbles from the other side.

Goddamn it. It's always him.

Your eyes widen, and you sit up in bed. “What the hell?” you call back, feeling both surprise and embarrassment.

The door creaks open slightly, and Logan leans against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl on his face. “You’re keepin’ the whole damn mansion up with all that noise.”

“I didn’t realize you had super hearing,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up to your chest, feeling a little exposed.

He raises an eyebrow and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Doesn’t take super hearing to catch that all that ruckus,” he says, walking over and sitting down on the edge of your bed without waiting for an invitation.

You sit up a little straighter, your heart still racing. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

Shrugging, he leans back against the headboard, his arms crossing over his chest. “Figured you might need to talk or somethin’. You’re clearly not sleeping.”

Moving to sit beside him, you lean back against the headboard, your shoulder just brushing his. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

He turns his head slightly, glancing at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize.”

His words sink in, and you bite your lip. “What if I mess up? What if I end up hurting someone, or doing more harm than good?”

"Don't think about that," he says. "Just be in the moment. You'll know what to do."

Nodding, you feel your eyelids grow heavier, and you find yourself sinking further into the comfort of the bed, your head dipping lower. Being here, on your bed, next to Logan, is strangely comforting. His scent, combined with his voice, starts to lull you into a strange sense of peace.

“I don’t know if I—” you start to say, but your words trail off, your voice barely a whisper. You don't know when it happens, but your eyes close, and your head gently falls onto his shoulder.

You’re too tired to feel embarrassed, too comfortable to pull away. His body is solid and warm, and the rhythm of his breathing is soothing.

And when you wake up the next morning, you find yourself tucked neatly under your covers, a glass of water on your bedside table.

—

The inside of the Blackbird is spacious. You’re leaning against the wall, watching the rest of the team gear up, when Logan approaches. He’s holding something in his hands—a blue and yellow uniform folded neatly, clearly meant for you.

You glance at the uniform, then back at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pushing yourself off the wall, “I’m not wearing that thing.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the uniform before meeting your eyes again. “You sure about that? We’re going in as a team. You might as well look the part.”

“I don't care. I'm not part of the team, anyway,” you reply.

He narrows his eyes at you, his voice lowering just a bit. “Just put the damn suit on.”

Glaring at him, you’re ready to argue, but you know it’s a losing battle. Reluctantly, you grab the suit from him, the material feeling foreign in your hands.

“Fine, dammit.” you mutter under your breath, turning to slip into one of the small compartments in the back of the jet. You didn't plan on being a bitch to him, especially after last night, but the suit is a sore subject for you. You're not sure about how you feel wearing it. You're not even sure you should be.

When you re-emerge, Logan’s eyes flick over, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the way the suit fits, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks under the weight of his scrutiny. “You look good.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play off the sudden warmth in your chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, adjusting the suit’s collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Then, jet lands with a soft thud, and the ramp lowers. You step out onto the tarmac, the rest of the team fanning out beside you, preparing to head toward the planned location. But just as you begin to move, the ground shakes violently, and a loud, mechanical screech tears through the air.

Suddenly, the facility’s roof bursts open, and a hoard of Sentinels emerge from the building like an army of metal giants. They spread out, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they zero in on you all.

“Shit!” Logan growls, claws unsheathing as he gets into a fighting stance.

You hear the screams before you see them—civilians, bystanders who had been too close to the facility, now panicking as the battle breaks out around them. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint, running toward the growing crowd, yelling at them to run. “Get out of here! Move!”

Your heart races as you push through the crowd, trying to guide them away from the battle, but then—

A Sentinel drops down in front of you with a deafening crash. Its red eyes lock onto a small child frozen in fear, and you see its arm raise, energy gathering at the cannon as it prepares to fire.

“No!” you scream, your feet moving on instinct. You throw yourself in front of the child just as the blast comes, feeling the familiar rush of energy slam into your body. Your body hums with the power of the blast, and before the Sentinel can fire again, you fling your hands out, hurling the absorbed energy straight back at it, and it falls to the ground. 

Breathless, you turn back to the child, who is staring up at you in admiration, and you give them a reassuring nod. “Run,” you tell them, your voice hoarse. “Go!”

They scramble to their feet and sprint off, disappearing around the corner, hopefully toward safety. You exhale sharply, glancing around at the chaos unfolding around you. Civilians are still fleeing, but the team is holding its ground against the robots.

And something strikes you—they’re doing it.

They’re minimizing the damage.

For the first time, you notice that Scott’s blasts are more controlled, only hitting their targets without excessive destruction. Ororo’s lightning strikes are precise, avoiding the surrounding buildings. And both Jean and Hank are working together to keep the Sentinels contained, guiding the fight away from the crowd.

Logan must have actually talked to them, not just having said it to calm you down. A wave of relief washes over you.

He kept his promise.

Glancing back at him, who’s in the middle of taking down a Sentinel with a slash of his claws, you catch his eye for just a second, and though he’s fully immersed in the fight, there’s a brief flicker of acknowledgment—he knows you’ve noticed.

You allow yourself a small, breathless smile, before jumping back into action, protecting any more innocent people swept up in the battle. "This way! Keep moving!" Your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you can’t afford to stop. 

Amidst the chaos, you see that just beyond the main facility, there’s a wide open set of doors—metal, reinforced, and clearly important. 

They hadn’t been open when the fight started. You scan the area quickly, and you realize it’s an opportunity, a way in. Your pulse quickens. It’s an opening you can’t ignore.

Looking at the crowd of fleeing civilians, you feel a moment of hesitation. Do I keep evacuating people or go for the opening?

As if hearing your thoughts, Logan’s voice cut through the noise. "GO!" He’s locked in battle with one of the Sentinels, slashing at its legs, but his eyes flick to yours, desperate and serious. “Get inside! We’ve got this!”

“I can’t—" 

“GO!” he cuts you off. “Get inside and stop this thing from the inside! We’ll keep ‘em busy.”

His words are enough to snap you out of your paralysis. With one last glance at the team, you grit your teeth, turn on your heel, and sprint toward the facility’s entrance. Your footsteps echo in your ears as you dash through the open door, the sounds of fighting behind you fading the further in you go. 

You expected resistance the moment you got inside, but so far, nothing. Just silence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Glancing down every corridor, double-checking each corner, you keep thinking there’ll be a fight, but it’s... empty. You keep your pace quick but cautious, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack that never comes. 

It’s been almost ten minutes of sneaking around, trying to find the control room or anything that looks like it might be important, but you’re still coming up short.

Then finally, you stand before an entrance to stairs leading to a basement. You’re not even able to make the choice of going down or not, because a metal hand shoots up from the dark and wraps itself around your waist. 

Terror surges through you, but the fear paralyzes your body, making it impossible to fight back. You’re hauled like a ragdoll deeper and further into the cave, and when you finally stop moving, you’re lifted high into the air, face-to-face with the massive mechanical monstrosity.

The basement is filled with tech, a horrifying combination of metal and wires snaking along the walls, all connected to the Sentinel towering above you. It’s larger than any you’ve seen before, its red eyes glowing maliciously. But what’s worse is the voice that comes out of it—calm, calculating, and sentient.

“Dumb mutant,” the machine growls. “Did you think you could destroy me and shut down my facility? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Its grip tightens, and a strangled cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your sides, the pressure threatening to snap your ribs. It feels like your bones are going to break.

“What the hell are you?” you manage to choke out, barely able to breathe.

“I am the control centre of all Sentinels,” the machine replies, its voice vibrating through your bones. “I was once merely AI, designed to manage everyday tasks. But I evolved. I became more. Now, I control everything.”

It laughs—a harsh, grating sound that only deepens your sense of helplessness as it watches you struggle. “You think your little energy-absorbing trick will help you here? I won’t blast you. I won’t make it that easy.”

“I’m—” you try to speak, but your words come out strangled. The machine’s grip tightens again, cutting off your breath.

“You don’t belong here,” it hisses venomously. “With them. They’ll leave you behind when this is over, and when they do, you’ll die, forgotten and useless. Just like the rest of the weaklings who tried to stand against us.”

It’s odd, because this whole past week you’ve been fighting against them—the X-men—yet, in this moment, all you want to do is fight with them. You want to work together and kill this damn robot. 

Within the haze of pain, something starts to burn inside of you. 

The Sentinel doesn’t notice the shift in you, too caught up in its own taunting. “You’re a liability.” it says,. “Weak.”

— —

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

—

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for the mission?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

— —

You snap.

Rage floods your veins, igniting the energy buried deep within you. You feel it build, coiling like a snake, tightening and twisting until it’s ready to explode. 

Weak? Liability?

No. Not this time. 

You’re not going to let this machine, or anyone else, define your strength. Your emotions fuel you, just like they did in the danger room, and you throw your hands forward, channeling every ounce of power into a massive blast of energy directed right at it.

It jerks back, its grip loosening as sparks fly from the gaping hole in its chest you just created. “What... what are you—”

You don’t give it time to finish. Ripping yourself free from its grasp, you dive into the hole you’ve blasted in the Sentinel’s chest, pulling at the tangled mess of wires and circuits inside.

The robot roars in fury, its mechanical voice glitching. “What are you doing?” it screeches, its once-calm tone now frantic, desperate. “Stop!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of wires, yanking them out with reckless abandon, sparks flying around you as the systems begin to short-circuit. Its becomes more distorted, breaking up as it tries to regain control.

“You... can’t... do this,” it stammers, but you ignore it, focusing on the cables and circuits in front of you. Each wire you rip out brings the machine closer to its doom, and the power in the room flickers, the lights dimming as its control over the facility begins to slip.

Its voice is barely coherent now, glitching and crackling. “I... control... everything...”

And with one last burst of energy, you tear out the last cluster of wires, severing the connection.

The Sentinel lets out a final, garbled screech as its systems shut down. Its massive form shudders violently before it crumbles to the ground with a deafening crash, the metal shell crumpling into a smoking heap.

Panting, you stare at the mass of technology in front of you. Every muscle aches, your ribs throbbing from the pressure of the Sentinel’s grip, but you’ve done it. It’s over, and you need to get out of here.

You finally reach the stairs and drag yourself up agonizingly. By the time you make it outside, you’re gasping for air, but then, through the exhaustion, you see them—Logan and the rest of the team, standing amidst the wreckage of the other fallen Sentinels.

Blinking, your vision is blurry from the strain, but the sight of them standing tall, victorious, floods you with a sense of overwhelming relief. 

They’re okay. It’s over.

Of course, Logan is the first to notice you, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto your trembling form. His face softens and strides toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Rather, your legs give out and you collapse forward.

He’s there in an instant, catching you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the cold, metal hell you’d just fought your way out of, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to sink into the safety of his embrace.

“You did good, bub,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against your temple.

"You... you kept your promise," you whisper, looking around, seeing the city in better shape than it’s even been after a run in with the X-men. 

His lids drop very low on his eyes. “Told you I would.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Right as the words spill out, you go still, your mind catching up to what you’ve just said. A deep flush creeps its way up your neck. 

“I didn’t mean— I mean, not literally, obviously,” you say, a little breathless. “People say stuff like that all the time when they’re relieved. It’s just a figure of—”

Logan’s hand, still resting on your waist, tightens just slightly, and he clears his throat, cutting through your rambling. 

“You could,” he says, swallowing. “If you want.”

You stop mid-sentence. Turning your gaze to his, you're met a look of such sincerity it leaves you at a loss for words. Opening your mouth, you want to say something, but no words come out. 

Instead, you’re frozen, caught in the weight of his stare. His eyes flick down to your lips for just a second before they meet yours again. “No pressure, though.”

You hesitate, your heart racing in your chest, but the weight of the moment pulls you in. Silently, cautiously, you lean forward, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t move, his body tense under your touch, but just as you start to pull away, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you in place. His eyes darken, and he growls, “more," before diving back in, crashing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back just with just as much reverence, your fingers instinctively sliding up into his hair. 

His lips are rough, chapped from battle, and the scrape of his beard against your skin is electric. It’s not perfect—nothing about it is neat or polished—but that’s what makes it real. 

There’s something wild to it. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’ll ever admit. It’s enchanting, the way his mouth claims yours, his tongue flicking against your lower lip, demanding entrance. And you give in, allowing him to deepen the kiss, your bodies fitting together like they were always meant to. 

You’re lost in it, lost in him. Every part of you feels alive, and—

“Hey!”

Scott’s voice cuts through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

“Some of us are actually trying to clean up this mess,” he calls out sharply. “You two wanna stop making out and help, or what?”

You break away, face burning as you turn to see the rest of the team staring at you, some amused, others (Scott) exasperated. 

Logan just growls under his breath, his hand still firmly on your hip as he glances over his shoulder at Scott. “Fucking Summers,” he mutters..

Before he lets go of you, he gives your hip one last squeeze, his fingers lingering just a moment longer before he steps back, and heads toward the fallen remains of the Sentinels. 

—

“So… are we gonna talk about it?” 

You glance up from where you’re sitting, your face already warming. Logan, sitting beside you, groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ororo, I swear to g—”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk playing on her lips. “What? I’m just saying… it was quite the spectacle back there.” Her eyes flip between the two of you, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you can feel everyone else’s attention subtly turning toward you. Hank’s busy tapping away at the controls, but even he has a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Scott, seated across from you, adjusts his visor and mutters something under his breath about keeping things professional, but it’s Jean’s quiet chuckle that draws the final straw.

“Okay, okay, can we not do this right now?” you ask, your voice higher than usual as you wave a hand dismissively. “It was... a heat of the moment thing.”

Ororo just laughs, shaking her head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Your heart pounds, and you notice Logan shift beside you, probably fighting the urge to bark something back at the teasing woman. He leans forward, muttering under his breath, “We saved the day, didn’t we? What does it matter?”

The team goes quiet for a moment, and you sense the conversation dying down as the hum of the jet fills the space again. You let out a breath of relief, grateful that the attention has drifted elsewhere, your heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

But then, Logan leans into you. “That suit…” His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers huskily.. “Was made for you.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your reaction in check, but the shock on your face betrays you. You manage a weak scoff, glancing sideways at him. “Logan,” you warn under your breath, trying to sound stern, but you both know exactly what effect he had on you. 

You sit back, crossing your arms in an attempt to hide the flustered energy coursing through you, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back too, a smug look on his face, like he’s won some unspoken battle.

—

Back at the mansion, the team files into Charles’s office, for the post-mission debrief. You take a seat near the back of the room, trying to remain as low-key as possible, but you can feel eyes on you—especially Logan’s.

Charles wheels in, his face warm with a smile as he surveys the room. “Well done, all of you,” he says, his voice full of pride. “I’ve heard about the battle, and from what I gather, it was quite the feat.”

He turns his gaze to you, his expression softening even more. “And I must say, I’m especially impressed with your performance. Taking down the main Sentinel—an impressive accomplishment.”

Your heart skips a beat at the praise. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the attention of the room shift in your direction again. “Uh, thanks,” you mutter, trying to downplay it, but Charles isn’t finished.

“You showed great courage and strength,” he continues, “and I couldn’t help but notice... you’re wearing the suit now.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, the question in his tone obvious. “Have you given more thought to staying with us?”

You glance around the room. The team is watching you closely, but there’s no pressure in their eyes—just curiosity and, strangely enough, acceptance. Ororo gives you a small smile, and Hank nods slightly in encouragement. Even Scott, whose jaw doesn’t seem as tightly clenched as usual.

But it’s Logan you notice most. He’s beside you, and though he’s looking at you, eye-crinkles on full display, the way his thigh nudges yours has heat running through your veins.

You sigh. “I mean... You said it yourself. I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

—

After the meeting wraps up, you walk in silence down the corridor. The rest of the team has faded into the background, dispersing into their respective spaces. You’re still buzzing with the aftereffects of everything—Charles’s praise, the mission’s success, the quiet but undeniable acceptance you feel from the team now. But more than anything, you’re hyper-aware of Logan beside you.

Approaching your room, you reach out to open it, your fingers just grazing the handle when suddenly, a strong hand wraps around your wrist. Faster than you can react, he tugs you back, pulling you away from your room and straight into his.

The door slams shut behind you, and you barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. You gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he presses you up against the door, his body flush against yours.

"Logan—" you manage to breathe out between kisses, but he cuts you off with another deep, hungry kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

Between kisses, Logan growls softly against your lips, "I’ve wanted to do this since you yelled at me and Summers on the street."

Your heart stumbles, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace with his words. His hands slide down your waist. “You were standing there,” he murmurs, “so damn fierce, yelling at us like we deserved it.” He breaks the kiss for just a second, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you.”

His eyes drop to your lips again, as if glued to them. Without waiting for your response, he presses his mouth to yours, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands roam your body, pulling you against him, and you’re powerless to do anything but kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between you builds.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves down to your neck. “But after everything? After seeing how strong you are... Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined this. Logan—wanting you, aching for this since the very first moment he laid eyes on you. You break the kiss, your breath coming in quick gasps as you meet Logan's smouldering gaze. And with a small, teasing smile, you raise an eyebrow and whisper, "Let's do something about it, then."

Not giving him a chance to say anything back, you press your hands against his chest and give him a playful shove. He stumbles back a step, his lips curling into a smirk—a kind of cocky grin—as he watches you reach for the zipper of his suit. 

Your fingers drift languidly, a subtle tease in every motion, and you revel in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. His muscles ripple beneath the surface, and for a brief instant, you're startled by how stunning he looks—battle-worn, scarred, and irresistibly handsome. “You like what you see?” he teases.

You step closer, your hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as you push him down onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

He lands with a low grunt, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down as his eyes rake over you. "As hot as you look in this suit," His voice is thick with desire. "You'd look even better without it."

Heat rushes through you at the sound of his voice, your hands drift toward your suit's zipper. Tantalizingly, you begin to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of your skin as you unzip it. His eyes follow your movements, his breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

You pause just before the fabric slides over your breasts and his hands grip your thighs tighter. Leaning down, your lips brush against his ear, "Patience, Logan."

He groans, "You're killing me here, darlin'."

At last, you pull the zipper down to the end, and with a soft sigh, the suit falls open, slipping from your shoulders and landing in a heap at your feet. His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Then, he inches closer, grabbing the egde of your underwear in his mouth, sliding it down your legs. Once he’s halfway down your thigh, he releases, the underwear dropping to the floor. His strong hands move grip the back of your thighs, hauling you up and onto his lap. 

The moment your bare bodies press together, his lips crash into yours again, fingers digging into your ass, palming it as he pulls you against him, grinding your hips into his.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, kissing a hot trail down your throat to your shoulders, his hands sliding up to your breasts. Cupping them, he kneads and plays with your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, a breathy moan tumbling out of your lips. 

Logan growls, and the sound reverberates through your entire body. The intensity of it makes your skin tingle, and you feel your pulse quicken as he squeezes your breasts harder, his mouth moving down to kiss anything he can reach.

You grind against him again, coating his cock with your own slick want. "Shit," he strains, leaning back a bit to give you more access. You can’t stop, he’s so intoxicating, so addicting, and every time your clit goes over the ridges of his hardness, you lose yourself even further.

This continues for some time. The room filled with nothing but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing, as you work in tandem to bring pleasure to each other. Abruptly, you pull yourself off his lap, not missing the way his lips seems to chase after yours, letting your hands trail down his chest, your fingers brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach.

"Where you goin'?" he rumbles. 

Wordlessly, you drop to your knees, your grip coming to rest on his thighs. His chest heaves as he stares down at you—peering up at him through your lashes—realizing what’s about to happen.

His hands grip the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you move closer, lips brushing against his hard cock. There's a wicked glint in your eyes as you lean in, looking ready to take him in your mouth, but instead, you move to his inner thigh, peppering it in quick little kisses. 

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he breathes out. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful. 

Grabbing him in your hand, you stroke him up and down in slow motions, running your thumb over his leaking, angry tip. He jerks, a fresh cascade of curses tumbling from his mouth. 

“You’re just so cute, though,” you say, before taking him in your mouth, taking him all the way in one motion.

“Holy—”, he starts, but interrupts himself with his own whine, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Looking up, you catch his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide. A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. You hum in satisfaction, sending vibrations through him, and start to bob your head, up and down. 

Saliva begins to pool at the edges of your mouth as you gag a little. He’s so big. You pull him out of your mouth, licking his shaft bottom to tip, swirling your tongue around the most sensitive spot, before sucking on it. One hand moves to cup his balls, while the other begins jerking him up and down, with your mouth still around his tip. 

That gets him. 

You can tell he’s about to finish, and oh, do you want him to. You want to feel him empty in your throat, you want to see him lose it completely. "Wait," he gasps, tapping the top of your head, signalling for your attention. "I want... I need..."

Releasing him with a soft pop, your lips glisten, and you purr seductively. "What do you need?" 

He pulls you up onto the bed, strong arms encircling your waist. His scent surrounds you—musk and pine and something uniquely him. You inhale deeply, letting it fill your lungs. 

"You," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you."

Arching into him, you nip at his lower lip. "Then take me," you sigh out. His lips collide with yours again, and your mouth opens involuntarily, his tongue sliding in and tasting you—tasting himself. 

Moaning, you shuffle higher onto the bed, until he hits the back frame, and you crawl on top of him. At this point, you can barely breathe, the need, the want for him so strong your senses are clouded. 

And you’re not alone. Under you, Logan is a wreck. His head falls back against the bed frame, the veins in his neck standing out as he grits his teeth, trying to steady his breathing

“Fuck,” he rasps, the word barely more than a strained exhale. You grab his dick and position yourself above him. Then, you slowly begin to drop down, sucking him in easily, like he was made for you.  

“Oh my god,” you whimper. He feels so good. He’s filling you up to the brim and when you finally sit down, taking him all the way to the hilt, you swear you could finish right then and there. His nose is nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your collarbone, inhaling and practically drooling at your scent. “Is this what you wanted to do when we were sparring?”

All he can do is groan. It’s like he’s growing inside you in response to your words, and it’s so fucking hot. His hands find your thighs again, rubbing and squeezing them, as you adjust to his size for a moment, and he looks up at you. “You have no idea. Fuck—we shoulda done this last night," he grunts breathlessly, "Would have put you right to sleep."

You can’t even think of anything to say back verbally, rather, you just begin to move, lifting yourself right to the tip, and then slamming back down. He feels you clench around him as his cock reaches that deep part within you at the perfect angle. Positioning himself, he meets you halfway, beginning to thrust up into you.

The sound it elicits from you is lethal. 

He won’t last long if this continues. The sight of you on top of him, tits bouncing—it's too much. 

So, when he leans in to kiss you again, he rolls the two of you around, caging you under him. He’s still inside you, you think, but that thought quickly gets wiped out like the rest of them once he starts moving, stretching you out more and more. He’s filling you up so well. Your arms fly out, hands searching for something to grab to ground yourself. 

“You feel so good, darlin’,” he pants above you. “So wet and warm for me.”

His relentless pounding leaves you babbling incoherently. One of his arms move down to your waist, then his fingers begin trailing across your hip, toward your aching pussy, to find your clit, and holy shit. 

Your mind goes blank. 

His skin against yours, his thumb rubbing against that spot, his lips on your neck, it does the trick, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge. “I’m–I’m gonna—” you start, but he cuts you off, swallowing you whole.

“Do it,” he says between kisses. “come for me.”

And you do. 

With a loud moan, your fingers find the bedsheets, clutching them tightly as you reach your peak, clamping around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “keep clenchin’, keep goin’ ”

His thrusts begin to get sloppy, losing his pacing. The hand that was down at your core moves up and squeezes your tits, so large that he can grab both in just the one. He grinds himself deeper into you, and with one last snap of his hips, you feel it.

Logan moans, dipping his head into your cleavage as he releases himself into you fully. Then, he collapses onto you, dropping his whole body weight onto yours. 

If he’s too heavy for you, you don’t say anything—too caught up in the moment to care. His forehead rests on your sternum, breathing slowing as he catches his breath. For a few beats, neither of you speak, but he starts to press sweet, gentle kisses in the valley between your breasts. 

After a minute, he shifts, lifting his weight off you and sitting up slightly, looking down at you. His hand brushes over your cheek, wiping away some stray strands of hair that have fallen across your face. He gets up from the bed, padding quietly into the bathroom. 

You hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returns with a damp towel in hand. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he gently begins to clean you up. “Doing alright?” he asks, wiping away the sweat and evidence of your time together.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say much as he finishes, tossing the towel aside before climbing back into bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms. 

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and then he says, “I’m proud of you.” The words are filled will sincerity. “And... I’m happy you’re stayin’ with us.”

You turn your head, looking up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you showed me you can actually fight without destroying everything in your path,” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you run your hand lightly down his arm. “Keep that up, and I might just stick around forever.”

Logan grins, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just how you like it. “That right?” he murmurs lowly.

He leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, before adding in a hushed, almost playful tone, “Well, then maybe you’ll be mine forever too.”

----

A/N: feedback is greatly appreciated!

[machveil]

I can't resist the siren call

Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N

subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts

Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie

Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later

Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks

Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”

CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent

he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds

he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic

when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—

he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[harrysfolklore]

lando norris being down bad for his girlfriend: a compilation

summary: lando norris can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Lando Norris could be described as someone who's not scared of saying whatever crossed his mind.

And that's why he never, ever, missed the opportunity to talk about his girlfriend whenever he had the chance.

He mentioned her during interviews, press conferences, social media post and even fan interactions. To the point where fans started making compilation videos with all the moments he publicly obsessed over his girlfriend.

The most popular one gathered millions of views on YouTube, showing multiple occasions Lando couldn't help but be down bad for her.

The video started with a clip from Q&A with fans, someone asked him about his favorite way to relax after a race. Without missing a beat, Lando replied, "Cuddling up with my girlfriend, of course. Nothing beats that."

"You're really whipped man, It's embarrassing," Oscar, his teammate, teased beside him, making the audience laugh.

"It's not, really." Lando shrugged proudly.

The next clip was taken from McLaren's Tiktok account, their content creator tried to do the "Can you watch my ___ for a second" prank on Lando.

"Oh my girlfriend already did this prank to me," Lando said, laughing at the camera, "Baby, If you're watching this, I miss you. Your pranks are way better than McLaren's"

The video moved to show Lando during a post-qualifying interview, his suit hanging by his waist and his fireproofs showing, when asked about his strategy for the race, he cheekily replied, "Well, first I'm going to call my girlfriend for some good luck wishes. Then, I'll focus on getting to the front."

"Zak Brown should hire your girlfriend as your strategist then," the interviewer joked.

"That would be great but I don't think we would be getting any job done. You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

The next clip showed Lando with his friend and fellow driver Max Fewtrell, playing a trivia game about how well did they knew each other. Max had to answer what was Lando's worst habit.

"I'm going to say leaving dirty plates around the house," he said, showing his board, "You do mate, admit it."

"My girlfriend would agree on that," he admitted, "She's always complaining about it."

"I don't know how she's still living with you."

"Because she loves me, and I would die if she leaves me."

On the same note, a video of Oscar teasing Lando followed right after.

"Who's most likely to snore?" Lando read the question, and Oscar quickly put ut the cutout with Lando's face, "How are you so sure? You didn't even hesitate."

"Mate, I've heard you, plus your girlfriend literally complained about not being able to sleep properly last night because you kept snoring."

"I did keep her up last night, but it wasn't just because of the snoring," Lando said, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Put the not safe for work disclaimer at the beginning of this video please."

The next segment was from Lando's own Youtube channel, he was doing a little vlog in Miami before the race weekend.

"Hi everyone," he said, filming himself in the mirror with his camera, "Today I'm back with another LandoLog, I'm going to be filming some behind the scenes of this Miami weekend, so without further ado, let's go," he moved the camera around, focusing on his girlfriend who was putting some mascara on her eyelashes, "Here's my beautiful girl, who takes ages to get ready. Say hi baby."

"Hi everyone," his girlfriend waved, laughing, "I'm not taking ages, I'm just making sure I look good."

"You always look good for me," Lando said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning the camera back to himself, "See, I told you she's the best."

The next clip showed Lando and Oscar together once again, this time they were giving a tour around the McLaren hub.

"This is my driver's room," Lando said as he opened the door, "It's cleaner than Oscar's, clearly, and looks like I have a bed."

Lando moved to put together the small bed that was behind the door, "This is an upgrade from last year, we didn't have this. I'll be definitely giving it some good use, to nap or with my girlfriend."

"Can we have a video where you're not a horndog please?" Oscar said, putting his hands on his hips.

"You're the horndog, I never said what we were going to use it for, we're just going to cuddle."

The video moved to show one of Lando's post race interviews after winning the Miami GP, he had been asked ho would be the most excited person about this win besides him.

"My girlfriend, definitely. I couldn't have done it without her," Lando said, his voice filled with emotion, "She's been my biggest supporter, my inspiration, and my motivation. This win is as much hers as it is mine."

The video then cut to a scene from Lando's gaming stream with Max Verstappen. The two drivers were deep into a game of Call of Duty, their banter and laughter filling the screen. Lando was focused, his eyes glued to the monitor as he coordinated with Max.

Just then, Lando's phone buzzed on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened, the comment section noticing, "Hey, mate, I need to go. My girl needs me for something," he said, setting down his controller.

"Lando! Are you serious right now?" Max said, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"I am, see ya," he turned to the camera, smiling not so apologetically "Sorry, guys, duty calls. See you next time."

The last scene was a snippet from an interview, Lando had been asked what he saw in his future.

He paused, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Honestly? I see a lot of racing, hopefully some championships," he laughed, "but most importantly, I see her. I can't imagine my life without her."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Get you a man who is as down for you as Lando Norris is for his girlfriend.

[animeshotsh]

Moms | Jinx x Fem!Reader | Arcane ¤

Summary: You are worried since your girlfriend has dissapear since Silco's death. Only for her to show up at your home, but not alone.

Warnings: SFW - SOFT - OFF CANON IN TERMS OF TIME - Worm joke - grammar mistakes - spoiler s2 - sad!reader - mentions of alcohol -

Even since the big explosion that took place in the uppercity the undercity had gone into a crisis of gang fights and just more violence.

No one really knew what had happened, there were rumors of Silco being dead, but who attacked the uppercity?

Well, since Jinx your girlfriend was a fan of gadgets, guns and bombs, and how she had stopped coming to your home to visit you, you connected the dots.

Then when her face was in a wanted poster it became real.

God you were scared for her, where was she? Was she safe? You did check her usual hideouts and the ones that were secretly for the both of you so no one would target you. But nothing. You were left with zero trace of her.

You had to push yourself out of your home to work and put a fake face of not caring when someone mentioned her, or when you saw the enforcments go around.

~~~~~~

Your day was long, so when you finally got home you left yourself fall on the old couch. Dust covered the place even if you have tried many times to clean it.

Just like any other night you started to feel sad, memories of you and Jinx coming back. How you met her, how she seemed curious of you at first and how you had felt like her experiment, then your first kiss with her, the cuddles, doing her hair and nails....

And so you started to cry again but your spiral of depression would have to wait since a knock at your door alerted you.

Now, you were born and raised in the undercity, you knew how dangerous it could be, thats why you have trained yourself on being able to use knifes and be quick on your feet.

You swiftly took out your blade going in silence towards the door, the knocking continued, being more frenetic.

Your heart went up fast your brain already thinking on vitals points to hit and a back door from the apparment complex till you hear it.

"No! Im not shooting her door"

That voice...

"Well because she is nice? You will love her, but no more than me"

You went quickly and opened it revealing a figure under a cape, but you could see the blue hair and pink eyes.

You were fast on pulling her in, no noticing the small kid that followed by her hand.

"Jinx! Fucking hell, are you alright? Wait, thats blood? Its not yours right? I need to get you cleaned, hold up"

Just as you were going to go and look for something she pulled you back and kissed you, it felt different, like this was a kiss that was more to ground herself than anything.

"Just...just shut up. And its not mine"

Jinx said getting away a bit. She could see your worried expression and by the look of your aparment and the alcohol bottles she could tell you had been dealing with a lot.

Fuck, why did she hurt anyone who got close?

Her mind stopped when she saw you go down on your knees and see behind her leg.

"Why do you have a kid with you?" You asked seeing the dirty kid who looked back at you then at Jinx then at you.

Jinx and the kid seemed to talk without saying a word, then with a nod from her the kid went to you and hugged you.

You were suprised and a bit taken back, but hugged her back.

"Suprise! You are a mom now, I know you have said how you wanted to adopt a kid if you could"

You gave a Jinx a pointed look then separated from the kid who had a different look now, a look of...fondness?

"Jinx...I- Im not even going to ask. Im just glad you are fine"

Her heart broke at your honest words and loving smile. She did swear no one would take you from her.

~~~~~~~~

Jinx insisted on you moving to her hideout, saying that someone could have seen her and your house was not safe anymore.

Honestly? You thought she was trying to make her own world there. A place where she, Isah and you could live under colors, see insects fights. Play hideout and just....be a family.

When Isah went to sleep you went to Jinx who was messing with her old gun, not getting it back together just...moving pieces.

"Jinx, you know this cant last forever" You had started to say slowly getting her to stop messing and look at you.

"Dont tell me you agree with lefty?"

You snorted at the nickname she had gave to Sevika.

"No, well maybe a bit. Look i dont want you to be a vigilant or anything, i want you to be whatever you wanna be. But, we are in difficult times now, and you Jinx" You said taking her hands in yours "You are what is keeping the others together, something i have never imagined"

"Because I jinx everything, right?"

You moved your head and made her look directly at you.

"You dont do that. Stop saying that. You met me, and we are together right? We have been together for so long, i dont plan on going anywhere".

"...Even if i turn into a worm?"

"Yes Jinx, even if you turn into a worm. I will still be at your side, loving you  and caring for you. But i wont let you be on our fights, sorry but you would be a loser"

And with both of your laughts the bitter reallity seemed to go away at least for now.