#the great wave chapter 6

[cocogum]

I made a little something cuz of Chapter 6 🥰

spoilers under the cut

@geekgirles @onyichii @vinillain

[zuzu-draws]

sending lots of hugs your way :''3

Thanks, i really needed those. The shock is starting to wear off and i'm getting more and more... emotional :"D How...do they expect us to enjoy this week's Gojo episode when Gege pulled this in the manga. I didn't like to admit it but i did have a soft spot for him, damnit.

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (2)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents, Tension, Panic Attack, Alcohol, Claustrophobia

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: i initially wanted this chapter to be a little spicy, but the waves of missing bangtan kept crashing over me as i was writing it... and i couldn’t help but be a softie. 😩 nevertheless, hope you all still enjoy this chapter. please let me know what you think. thanks for being here. thanks for reading, love you all <3😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

You’re a rockstar.

You know it.

You’re commanding the room.

Your high-waisted skirt hugs your curves flawlessly, paired with a crisp white button-up and a belt to accentuate your silhouette.

You stepped into your killer stiletto heels, the ones that always make you feel powerful.

And like the rockstar you are, you breezed through your presentation with ease—after all, you’d poured days of hard work into it, and it showed. Jungkook's tweaks made a huge difference, and despite everything that happened yesterday, you’re incredibly grateful for his help.

The praise from your manager and colleagues felt like the cherry on top of a grueling quarter, and you couldn’t help but bask in a well-earned wave of pride.

After all, being in Sales is not for the faint of heart. It is a demanding job that requires sheer will and resilience.

But you're grateful to have met genuine friends at work.

The kind that makes work feel like less work.

Hanging out with them—whether it's sneaky breaks during the day or wild post-work dinners and drinks—is something you seriously look forward to. You get the juiciest gossip and fresh perspectives from every corner of the office.

“YN! Congrats on the presentation! As expected of you. You did great, babes!” Jimin cheers as he wraps you in one of his signature tight hugs, while you're making coffee in the pantry. He’s a hugger—you figured that out pretty quickly. Jimin was introduced to you by Yoongi, who you were friends with long before joining this company, and the two of you hit it off instantly.

"Thanks, Jiminie. Ugh, I almost didn’t make it today. My laptop broke down yesterday and I seriously thought I lost everything. IT totally saved me, though." You said, still feeling the stress of it all.

"Whoa, jeez... So, you met the new IT guy, Jungkook? Yoongi introduced him to us last week, I think? Said he's a friend of a friend..." He trails off, eyes following a pretty intern passing by you.

You followed his gaze, then quickly turned back to him. "Wait, he was Yoongi's friend? No, I hadn't seen him until yesterday..."

His face flashes in your mind again, and you feel a flare in your chest, and your core...

But the inked arm, the lip ring... his moans when he was—

"—coming?" Jimin interrupts, eyes narrowed, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Wha—huh?” you blink.

"I said, are you coming? Later? Dino's? Let’s celebrate that killer presentation!" Jimin grinned, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Oh! Yeah... Yeah, of course!" you laughed, a little too nervously.

"You good? You look a little bothered," he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Yeah! I’m fine. Just remembered something I need to wrap up today," you lied.

"Alright, well, I'll leave you to it. See you at Dino's after 5!" He winked and flashed a final grin before his Chelsea boots clicked down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You head back to your desk, trying to distract yourself with some admin work as the hours drag on. You make a conscious effort to avoid the IT room, which is easy enough since it’s tucked away at the far corner of the floor.

But your thoughts keep drifting back to the server room...

By the time the clock hits 5, you're more than ready to bolt. Bag slung over your shoulder, makeup refreshed, and a swipe of some cherry red lipstick —and you’re all set to end this interesting week.

Dino’s is the usual spot for your crew. Just a few blocks from the office, it's hosted everything from Yoongi’s promotion to Jimin finally getting his PTO approved (his boss is an ass).

You walk into the bar and spot Allie right away, waving you over with that big, excited grin of hers. You head over to their table, and give her a peck on the cheek.  

“Hey girl! I heard you slayed that presentation! Congrats!!!” she says, her voice all sweet and perky, like cotton candy and sunshine.

"Thanks! I really prepared for it," you giggled, feeling proud of yourself.

"Yeah, Jimin told me! Remember what the guy from Marketing called you? The one who tried to flirt with you while obviously married? Anyway—he called you an office vixen with brains and a nice ass. Remember? I totally agree with the guy. 100%," she recalled, laughing.

You love her.

While Yoongi is like rain at night—a brooding but steady force, someone who hangs back like training wheels on a bike. He never judges, but you still tread carefully. A man of few words, but a volume of presence… a warm cup of coffee, and sound advice—

Allie and Jimin are like the sun after the rain—radiant, gentle, and warm. You’ve always admired that about them. They draw people in, like moths to a flame. Their smiles always radiate a comforting energy that makes everyone feel seen.

“So, Yoongi’s out until next week...” Jimin said, scanning the group and doing a quick headcount. “Allie and YN are here. Tae’s coming in a bit...”

Now, Taehyung… is like sunset. There’s ember in his eyes, golden sparks, a warmth that lingers long after the light fades. In those eyes, there’s another universe you can only wish to be part of, a universe no one fully grasps, yet everything he does feels strangely familiar, like a long-lost memory resurfacing. Like watching a VHS tape of your childhood.

You love them. You adore them.

“He said he’s with some guys from his department” Jimin's still on his phone, probably texting Taehyung. “… Jungkook's with them too."

You froze for a moment, your dreamy gaze at your friends quickly replaced by uneasiness.

You love them. You adore them.

It was the kind of moment that made you want to break the fourth wall, shooting a knowing look to some imaginary audience as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”, like you were in a sitcom or some made-up character.

Which, of course, you’re not.

But the thought of Jungkook coming... to this bar, was making you nervous. Your mind kept circling around the word coming, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You wanted to kick yourself for being ridiculously stupid and childish right now.

You’re not sure how to face him. You’re just glad he didn’t catch you in the server room. That would’ve been awkward, right? What would you even say to him? Like “Hey? Nice dick? Need a hand? Or rather… another hand?”

And that you still don’t know what you feel. Flattered? But also creeped out? But also turned on?

That you came so hard moaning his name last night?

Because goddamn...

Your face flushes, and you can feel the warmth in places it definitely shouldn’t be, so you force yourself to pull it together before anyone notices.

Just as you think you’ve regained control, he walks in.

Jungkook.

In black long sleeves, a few buttons undone at the top, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos, and dark pants held by a belt, perfectly showcasing his waist.

How does this guy have the face of an angel and the body of a devil? You don’t understand.

You take a deep breath, forcing your thoughts to calm as Taehyung greets you with a quick but tight hug. His other friends follow, entering with happy smiles, high fives, and loud greetings. As everyone settles in, Jungkook casually slides into the seat in front of you. And for a moment, you forget how to breathe. Or how to act. Because what the fuck?

“Hey,” he said, not meeting your eyes, his focus fixed on the menu he was absently flipping through.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice awkward and unsure. You tried to mask it, but the effort only made it sound even more awkward.

“Didn’t know you’d be here. Thought it was just Tae and some guys…”

“Yeah, um, Tae and the group—we come here often,” you say, your voice weak and almost whispery.

But why are you whispering?

No way were you letting him have this kind of effect on you—not when you were rocking your killer stilettos. You, cowering for a guy? Please. Sure, you saw what he did. Sure, you felt what you felt. And so what? Big deal.

You tried to regain confidence. You straightened your back.

You shoved the lingering dirty thoughts aside, reminding yourself you had something important to say.

“Hey, I know I already thanked you, but really—thank you for helping me yesterday. What you did saved me so much time, and honestly, it made my presentation a lot better. So, thanks.” Your tone was genuine, your words earnest.

He nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips, revealing a small dimple that you definitely didn’t need to notice right now.

“No worries, glad I could help,” he replied casually, wiping the condensation from his beer glass with a napkin, then meticulously drying the table around it. For someone so effortlessly attractive, he was almost annoyingly neat.

The night deepened, and like a typical Friday night, the bar was packed. Everyone seemed tipsy now.

The group was a chaotic mess. Everyone was talking over each other, laughing loudly enough to drown out the bar’s music. Gossip, banter, and office inside jokes flowed just as freely as the drinks. You noticed Jungkook, just as engaged in the conversation, chiming in with playful jabs and high-fives every now and then.

You lost it when Taehyung stood up, dragging a protesting Jimin toward the dance floor. Jimin half-heartedly tried to resist, but it was clear the drinks were starting to work their magic on both of them.

"I don’t dance, leave me alone!" Jimin said, shoving Taehyung.

"I had a dream that in your past life, you were a popular dancer," Taehyung laughed, only to wince as Jimin pinched him.

Just as you were enjoying the chaos the two were causing, a glass of beer tipped over, spilling its contents all over your white blouse. The cold liquid seeping into the thin fabric and drenching your chest.

Taehyung and Jimin, completely oblivious to the whole incident, were now laughing and stumbling their way onto the dance floor, joining the chaotic mass of bodies in the center.

Startled, you glanced down, inspecting the damage as you saw Allie scramble around, searching for something to help with the mess.

But Jungkook was quick to react, handing you a stack of tissues.

“Here,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” you muttered, grabbing the napkins and frantically dabbing at your blouse. It was no use. The thin fabric clung to your skin, and despite the dim lights, the outline of your black lace bra was now clearly visible.

You didn’t see Jungkook swallow hard as he quickly averted his gaze to the crowd, but he felt his pants tighten, forcing him to adjust in his seat.

You stood up as you excused yourself to the bathroom. Time to salvage what you could of your outfit. And your dignity.

You stayed in the bathroom, drying your blouse with the hand dryer, the hum of the machine filling the tiny space against the loud music outside. As you stand there, your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror. Your eyeliner's a little smudged, your hair's a bit messy, in a kind of way that you like.

Your thoughts drift back to Jungkook, and how he carries himself within the group. So effortlessly cool and funny. You notice he wasn’t shy, like what you initially though he was. It’s still kinda awkward to look at him without flashes of him in the server room popping into your mind, but you’ve noticed he tends to avoid your gaze.

It’s strange though, because he’s not like that with anyone else.

After a few minutes, when your shirt feels dry enough, you step out of the bathroom, making your way back to your table.

But as soon as you take a few steps, a group of obviously drunk people shoving each other stumbles into you... and suddenly you're caught in the middle of their wild commotion. You try to make your way through, but the noise and the chaos are overwhelming, and you're shoved in every direction, feeling dizzy and helpless as you're swept along by the force of their movements.

Panic claws at your chest.

And breathing feels suddenly harder.

Just as you feel your knees begin to buckle, firm, strong hands grip your shoulders, steadying you. In one smooth motion, the man pulls you closer, his body a solid wall, caging you against the chaos around you. You glance up, the first thing your eyes catching is the lip ring glinting in the dim light, and then you realize—he’s taller than you, even with your heels.

What… Why is Jungkook here?

You feel his body jerk with every forceful bump from the crowd, each time pulling you closer to his chest. His jaw clenches with every impact, and you feel his grip on you tightens in response.

Suddenly, you feel him guide you away from the crowd. He struggles for a moment as he pushes through, but his strength is undeniable. Before you know it, he's gently steering you to a quieter corner of the bar, where there’s more space and the air feels easier to breathe again.

You close your eyes, trying to regain your breath and balance.

"You okay?" His voice is gentle but firm. He’s waiting for an answer.

You nod, eyes still shut, but words are stuck in your throat.

You hate tight, enclosed spaces, and you know things could’ve turned dangerous if Jungkook hadn’t intervened in time. A pang of gratitude tugs at your chest again.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the ringing in your ears won’t stop, and your lips and fingers feel numb. The air feels so thick, refusing to fill your lungs properly, and everything around you seemstocloseinmakingithardertobreathe.

“Hey, what do you need?” He stares at you with concern, his gaze steady and unwavering. His hands rest gently on your shoulders, his presence calm as he silently waits for you to respond.

The noise grows louder, it's suffocating, overwhelming. You can’t breathe.

Your breathing comes in shallow, rapid gasps.

Without a word, Jungkook caged your frame with his arms, weaving through the crowd toward the exit.

Air.

Space.

The moment you step outside, you hear him say, "Breathe, YN. You're okay," over and over as you manage to let more air into your lungs.

The space feels infinite, and slowly, you finally breathe freely again.

Jungkook sat silently with you in his car, the windows rolled down, letting in the cool night air.

The parking lot was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos inside the bar. The car felt like a fortress, a safe space, away from the overwhelming noise and suffocating crowd you’d just escaped.

You stayed silent, focusing on steadying yourself, grounding your thoughts with the breathing exercises you’d practiced and used countless times before.

He remained quiet, only glancing at you now and then. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed—peace, space, calm.

After a few moments, when you finally felt like you could breathe again, you let out a soft sigh and turned to him. “You saved me again.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, sparing you a brief glance, but he didn’t say anything else.

“It’s the second time you saved my life,” you said, a light smile tugging at your lips.

“Hmmm,” Jungkook hummed again, this time without even glancing at you. His focus remained straight ahead, though there was a softness in his expression.

“Are you always this quiet?” you asked, a playful smile creeping onto your face.

“Hmmm,” he repeated, but this time, his lips quirked into a subtle smile that revealed those tiny dimples on his cheeks.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you feel a jittery sensation in your stomach. You quickly looked away.

Shut up, you thought to yourself. Shut the front door, lock it, throw away the key, and set the whole house on fire.

“Well, thank you. Again,” you said with a soft laugh. Then, in a quieter tone, you admitted, “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten to me on time.”

Jungkook turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with concern. “Does this happen to you often? You know, attacks?”

You hesitated for a moment before exhaling slowly. “In the past... but it’s gotten better. I haven’t had an attack in a year, but... I guess what happened earlier was just too much.”

“I see…” he replied quietly, his tone thoughtful.

You nodded, finally feeling yourself relax a little more. “I feel better now. And really… thank you. I mean it—I’m truly grateful.”

Jungkook gave a small nod, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the car and the stillness of the night.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hits, and you can’t help but let out a yawn.

“You should rest,” Jungkook says softly. “I’ll drive you home. It’s late, and you’ve had a few drinks.”

You glance at him, questioning with your eyes, as if silently asking if he’s okay to drive. He notices and reassures you, “Don’t worry. I only had two bottles, and that was hours ago. I’m good.”

Too drained to argue, you simply nod and accept his offer.

7 missed calls.

18 messages.

You finally checked your phone and quickly called your friends back, explaining what had happened and assuring them Jungkook was kind enough to drive you home.

“Here, Taehyung wants to talk to you,” you said, handing the phone to Jungkook.

He took it without hesitation, his expression calm as he listened. “Mm,” he nodded a few times, offering short, clipped answers before handing the phone back to you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Taehyung asked for the third time, his voice laced with concern. In the background, you could hear Allie and Jimin babbling on the phone, their words slurring and pointless, as they were clearly drunk.

“Yes, Tae, I’m fine,” you reassured him with a small sigh, grateful but slightly exasperated.

After a few more exchanges of "call me when you get home," you finally ended the call, leaning back in your seat with a tired exhale.

You entered your address on an app Jungkook’s phone, your fingers briefly brushing against his as you handed it back to him. For a split second, you felt him stiffen, but he quickly regained composure, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot without saying a word.

The drive was quiet, the kind of calm that made you feel sleepier. You stared out the window, the passing buildings turning into light streaks making your eyes heavy.

You were surprised by how comforting Jungkook’s presence was—like yesterday had never happened, but between then and now, so much had occurred, and he felt… strangely familiar.

Jungkook would glance at you every now and then, but the two of you didn’t speak.

The silence spoke words that didn’t need to be said. You basked in the comfort of it throughout the rest of the drive.

The drive felt long, but somehow it went by quickly. Jungkook pulled over with ease, and he glanced at you when you unbuckled your seatbelt.

"Hey, thank you again for tonight— for everything," you say, the hum of the car steady, matching the rhythm of your heart.

He nods. Then he meets your eyes. Then he smiles.

You watch the curve of his mouth, your eyes lingering on the silver ring in his lip.

He catches your gaze, then the rest of your face, then your lips.

Your heart beats loudly now, echoing against the steady hum of the car.

And just as you thought your heart was about to leap out of your chest—

"Goodnight," Jungkook says softly, his voice low and steady, his gaze lingering on yours.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You manage to say "goodnight" in the faintest voice, barely audible.

You step out of the car and make your way quickly to your apartment building. Once you reach your unit and close the door behind you, you hear the soft sound of his car pulling away.

And as you settle into the warmth and comfort of your house, a deep sense of calm settles over you. A wave of déjà vu washes over you, making you pause.

You close your eyes, trying to remember when you’ve felt this way before.

And you can almost feel the steady hum of the engine vibrating through you.

 Your mind drifts back to the car.

With Jungkook.

🐙 a/n: Hiii!!! Please let me know whatchu think and which part you liked, or did not like lol! I like hearing your thoughts <3 again, thanks for reading and see you in Part 3! Mwaaahh 😘 or if you have kwesjins, letmeknowww!!!

Taglist: @taekritimin123 @vantelover1306 @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @daskewl @almatiarau

🐙 Let me know in the comments if you want to be added! 😘

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 7

James Potter x Reader

Summary: Your secret admirer finally gets the girl…

Warnings: HARD LAUNCH! Use of flashbacks, extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, idiots in love, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, OC!friends, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, quiet!reader, NOT EDITED!

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Platform 9¾ was bursting with energy as the new group of first years clambered onto the Hogwarts Express. James had tucked himself in between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, practically jumping in his seat as he introduced himself to his new friends.

The four boys had excitedly rambled back and forth about their prospects at the exciting school of witchcraft and wizardry, only settling down when the train finally began to move as they waved goodbye to their families through the window.

The door slid open with an awkward creak, alerting the young Marauders to a small girl standing in the doorway. “Hi, um- can I sit here? The other cabins are full…” you spoke softly, twisting your feet in an anxious habit and biting your bottom lip.

James’ breath hitched, innocent eyes growing wide as he took you in. He nervously pushed up his glasses as his friends ushered you inside, moving food wrappers off of a seat to make room for your form.

You introduced yourself with a shy smile, promising not to bother them as you shoved your nose in a book for the rest of the journey.

James couldn’t help but ogle at your soft expressions, reacting to the exciting fantasy unfolding in between the pages of your novel. He gulped as his face grew visibly warmer, pushing up his glasses once more before turning back to his new entourage of mischief makers, already planning what would be their first of many pranks.

The Great Hall swarmed with chaos as students filtered in through gaping doors. The Sorting Hat had played in James’ favour, allowing all of his new friends into the house of brave hearted heroes.

He laughed with his friends as they stumbled to the Gryffindor Table, only distracted once again by the girl with the hat on her head. “Gryffindor!” The hat exclaimed, your eyes thrown wide with surprise as you tediously moved towards the four boys.

James grinned at you as you nodded in his direction, choosing to sit on the far end of the table with two girls who shared that stunned expression. When his attention returned to his three friends, he was met with a round of teasing coos and knowing smirks, causing him to sink down in his chair with a blush painted across his cheeks. The Sorting Hat really had answered all of his prayers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You stood tentatively in the crowd of red and gold, etched between Charlie and Hope in the stands as your eyes curiously followed Gryffindor’s seeker.

The Quidditch pitch was filled with adrenaline as Slytherin rocked and tumbled against the force of the lion. James Potter was speeding through the mass of players, a joyful laugh permanently plastered on his face as he wove through the commotion.

Your red sweater was proudly on display in the stands, disguised as your warmest clothing when asked why you were in house colours. You didn’t dare tell your roommates about your newfound support for the team after the introduction of their newest fourth year seeker, but they slowly caught on as your blush began to match your clothing every time the boy flew purposefully close.

His laugh faltered with a gasp when he caught your eye in the stands, glancing at your attire that you failed to cover with your hands. Your eyes met for another brief moment before Gryffindor’s golden boy was soaring once again with newfound vigour.

Your gaze followed his figure in the air, a soft smile evident on your lips. Charlie and Hope leaned forward slightly to pass a knowing smile across your stiff form, only returning their gaze to the field as their house won the match.

The walk back to the common room was quiet, a soft hum of nature surrounding the three of you as you marched along the path. That was until Charlie’s curiosity got the better of her.

“So…Potter looked quite dashing up there, don’t you think, Hope?” She pretended to ponder, gaze to the night sky. “Why, he was really something! That speed made his hair quite an endearing mess, right, love?” Hope turned to you with a teasing smirk, patiently awaiting your flustered answer.

“Uh- yeah! Yeah, he was good, you know, for an egomaniac…” you kept your eyes fixed on the path ahead of you, praying to Merlin that your blush wasn’t visible in the darkness.

“Mhmm…he seemed quite taken by this little number of yours,” Hope gestured up and down your body, “maybe you want to fuel that pretty little ego of his, hmm?” You were surrounded by a chorus of amused chuckles from your friends as your face burned under the interrogation.

“No! Well, maybe…he looked cute in the uniform, that’s all! Nothing to write home about…” You pouted with furrowed brows, kicking a pebble in your path as your friends broke out in teasing cheers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The Gryffindor table was filtered with soft morning light as your group eagerly grasped at any food they could get their hands on. James tucked himself securely into your side, a smug grin plastered on his face as you grumbled words of frustration, brows dipped and lips pouting at the lack of opportunity to serve yourself.

Sirius cheerfully loaded food onto his plate before passing the bowl to James, dodging your outstretched hands. Your look of frustration was about to shift to anger before the sweet boy beside you began scraping the leftovers in his grasp onto your empty plate. You turned to him with a grateful smile that he could stare at for hours, squeezing him around his middle in thanks before diving into your meal.

James continued to pile food in front of you, planting kisses across your cheeks between servings and spoonfuls before draping an arm across your shoulders. “Not so grumpy anymore, are you love?” James chuckled, “Maybe a certain boyfriend has lifted your spirits?”

You swallowed your mouthful as you nodded eagerly, looking up at him with wide eyes that melted his heart. “I think I’m finally getting this Gryffindor pride thing,” you mumbled as you reached for another spoonful of food, “Dating the captain of the Quidditch team is certainly an ego boost.”

James grinned at you, brushing his nose against your cheek with a mischievous expression. He was finally beginning to fall into a comforting routine with you, brushing aside any nerves your soft smile might ignite in him.

The others looked at the sweet pair with satisfaction, sharing looks of relief after you announced yourselves as an official couple.

“Merlin, it’s about time!” Sirius exclaimed, hitting the table hard enough to lift plates in the air at contact. The group laughed with amusement as James leant into your warmth, arms enclosed around your torso as he sighed into your skin.

The overbearing dread of unrequited, terrifying love that clouded his logic had melted away with your simple touch. This will be his year. The year he shares with you.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this little series! While this is the official end to the story, feel free to request some blurbs based on these two characters in my asks! Thank you to everyone who patiently stuck with me while I worked on this, I’m eternally grateful for all your support <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Taglist: @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @caspiankingofnarnia @thesuitelifeofafangirl @moonydoodlez @fionnalopez @kawaiiarbitervoid @kc2sstuff @rafeyswrd @mads12043 @spicybearnaise @ch3rry-vine @probabydeadbynow @ilovejamespottersomuch @mqg125 @sofiacblair @valenftcrush @revesephemeres @louweenier @the-lavender-girl @empath-bunny @bmyva1entine

[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 6

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Attempted sexual assault

CHAPTER 5: This Boy is a Choking Hazard Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

Wisteria was fancier than what you expected from a nightclub. Cleaner, too. It was glass and steel and purple to pink neon lights. Artificial wisteria flowers hung from the ceiling and walls. 

The place was freezing and reeked of sweat, booze and a plethora of perfumes.

You were close to throwing up from sensory overload when someone yelled your name amidst the chatter and you found Amber waving at you from the bar. 

You wove past the jittering bodies to join her.

“Mark invited you, huh?” She didn’t seem mad or jealous, but she did sound defeated.

“Is that bad?”

She shook her head, smiling weakly. “Nah. He’s a good guy, I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. Just don’t forget what I told you. Mark has a way of wriggling into people’s hearts, especially pretty girls’.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Amber.”

“No problem.” She glanced down at your clothes. “You look great, by the way. I love your jacket.”

You resisted the urge to scoff and thought back to several hours ago.

This body’s taste in clothes was similar to yours, if a little juvenile. The system said that it was because it relayed some of your memories to the World Consciousness. Being a tutorial level mission world certainly helped too.

[Do not expect this to be the same in every mission world, though. As I have said before, the World Consciousness is imperfect. A lot of its programming ability goes to replicating your defining physical features like eye color and complexion, but that leaves everything else subject to variation.]

“I get it already, limited energy or whatever, right?” You waved it off, trying to find the best outfit for the club. 

The system huffed–it did not appreciate getting brushed off like some nagging wife–and pixelated smoke puffed out of the corners of its screen, dispersing in the air as tiny dots of light. Deciding to get back at its Host, the system waited for you to pick up a t-shirt and then played that buzzer sound quiz shows would use when a participant got an answer wrong.

[Too plain.]

You raised an eyebrow but agreed. Your hand went for another top. 

[Too gaudy.]

Fine. You reached for something else–EEEEHH. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at the floating holographic monitor. 

The system made an innocent face.

[Too ugly.]

[Too vibrant.]

[Too frumpy.]

It didn’t take more than two minutes of getting bombarded with that obnoxious EEEEHH for you to put your foot down. You settled for something comfortable but more party-coded than your usual wear. The most noteworthy piece on you was a denim jacket decorated with a few pins.

Amber was admiring the one shaped like a semicolon while you used disinfectant wipes on the barstool next to her.

“So,” you started, taking a seat. “How was your test?”

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “What’s done is done. Tonight, I’m just going to focus on dancing. Hey, you’re still coming to my party tomorrow, right?”

“Uh-huh.” To be honest, your social battery was drained to half capacity just by entering this place. If this was a purely social endeavor you would’ve already prepared a whole story about your not-grandmother being in a hospital and wanting to see you tomorrow, but this was a job. If playing nice and pretending to have fun is what your job needs then so be it.

Besides, it would feel wrong to say no to her now.

“I like your blouse,” you said. 

She wore a gold sequin halter top with a pair of high-waisted jeans. 

“Thanks! A friend of mine picked it out for me, I thought it was too much but she said it’d be a waste not to get it. I think you’ll really like her, she’s an architecture major.” Her eyes flickered over your shoulder and she beamed, waving at someone. “There she is now.”

[Ding.]

“Hey, Amber.” The voice was undoubtedly feminine and clear. The kind of voice befitting an important woman.

Red-orange flickered from the corner of your eye.

Amber stood to give the new arrival a quick hug and then introduced the two of you.

The emerald-eyed stranger offered you a smile and her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

[Samantha Eve Wilkins has arrived.]

Long fiery hair fell delicately over bare freckled-kiss shoulders and her green eyes popped thanks to the lavender silk of her blouse. She was even more striking in person, there was no doubt in your mind that she was an important supporting character. Hell, she could probably pass for the main character. 

You gave her hand two shakes. “Hi.”

The bartender arrived, sliding a cool root beer towards Amber and asking you, “What can I get you?”

“Lemon lime–” “–peach soda”

You and Eve exchanged glances, then you giggled at the same time.

The bartender nodded and left to get your drinks.

“Amber tells me you’re a total genius,” Eve said, sitting next to you instead of Amber and effectively sandwiching you between the two beauties. If you were as old as this body was, you would have thrown up from anxiety. Luckily, you have learned to be more adaptable before you died.

“I’m not a genius,” you replied, accepting the bottle of lemon lime from the bartender with a smile and barely audible ‘thank you.’

Amber waved her hand. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You always get the highest score in every test and pop quiz–and you only make what, one or two mistakes? It’s insane.” She leaned closer and said to Eve, “The professor thought she was cheating so he had her retake a different version of a test in essay form.” 

“No way.” Eve’s jaw dropped. “Is that even allowed?”

“We’re not sure, but jokes on him, our girl here–” she gave you a friendly elbow jab “–got perfect marks on that.”

You groaned internally. You weren’t a genius, but you were technically a college graduate, one who already suffered through chemistry, biology, psychology and so many other -ies. 

Daily study sessions, a stringent schedule, different tutors and a sprinkle of all-nighters here and there can go a long way. You also genuinely enjoyed learning, and in this reality, you didn’t have to worry about time or money, so you can focus your energy on studying. The only catch is that you have to go above and beyond for one particular, very specific subject: Mark Grayson. 

Your interest in other people who are too distant to be considered friends is usually limited. Relationships are hard, at least for you. Humans can say one thing but mean something else. For example, if one is invited for a drink with their boss, technically, they can say no, but they don’t because it is a faux pas to reject a social invite from an important person. One has to smile and nod when another speaks, even when the topic is boring or nonsensical or disagreeable.

Etiquette and expectations. Tradition versus reason. 

Confusing, annoying, but necessary, you admit. 

You stared at the cartoon logo on your plastic bottle. 

Speaking of confusing things, where the heck is Mark?

[Ding. The system is offline.]

[The system was called “useless” and “unnecessary” by the Host.]

[Since this system is so “useless” and “unnecessary,” it shall stay away for now.]

[(˶˃⤙˂˶)]

Little punk.

You rolled your eyes and let it be, deciding to survey the area. According to Mark, tonight the whole club was reserved for the college or something; an immediate celebration after the first major exams of the academic year. 

Expectedly, the entire floor was swarmed with young adults, from freshmen to seniors. Some held beer, others went with sodas or juice. 

“Great place, right?” Eve asked, pulling you out of focus mode.

“Yeah, it is.” You turned to face her. Sharp green eyes smiled at you. 

“I gotta say, I haven’t been to a lot of nightclubs but I can already tell that this is relatively high end.”

“Amber tells me you’re an architect.”

“Well, studying to be one.”

“That’s cool.”

“It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. There’s a lot of math involved.”

“Not a big fan?”

“It’s not my favorite subject.”

“Here, here.” You raised your unopened bottle and she toasted with her peach soda. “I despise mathematics.”

Amber laughed. “Really? I thought you’d eat it up for sure.”

“Math is not as fascinating as chemistry. Or biology.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but what kind of things do you do for fun? Eve and I have been itching for a girls’ night.”

You opened your mouth to reply but the lights dimmed and the multi-colored lasers focused on the stage.

A young man with green hair and studded leather pants announced into the mic, “Ladies, gentlemen and dear nonbinaries; friends and enemies, congrats on finishing the first Hell Week of the year!”

The two girls beside you cheered with the crowd. Not one for screaming, you opted to clap your hands.

“We got a lot of great performers lined up today, folks. Starting off strong, we present–Indigo Muse!”

Your peers erupted into applause.

The black velvet curtains behind him parted, revealing Mark and his band. 

The guy behind the drums lifted his sticks and began the count, “Three, two–”

Your ears perked at the familiar guitar riff–and soon, the entire floor was dancing.

I’m on my way, but I don’t know

What to do or where to go

Despite being the bassist, Mark was the lead singer and of course, he had the voice of an angel.

You felt your back being pushed and your arms getting pulled.

Eve yelled behind you, “Come on!”

“Let’s dance.” Amber dragged you off your stool. 

“Wait, I don’t–”

The two were stronger than they looked and you found yourself standing in the middle of the dance floor, getting squished by varied-smelling bodies.

I’m so nervous, I feel sick

I hope I don’t come off like a jerk

You gripped hard on your lemon lime, trying not to vomit.

You lifted your chin and found Mark’s eyes on you. 

I went all out, I washed my hair

I searched and found some clean underwear

There was that gaze again, like you were the only thing worth focusing on in the whole room.

It was too much.

She’s so hot, I can’t resist

I don’t know what I’ll do if she gives me that first kiss

Suddenly feeling extra thirsty, you tried to open your soda, but the condensation made your hand slip. The bottle dropped to the floor and a stray leg kicked it away.

“Crap.” Your two dance partners were too preoccupied to notice you crawling away.

“Excuse me, excuse me! Sorry!” You braved through stiletto heels and heavy boots. The smart thing to do was to get a new soda, but you didn’t want to be responsible for someone slipping on the bottle and causing a domino effect of fallen dancers and a really busy ER.

The bottle hit the legs of a nearby sofa, finally stopping.

You sighed in relief, but just as you approached forward, a girl bumped into you and dropped her bottle.

She rubbed her head. “Ow… Sorry.”

“I’m fine.” 

You picked up both drinks and stared at them. Huh. Both lemon lime. Both unopened.

“Here.” You gave her one randomly.

“Thanks. Sorry again for, uh, falling on top of you.”

“No harm done.”

She grinned and walked away, her long blonde ponytail bouncing with each step as she disappeared into the sea of people.

You reached inside your jacket for a wet wipe and cleaned the soda bottle from top to bottom. 

You twisted the cap open and the system dinged just as you realized–

Shit.

***

Mark didn’t stop looking even when you did. He half-expected you to email with some generic excuse like a relative in the hospital or a dead grandparent, so seeing you here, in the flesh, was a win in his book.

He was happy to see you all dressed up. He couldn’t wait to ask the story behind every pin on your jacket. Would you actually get giddy like you did during philosophy debates? Would your face remain deadpan? Would you lose your patience and get mad?

His well-practiced singing never faltered as he watched you weave through the crowd. 

What were you doing?

They already reached ⅔ of the song when you stopped near a sofa to wipe your soda clean.

He recalled applause and his team patting his back. The emcee approached him while he saw you suddenly burst into a panicked sprint from across the room.

“Mark? Hey, dude?”

“Sorry, I need to use the restroom.” He shrugged off his strap and swiftly put down his bass.

The emcee pointed his thumb behind him. “There’s a staff only wash over–”

Mark leaped off the stage and went the other way.

The emcee glanced at his bandmates, who could only shrug.

Mark did his best to dash towards the restrooms, but with this many people he couldn’t blitz his way recklessly.

By the time he reached the girls’ toilets, he had calmed down enough to try and knock first, but he heard screaming and he burst through the door with a kick.

“Princess!”

He froze, and so did you, and so did the large guy you were hitting with a mop. Beneath that football player-shaped guy was a blonde girl crying on the floor. Her blouse was ripped open and Mark could see red handprints around her throat.

The bastard recovered from shock earlier and swung at you. Your legs faltered and you hit the sink with a loud thud.

Mark didn’t breathe–he didn’t think–

all he saw was red.

“You like hitting girls, huh?”

THUNK

“What about me, tough guy?”

THUNK

“Come on!”

THUNK

“Fight back, asshole!”

“Mark–”

“Fight back–”

“Mark.” Cold, clammy palms covered his cheeks. 

Clear eyes grounded him. “Stop.”

“Princess?”

You gave him a small smile. “We’re okay now.” 

Something cool and wet touched his knuckles. He looked down and saw you wiping away the blood. 

He glanced back at you and saw the early signs of a shiner. He used his free hand to cradle that side of your face. “He hurt you.”

“I’m not the victim here.” You used your mouth to gesture behind him.

The blonde girl was unconscious, but you had draped your jacket over her torso.

Mark swallowed. “Did he–”

You shook your head. “I arrived just when he pushed her down. She’ll be… she’ll remember this night, but she’s one of the luckier ones.”

“Luckier, huh.”

You frowned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. It just stinks that this is what we consider lucky.”

You silently finished wiping the blood from his knuckles and threw them inside a ziplock bag.

Mark cocked an eyebrow. “You… carry ziplock bags with you?”

“You’ll never know.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I saw you run here from the stage.”

“You got good eyes.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I got better instincts.” He met your gaze. “How did you know what was about to happen?”

You showed him a bottle of lemon lime soda inside a bigger ziplock bag. “She and I accidentally switched bottles. They were both unopened at first glance, but when I twisted the cap, it was loose.”

He examined the container.

“Oh, and it didn’t fizz.”

“What?”

“The soda didn’t fizz. A loose cap is one thing, but then add the fact that it didn’t fizz?”

“You pieced that together fast. I would’ve just thought that it was an old bottle.”

You grinned. “I’ve been told that I’m something of a genius.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

He chuckled. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, surprising him.

“You’re asking me? I’m not the victim here,” he parroted your words back to you.

“That didn’t stop you from worrying about me.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay, Mark?”

You put your hand over his clean knuckles. 

His breath hitched. 

You were close enough to–

He heard groaning behind him and you pulled back, standing up.

“Hey,” he heard you speak to the blonde girl. “Do you remember where you are? It’s okay. You’re safe, it’s all right, the police are on their way.”

He heard crying as he looked down at the man whose face was now unrecognizable.

He looked at his freshly wiped fingers.

“You’re okay.” 

He then turned around and saw your shaking hands comfort the weeping girl on the floor.

Mark clenched his fists.

***

[Affection: 44%. Darkening: 15%.]

You stared at the pink and black bars while the paramedic cleaned your wounds.

Amber was in tears, holding your hand and apologizing for not paying more attention, despite your insistence that this was nobody else’s fault except the criminal who was currently on his way to the ER.

Eve said she would go check up on Mark. The system informed you that they were conversing on the roof.

The blonde girl, Ariel, was giving her statement to the cops. When she was finished, she walked over to you and surprised you with a hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Unsure what to do, you awkwardly patted her head. “No problem. Anyone would have done the same.”

“I’m sorry about messing up your jacket.”

“Eh, I needed a new one.”

She and Amber laughed.

Ariel stepped back. “Thank you.”

She nodded at Amber and then joined a female officer inside a police car.

Amber’s phone chirped and she squeezed your hand. “You hungry? Eve and Mark want to eat nachos.”

“I didn’t know Eve and Mark were close.”

Amber blinked. She then waved her hand. “No, no, well, yes, they are close, but not like that.”

“Then like what?”

“Well, apparently, they work at the same place. I still don’t know what they actually do, but they see each other occasionally. Eve’s taken though. Some guy named Rex.”

“I see.” For some reason, your heart felt lighter.

***

“Amber said they’re good for nachos,” Eve said, putting away her phone.

Mark stayed quiet as he stared at his hands. You told him to wash them thoroughly but he can still feel the stain on him. 

Eve walked closer. “You did good. You saved them.” She stopped talking, but Mark knew that tone. 

He hated it because it meant she had something else to say, something annoying. “But…?” 

“...but you should’ve held back.”

“He was a rapist.”

“Yes, and I hate him, too, but he’s also human. If you kept going the way you did you would’ve killed him!”

Mark paused. 

He was brought back inside that tiny rest room. Before the police arrived, the staff nurse offered to take Ariel inside the attached clinic for treatment. You reassured them that you would follow, and when it was just you and Mark, you locked the door, walked over to Ariel’s attacker and stomped down on his crotch; hard enough that Mark actually winced, hard enough that he heard squishing noises when you lifted your foot.

Face blank, you said to him, “If they ask, tell them it was self-defense.”

He almost laughed. Hearing that was liberating.

He wondered if Eve would have approved. Eve wasn’t a goody-two shoes, but she drew hard lines when it came to crime-fighting. Excessive force and torture were something she balked at.

“I recognize that guy, y’know,” Mark mumbled. “I saved a different woman a few months ago.” In addition to being a prized player at the university, he was part of a powerful frat, a legacy. “I will never forget that smug face of his when the judge let him free.” 

“That sucks.”

Mark sneered. That’s all Eve ever says. “If only I–”

“If only, what? If only you killed him? You’re better than that.”

Mark could hear his mother’s voice echo from the back of his mind: “You’re better than him.”

He shot to his feet and turned towards the door.

“We aren’t done here.”

“I think we are,” he snapped back and swung open the rooftop door.

“Oh.”

You were standing right in front of him. “Hi,” you squeaked.

“Hi.” He flashed you his signature smile. “Missed me already? I thought we were meeting at the restaurant?”

“I just needed some fresh air, I didn’t think there was anybody here, sorry. I’ll leave.”

Eve interrupted you, “No, it’s fine. We’re done.” 

She gave Mark a look and then smiled at you. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Mark held the door, stepped to the side and made a sweeping motion with his arm, like a doorman welcoming guests. 

“You really like roofs,” you noted, strolling towards the railing. “Do you enjoy looking down at the world?”

“You make me sound like a megalomaniac.”

“Your words, not mine.” You rest your elbows on the guardrail. 

Mark joined and you uttered to him, “I have a confession.”

His heart stopped for a moment. “What?”

“When you were punching that guy, I was really tempted to let you beat him to death.”

“Oh.”

You eyed him and he quickly added, “–kay. Okay. I see. So why didn’t you?”

“I was worried about you. You didn’t look like yourself.”

He guiltily lowered his head. “Sorry for scaring you.”

You let out a loud Ha! “You don’t scare me, not even when you had blood all over you.” You glanced down at the city. “What I meant was that you seemed to be in a trance. I didn’t want you to wake up and realize you killed someone in your sleep. That would suck.”

This time, Mark let himself laugh.

***

He was laughing.

Jesus, what a psycho. He almost killed someone and he was laughing?

He really was destined for villainy. 

[Affection: 49%. Darkening: 16%.]

You were supposed to pretend to love someone like this? For how long? And how many times before you were free? How many more horrible things did you have to experience and witness?

Mark’s brown eyes widened. “Princess?”

“Hm?”

“Are you–”

You turned away from him and brought a shaking hand to your face. “I’m all right, I promise.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, you felt his arms slowly, almost hesitantly, stretch around your shoulders. 

Permitting this moment of weakness, you leaned your head on his chest. 

His arms tightened, folding over you protectively. “It’s okay, princess. You’re safe.”

You shook your head, because he was awful and kind and confusing and he had no idea what he was saying.

[Ding. Affection: 52%. Darkening: 20%.]

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Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 7: My mama done tol' me a man…  Series Masterlist

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 12: Mount Olympus] [Series Finale]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death/medical stuff, a totally relaxing and lovely destination wedding!

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

“So what’s your plan?” Jace asks as you peer into the tiny circular mirror of your makeup compact and manically blend out your eyeshadow, three shimmering earthen shades by NARS: Gold Rush, Ashes to Ashes, Valhalla. The flight attendants were kind enough to let you stuff yourself into your dress at the back of the plane; there wasn’t enough room in the bathroom. “You’ll wait until the priest does the whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing and then object in front of everybody?”

That is a horrifying prospect. “I think I can catch Aegon right before the ceremony, like when he’s walking from the hotel to the beach.”

Jace checks the time on his phone, raises his eyebrows, shakes his head. Through the window, you can see that the plane is descending through cumulus clouds—cotton-ball fluffs kicked up by the trade winds that blow in from the east—and the ground is moving closer, an island of emerald green foliage and shallow turquoise seawater before the plunging abyssal drop-off of the continental shelf.

“Maybe they’ll be running late,” you say hopefully.

“If sunset is at 7 p.m. like Google said, they won’t have much wiggle room. If they’re delayed longer than five or ten minutes, they’ll be getting married in the dark.”

“We can make it,” you insist, determined to will it into reality.

“And then you’re going to...what? Tell your old, rich, terminally ill agent that he should marry you instead?”

“I don’t really know what I’m going to say.” You’ve never been much of a planner. “But I’ll convince him to stop the wedding somehow. I’ll tell him how I feel.” I’ll be honest. I’ll be real.

Jace is skeptical. “Okay. Great.”

He scrolls through his phone; now the plane is low enough for him to get cell reception. You open Spotify and put in your earbuds, stare out the small oval-shaped window, and blast Lose Yourself as loud as it goes.

Turbulence, touchdown, taxiing to the gate; when the pilot indicates it is safe to move around the cabin, you and Jace are the first passengers in the aisle. The door opens and you sprint through Providenciales International Airport, blessedly small, only one terminal and nine gates. There are a line of taxis waiting outside for tourists. You and Jace scramble into one of them, tossing your small carry-on suitcases into the trunk. You give the taxi driver the name of the resort and several crumpled twenty-dollar bills yanked from your purse so he’ll rush. As swaying palm trees and an increasingly blood orange skyline rush by beyond the car window, you check the time on your phone: 6:19 p.m.

The resort is only ten minutes from the airport, but there is a long line of taxis waiting to drop off their passengers. You and Jace get out and start running, toting your rolling suitcases. You careen into the lobby, ask an alarmed employee where the wedding venue is, and are pointed to a set of automatic sliding glass doors. They open onto the beach, a vast stretch of sand and a grove of palm trees, and then in the distance—right at the brink of the glimmering dusk waves, as if they are about to topple in—you spy a hazy sea of people in white chairs and an archway shrouded in prismatic blooms of foreign, tropical flowers.

“That’s gotta be it, right?” Jace pants, but you’re already flying over the sand dunes, pitching and wobbling in your wedges, your suitcase bumping along as you drag it behind you. The sun is vanishing and the stars are coming out, tiny freckles of silver light in a rage-and-lilac sky. Gulls swoop and circle overhead. The glittering waves creep closer towards high tide. You over-rotate your left ankle as you stumble down an embankment of sand, and an old wound wakes back up like a dragon, like a vampire, a monster that opens flesh with fangs.

You and Jace stagger up to the edge of the ceremony, and elderly, scowling guests twist around in their wooden chairs to condemn your lateness. Under the archway at the front of the congregation, an officiant is standing with the happy couple in white. Becca is wearing one of those very expensive gowns that is supposed to look effortless: lace, strapless, clinging to all the right places. Aegon is in a linen suit that fits him perfectly, but the wind has torn his hair from its gel. He is holding a microphone and smiling as he tells the story of how he and Becca met. He hasn’t seen you yet.

“What are you doing?!” Jace whispers to you. “Say you object!”

“I think that part already happened,” you say. Then you sink numbly into an empty chair and after a moment, Jace sits down beside you. The nearby guests frown disapprovingly as you both gasp for air after your futile race across shifting sand, your hair disheveled and your clothes damp with sweat, your electric yellow gown that Baela once criticized as being a prom dress, Jace’s Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. You awkwardly shove your suitcases under your chairs. And you think, tears stinging in your eyes, ocean wind burning in your lungs: I’m too late.

“It was a charity gala in Encino. She had a date and I had a date,” Aegon is saying, and an endeared chuckle rolls through the audience. “But Becca brought one of those miniature lint rollers in her purse, and she ended up following me around all night trying to fix my suit. That really left an impression on me, how attentive she was, how naturally giving and kind. And by the time the party was over, we had somehow both abandoned our respective dates.” More laughter, more charmed, yearning sighs. I shouldn’t be here, you think; it’s not something meant for you to see. These are the phantoms of someone else’s past, they’re the bricks of a future that has nothing to do with you.

Now Becca has the microphone, and she’s talking about how she saw Aegon’s movies when she was young but she never believed she’d meet him in real life, but then she did and it was like her wildest dreams had come true because he was so handsome and funny and smart, and he filled her home with a warmth she’d never known before.

I want to leave, you think; but then Aegon spots you from where he stands under the blooming archway and he beams, the dying light radiant on his face, and gives you a little wave. Like a reflex, you smile back. What else can you do? Then Aegon’s eyes flick to Jace and he frowns and turns his attention back to Becca.

Becca is telling the guests that she and Aegon are a team, and that they are facing his diagnosis together. In reply, there are solemn nods and murmurs of admiration. Far from you, up in the front row, you spot Aemond—black suit, tidy hair despite the breeze—leaning over to whisper something to his mother, who is dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex from a travel-sized pack. Becca is saying she is honored that Aegon chose her to be his partner at this crucial juncture in his life. She is saying that she won’t let him down.

The rings are brought forth by a lumbering, wheezing Pekingese with a small velvet pouch tied to its collar. The officiant pronounces them husband and wife. The couple kiss, Becca smiling as her long dark tresses blow in the wind, still somehow miraculously untangled and frizzless, Aegon perhaps a little sheepish, breaking the kiss first. The crowd applauds and the bride and groom are escorted away by a fleet of photographers to take pictures. The rest of you are led off to the cocktail hour, a large white tent full of tiny tables and surrounded by torches that provide beacons of flickering light as the last rays of sun vanish from the sky.

Jace orders a beer from the open bar; you get a lemon drop you barely touch. Waiters weave among the guests with trays of Caribbean hors d’oeuvres: Johnnycakes, conch fritters, jerk chicken on skewers, plantain chips with mango salsa, coconut shrimp, curried mussels. A troop of hired musicians are playing maracas, box guitars, and conga drums.

“What are we going to do now?” Jace asks.

From a corner of the tent, you’re staring vacuously at where Helaena is dancing with her children, laughing, twirling, jumping up and down. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, are you still going to try to talk to him, or...?”

“I don’t know, Jace.”

“We need a hotel for the night, so we should make reservations somewhere. And those plane tickets were roundtrip, right?”

“Yeah. We’re flying back tomorrow.”

“Because your movie starts filming on Monday.”

“It does.”

Jace whistles. “Busy weekend.”

You’re not confident you can reply without crying, so you don’t say anything.

“Well,” Jace says. “If you need anything, I’ll be over by the build-your-own-taco bar.”

You check your phone: nothing but five missed calls from your parents. They must have seen you charge the plane tickets to your credit card. You swallow noisily and then ask Jace in a miserable squeak: “Can you please make a reservation somewhere? I’ll pay you back.”

“Okay.”

“Not this resort.”

He smirks beneath somber eyes, like he pities you. “Got it.” He saunters off, then immediately returns. “Wait. The only credit card I have on me is Baela’s, and they make you show ID when you check in.”

You sigh. “Forget it. I’ll handle the reservation.” If my parents haven’t frozen my card by then.

“Cool,” Jace says, and is gone again.

You lurk in the corner Googling hotels and sipping your lemon drop, waiting for Aegon to reappear. There is a group of beautiful, influencer-type women nearby, drinking champagne and taking turns snapping photos of each other in front of an elaborate flower display and issuing stern directions: Move to the right, fix your hair, your hand looks weird when you put it there. In the center of the flowers, there is a glowing pink neon sign that reads happiness.

“Oh my God, it’s so sad,” one of the women says as she scrolls through the pictures her friends just took of her, searching for the perfect image to post.

“So sad,” the others mutter in agreement.

“Like, Becca is absolutely incredible for what she’s doing.”

“Can you imagine?” a woman in a short orange dress muses. “Sneaking around to surprise your fiancé with his-and-hers ancestry test results, freaking swabbing his cheek for DNA while he’s asleep, thinking you’re going to bond over both being part Italian or something, only to find out he’s dying?”

One of the friends looks at her a tad smugly. “Becca did tell you she was Native American.”

Orange dress lady rolls her eyes. “She’s like two percent!”

Becca breezes into the tent and is immediately descended upon by fawning wedding guests, who gush over her dress and her vows as they gulp champagne and nibble on hors d’oeuvres. From across the room her eyes meet yours—only for a moment—and she grins, incandescently triumphant. She won, in even more ways than she knows.

Where’s Aegon?

You peer around the tent; he doesn’t appear to have returned with Becca. You find all the members of Aegon’s immediate family, and you find his former clients Steve, Fatima, and Angus...but you can’t find him.

Is he still outside? Is he alone?

You watch Becca mingling with guests until she turns so that her back is to you, and then you slip out of the tent and into the night, torchlight and moonlight and the endless opaque sheen of the Atlantic Ocean. You don’t see anyone.

Where would photographers take romantic sunset wedding pictures?

Right by the water, of course. You trot down towards the waves, your wedges slipping on the sand, your left ankle throbbing. You pause to take off your wedges and carry them instead.

“Aegon?” you call, but all you hear in reply is the dull primordial roar of the ocean.

You keep walking, gingerly stepping around fractured seashells that could cut your bare feet, and then at last you find him at the water’s edge: pensive, sitting with his legs crossed and his white linen suit filthy with wet sand, chomping on a piece of Juicy Fruit.

Aegon looks over and smiles weakly. “Hey, sunshine.”

“Hi.” You plop down next to him, your yellow dress billowing out around you: V-neck, voluminous tulle ruffles, a high-low hemline that stops in the front just above your knees. The air is hot, humid, threaded with distant sounds of laughter and music; the stars are getting brighter. “You know where you’re supposed to be right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I told Becca I needed a minute to decompress. It’s good to see you.” And then Aegon adds, a joke with something weary and aching underneath: “Although I don’t think I invited your boyfriend.”

“So guess what.”

“What?”

“Jace is actually my roommate Baela’s boyfriend.”

Aegon is taken aback; then he absorbs it and chuckles, delighted. “And that’s why he went back to your apartment after the gala. Not because you’re fucking.”

“Exactly.”

“Why’d he fly all the way out here with you?”

You shrug. “He’s bored. He’s unemployed. He misses Baela and needs a distraction. He likes free food. And we might sort of be friends now.”

Aegon nods and gazes out over the ocean; when calm waves break and bubble up over the sand, the froth covers your feet. Under the moonlight, you can see the deepening creases around his eyes, the weight that he’s lost in his cheeks, all the small ways in which he is disappearing. You wish you could touch him; you don’t know if he’d want that. “I thought I would feel relieved afterwards, like I knew I made the right decision,” Aegon says after a while. “But I just feel the same way I did when I woke up this morning.”

“How did you feel this morning?”

“Like I missed you.”

You peer down at the sand, where you have been drawing tiny stars without realizing it. “Aegon, I didn’t come to Turks and Caicos to watch you get married,” you confess. “I came here to change your mind. But I was too late.”

He looks at you, startled. “What were you going to say?”

I hadn’t decided yet, you think, but of course now you’re out of time. You take a deep breath and begin. “I was going to tell you that I have read and watched more about Huntington’s disease in the past three weeks than I’ve ever learned about anything, and there was never a second when I felt that I didn’t want to be with you through all of it.”

Aegon shakes his head and studies the waves, his blonde hair blowing in the wind, his turbulent blue eyes glistening.

“And I wouldn’t give up acting,” you continue. “I would film my movie, and I would do the promo stuff, and then I would...you know...I might slow down for a little while so I could spend time with you while you’re still...while you’re still really here. Not because you need me to, or because I feel obligated, but because I want to. You’re the only person who believed in me. I believe in you too. I believe you still have a lot of good days left. ”

Now Aegon is watching you again, his face unreadable. The low omnipresent rumble of the ocean fills every gap, every microcosm silence.

“And we could do IVF and have a healthy baby, and you’d be able to meet them, and your family and I would have them forever, and I know they’d be wonderful because you are. They’d be kind and warm and real, and the world would be better off with pieces of you in it. And when you’re dead...” Your voice breaks and you have to stop, close your eyes, collect yourself. Then you press on determinedly. “When you’re dead, Aegon, I’ll be in my thirties, I’ll be younger than you are now, and I’ll have my whole life ahead of me. So don’t think that you’re taking anything away from me because you’re not. You’re giving me the time you have left. And I could never think you’re a curse.”

Then suddenly you can read him: he has seen this vision too, he has haunted this ghost-life from corners and doorways, he has longed savagely to inhabit it. “You have to put me away somewhere when I get bad,” he says quietly. “I’ll pick a place and you’ll put me there, and you won’t visit, and you’ll protect people from me. Yourself, my family, our child.”

“I will,” you promise, not sure that you are telling the truth.

“Okay,” Aegon says.

“Okay...? What does that mean?”

“It worked. You’ve convinced me.” He smiles and takes your hand, the one that has been drawing stars in the sand. “Let’s go home.”

“But you just got married.”

“That’s not always a permanent condition, sunshine,” Aegon says, and when he kisses you the warmth of it is all-consuming, and you are home in a way you never were with anyone else, not in Minnesota, not even in Los Angeles, and this is a place that once you’ve found you can never leave. Your fingers are grasping the white linen of his suit jacket, drawing him closer, needing every minute he has left. He tastes like Juicy Fruit, sweet and bright like sunlight. His hands are gliding beneath the weightless tulle ruffles of your yellow gown.

You protest with your words, though not with your body: “Aegon, it’s your wedding night.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your face, your throat. “It’s insane, it’s wrong, it’s impulsive, but I love you. And I don’t want to waste any time. And my dick is working right now, so...”

You laugh as you fall back onto the sand, waves nipping at your bare feet, Aegon whisking away your silk panties, positioning himself between your thighs, discovering that you are already wet; you know exactly what he’s going to do for you, you have no doubts where he will take you.

“I appreciate how easy this dress is to get under,” Aegon is purring through your windswept hair as you moan, the sand cool and soft beneath you.

“You remember the limo?”

“I remember the limo very fondly.”

You are tugging off his suit jacket and wrestling with the buttons of the shirt underneath. He is yanking the straps of your dress off your shoulders, needing to see you, to touch you, to taste the salt of the sea spray on your skin, to know for the first time that who he loves is who he’ll get to keep.

“Oh fuck,” Aegon sighs, dropping his head in defeat. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I can’t get pregnant tonight,” you tell him in a breathless rush. “I’m getting my period in like two days, I already have cramps, my uterus is useless. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And he’s here again, grinning, euphoric, lost in you. He sees the stars you’ve drawn in the sand, then glances up at the night sky full of constellations. “Stars above, stars below,” he whispers, and kisses you deeply, his hips rocking as he eases into you—slow, kind, perfect—and neither of you are going to last long tonight, and that’s okay. You’ll have other nights. You have more time.

There is a horrified shriek and then an emptiness as Aegon pulls away from you, and you turn to see her standing on the sand: Becca with her white lace wedding gown, rings sparkling on her left hand, a long dark shock of hair that streams out behind her as gales of wind blow in off the Atlantic Ocean.

“Becca,” Aegon begins.

“You bitch!” she hisses, and then dives for you, hands clawing, teeth bared. You scream and hide behind Aegon, cowering on the sand as he stands and fixes his pants, holding up his palms to stop his wife. When she tries to skirt around him to get to you, he blocks her. “You can’t do this,” Becca tells him, and now she’s sobbing. “There are things I can look the other way for, but this, Aegon, this?! It’s our wedding. It’s our day. Send her home. Make her leave now.”

“Becca, this isn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about?! We’re married!”

“And I thought that was the right thing to do.” Aegon’s voice is calm, patient, apologetic...but unmovable. “I really, really did. But I was wrong.”

Becca is thunderstruck. “But I’m the one you chose,” she says. “I’m the person you want to spend your last years with. You could have had anyone, but you chose me. Not her, not your family, but me. Because I’m the one you trust, I’m the one who has earned this. Because you love me more than any of the others.”

In reply, there is only Aegon’s silence, only these sounds: the ocean, the wind, the faint far-off festivities of the cocktail hour.

When Becca speaks, her voice is frail and childlike. “But I did everything right.”

“I didn’t,” Aegon says. “But I’m going to try to from here on out.”

She reels backwards, several unsteady steps in her flat sandals that glint with crystals. She touches her hands to her face, like she’s hoping it will wake her up. “This can’t be happening.”

“Becca, I am so sorry. About everything.” And in his words is the weight of every wrong he’s ever inflicted on her, the absence of everything she was denied. There is no changing the history; there are only new pages to be written. “You deserve someone who can give you what you want.”

“Fuck you,” she pitches at him, snarling through tears. “I can’t believe you. I hate you.” And then she whirls and flees: kicking up sand, weeping as she wonders what she’ll tell her friends.

Aegon exhales, collapses onto the sand, rubs his face and drags his fingers through his hair. You reach for him, a palm to his chest, bare from where you opened his shirt. Beneath your hand, his heartbeat is thunderous. “Aegon...are you alright?”

“I’m going to have a lot of uncomfortable conversations in about ten minutes,” he says. Then he turns to you, cradles the curve of your jaw, ghosts his thumbprint across your lips. “But I’d like to stay here with you until then.”

And there as the frothing star-speckled waves soak your gown and Aegon’s suit, he finishes what he started; and you finish too.

~~~~~~~~~~

Flashbulbs strobe and reporters clamor. On the red carpet, you pose for photographs with Santiago, Chloe, Dusty, and a dozen other people from the cast and crew. You wear a Versace ballgown, massive and gold and glittering. You chose your eyeshadow to match: Too Faced and Natasha Denona, Golden Light and Ray.

The film wasn’t out of post-production in time for Sundance, Berlin, or South by Southwest, but it was ready for Cannes in May, and now Tribeca at the start of June. Next will be Venice, and then Toronto, and then the long march of awards season in the fall and winter. The nationwide theatrical release will be in July. There is already Oscar buzz; film critics are writing that you are all but guaranteed a Best Actress nomination.

Reporters are shouting your name, because they know who you are now. You have a very lucrative advertising campaign with Cold Stone Creamery. You did a segment on Good Morning America where you taught the hosts how to make ice cream, giggling as they spilled sprinkles and Oreo pieces all over the floor. Your Grey’s Anatomy episode was one of the highest-rated of the season. Sometimes when you’re out and about in Los Angeles, people will ask you for autographs. When you see pictures or video clips of yourself, you are effervescent, ever-smiling; you don’t even remember doing it. It’s just what happens.

“Can you tell us what this experience has been like for you?” a cheerful correspondent from E! News asks as she holds a microphone to your glossy red lips. “Going from being completely unknown to a breakout star in just the past few months?”

“I’m so grateful for everyone who has helped me get to this point,” you say. “On this film, I got to work with people who were so passionate and genuine and kind, and it really affirmed my faith in what I’m doing with my life, and that I belong in this industry, and that so does anybody else who has a dream even if no one believes in you yet. You just have to find people who believe in you. I have a wonderful agent, her name is Kristen, and my manager Tim, and my stylist Aurora, who indulges all my super uncool ideas...I am so thankful to have a team who are working so hard every day to make this possible.”

“And I’ve heard you have a certain nickname on set, is that right?”

You chuckle and nod. “It is, yeah.”

“People you work with call you Sunshine, because of your enthusiasm and positivity!”

“My husband started that,” you say, beaming. “When we met, almost exactly a year ago. And then I guess he did it so much that other people started picking up on it.”

“Well, it certainly suits you. And your husband...he’s here tonight, isn’t he? I think I spotted him around here somewhere...um...oh yes, there he is! Hi, Aegon!”

He waves from the sidelines, butter yellow suit, sand-colored hair slicked back from his face. He walks with a cane now, because he’s getting unsteady on his feet; but you found one that makes him smile. In the spherical knob of the handle, transparently clear glass, is suspended a Mario figurine leaping up to catch a star. Brandon, who is standing with Aegon, waves too. He has been promoted from receptionist to executive personal assistant, which means that he and his boyfriend were able to purchase a house in Venice Beach. When you’re working, Brandon makes sure that Aegon doesn’t lose track of time, or forget how to get somewhere, or lose his phone or his keys or anything like that. At home in Los Angeles, Aegon is still holding on to his office in Elysian Park. When he’s feeling good—clear, bright, in control—he makes calls to help out aspiring actors he bumps into. Other times, he just plays his Nintendo 64, exercising his motor skills to keep them for as long as he can. And then when you’re free you pick him up for ice cream, or In-N-Out Burger, or lunch beside a tank of antagonistic oscars in Chinatown.

“And how do you feel about how well this film is being received?” the E! News correspondent asks. “Its rollout is just getting started, and it’s already generating so much publicity! That must be very exciting for you. I’m sure you’re being offered roles all the time now.”

“It’s such an honor, every review, every award, it shows the cast and crew who poured so much into this movie that their efforts and talents are being recognized. But you know...” You hesitate. “I think...for me personally...it’s really nice to feel like I’ve proven myself with this project, and that if I want to take some time off to spend with my husband, I have that flexibility. I can dip in and out of acting and take the roles I feel I have the bandwidth for, and know that something like this—an extremely inspiring and fulfilling but also demanding role that requires travel and long hours—is always there waiting when the time is right.”

“Of course, of course,” the woman from E! News says, her tone sympathetic. Everyone is aware of Aegon’s diagnosis, though they are usually tactful enough not to mention it outright. They also politely ignore the messy timeline: a destination wedding, a clearly unamicable split, another marriage the day after the divorce was finalized. In the aftermath of what happened on Turks and Caicos, Becca cut her hair and posted a number of angry poems on her blog with titles like The World’s Shortest Marriage and Deleted Pinterest Boards, but she recently started dating a Formula 1 driver five years her junior and she seems to be doing a lot better.

It’s time to go inside. You profusely thank the E! News correspondent and say goodbye, then Aegon joins you so you can walk into the screening together, his palm on the small of your back, you leaning into him to whisper: “Did I do okay?”

And Aegon slides his black aviator sunglasses out of his suit jacket and puts them on—You are so bright, sunshine—and smiles proudly as he kisses your cheek. You wear matching gold bands on your ring fingers, simple and subtle and etched with suns and stars.

Afterwards, you fly home to your house on Apollo Drive in a neighborhood called Mount Olympus, just west of Hollywood and east of Beverly Hills, a quick hop southeast on the 101 to Elysian Park, less than an hour from the Targaryen mansion in Malibu when traffic isn’t too bad. The house, built in the 1960s, was a relatively modest two million dollars, three bedrooms and all one story so Aegon can get around when he needs a wheelchair. He has a residential long-term care facility picked out for when he is in the late stages, and you and Aemond lie adamantly and say you’ll send him there, because that’s what Aegon wants to hear.

On the mantle above the fireplace, there is a vase full of dried sunflowers and a plethora of framed photographs from your courthouse wedding: Brandon and his boyfriend, Jace and Baela (still a bit flabbergasted that you made it after all), your new best friend Chloe, Aegon’s mother and siblings smiling, your parents shellshocked but nonetheless hell-bent on making a good impression, Tripp toasting champagne with Daeron, Clara glowering because you somehow managed to beat her to the altar. If you have the first grandchild, she might actually kill you.

Now you and Aegon are in the waiting room, early for your appointment, and a soft dreamy Red Hot Chili Peppers song called If is plucking from the Spotify playlist the receptionist has pulled up on her computer screen. You reach into your purse to get the snacks you packed, because you’re always trying to put weight on Aegon the same way he once plied you with vanilla lattes and Cherry Cokes and boneless spare ribs and cheeseburgers...and still does sometimes, when he remembers. He takes a Honeycrisp apple and feels the weight of it, marvels at the red skin striped with green and gold, recognizes the absence of a recollection, something he describes to you as a black void he falls into, chasms that open up in floors and sidewalks.

“There’s a story with these,” Aegon says.

You smile. “Yeah, there is.”

“Remind me?”

“Later.”

He grins and winks. “Not suitable for public conversation. I get it.” And he bites into the crisp sweet flesh, juice shining on his lips, and then he offers you the apple: an indelible muscle memory, a moment that still lives in him somewhere. You take a bite over the same spot, your tongue and teeth grazing the outline of him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen?” a nurse says, summoning you, and you follow her to the doctor’s office.

When you only have a few years with someone, every day is a gold rush. And so weeks ago when Aegon did his sperm collection, you went with him into the room, straddled his lap and stroked him until he finished into the plastic cup, his fingers between your legs, your lips to his ear; because when he can get hard, neither of you want to waste it. Your contribution—follicle stimulation and egg retrieval—was less pleasant. The hormones made you feel like a stranger in your own skin, sluggish and gloomy, and you were sore after the procedure. But Aegon was wonderful, ordering takeout and snuggling with you on the couch as you watched the Twilight movies together and giggled about how ridiculous they are.

He had murmured like an apology: “It’s my fault we can’t do this the way normal people do.”

“Yeah. I wish you could just come in me four times a day.”

And he had burst out laughing, because he loves the way you put things: too much honesty, effortlessly real.

Today, the doctor has results: four viable embryos, three of which tested positive for the HTT gene mutation. But one is healthy; one has broken the curse.

“What do you think?” Aegon asks you; but the hope is so bright on his face, a life he once believed was forbidden.

“I think we should do it,” you answer.

The doctor congratulates you both and slides the necessary paperwork across the desk. Aegon’s hand begins to shake as he signs his name. You reach out to steady him; he looks at you and smiles.

[lambypop]

🎀The Tales of Coccinelle Moon and The Batman🎀

--------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Two:

And the crowd goes... worried???

<<Previ // Mast.List // Next>>

TW: Damian crashes out???? (Kinda occ damian?) the word daddy is used strictky platonicaly, JON AND CONNOR KENT MENTIONED?!

Platonic!Batfam x Ladybug/Magical Girl!Reader

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:40 AM

"This is Wayne Enterprises, please we ask you to stay together in your designated group, the tour is about to begin, please remember the tour rules, at the en of the tour we'll have a small meeting with Mr.Wayne" one of the teachers said, a yes, the school tour day Jon thought half bored, he has come here multiple times already, he even knows the ventilation system thanks to Damian, but this is a great time to see Batman! or even NIGHTWING, he thrives to see them (mostly to see Damian)

• Metropolis, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:45 AM

'Another day another evil plan in how to destroy Superman, tho he's been missing since yesterday' thats what lex luthor was thinking as he wakes up' but first, i need to see the boarding school group chat' he's opening the suspiciously empty chat……. 'Brucie usually sends a Good morning text between 6:33am and 6:37am….. and Olie has not send anything either… maybe im just overthinking stuff?' he tries to shrug off that anomaly in his daily routine as he gets out of his luxurios silk sheets to his incredible marble floor bathroom, and as he does his skin care routine he decides to call his son. (because even to he made him for a bad cause he grew a tiny littble bit attached)

• Justice League Watch Tower, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:47 AM

……Thump…..thump…..Thump…..Thump……

'…..Bruce…..'

……Thump..thump..Thump..Thump……

'Jon'

…..ThUMp…ThUMp…ThUMp…ThUMp….

'Connor'

Thump.Thump.Thump.Tump

'Kara'

Thump….Thump….Thump….Thump….

'Louis'

'……they are okay, ill sleep some more' an unconsius clark thinks

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:48-49 AM

"Thank you for the Meal Alfred!" A very happy Duke said as he takes some pancakes and brings them to the table, some slight footsteps can be heard coming to the kitchen and cass peaks her head in and waves a hand to Alfred to ask for Bruce "🫵🏻👀👉🏻👨🏻❓" she signs kinda sloppily cause she just woke up from the heavy night patrol "I haven't seen him jest Miss Cain, he's probably stil in his room either sleeping or just brooding" she nods and heads into the kitchen to make herself a starwberry protein milkshake or something

• Paris-France, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:50 AM, 10 minutes before the disaster

"Ohh Papas jet arrived Five minutes ago! EEEEEK! im so exited to see him!!!!" you cant help but jump around happily waiting for him, you're impatient to see him, you are way to happy when he comes to visit and this time he even came half a month early, lets just hope nothing happens today, toda's gotta be perfect!

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:51 AM, 9 minutes before the disaster

"What do you mean he didn't check in today???? he always checks in. perhabs we miscalculated one of his day offs? wait- did he even schedulched a day off?" one of the work assistans asks almost dumbfounded "Heyyyy have someone seen Mr.Wayne? i need these papers signed" A worker of HQ mumbles as he peaks inside the room "It seems he didn't check in today" a male acountant says "What do you mean he didn't check in? he always does" the HR worker says confused "Thats what i said! today is the first monday of the month! we have the Monthly prepare meeting with Brucie!" The assistance says with a half sad whine, everyone at the office loves Brucie Wayne, even tho he looks and acts like a bimbo everyone in the office knows he is very much intelligent an talented, if he wasn't he wouldn't be able to keep up with the great company he has!

• Metropolis, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:52 AM, 8 minutes before the disaster

"is the world ending???" Luthor says outloud as he stares at his phone screen, the text chat is still empty with No Bruce message, so he decides to do the most obvious call. "Hey, Olie….. have you heard about Bruce??? he hasn't send his perfectly timed morning message with the stupidly bad grammar- You noticed it too? oh yeah no, i haven't seen him, i was gonna ask if you have seen him- yeah uhm i can check that too, tell me if you know something" luthors hand goes to his mouth as he thinks…. "Maybe he fell into a Fountain??? nono- gotham news would already have posted something-!!! RIGHT maybe he's on one of those crazy yatch parties- ill check on that"

People may not know it but Luther has a soft spot on his childhood best friends, and he has a very strict routine during the entire day that started WAY back in the early days of that Boarding school where he met those two idiots, the blond and a bit obnoxius one and the broodie black haired one that looked that he would jump you at any second.

• Justice League Watch Tower, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:53 AM, 7 minutes before the disaster.

"What was the call about Dear?" Black Canary asks curiosly "……..Bruce seems to be unpresent? like he's never late to anything……." Green Arrow or also known as Oliver Queen says to his dear wife as he is definately confused at whats going on "Uhm perhaps a call to Alfred would apease you?" Dinah says uncertain and kinda laughing at her husband obvious worry (he claims he does not worry at all) "Maybe…… but also he may be only running late you know?" oliver ends the conversation at that as he takes his wifes hand in his.

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:54 AM, 6 minutes before the disaster

"Okay but really. where is bruce, he never misses Alfred's Breakfast" Steph says with her mouth full of pancakes "True. maybe he already went to W.E????" Dick says as he plays with the fruitloops he put on his food

"…….Pennyworth does my pancakes have-" Damian gets cut of "They have no dairy milk nor eggs, is almod milk fine with you?" the butler asks with a faint smile "yeah" damian says as he takes a bite of the pancakes, they are good but not as near as good at his father makes them or well thats what Damian thinks, running footsteps can be heard through the hallway, and the kitchen is loudly entered by the other only missing family member "OH MY GOD BRUCE IM SO SORRY I DIDDNT APPEAR I SWEAR I'VE BEEN SLEEPING, I ATE IM F-Fineeeee, i just fEel AslEEP on a RoofTop! NAD FORGOT TO TEXT!!! OSHDBSAFBGQASKFBKFBADVAFBAKJ PLS DONT CRASH OUTTTTTT" a exasperated and out of breath Tim says coughing and with a face that resembled Deer under car lights, he has this worried expression as if Bruce would jusr crash out from not knowing where one of his sons are (HE WOULD AND HE WILL) "……………." a biss ass silence takes hold onto everyone on the Kitchen even Tim that know feels kinda embarrassed

"Drake with all due respect, what the hell?" Damian says with a weird out face as he munches on the pancakes "Dude are you okay" stephanie says as the passes him a plate with pancakes "wheres Bruc- wait no what time is it?" Tim asks half dishoriented "6:54:29 seconds why" Dick answers "Okay so bruce is in W.E I'll just grab his stuff and-" Tim says as he starts to turn around "Master Wayne hasn't left the house, his car is still in the garage" Alfred says as if he's used to this "He took a day off?" the second best detective asks as his brain starts to work on this anomaly in Bruces behavior "But today is the first monday of the month" Tim mumbles to himself as he takes the entire pancake and brings it to his mouth eating it in one sole bite "Im going to the batcave" Tim declares and does not wait for an answer "Is he okay?" Duke wonders out loud as a fast shadow decides to follow tim onto.

• Paris-France, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:55 AM, 5 minutes before the Disaster

"DADDY!!!!!" the girl runs towards her fathers arms and jump towards him making the man drop a bag he was carrying just to catch his daughter and spin her around as she starts to laugh, Bruce's eyes cant help but tear up a bit, when was the last time any other of his children missed him this much, but this isnt about them, its about you two "I missed you SO MUCH!" you cant help but shake him a bit "Ohhhh I cant waiiit to tell you what have i done! and what i've been seeing at school!!!" nothing could make this worse nor better right? "…..papa….. how much are you staying for?" you cant help but ask always hoping that he'll say that he will saty with you forever, you sometimes dont like the fact that you are 'hidden' "…im having…. a Staycacion" he says wity a smile "………Stay-cacion?…….AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH YOUR STAYING!?" you screamed very much loudly and exited that you can't help when you bursted into happy tears and hugged him and staining the shoulder of his jacket not like he cared, stains can be washed, stuff can be cleaned, but moments and memories??? they cannot be replaced.

• Batcave, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:56 AM, 4 minutes before the Disaster

"I swear- wheres that man- he nevers changes his routine- he isn't at W.E nor the JL HQ………. Where-" hussle hussle "Casssss not right now" russle russle "he isnt at the kent- wait! your right the kent farm! let me make a call" Tim say as he fistbumps Cassandra and she smiles happily, she is just happy to be of help in finding her father, she's still kinda angered by how they talked about him last night and she wants to have a 'word' with Tim about it, but she'll wait until they have something that leads them to their dad.

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:57 AM, 3 minutes before the Disaster

"The hell do you mean he isn't in his office?????" a very well known man in a two color suit says "Boss he is not in his office" one of the goon says "I know very well my bes- I know very well Bruce Wayne's schedule" the man says with a bother voice "Harv-" another goon tries to talk before a gunshot is heard, the bullet did not anyone it was just a warning "Two-Face for you all. None of you get to call me Harv-ey. none of you. there was only one person that call me that and im not seeing them." Two-Face said with an unmatched irritation, perhabs he's worried? no! ofcourse not, he is a well known villian that was gonna kidnap the richest man in the country and definately not because he was his bestfriend or that when they kidnap him this bimbo of a man takes this time to sleep and its the most relaxed he's seen him in a while ofcourse not (he definately knows he's tired af from being batman and not sleeping more than 3 hours a day).

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:58 AM, 2 minutes before the Disaster

light and calm steps can be heard through the halls and they go to a stop infront of the master bedroom of the manor, the alluring and very exquisite scent of a meal can be smelled from miles away.

knock knock knock

"Master Bruce. are you awake?……. perhaps your feeling unwell my child" Alfreds voice softened at the silence, he knows how Bruce can get when he's being gloomy and angsty "Please open the door my son, you need to eat, you haven't had a proper meal in 2 days and your protein shakes do not count, i please beg you stop acting like a child and have some proper nutricional food" the old butler can help but be a bit stern in his voice and his worry for the man he's raised for over more than 30 years …… "Master bruce? has something happen?" before alfred can do anything else two pair of steps alert him "Pennyworth? has my father already came out of the room?" The youngest wayne asks with one of his pets following him "Not yet, do you want to help me out Master Damian?" the butler recieves a happy nod, the green eyed child is more than pleased to help wake his father up, his father has been there for him since he entered thos household, the least he could do is try and help him when he isn't feeling well.

• Batcave, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 1 minutes before the Disaster

"He is not there??? could you help me out with this???" Tim says through the phone as cass is re-checking all the cams that they have around everywhere and also crossing all the possible stuff in their improvised list

fell into a fountain

crazy yatch party

weekly meeting

JL Headquarters

Kent Farm

his room

she can feel Tim stress out by only looking into his eyes, he is inside the 'normal' for Tim so she doen't worry much (she is gonna freak out in that nights Patrol)

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 30 seconds before the Disaster, and counting

"ejem- ejem- Father, are you in there?" Damian tried to keep his voice the most steady as possible but still no asnwer…. so he decides other aproach as he slightly eyes the butler and then grabs all the possible bravery and takes the handle in his hand and twist it opening the door and stepping in "Baba i request you stop ignoring Alfred and I- B-baba??" but there is no one to be found in the room they fully walk in to see Bruce's closet half closed, most of his daily shirts are goneand so are most of his shoes and jackets and the fur jackets, but thats okay until he checks the drawer where Bruce keeps the stuff his children give him…. and its empty… His father keft them "D-did he? did he-"

"…."

"Master Damian, please do not alarm yourself"

• Everywhere in Gotham, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 10 seconds before the Crashout, and counting

"Thanks Connor, I'll call you later"

09 seconds before the Crashout

"Duke have you seen B?" Barbara asks as she just got there from the watchtower and she needs to talk to Bruce about some Scarecrow shit

08 seconds before the Crashout

"Why are my Older brother senses Tingling???" Dick stands up and gets out of his room peaking out to see Alfred in the doorway of Bruces room

07 seconds before the Crashout

"Alfre? is everything- what the- " he watches the know kinda empty room of Bruce

06 seconds before the Crashout

"H-hey Damian, how- how are you doing?" Dick asks as he kneels infront of the kid that looks that is about to combust on the spot, he tries to stay as calm as he can to not startle the child

05 seconds before the crashout

Are they taking him for an idiot? why is Grayson treating him like a kicked puppy, he's fine. he is totally okay, definatelly not worried……

04 seconds before the crashout

He is okay, he can handle his emotions, this is a trick!, a TEST, thats right! just a test to see if he can do stuff alone and without help! definately because he wouldn't have left him right?

03 seconds before the crashout

he wouldn't left him. he promised he wouldn't and his father never lies, right? RIGHT?, he woudn't do what his mother did to him. he promised, he swore under that candle. He signed the papers where it says that he is his father, so is he not here? why did he left his stuff, but he wouldnt do that right? he would do it again, like the timestream incident?

02 seconds before the crashout

maybe what his grandfather told him was right, Bruce wouldn't want him, perhaps this is his karma for failing his 'rightfuk destiny' maybe he did something wrong?

01 Seconds before the Crashout

"Master Damian, please stop this in this moment, it's not time for a tantr-" Alfreds voice gets cut off and Dick cant help but actually get freaked out, Tim hears ot, Cassandra hears it, Duke, Barbara, Stephanie, Jason who was entering through the window of his old childhood room, Connor who was eating his breakfast in Kansas, Jon who is in his school trip first hears the heartbeat spike abnormaly and is ready to ditch the class in that instant and perhaps even the half unconsious Superman hear the bloody screathing banshee scream that goes out of Damian's throat

00 seconds before the crashout

"BABA!"

Bruce stops suddenly from walking "Are you okay papa?" You can't help but ask kinda worried "Did you heard that????" he asks you also confused, he feels his chest tingling in a weird way that he wasn't felt in a while, at least not since Tim brought him back from the timestream and kinda lunged into his arms crying "I didn't heard anything dad" you asnwer him more softly tryung to appease hus sudden frown "ehhh… Must have been the wind then" he says now more calm as you and him walk hand in hand out of the air port and towards a [F/C] Porsche convertible with a custom plate that says [INSERT THE MOST BADASS WORD YOU KNOW], "m'kay papa lets go!" you say with such happiness and such bright smile that you could challenge even the sun in who was brighter the Sun or You (obviosly you would win) "Yeah, Lets go home" Bruce says with the softest laugh that you have ever heard, he helps you in your own car into the passanger seat even tho you were gonna drive, how could he let his child drive him let him help you please, you can only smile at the fact that he is trying his best to be a more than a good dad, what can you say? Your love your father very much.

3K EXACT WORDS (I made this chapter i like 2 hours????) Hope yall like Damians Crash out (PLEASE COMENT WHATEVER)

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ one of me is cute, but two, though?

chapter summary: Now that you are finally pregnant, you and Logan embark on the 9 month journey.

word count: 10.9k+ (23.9k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this spans 9 months of reader's pregnancy. i didn't write every single week; i tried to hit the main milestones. i researched every stage of pregnancy, so if anything's wrong... idk man, i'm 20, i'm not gonna get pregnant just for a fic

also apparently 24k words is too much for tumblr, so this is split in 2 parts

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, a few mentions of puking, protective!logan, protective!laura, hormones, pregnancy, giving birth

series masterlist - chapter 14 → chapter 15.5

6 Weeks

You should’ve expected it, especially since it happened the past three days at the exact same time, but as soon as you finished getting dressed in the morning and right before you put your shoes on, you ran to the bathroom, kneeling down by the toilet just in time.

The nausea hit hard, a wave that left you gripping the rim of the toilet bowl like it was your lifeline. Your stomach churned, and before you knew it, you were emptying what little breakfast you’d managed to get down. The experience was far from new at this point, but it wasn’t getting any easier.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps approaching until Logan’s voice cut through the haze. “Y/N?” His tone was cautious, concerned, and so unmistakably him that it was enough to keep you grounded.

You groaned in response, resting your forehead against your arm as you waited for the nausea to subside. A moment later, Logan was crouched beside you, his large hand resting gently on your back.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, brushing your hair out of your face. “That’s the third day in a row. You alright?”

You glanced up at him, feeling pale and a little miserable. “Not really,” you admitted. “I think I hate mornings now.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “You been keepin’ anything down?”

“Not much,” you murmured. “I managed half a piece of toast before…” You gestured vaguely at the toilet.

Logan sighed, his hand moving in soothing circles on your back. “Jean say this was normal?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back slightly. “She said morning sickness can be bad for some people, and apparently, I’m one of them. Lucky me.”

“Did she say there’s anything you can do about it?” he pressed, his brows knitting together.

“Small meals, ginger tea, crackers… all the stuff I’ve already been trying. She said it’ll probably ease up in a few weeks, though.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his worry evident despite his best efforts to mask it. He didn’t say anything right away, just reached over to grab a washcloth from the sink, running it under cool water before handing it to you.

“Here,” he said, his voice softer now. “For your face.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, pressing the cloth to your forehead. The coolness helped a little, enough that you finally managed to push yourself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry,” you added after a moment, avoiding his gaze.

Logan frowned. “What’re you apologizin’ for?”

You shrugged weakly. “Being a mess? Throwing up every morning? I don’t know… take your pick.”

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’re growin’ a whole damn human in there. If throwin’ up comes with the territory, then so be it.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that. “A whole human, huh?”

“That’s right,” Logan said, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And that’s no small thing, darlin’. You’re doin’ great.”

“Even when I’m hugging a toilet?” you teased lightly, though there was a flicker of gratitude in your voice.

“Especially then,” Logan shot back, his smirk softening into something gentler. He stood, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to bed. You need rest.”

“Laura’s going to barge in the second I lie down,” you pointed out, taking his hand and letting him help you up.

“I’ll handle Laura,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You just focus on feelin’ better.”

You let him guide you back to the bed, where he tucked you in with surprising tenderness for someone as rough around the edges as Logan. He brushed a kiss against your temple before heading for the door.

“Logan,” you called softly, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned, his expression warm. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a small smile, the kind that was rare but always genuine. “Always, sweetheart.” And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving you with the faintest sense of comfort despite the nausea still lingering in your stomach.

---

7 Weeks

The mansion was quiet, a rarity given the number of kids running around, but late afternoons often brought a lull. You sat at the desk in the bedroom you shared with Logan, grading papers from the physics summer course you were teaching. A warm cup of tea sat beside you, untouched and long since gone cold.

Your hand paused over the last problem on a student’s worksheet, your mind wandering for the hundredth time that day.

Logan had been right—taking it one day at a time helped. But now, in the stillness of the room, the weight of the unknown crept back in. You set down your pen and rested a hand on your stomach, the gesture automatic. There wasn’t much to feel yet, just a faint heaviness, but the knowledge of what was growing there made your chest tighten in equal parts wonder and fear.

The door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He carried a small tray with what looked like a sandwich and some sliced fruit.

“Brought you something,” he said, setting it down on the desk. His gaze lingered on the untouched tea. “Figured you’d need it since you forgot about that.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, Logan. I got caught up with grading.”

He nodded, leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossing over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned the stack of papers. “You overworkin’ again?”

“No,” you replied, a bit too quickly, earning a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. “I’m just… distracted.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I hit seven weeks today. I guess I’m having a hard time relaxing.”

His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “I get it, darlin’. I do.” He reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk. “But you’re doin’ good. Everything’s good so far. And whatever happens, I’m here.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, his words grounding you. “I know. I just… I keep waiting for something to go wrong. Like if I let myself be happy about this, it’ll get taken away again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Listen to me. You deserve to feel happy about this. You deserve to be excited. And I’ll be damned if I let anything make you think otherwise.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “How do you always know what to say?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Years of practice.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, his steady presence washing over you. When you finally pulled back, Logan nudged the plate closer.

“Now, eat somethin’, will ya? You’re not just feedin’ yourself anymore.”

You rolled your eyes but picked up a slice of apple anyway. “Yes, sir.”

Logan chuckled, his rough voice warm and teasing. “If that’s what it takes to get you to listen.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter, the knot in your chest loosening. One day at a time. Logan was right—you could do this.

---

Week 8

You closed your eyes as Jean pressed the cold, slick ultrasound wand against your stomach. The gel was cold, but it barely registered over the anxiety clawing at your chest. You had to remind yourself to breathe, to focus on the sound of Jean’s calm voice explaining the process.

“It’s not going to be much yet,” she said gently, her tone laced with understanding. “At eight weeks, we’re mostly just checking to make sure everything looks as it should.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut tightly. You weren’t sure if you were more afraid of opening them and seeing something wrong—or seeing something right and letting yourself hope too much. It was easier to stay in the limbo of uncertainty.

“You don’t have to look yet,” Jean added, her voice soothing. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got a good image.”

Logan’s hand found yours, his grip solid and grounding. He hadn’t said much since you’d come into the medical bay, but his presence was enough. He stood beside the exam table, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even through your nerves.

“You’re okay, darlin’,” Logan murmured, his rough voice low and steady. “Jean’s got this. And I’m right here.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, and you squeezed his in return, drawing strength from the simple gesture. You wanted to believe him, to trust that everything was fine, but the memory of your first pregnancy lingered like a shadow—constant, inescapable.

Jean’s voice pulled you back. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’ve got a clear image now. Do you want to see?”

You hesitated, your hand tightening around Logan’s. For a moment, you thought about saying no. Maybe it would be safer to keep your eyes closed, to protect yourself from the possibility of another heartbreak. But Logan’s hand squeezed yours again, his presence anchoring you.

“Go on, darlin’,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You can do this.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and turned your head toward the screen. The black-and-white image was blurry, abstract, and nothing like the clear, perfect pictures you’d seen in movies. Still, it was there—a tiny shape nestled in the center of it all.

“That’s…” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “That’s it?”

Jean smiled, her expression warm. “That’s it. Everything looks perfect so far. The sac is measuring exactly where it should be, and the embryo looks healthy.”

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your chest. There was a faint flicker of movement, too small to register as anything significant but enough to spark something in you—hope, tentative and fragile but real.

“You won’t hear a heartbeat yet,” Jean added, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “That usually starts closer to ten or twelve weeks. But this…” She gestured to the screen, her smile widening. “This is a really good sign.”

Logan leaned closer, his gaze fixed on the screen. He didn’t say anything, but his hand stayed wrapped around yours, his thumb still stroking gently over your skin.

“You seein’ this?” he asked after a moment, his voice unusually quiet.

You nodded, barely able to tear your eyes away from the screen. “I see it.���

For the first time in weeks—maybe years—you felt the tight knot in your chest begin to loosen. The fear didn’t vanish entirely, but it faded enough for something else to take its place.

Hope.

---

Later that evening, you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Laura was perched on the armrest beside you, her small frame leaning against your shoulder. She’d been unusually quiet since you came back from the medical bay, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as if trying to read something in your expressions.

“Is it okay?” she asked finally, her voice soft but direct.

You glanced at Logan, who was sitting in the armchair across from you, his arms resting on the sides. He gave you a small nod, leaving it to you to answer.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling down at Laura. “Everything looks good so far.”

Her face didn’t change much, but she nodded once, her small hand brushing against yours. “Good,” she said simply. Then, as if the moment had passed, she hopped down from the armrest and grabbed the TV remote. “Can we watch cartoons now?”

You laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in a long time. “Sure, kiddo. Cartoons it is.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as Laura flipped through channels with the intensity of someone searching for buried treasure. His gaze shifted back to you, warm and steady.

“You feelin’ better?” he asked, his voice low enough that Laura wouldn’t overhear.

You nodded, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I think I am.”

---

Week 9

You heard the pop before you felt it.

“What the—” Your bra fell down your arms, the clasps in the back undone. You froze for a moment, your face heating up as you struggled to process what just happened. With a groan, you grabbed the fabric and clutched it to your chest, muttering under your breath.

From the doorway of your shared bedroom, Logan’s voice rumbled. “Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?”

You whipped your head toward him, your cheeks flaming. “Uh, yeah. My bra just… it just broke.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the offending garment in your hands. His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Broke? You sure it didn’t just give up?”

“Logan!” you hissed, though your voice cracked with laughter despite yourself. “Not helping.”

He stepped further into the room, his expression softening as he took in your flustered state. “Alright, alright. Let me see.”

You held the ruined bra up for inspection, the snapped clasps dangling uselessly. Logan leaned in, squinting at it like it was some kind of malfunctioning machinery. “Guess it couldn’t handle all the changes, huh?”

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him with your free hand. “I’m already hormonal. Don’t make me cry over a bra.”

Logan chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, sweetheart. No jokes. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Your body’s goin’ through a lot. It’s probably time to pick up some new stuff.”

You sighed, tossing the broken bra onto the bed. “I know. Jean mentioned this might happen, but I didn’t think I’d outgrow my clothes this fast.”

Logan moved closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you gently into his chest. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “How ‘bout we take a trip into town tomorrow? Pick up whatever you need.”

You leaned into him, letting his warmth calm the frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “You’re gonna come with me? To shop for bras?”

“Why not?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Ain’t like I haven’t seen you in ‘em before.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening again. “But I’m yours. And you need new stuff, so we’ll get it.”

You let out a small laugh, looking up at him. “Thanks, Logan.”

He brushed a kiss against your temple. “Always, darlin’. Now, why don’t you grab somethin’ else to wear, and I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner? Laura’s already pokin’ around the kitchen lookin’ for snacks.”

You smiled at the mention of Laura, the protective little girl who had taken to shadowing you more and more since your pregnancy was revealed. “Alright. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Logan gave your waist a gentle squeeze before releasing you and heading for the door. “Don’t keep her waitin’,” he said over his shoulder. “Kid’s got no patience.”

---

Later that evening, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing one of Logan’s oversized flannels over your tank top. Laura was nestled beside you, her small hands busy with a coloring book while Logan sat in his usual chair, a beer in hand.

Laura glanced up from her work, her sharp eyes narrowing on you. “You still look tired,” she said bluntly.

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her observation. “Well, thanks for pointing that out, Laura.”

Logan snorted, hiding a smirk behind his beer. “Kid’s got a point,” he muttered.

Laura ignored him, her focus still on you. “Are you sick again?”

“No,” you assured her quickly, not wanting her to worry. “I’m just tired from growing the baby. It takes a lot of energy.”

She nodded, her expression serious. “So you have to eat more. And sleep more. That’s what Jean said.”

You exchanged a glance with Logan, who was clearly trying not to laugh. “Jean’s right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle Laura’s hair. “I’ll try to rest more, okay?”

Laura seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to her coloring, but not before scooting just a little closer to you. Logan caught the movement and raised an eyebrow, his gaze softening as he looked between the two of you.

“You’re doin’ fine, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice meant just for you. “Better than fine.”

You smiled at him, the familiar warmth of his presence chasing away any lingering worries. One day at a time, you reminded yourself. And with Logan and Laura by your side, you felt like you could handle anything.

---

The next day, you and Logan made it into town to look for new bras, specifically in the maternity section. The store wasn’t too busy, which was a relief. It meant fewer awkward stares as Logan stood beside you, thoroughly inspecting every single rack like a man on a mission. At one point, he grabbed a maternity shirt and held it up by the hanger, studying it with an almost comical intensity.

"This thing’s big enough to camp in," he muttered, stretching the fabric experimentally.

You stifled a laugh, tugging the shirt from his hands. "That’s the point, Logan. They’re supposed to be loose and comfy."

"Still," he replied, raising an eyebrow, "how much bigger are these clothes gonna get? You gonna need a damn tarp by the end of this?"

You playfully smacked his arm with the hanger you were holding. "Don’t tempt fate."

Logan smirked but didn’t push further, letting his hand rest lightly on your lower back as you moved toward the bras. It wasn’t lost on you how protective he was, his touch constant but unobtrusive. The two of you had waited so long for this—he wasn’t about to take any chances.

The maternity bras sat in neat rows, a variety of soft fabrics and bland colors. You bit your lip, feeling oddly embarrassed even though you were literally shopping for a necessity. Logan, of course, noticed your hesitation.

"Y’need help pickin’ one out?" he asked, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

"No," you said quickly, your cheeks heating. Then you softened. "Maybe."

Logan nodded, reaching over to examine a plain beige bra, holding it like it was some kind of alien artifact. "This one looks soft," he said.

"That’s a nursing bra," you informed him with a tiny laugh. "It’s for after the baby comes."

"Oh." He shrugged and put it back, unbothered. "So what kinda bra are we lookin’ for here, then?"

You covered your face with both hands, overwhelmed by the absurdity of the situation. "I can’t believe we’re having this conversation in public."

"Darlin'," Logan said, amused but patient, "you’ve been throwin’ up in front of me for weeks, and we’re havin’ a baby together. You think I care if people overhear us talkin’ about bras?"

He had a point, damn him. Lowering your hands, you gave him a sheepish smile and started thumbing through the racks. He stood there silently, just a steady presence beside you, only stepping in to lift something off a higher rack when you needed it.

"How about this one?" he asked, holding up a pale blue option with some lace detail at the top.

You gave it a quick look and nodded. "That works."

He raised an eyebrow. "Just ‘works’? That ain’t much enthusiasm."

"Logan," you whispered, giving him a sharp look, "I don’t need it to spark joy. I just need it to fit."

That earned a chuckle from him. "Fair enough."

With a small pile of options in hand, you made your way to the fitting room. Logan stood just outside, arms crossed, looking as intimidating as ever and thoroughly discouraging anyone from approaching. You tried a couple on before stepping out to show him one that actually felt comfortable.

"How’s this?" you asked, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

Logan’s eyes moved briefly to the bra before meeting your gaze. "Looks good," he said simply, his tone free of teasing this time. "Fits alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, it does."

"Then we’re good," he said. "Grab a couple of those."

"Just one or two," you corrected him. "I’ll probably need different ones as I get bigger."

Logan raised a brow but didn’t argue. "Fine, but if it gets too tight, you tell me, and we’ll come back. No arguments."

"Deal," you agreed, retreating into the fitting room to finish up.

---

Back at the mansion that evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Laura perched on a stool at the counter, munching on a slice of apple. She looked up as you entered, her sharp gaze immediately landing on the shopping bag in your hand.

"What's that?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Clothes," you said, setting the bag down. "I needed a couple of new things."

Laura frowned slightly, as though processing this information. "Because the baby’s making you bigger?"

"Exactly," you said, impressed by how quickly she’d pieced it together.

Laura chewed her apple thoughtfully. "Jean said you might not feel good sometimes. Do you feel better now?"

"I do," you said, smiling at her. "Thanks for asking, Laura."

"Good," she said firmly, hopping off the stool. Then she grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the living room. "You should sit down. Jean says that helps."

Logan, already in the room flipping through the TV channels, looked up and smirked. "You got a bossy little nurse there, darlin’."

"I’m looking after her," Laura said matter-of-factly, settling beside you on the couch and leaning into your side.

"I can see that," Logan said with a chuckle, settling into his armchair.

You glanced down at Laura, your heart warming at her seriousness. It might’ve taken a long time to get here, but this—Logan’s quiet love, Laura’s fierce protectiveness—was more than worth the wait.

---

Week 10

You could feel tears coming on at the predicament right in front of you. Your jeans weren’t fitting. And all you could think about was how you should’ve gotten them when you went last week.

Logan found you standing in the closet, glaring down at the waistband of your jeans as though sheer force of will could make them zip.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You huffed, tossing your hands up in defeat. “No! I’m not alright. My jeans won’t zip, and now I’m realizing I should’ve bought maternity ones last week, but noooo, I had to be stubborn and say, ‘Oh, I’ll be fine for another month.’” Your voice wavered, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Logan stepped into the room, his brows furrowing as he took in the situation. “Hey, it’s no big deal. We’ll go back into town and get you some new ones.”

“That’s not the point!” you said, your voice cracking. “I didn’t want to need them yet. I wanted to be able to wear my regular clothes for a little longer. I just—I feel ridiculous for crying over jeans.”

“C’mere,” Logan said softly, pulling you into his arms. You melted into his chest, letting out a shaky breath as his steady heartbeat anchored you. “It’s not ridiculous. Your body’s changin’ a lot, and it’s a lot to take in. You’re allowed to feel however you need to.”

You sniffled, your face pressed against his flannel. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been all over the place lately.”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back. “You’re growin’ a whole person, Y/N. You think I don’t get that’s a big deal? You’ve been strong for years, darlin’. Let me take some of that weight for a while.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, his rugged face soft with affection. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

Logan smirked, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek. “I think it’s the other way around, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, feeling a little lighter. “Okay, fine. Let’s go back to town. But you’re carrying the bags this time.”

“Deal,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, how about you wear somethin’ comfortable, and we’ll head out?”

You nodded, grabbing one of his oversized flannels to throw on over a stretchy pair of leggings.

---

At the store, Logan fell into his usual rhythm of standing nearby with his arms crossed, a quiet force of nature who somehow made the maternity section feel safer. He didn’t rush you or make any comments about the overwhelming selection, but he was there every time you needed help reaching something or an opinion on the fit.

As you held up a pair of maternity jeans to inspect them, Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Those look like they could stretch to fit the Hulk.”

“They’re supposed to,” you said, half-laughing. “They have a stretchy waistband so they grow with you.”

“Smart,” he muttered, then glanced down the aisle where a couple of women were watching him. “Why do I feel like I’m the main attraction here?”

“Because you’re a grumpy-looking man in the maternity section,” you teased, smirking as you added the jeans to your cart. “They’re probably wondering if you got lost.”

Logan gave you a dry look. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” you said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

---

Back at the mansion, you were folding your new clothes in the bedroom when Laura appeared in the doorway.

“What’s in the bag?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Clothes,” you replied, holding up the new jeans. “For when the baby keeps growing.”

Laura frowned thoughtfully. “Your old ones didn’t fit anymore?”

“Not really,” you said. “But that’s okay. These will be a lot more comfortable.”

Laura climbed onto the bed and picked up one of your shirts, running her small fingers over the fabric. “Jean said your body is working hard because of the baby. Does it hurt?”

“Not really,” you said, sitting beside her. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable, but it’s worth it. You’ll get to meet them soon enough.”

Laura’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she placed the shirt back into the pile. “Jean said I should look after you. So if you need help, you have to tell me.”

Your heart swelled at her earnestness. “Deal. Thanks, Laura.”

She nodded seriously, then hopped off the bed. “Logan’s downstairs. He said you should eat something.”

You chuckled. “Of course he did. I’ll be down in a minute.”

As Laura scampered off, you shook your head, a fond smile on your face. Between Logan’s unwavering support and Laura’s fierce determination to take care of you, you knew you were in good hands.

---

Week 11

“I’m just a little worried about my age, Jean. I’ve been reading up on women getting pregnant at 40 and—”

Jean looked up from her clipboard, “you’re 40?”

You blinked, “…yeah? Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve known me for like 15 years.”

Jean froze, her pen hovering over the clipboard. “Hold on a second.” She spun her chair to face the desk, typing something into the computer at lightning speed. Her expression shifted from surprise to something closer to intrigue as she clicked through files.

“Jean?” You raised an eyebrow, clutching your sweater a little tighter around yourself. “What are you looking for?”

“Give me a second,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. “This is… interesting.”

You folded your arms, equal parts curious and impatient. “Interesting how?”

Jean finally turned back to you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “I don’t think your body knows how to age properly.”

“What?” you asked, laughing nervously. “What does that even mean?”

Jean gestured toward the computer. “Your time manipulation powers—they’re doing more than you think. From what I can tell, they’ve essentially slowed your aging process to a crawl. Biologically, you’re probably closer to 25 or 30.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “Wait… what?”

Jean chuckled softly. “I’m serious, Y/N. It explains why you don’t have the typical markers we’d expect in someone your age. Your body’s holding on in a way that’s… well, almost like Logan’s.”

You blinked, struggling to process. “You’re saying I’m… not 40?”

“You’re 40 chronologically,” Jean clarified. “But physically? Not so much.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That’s… wild. But it does explain why I don’t have as many gray hairs as I should.”

Jean smirked. “Exactly. And hey, this is good news for the pregnancy. Your body’s in its prime for this. Strong, healthy, ready to handle anything.”

“Even another shopping trip?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Jean laughed. “Especially that. Though, if Logan’s involved, I’d call it survival training.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Jean. For, you know, all of this.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “And hey, you’ve got this, Y/N. I’m here if you need anything.”

You nodded, letting her words sink in. It was a lot to process, but in some strange way, it was comforting. Another piece of the puzzle that was your life—and another reason Logan always seemed to look at you like you were timeless.

---

That evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, glasses slipping down your nose as you read a book. Logan walked into the living room, holding two mugs of tea. He set one on the side table next to you and sank into the armchair across from you.

“Jean say anything interesting today?” he asked, watching you over the rim of his mug.

You hesitated, glancing at him. “She said my powers are keeping me young.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging. “Apparently, my body’s been stuck in time this whole… time.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his mug down. “Guess that explains why you never change. You’ve looked the same since the day I met you.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Just makes sense. You’re always gonna be you, darlin’. Powers or not.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his tone hitting you square in the heart. “You really mean that?”

Logan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he held your gaze. “Y/N, I’ve known you through lifetimes. You’ve always been you—smart, stubborn, and the strongest person I know. This doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

He smirked, his eyes softening. “Someone’s gotta be.”

---

Week 12

Jean pressed the wand to your stomach, the ultrasound screen lighting up in grayscale. The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the machine. You held your breath, your fingers tightly gripping Logan's hand as you lay back on the examination table. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over your knuckles, a small, grounding gesture that helped calm your nerves.

Jean’s brow furrowed in concentration as she moved the wand around. Then, her face softened, a small smile spreading across her lips.

“There it is,” she murmured, pointing to a small flicker on the screen. “See that? That’s the heartbeat.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes welling with tears as you stared at the screen. That tiny, fluttering motion felt like the most miraculous thing you’d ever seen.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “That’s… that’s them?”

Logan’s hand tightened around yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixed on the tiny image. “That’s them,” he echoed, his voice low and full of wonder.

Jean nodded, her smile widening. “Twelve weeks along, and everything looks perfect. Strong heartbeat, healthy growth—your baby’s doing great.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes with your free hand. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real, sweetheart,” Logan said softly, his eyes never leaving the screen. There was a quiet reverence in his tone, as if he was afraid to break the spell.

Jean glanced between the two of you, her expression warm and affectionate. “Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak. Jean adjusted the settings, and a steady, rhythmic sound filled the room. It was the most beautiful noise you’d ever heard—a strong, rapid thrum that seemed to echo in your chest.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes glistening as he listened. “That’s incredible,” he murmured.

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling at the raw emotion on his face. “Logan…”

He met your gaze, his expression softening. “You did this, darlin’. You’re amazing.”

“We did this,” you corrected, your voice thick with emotion.

Jean gave you both a moment before breaking the silence. “I’ll print some pictures for you to take home. And if you’re ready, we can start talking about the next steps—appointments, tests, all that fun stuff.”

You nodded, still a little dazed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

As Jean moved to print the images, Logan helped you sit up, his hand resting protectively on your back. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You smiled up at him, your tears returning. “Better than okay. I’m happy. Really, really happy.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Good. You deserve that.”

Jean returned with the printed images, handing them to you with a grin. “Here you go. Something to stick on the fridge.”

You held the pictures carefully, your fingers trembling. “Thank you, Jean. For everything.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice gentle. “You know I’m always here for you.”

As you left the medical wing, Logan kept a steady hand on your lower back, his touch firm and reassuring. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the ultrasound pictures held tightly in your hands.

When you reached the living room, Laura was perched on the couch, a coloring book spread out in front of her. She looked up as you entered, her sharp eyes immediately zeroing in on the pictures.

“What’s that?” she asked, tilting her head.

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He crouched down to her level, his tone gentle. “It’s pictures of the baby.”

Laura’s eyes widened, and she slid off the couch, padding over to you. “The baby?”

You knelt down, holding the pictures out for her to see. “Yeah, look. That little spot right there? That’s your baby brother or sister.”

Laura studied the images closely, her expression unreadable. Then, she looked up at you, her brows furrowing. “They’re really small.”

“They’re growing,” Logan said with a small smile. “They’ll get bigger.”

Laura nodded slowly, then surprised you by leaning forward and wrapping her arms around your neck. “I’m gonna help take care of them,” she said firmly, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

Your throat tightened, and you hugged her back. “I know you will, sweetie. You’re going to be an amazing big sister.”

From behind you, Logan’s voice was quiet but filled with pride. “We’re all pretty lucky, huh?”

Laura pulled back, nodding solemnly. “Yeah. We are.”

---

Week 13

The sun filtered through the windows of the mansion’s common area, casting warm streaks of light across the hardwood floor. You sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, reviewing the lesson plans for your upcoming physics class. Laura sat across from you, her coloring book open, crayons scattered around like little explosions of color. She was quiet, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she worked on her masterpiece.

Logan’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway, his familiar silhouette appearing in the doorway. He held a grocery bag in one hand and a small bouquet of wildflowers in the other. His eyes met yours, and he gave you that small, crooked smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Brought somethin’ for you,” he said, holding up the flowers.

You blinked, surprised, as he walked over to you. “Flowers? Logan, what’s the occasion?”

He set them on the table in front of you, then leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Do I need a reason?”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the soft petals. “No, but it’s sweet. Thank you.”

Laura glanced up from her coloring, eyeing the flowers critically. “Why flowers? She doesn’t eat flowers.”

Logan snorted, ruffling her hair as he sat down at the table. “Not everything’s about food, kid.”

Laura frowned, clearly unconvinced, but went back to her coloring.

Logan leaned back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking. “How you feelin’ today?”

You shrugged, setting your lesson plans aside. “Tired, but not as bad as last week. Jean said the second trimester is supposed to be easier.”

He nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Good. You need to take it easy.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I’m pregnant, Logan. Not fragile.”

He smirked. “You’re both. Humor me.”

Before you could respond, Laura spoke up, her head still bent over her coloring. “Are you gonna get fat now?”

You choked on a laugh, while Logan let out a bark of amusement. “Laura!” you said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“What?” she asked innocently, looking up at you. “Jean said the baby makes your belly big.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Logan said, his grin widening. “You’re gonna be waddlin’ around here in no time.”

You glared at him, though your lips twitched with amusement. “Don’t you start.”

“Not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, darlin’,” he teased, leaning forward to rest his chin in his hand. “Kinda lookin’ forward to it.”

Laura tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Why?”

Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you, his voice quieter now. “’Cause it means the baby’s growin’. Means we’re gettin’ closer to meetin’ ‘em.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot all your fatigue, all your worries. You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

Laura made a face. “You’re being mushy again.”

Logan ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, kid.”

---

Week 14

You opened up the freezer, looking for your carton of strawberry ice cream—something you didn’t particularly like before getting pregnant. You moved around some of the food in the freezer, looking for the familiar carton.

As you were looking, Scott and Hank came into the kitchen, putting two small bowls in the sink.

You peeked your head around the freezer door, eyes narrowing in disbelief. The carton of strawberry ice cream you had been craving for days was nowhere to be found. Instead, there were two small bowls in the sink, both with remnants of what looked like your ice cream.

Scott and Hank were standing nearby, chatting like nothing was amiss. Your hand gripped the edge of the freezer door tighter, your jaw clenching. You had specifically labeled that carton. In big bold letters. Y/N ONLY.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice a little sharper than usual as you stepped into the kitchen. You weren’t about to let this slide. “It was labeled.”

Scott turned around, his face a picture of innocence—though you knew better. He adjusted his glasses, a little nervous. “Oh, uh… sorry, Y/N. We just figured… you know, you weren’t around and—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could even stop yourself, you were across the counter, right in his space. Your fingers shot out, grabbing the collar of his shirt and tugging him toward you. “You figured? You figured?”

Scott's eyes widened, clearly startled. “Y/N—"

"Don't Y/N me. That was my ice cream. My craving,” you snapped, glaring at him. “This wasn’t up for negotiation. You don’t just take something that’s clearly not yours.”

Hank froze, eyes darting between you and Scott, unsure whether to intervene.

Scott, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat, his face turning a shade of red you rarely saw. “Look, I—"

“Don’t make excuses. You—” You gave his shirt one more yank, your voice lower but heated, “—you knew it was mine. And yet here we are with two empty bowls. What part of ‘Y/N ONLY’ do you not understand?”

You were so worked up, you didn’t even hear Logan's heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He had been coming back from the garage, his usual silent presence somehow more imposing when you were mad.

"Hey." Logan's voice cut through the tension in the room, his tone low but firm. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes narrowing when he saw the situation. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, trying to keep you calm. “What’s going on here?”

Your hands were still gripping Scott’s shirt, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears. You didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but the irritation was bubbling over. “They took my ice cream, Logan. And not just a scoop. The whole carton.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at Scott and Hank before settling his gaze on you. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer, his presence radiating a calm that made the air in the room feel a little less thick.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice smooth, but you could hear the slight edge of a smile in his words. He placed a hand on your back, gently guiding you away from Scott. You released the collar of Scott’s shirt, but only because Logan was there, giving you that quiet, steady presence you couldn’t resist.

Scott coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, it was,” you muttered under your breath, still glaring at the now-empty freezer.

Logan gave Scott a pointed look. “How many times have I told you, Scott? Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” He turned to Hank, who was still silently observing the situation. “And you, too.”

Hank held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t even know it was labeled. It wasn’t my fault. I was just—”

“—Just being an idiot?” Logan finished for him, eyes flickering over the pair of them.

Scott didn’t respond right away, clearly not prepared for Logan’s intensity. Hank, on the other hand, was nervously shifting, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” Hank said, his voice apologetic but unsure.

Logan's gaze flickered to Hank, then back to Scott. “You don’t get to decide that, not when it’s someone else’s. You’ve got a whole damn kitchen to raid, and you choose her craving?” He turned back to you, his hand briefly squeezing your shoulder. “You good?”

You let out a slow breath, the irritation still bubbling but mostly contained now. “I’m fine. Just… seriously. The one thing I’ve been craving for weeks, and they—”

Logan’s hand on your shoulder tightened just enough to ground you. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” He turned back to Scott and Hank, his expression hardening. “And just for the record, I’m not going to let this slide.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Scott said, though it was clear he didn’t know how to salvage the situation. He seemed genuinely remorseful, but that didn’t change what had happened.

You stared at them, your pulse still a little elevated. “You’re both lucky I’m pregnant right now and not about to throttle you.”

Logan let out a soft laugh, his anger melting into a small, more familiar smirk. He placed his hand on your back, guiding you toward the kitchen table. “I’ll handle it, darlin’.” He turned toward the two men, who were looking somewhat sheepish. “You two better make this right.”

Before either of them could respond, you shot them a pointed look. “Yeah, you can start by getting me another carton of ice cream. And this time, don’t touch it.”

Scott and Hank exchanged uneasy glances, clearly defeated. “Got it,” Scott muttered.

With a final, almost resigned sigh, you pulled out the chair and sank into it. Logan slid into the seat next to you, his hand sliding over your back in a slow, reassuring motion. He shot Scott and Hank one more look before they silently left the kitchen, no doubt off to “make things right.”

“I swear,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I’ve got enough on my plate without having to deal with this.”

Logan chuckled quietly, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. “You’re doing fine. You’ve got a lot to handle. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and affection. “Though, next time they touch your stuff, I’ll make sure they know what a mistake they made.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this a little too much.”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. But only when it’s deserved.”

Just then, Laura appeared in the doorway, her small figure looking up at the two of you with a serious expression. “What happened to your ice cream?” she asked innocently, her eyes already darting between you and Logan.

You glanced at Logan, sharing a look. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re working on it, kid.”

Laura tilted her head, looking confused but not asking any more questions. Instead, she padded over to you, climbing into your lap with surprising ease for a five-year-old. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her little hands resting on your stomach.

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the gesture. “Yeah, sweetie, I’m okay. Just a little… frustrated.”

Laura nodded solemnly, her brow furrowing. “I’ll protect your ice cream next time.”

Logan’s laugh was low, but it felt good to hear. “I’m sure you will, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair lightly, then turned back to you. “Guess we’re all looking out for each other.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

---

Week 15

You walked out of the bathroom after finishing your shower, seeing both Logan and Laura on the bed with a book in his hands.

“Hey, you two. What’re you readin’?”

Laura, who had an apple she’d barely taken a bite of, crawled to the end of the bed with all the solemnity of a child on a very important mission. She held the fruit out, lining it up with your stomach like she was conducting a scientific study. Her small face was scrunched up in concentration, her dark eyes flickering between the apple and your belly.

“It says the baby’s the size of this now,” she announced matter-of-factly, her voice a mix of curiosity and pride at having learned something new.

You blinked at her, then at Logan, who was lounging against the headboard with a well-worn pregnancy book open in his hands. His eyes met yours, the corners crinkling as a grin tugged at his lips. “She’s been real focused on this chapter,” he said, his tone warm, amused.

Laura turned back to you, still holding the apple in front of your stomach like it was a critical experiment. “Is it true? Is it really this big?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Yep, that’s about right,” you said, adjusting the towel around your shoulders as you sat on the edge of the bed. “Fifteen weeks, so it’s about the size of an apple.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at the fruit like she didn’t quite trust it. “That doesn’t seem very big.”

“Well, it’s gotta start small,” Logan interjected, flipping a page in the book. “Baby’s got a lotta growin’ left to do.”

Laura nodded slowly, seeming to accept that logic. She finally took a proper bite of the apple, chewing thoughtfully before climbing back up the bed to settle between the two of you. “What happens next?” she asked, craning her neck to look at the book in Logan’s hands.

Logan raised an eyebrow at you, silently asking if you were okay with the impromptu lesson. When you nodded, he shifted the book so Laura could see the page. “Next couple weeks, baby gets bigger, starts growin’ stronger. Might even start hearin’ things soon,” he explained, his voice patient in a way you’d only ever seen him use with her.

Laura’s eyes widened. “Like what?”

“Like voices. Yours, mine…” Logan paused, his gaze flickering to yours, softening. “Y/N’s.”

Her head snapped to you, her expression alight with wonder. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed, your heart squeezing at the way she called you that so naturally now. “The baby will hear you too, though. So you’ll have to be careful what you say, okay?”

Laura’s face turned serious again, and she nodded like she was accepting an important mission. “I won’t say anything bad.”

Logan chuckled, setting the book aside and ruffling her hair. “Good. Don’t want the kid comin’ out with your attitude.”

Laura scowled, swatting at his hand. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“Sure you don’t, kid,” Logan teased, his grin widening.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help smiling at the exchange. “Alright, that’s enough,” you said, reaching over to tug Laura into your lap. She settled there easily, curling against you like she’d been doing it her whole life.

For a moment, the three of you sat there in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the mansion in the background. It was a rare, quiet moment, and you let yourself sink into it, your hand resting lightly over your stomach.

“You think the baby will like apples?” Laura asked suddenly, her head resting against your chest.

“Probably,” you said, running your fingers through her dark hair. “Especially since you’re already setting the example.”

Logan smirked, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. “Yeah, but I bet they’ll like burgers better.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Not everything has to be about burgers, Logan.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Just sayin’. It’s in their blood.”

Laura giggled, and you couldn’t help laughing too, the sound lightening the air around you. For all the chaos and uncertainty that life at the mansion brought, moments like this—small, quiet, filled with love—were what made it all worth it.

---

Week 17

After sitting on the couch for 30 minutes, enjoying a movie with Logan and Laura—though you had been drifting off since it started—you realized, once again, you had to go to the bathroom. Pregnancy had brought on all kinds of changes, but the constant bathroom trips were quickly climbing your personal list of “most inconvenient side effects.”

You stretched as you stood, steadying yourself by placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He glanced up at you, concern flickering in his eyes the moment he noticed the hesitation in your movement.

“You alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, the same roughness that usually made your heart flutter, now laced with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a faint smile, adjusting your glasses. You hated when your body betrayed your independence, even in these little ways. “Just the baby crowding everything.”

As you stepped away, a faint dizziness made your vision swim. You instinctively reached out for support, clutching the side of the couch as the world wavered for a moment.

Logan was on his feet before you could take another breath, his hands steadying you with the kind of ease that came from years of knowing exactly how to support you. “Whoa there, take it easy,” he murmured, his strong arm curling around your waist.

Laura, who had been leaning against Logan moments before, looked over with wide, concerned eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, exhaling slowly as the dizziness passed. “Yeah, just stood up too fast.” You looked at Logan, who wasn’t quite convinced, his hand still resting on the small of your back. “I’m fine, really. It’s nothing Jean didn’t warn me about.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop worryin’,” Logan said, his voice firm but tender. “You’ve gotta be more careful.”

Laura jumped off the couch and padded over to you, her small hand slipping into yours. “Do you need me to get Jean?” she asked seriously, her forehead creased with concern.

Your heart melted a little at her earnestness. “I don’t think Jean needs to know about every time I get dizzy,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t mean it ain’t somethin’ to keep an eye on,” Logan interjected. “You want me to go with you?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “To the bathroom? I think I can handle that, Logan.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully relax. “Alright, but if it happens again, you’re tellin’ Jean.”

“Deal,” you said, though you knew he’d end up telling her himself if it came to that.

Laura tugged your hand gently, looking up at you with determination. “I’ll stay here, but if you need anything, yell. I’ll come running.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

As you shuffled off to the bathroom, Logan’s voice floated after you. “Take it slow, darlin’. No rush.”

You could hear Laura whispering something to Logan as you made your way down the hall. She was probably asking if you were going to be okay or demanding to know how she could help. Her protective streak, much like Logan’s, was something you’d grown to love more than you ever thought possible.

When you returned, Logan had coaxed Laura back onto the couch, but both their eyes snapped to you the moment you stepped into the room.

“Back in one piece,” you announced, trying to lighten the mood.

Laura crawled into your lap the moment you sat down, her tiny frame settling against your growing belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. She laid her head against your chest and muttered, “You scared me.”

You kissed the top of her head softly. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll be more careful.”

Logan pulled the blanket up around the both of you, his arm draping along the back of the couch. The flickering light of the TV reflected in his warm eyes as he tilted his head to look at you. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m sure,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “But thanks for looking out for me. Both of you.”

“Always,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before resting back against the couch.

Laura’s tiny hand curled over your bump as if guarding the baby herself. “No more dizzy,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll try my best,” you whispered, your heart swelling. Moments like this—wrapped in warmth, family close—reminded you just how much you had to look forward to.

---

Week 18

Jean glanced up from the monitor, her expression warm as she held the ultrasound wand steady. “Do you want to know the gender?” she asked, her voice gentle but curious. Her gaze flicked between you and Logan, her best attempt at gauging your reaction.

You glanced over at Logan, who was standing beside you with his arms crossed, his usual tough exterior softened by the faintest of smiles as he watched the monitor. The rhythmic whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, and for a moment, it was the only sound.

Logan’s eyes shifted to you, his brow quirking slightly. “Your call, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady.

You bit your lip, considering it for a moment, but the decision had already been made in your heart. “I think… I’d like to be surprised,” you said, looking back at Jean with a small, shy smile. “We’ve waited this long. What’s a few more months?”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Yeah, I’m with her. Let’s keep it a surprise.”

Jean grinned, clearly amused. “A surprise it is, then,” she said, setting the wand aside. “You’re officially stronger-willed than most.”

You smirked, adjusting your glasses as you shifted slightly on the exam table. “Well, we’re used to waiting. What’s another milestone?”

Jean’s expression softened at that, the unspoken weight of your journey hanging in the air. “The baby looks perfect,” she assured you, her tone quiet but firm. “Healthy, strong heartbeat, and measuring right on track. You’re doing great.”

Logan rested a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. “Told you,” he murmured, his voice warm and proud.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was genuine. “I never said I wasn’t doing great.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning back against the counter as she made a few notes in your chart. “You’re both doing great,” she said, glancing at Logan. “Even if one of you is a little overprotective.”

Logan shrugged, unbothered by the comment. “Can’t help it. She’s carrying my kid.”

“Your kid and her kid,” Jean teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. He turned his attention back to you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as if grounding himself in the moment. “You ready to head back?”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding as you adjusted your shirt. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said, her tone warm and sincere. “And remember, Y/N—if you need anything, you’ve got me on speed dial. Don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded, sliding off the table with Logan’s steadying hand at your elbow. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised.

As you made your way back to the mansion’s main hall, Logan’s hand remained at the small of your back, a protective presence that you’d grown to cherish. The sound of children’s laughter echoed down the hall, a reminder of how much life the mansion now held.

Laura was the first to spot you as you stepped into the living room, her dark eyes lighting up as she ran over to meet you. “Did you find out?” she asked eagerly, her small hands tugging at yours.

You crouched down, meeting her gaze with a smile. “We decided to wait,” you said softly. “It’ll be a surprise when the baby’s born.”

Laura’s face scrunched up in thought before she nodded firmly. “Okay. But I still think it’s a girl.”

Logan ruffled her hair as he passed by, his grin widening. “We’ll see, kiddo.”

One of the other children peeked out from behind the couch, their curiosity evident. “When’s the baby gonna be here?” they asked.

You smiled, settling onto the couch with Laura climbing into your lap. “Not for a while yet,” you said. “But I promise, you’ll all be the first to know when it’s time.”

As the children gathered around, peppering you with questions and theories about the baby, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of the moment settle over you. Logan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and a rare softness in his expression as he watched the scene unfold.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

---

Week 20

You were in the kitchen, eating some mango slices when Ororo came in, holding a few grocery bags. “Here ya go. You’re really going through them, huh?”

You grabbed the four-pack of tissue boxes, sighing as you placed them on the counter. “Yeah, they’ll all be gone in less than a week though.” You opened one of the boxes, pulling out a tissue to dab at your nose. “Pregnancy perk number… what are we on now? Five hundred? Congestion, my old friend.”

Ororo laughed softly as she began unpacking groceries. “I read that happens to a lot of pregnant women. Something about hormones making your nasal passages swell?”

You nodded, tossing the used tissue into the nearby trash can. “Exactly. It’s called pregnancy rhinitis. Apparently, it’s totally normal, but nobody warned me I’d feel like I had a permanent cold for nine months.”

“Well,” Ororo said, placing a carton of eggs in the fridge, “at least it’s not one of the really awful side effects. And hey, your sense of humor’s still intact.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, but Logan’s probably going to start buying tissues in bulk soon. He caught me trying to steal one of his bandanas the other day.”

Ororo shook her head with a smile. “He’d let you use every bandana he owns if it made you feel better.”

“True,” you admitted, warmth spreading through your chest. Logan’s overprotectiveness could be exhausting at times, but it came from such a genuine place that it was hard not to appreciate it.

As Ororo started chatting about the latest drama among the students—something involving Bobby accidentally freezing the pool—you were reaching for another tissue when it happened. A sudden, fluttery sensation deep in your belly, like the faint brush of butterfly wings. You froze, your hand resting on your abdomen as a quiet gasp escaped your lips.

“What’s wrong?” Ororo asked immediately, her brow furrowing in concern.

Before you could answer, Logan appeared in the doorway, his expression tense and alert. “What happened?” His eyes darted to you, then to Ororo, searching for any sign of trouble.

You blinked up at him, your heart racing—not from fear, but from the realization of what you’d just felt. “I think… the baby just kicked.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, and he was at your side in an instant. “You sure?” His hand moved hesitantly toward your stomach, stopping just short as if waiting for permission.

You nodded, taking his hand and guiding it to the spot where you’d felt the movement. “Right here,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the anticipation almost tangible. Then, faint but unmistakable, the flutter came again. Logan’s fingers twitched slightly against your belly, his eyes softening as a rare, unguarded smile spread across his face.

“There it is,” he said quietly, awe evident in his voice. “That’s our kid.”

Ororo’s expression melted into one of pure joy as she stepped closer. “That’s amazing, Y/N. And so early—you’re what, twenty weeks?”

You nodded, your hand still resting over Logan’s. “Yeah, twenty weeks today. Jean said it could happen anytime now, but I wasn’t expecting it to feel… like this.”

Logan chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over your stomach. “What’d you think it’d feel like? A punch?”

“Honestly? Kind of,” you admitted with a laugh. “But this is… wow.”

Ororo grinned, picking up her empty grocery bags. “I’ll leave you two to enjoy the moment. But let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Ororo,” you said, your voice warm with gratitude.

As she left, Logan leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“More than alright,” you said, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m… I can’t even put it into words.”

Logan’s hand lingered on your belly, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and tenderness. “Our kid’s got some timing, huh? Knew I’d be right here when it happened.”

You chuckled softly. “They’re already showing off, just like their dad.”

He smirked at that, but the teasing look in his eyes gave way to something deeper as he met your gaze. “I still can’t believe this is real sometimes,” he said, his voice low and rough. “After everything…”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “It’s real, Logan. We’re here. We’re doing this.”

He covered your hand with his, leaning into your touch. “Yeah. We are.”

The baby kicked again, and Logan’s grin widened as he gave your stomach a playful, protective pat. “Already makin’ sure we don’t forget they’re here.”

“As if we ever could,” you said with a laugh, your heart full. Moments like this made every struggle, every tear, worth it. This was the life you’d fought for, and you weren’t taking a single second of it for granted.

go read part 2 for the complete chapter!!

also, i know i kinda brushed over reader not really aging because of her time powers, but i found those two scenes really hard to write for some reason so just go with it, lol

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The Senator From Montana

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A Concession of Passion

Featuring Jon Tester

The air was crisp in Great Falls, Montana, as the sun began to set on November 6, 2024. The crowd gathered at the Civic Center was a mix of supporters, family, and press, all awaiting Senator Jon Tester's concession speech. The election results were clear; Republican Tim Sheehy had won the Senate seat.

Jon Tester, a robust man with the weathered look of someone who's spent a lifetime in the Montana fields, took the stage, his face a mask of disappointment but with an underlying strength. He spoke of his gratitude, his commitment to Montana, and his acceptance of the voters' decision. His words were met with applause, some with tears, others with a resigned nod.

As the crowd dispersed, the weight of the concession settled on Tester. Walking back to his campaign office, his steps were heavy, each one echoing the end of an era. But waiting for him was Jack Lucas, his male executive assistant, whose presence had always been a source of comfort and more. Jack, with his sharp suit and even sharper eyes, locked the door behind them, ensuring privacy.

"You did what you could, Jon," he said softly, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to touch Tester's arm, a gesture of comfort that carried the weight of something more intimate.

"I know, Jack, but it's hard to let go," Tester replied, his voice low, his eyes searching Jack's for the solace he desperately needed.

“I feel like getting my dick sucked. You want to suck the cock of an old dirt farmer?” Jon's voice was rough, laced with the gravel of his rural Montanan roots, as he unzipped his fly with a practiced ease. His jeans, worn and faded from years of hard work, slid down just enough to reveal his boxers. He pulled out his cock, not yet hard, a testament to his defeat but still impressive, nestled in a thatch of dark, curly hair.

“Ain’t much to it today. Guess the loss took all the starch out of it. But I’m sure you can make it hard,” he said, giving his member a casual wave.

Jack, with his stocky, athletic build, was eager to shift Jon's focus from political loss to physical pleasure. He knelt before Jon, his lips parting to envelop Jon’s soft cock, his tongue swirling around the tip with expert precision.

"Yea, I could use a little pleasure," Jon murmured, his voice a rumble of anticipation. "Maybe it’ll help me think of something other than losing my senate seat."

As Jack worked, Jon's cock grew, hardening, filling out to its full eight inches, thick and veined, the head turning a deep, lustful red.

“That feels damn right good. Swallow it all the way. I know you can do it,” Jon urged, his hands guiding Jack’s head with a mix of strength and care.

Jon's cock was a sight to behold, a column of flesh that seemed to pulse with life. Jack managed to take it all, his throat accommodating the girth, feeling the senator's pulse against his tongue. Jon's hand in Jack’s hair was firm, controlling the rhythm of his thrusts until he abruptly withdrew.

“Come on, Lucas, let's find a room. I want to fuck you,” Jon commanded, his voice thick with desire.

In the privacy of their chosen room, he instructed, "Take off all your clothes," his own plaid shirt and jeans soon discarded, revealing his robust, slightly hairy chest and the hard lines of his belly.

As Jack unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes lingered on Jon's belly, imagining the warmth and firmness pressed against his cheek. The sight of Jon pulling down his boxers, revealing his thick, now fully erect cock, and the heavy, low-hanging balls beneath, was almost too much.

“Get on the bed,” Jon ordered as Jack stepped out of his underwear, his own cock bobbing eagerly.

Jack lay back on the crisp white sheets, and Jon straddled him, his back to Jack's face, presenting his muscular, round ass. Jon leaned back, his asshole descending towards Jack's eager mouth. “Lick my asshole!” Jon commanded with the authority of a man used to giving orders. Jack's tongue met the tender, pink bud, tasting the bitter, earthy essence of Jon. Jon's sigh was deep, resonant, his body relaxing into the sensation. Jack's tongue danced around Jon's hole, then delved in, his hands spreading Jon's cheeks apart to delve deeper.

“Oh! Yea!” Jon's shout was loud, filled with raw pleasure.

“Fuck yeah! Fuck wonderful!” He grabbed Jack's cock, his grip firm as he jerked him off.

“Stick it deeper!” Jon demanded, his body hunching involuntarily with each flick of Jack's tongue.

Suddenly, Jon spun around, lifting Jack's legs, exposing him completely. He positioned himself between Jack's legs, his large hands gripping Jack's thighs with a strength that belied his age. Jack felt the heat of Jon's cock against his entrance. Jon didn't waste time; he spat into his hand, lubing himself up with a rough efficiency.

With a grunt, Jon pushed inside Jack, the sensation causing both to gasp. Jon's cock slid in to the hilt, his low-hanging balls slapping against Jack with each thrust. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies moving together, the slap of skin, the groans of pleasure, and the occasional curse from Jon, who seemed to find a particular joy in the raw, unfiltered expression of his desire.

“Fuck me, Jon. Give it to me,” Jack cried, his eyes locked on Jon’s weathered, handsome face. He wanted to remember this moment, this connection. Jack's hands roamed over Jon's back, feeling the muscles tense and relax with each movement.

“You like having my cock up your ass?” Jon panted, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he neared his climax. Jack, overwhelmed by the intensity, could only nod, his own release building.

“You're a good man, Lucas. A real good man!” Jon growled, pulling back to the tip before ramming home again.

“Damn if your asshole isn’t hotter than Sharla’s pussy,” he admitted, his strokes becoming more forceful, driving Jack into a frenzy of bucking and moaning.

Amidst this intense coupling, Jon leaned down, capturing Jack's mouth in a kiss fierce with passion, their tongues battling. Then, with a guttural groan, Jon came inside Jack, his orgasm shaking his large frame. The kiss persisted, passionate and unyielding, even as Jon's climax subsided. Jack wrapped his legs around Jon, not wanting to lose the connection, the intimacy.

Jon slid down, taking Jack's cock in his mouth, his eyes never leaving Jack's, his movements deliberate and skilled. Just before Jack could reach his peak, Jon pulled away, straddling him. He guided Jack's cock to his ass, lowering himself with a groan that spoke volumes of his desire. Jack's hands spread Jon's cheeks, feeling the tight clench around his shaft. Jon's body moved with a surprising grace, up and down, his heavy body a beautiful contrast to the raw act they were engaged in.

When Jack came, it was with a cry that mingled with Jon's deeper groan as his release filled Jon, their bodies shuddering together in the aftermath.

Afterward, they lay there, catching their breath, the reality of what had just transpired settling in. Jon rolled off Jack, his body heavy with satisfaction. He reached for his clothes, the moment of intimacy fading back into the world of politics and public life.

“I’m gonna miss this, Lucas,” Jon said, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He pulled Jack into a brief, tight embrace before standing, his movements slow, as if he wanted to stay in this moment just a little longer.

As he dressed, he glanced back at Jack, who was watching him with a mix of admiration and sadness. “Keep in touch, alright? Maybe when the dust settles, we can find some more time for… this.”

With that, Jon left, leaving Jack with the lingering warmth of their encounter and the echo of his words, a promise of perhaps more to come, in a world where everything was about to change.

Note: This narrative is entirely fictional and meant for entertainment purposes. It does not imply or suggest any real-life events, behaviors, or relationships involving Jon Tester, Jack Lucas, or any other real person.

[its-avalon-08]

🏁 pairing : Daniel Riccardo x Verstappen!Sister!Reader

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

🏎️ summary: he was the honey badger with a grin that could silence storms, and she was max verstappen’s little sister—always there, always watching, never saying too much. they’d spent years orbiting each other, but after singapore'24 when daniel quietly stepped away from formula 1, everything shattered. now she’s left wondering if he was ever just a friend or the great love she let slip through her fingers without ever saying a word.

themes : fluff, flirting, angst, over protective brother, anxiety, emotional, slight smut in a few chapters, overshadowing, loneliness

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter 2: the paths we take

Early 2025

Y/N in Monaco

The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her keyboard echoed through the clean, open-plan workspace of TerraData Solutions—a green tech company pioneering systems for sustainable city modeling. Y/N sat with a straight back, her dual monitors glowing with charts, CO2 metrics, and client data dashboards. (guys sorry I dont know alot of technical terms so this is what came up when I googled tech terms) Her calendar was packed, her inbox relentlessly full, and her deadlines always inching closer. H

But she preferred it that way. Busy meant she didn’t have time to think. To feel. She drowned herself in her new life, a life without a certain curly haired Australian. It had been months since that night in Singapore.

Months since Daniel looked her in the eyes and tore down everything she’d believed about him—with one cruel, furious flick of his words. And not once—not for a second—had she looked back.

She had never unfollowed him on Instagram. That would be obvious. Too harsh. Too real. But she never watched his stories. Never clicked on his name. Never let the algorithm win. His posts would pop up, all showing the crazy things he had been up to, but not once did she click that little red heart.

His contact was still in her phone, hidden deep in a folder labeled "old numbers", but even the idea of clicking it made her chest clench.

She poured herself into work—data presentations for city councils, testing their waste management model in Copenhagen, keynote prep for the GreenTech Forward summit in Zurich. Y/N Verstappen was moving forward. Professionally. Quietly. Without him. She didn't need him.

Still, on nights when the streetlights flickered outside her flat window and the hum of city life faded, she would sit on her couch and scroll through Instagram—thumb hovering just for a second too long over a mutual friend’s photo. If Daniel was tagged, she scrolled faster.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

That was her only rule. That was the only way to survive.

Meanwhile Daniel in Sydney

The air up here was cold and thin. It sliced right through him—cleaner than any adrenaline rush from the grid ever had.

Daniel stood on the edge of a bungee platform suspended above a canyon, arms outstretched as the wind whipped at his navy blue hoodie. A GoPro was strapped to his chest, capturing every moment for his memory vlog.

He jumped. And for a moment, he felt everything and nothing all at once. The honey badger's classic laugh echoed through the serene space, making everyone who heard it smile. He was happy. He was truly happy.

It wasn’t that he hated life after Formula One. It had its perks: freedom, sleep, food without a calorie tracker so he could eat all the cheeseburgers he wanted , and thrill-seeking adventures he couldn’t even think about while under contract.

Skydiving in Dubai. Wingsuiting in Norway. Dirt biking through remote Australian deserts. Surfing monstrous waves in Maui.

He was living. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But when the rush wore off and the cameras stopped rolling, Daniel found himself doing something far less thrilling.

Checking her Instagram. It wasn't like he missed her (he did but he was in so much denial).

Late at night, after his friends fell asleep. Quiet moments in airport lounges. Even once, standing in the middle of a Patagonia glacier.

Search: @ynverstappen (Still following you)

Her grid was filled with aesthetic posts—clips of her presenting climate models, photos from Berlin with her coworkers, one grainy carousel from a boat day that made his stomach twist. Not a single post he could like without looking desperate. And God, she still followed him back.

Daniel never sent a text. Never left a DM. Never clicked that call button. But he always looked. And hated himself for it.

Y/N: She stared at a presentation slide titled “Sustainable Living by 2030”, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her colleagues praised her for her talent and skill. She smiled and laughed along with them.

Daniel: He was laughing at his family's farmhouse as his friends and him drove dirt bikes. He was having the time of his life.

Y/N: In Zurich, she delivered her keynote flawlessly. A standing ovation. She thanked the crowd, smiled politely, and quietly slipped away into the dressing room… where she sat alone for fifteen minutes and stared at the floor. She was thriving but why did she feel empty?

Daniel: At 2:17 a.m. in his Queenstown lodge, he watched her newest reel—some shot of her sipping matcha in Amsterdam, laughing at something off-camera. He hovered over the heart. Didn’t press it. Just locked his phone and stared at the ceiling.

Two people. Worlds apart. One walking forward as if nothing broke her. The other pretending he hadn’t been the one to break her in the first place.

And neither of them knew how to find the way back.

-

fast forward to first race of 2025 in Melbourne

The streets of Melbourne were warm and golden, casting a glow over the quiet laneway cafés that had already begun to fill up with fans and team personnel for the start of the 2025 Formula One season.

The weekend buzzed with energy, the streets adorned with posters of this year's contenders—Oscar Piastri's face on every other billboard, alongside Antonelli, Bearman, and the newest rookies.

Y/N Verstappen, dressed in a white linen shirt and loose denim shorts, was trying to enjoy a peaceful morning before the chaos of the Grand Prix began. She wasn’t working, just here with family—technically on vacation, her heart fluttering ever so often in fear of running into a certain someone since they were on his home turf.

“P, slow down!” she called, laughing softly as the little girl skipped ahead. Max’s stepdaughter, now five and braver than ever, was practically a blur of curls and excitement as she darted into the café ahead of Y/N. She had a babyccino obsession and a habit of naming pigeons she saw on the sidewalks.

“Penelope!” Y/N said again, more firm this time, just as the little girl let out a delighted screech while rushing towards someone's tanned figure.

“DANNYYYY!”

Y/N froze. Her head snapped up.

And there he was.

Daniel Ricciardo, in the flesh, in a loose white t-shirt with a cherry cola graphic and shorts, holding a takeaway coffee and blinking in pure surprise as a small human missile launched herself at his legs.

“P?!” Daniel exclaimed, beaming as he bent down to scoop her up in one fluid motion, laughing. “What the heck are you doing here, little monster?!”

He spun her around, making her giggle wildly, his voice coated with warmth—the same warmth that once made Y/N’s stomach flutter. Now it made her freeze.

She took a breath. Straightened her shoulders. And walked forward.

Daniel's grin almost left his face as his eyes found hers.

Y/N.

His heart did something stupid in his chest. But her expression didn’t change. Cool. Calm. Unshaken.

“Hi,” she said with a small, polite smile. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

Daniel cleared his throat, still holding Penelope. “Yeah, I—uh, I’ve been in town a few days. Thought I’d spend time with my family, hang with some mates.”

“Right,” she said smoothly, her voice a glacier. “Of course. How very fun.” Her eyes were cold, her posture distant.

He felt the iciness instantly, and it was like someone had flipped a switch in his head. This was the first time he was seeing her since that night in Singapore.

And she was acting like they’d never even fought. Like he was just some distant friend she hadn’t caught up with in a while.

It freaked him out more than if she’d screamed at him. Her indifference stung him.

“Bubba, look!” Penelope giggled, still clinging to Daniel’s neck. “Danny’s here! He’s back!”

“Looks like it,” Y/N replied, smiling at Penelope but not even sparing Daniel another glance.

Penelope reached out, still half in Daniel’s arms, and grabbed Y/N’s wrist. “Come, sit with us! Please Danny!!!”

“Oh—uh…” Daniel hesitated, glancing at Y/N.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Why not?”

They sat at a small outdoor table, Penelope nestled between them like a tiny chaos agent sent by the gods of awkward reunions. Y/N sipped her iced latte. Daniel nursed his black coffee. Their knees brushed under the table once when Penelope kicked her legs.

“Where have you been, Danny?” Penelope asked, swinging her legs back and forth. “You weren’t in any of the races last time.”

“I’ve been… around,” he said, his eyes flicking to Y/N before quickly looking away. “Doing some cool stuff. Traveling. Trying not to break bones.”

Penelope gasped. “Did you break a bone?!”

“No,” he laughed, “but I almost did. Jumped off a cliff in Norway.”

Y/N didn’t react. Not even a raised eyebrow. Y/N was simply smiling at P and her happy face.

Penelope looked between them, frowning slightly. “Bubba are you okay? Why aren't you two talking?”

Daniel choked on his coffee.

Y/N tilted her head and smiled sweetly at the little girl. “Aw my darling. Daniel and I are perfectly fine.”

Daniel felt her words like a slap. They were fine? Fine? She was acting like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t shattered her trust, broken whatever fragile thing they had with that night in Singapore.

Penelope scrunched her nose. “You’re both being sooooo weird.”

“I think you’re just imagining things,” Y/N said, brushing a curl out of Penelope’s face. “Danny’s just nervous. Maybe he's just too excited to meet u you again.”

Daniel blinked. “Oh- I'm not nervous.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Relax, Daniel. No one’s asking you to stay.”

He swallowed hard. “Didn’t say I wasn’t staying.”

“Didn’t say you were welcome, either,” she said under her breath, so softly Penelope wouldn’t hear—but Daniel did.

Penelope looked between them again, sighing. “Adults are so annoying.”

Daniel let out a tight laugh. “Tell me about it.”

A silence fell, awkward and dense. Daniel tapped his fingers on his cup. Y/N checked her phone. Penelope licked the foam off her babyccino mustache.

Y/N stood abruptly. “Alright, little bean. Let’s get going. Max will be wondering where we are.”

Penelope pouted. “Can’t Danny come?”

Y/N paused, then looked at Daniel—expression unreadable.

“Maybe some other time schat,” she said simply, and turned, holding Penelope’s hand.

Daniel watched her walk away, a cold wind suddenly much stronger than the Melbourne breeze slicing through him. He hadn’t expected her to cry. Or shout. But this?This careful, polished indifference?

It terrified him. And he couldn’t stop watching her go.

taglist : @cheer-bear-go-vroom , @britenysbitch @yllomhej @stuffyownswrld @princessria127 @easy4 @gluecksbaerchieee @percysaidnever @sltwins @sainz0fthetimes @landofotographyy @hashcakes @mskate105 @formula1girly81 @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @marijas-stuff @mayax2o07

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 6 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): extreme use of foul language, aurora slander, mentions of racism, i’m cyber bullying an osamodas

So chapter 6 came out…

And I’m not happy.

Not one bit.

Blue cow: “You sadidas are so impressionable…”

Sadidas are impressionable?? Tf are you even talking about?? What are they impressionable about?? This sad excuse that you call a companion screeched and it scared the shit out of that woman. What did you think was gonna happen??? “YoU PeOPLe ARe So ImPrESsIOnAbLE” I’m gonna eat animals right in front of your face and feed them to you like a bird. You know what they’re not, Aurora? They’re people who aren’t scared of facing death more than once you fucking sad excuse of a pro-animal blue-skinned wretch.

She looks way too cocky in this shot. You wanna go back to the war, little bitch? Let’s see if you’ll keep smiling like that.

Did I mention I fucking hate Aurora?

This actual cunt is more worried about some ugly crusty bat bird than an actual human being are you fucking kidding me.

Blue cow: “Give that to me, you’ll scare him!”

Sadida servant: “I’m sorry, mistress…”

This is the very same woman who fled the people she was supposed to “lead” who called a servant, that did not belong to her, an idiot.

Are you fucking kidding me.

Blue cow: “Go fetch some water, idiot, the little one is dying of thirst…”

Sadida servant: “Alright, mistress…”

Yeah, your ugly bat is probably thirsty CUZ YOU SHOVED HIM IN A CHEST BEFORE YOU CAME HERE YOU FUCKING DUMBA-

She had also mentioned how her future son would inherit this monstrosity of a bat.

Sorry folks, but I was wrong, she actually is pregnant. Before chapter 6 had been released, I went on this full rant about how Aurora had actually lied to Amalia and the others and wasn’t expecting a child. But now that we’ve seen the Osamodas king talking privately to Aurora and claiming to be worried for her because she was pregnant, I unfortunately have to accept the fact that she is carrying a child.

This chapter made sure that we got a better shot at her belly which has a slight rounder edge to it.

Like I would genuinely rather have a raging chihuahua ready to gnaw my flesh than whatever the fuck this is.

Blue cow: “You will make a wonderful companion for my child!”

But to think about the positives, we at least have no idea if this blue-skinned dumbass thinks that she’s carrying an osamodas or a sadida.

For those who don’t know, the beast she’s holding is called a “skrot” (or “kougnard” in French). These beats originally came from Ecaflipus, the Ecaflip God’s dimension. Their main use is transportation but they can also be used as your companion. That means that anyone can just use them, you don’t necessarily have to be an osamodas to get one.

The skrot Aurora has at hand is a newborn so she was prepared to give her future child a companion. I think Aurora clearly meant that even if her child ends up being a Sadida, she will still give the beast to them since a skrot can be pretty useful every now and then.

So there is no evidence that she is expecting the child to be an osamodas. I think either way, she’ll be indifferent if the child ends up being a sadida or an osamodas. If they end up being a sadida, I bet it’ll just make her reminisce about Armand and love them even more (cuz omg this bitch can’t stop making everything about the Sadida kingdom about Armand).

Cow king: “Your priority now, is for you to be liked…”

Aurora just insulted a servant. She couldn’t even hold her tongue. How the fuck do you expect her to hear the daily sadida complaints??? Omg this “family” should go back to their circus they’re making me physically gag.

Blue cow: “If they think I’m just going to stand there and do nothing…”

Gurl shut the fuck up and sit your ass down no one is angry that you’re not there with them. Bitch is over here turning into McFry chicken as if she’s an actual menace. Literally go get yourself eradicated.

Stop breathing, you skank. Echo did the wing transformation far better than you.

But yeah, go ahead and ruin this interracial marriage with your stupid reasoning. Go ahead and get your ass kicked by the god-king and the experienced adventurous princess. Go ahead and try to fight them with your inexperienced fighting self. Go ahead and make every sadida realize that you didn’t fight in the war because of your pregnancy but you’re perfectly capable of fighting two rulers while pregnant. Go ahead and fight in a dress and an ugly crusty bat, yeah, I’M SURE you’ll win and won’t make yourself look like a demented moron.

Her dad should’ve honestly let her go “fight” (cuz let's be honest Yugo and Amalia would have ANNIHILATED her without even batting an eye) them instead of telling her common sense so we could get rid of her much more quickly.

Blue cow: “But I am perfectly capable of controlling my emotions!”

A second earlier: *insulted a servant for being scared of a screeching bat*

A second later: *almost attempted to crash a wedding just because she saw a sadida with an eliatrope*

I would rather hang out with freaking Julith, a known terrorist, than to even be near this sad excuse of a royal. Actually, I’ve got something better: I would rather spend a full week in the necrome world than be around her.

If you care about being the queen of this land, then why the fuck are you insulting the servants??? Yeah, that’ll make them show you respect! They’ll definitely like you for sure! They will definitely not go to Amalia, the very same person who they’ve known for their whole lives.

Stop yapping on your own you cow, your existence is already sad as fuck.

And now she’s over here having a problem with a sadida and an eliatrope marrying.

Great, we just found out she’s an actual racist now too. What’s next?

Blue cow: “A sadida and an eliatrope?!”

Armand was racist towards Eliatropes, sure, but he was at least hating because he can make options of his own (even though his opinions were shit-). While Aurora over here just hates them cuz her late husband hated them??? Wtf??? Is she that empty-headed that she’ll just follow whatever other people are hating? She doesn’t even have the intelligence to hate things for her own reasons??? Is she that much of a trophy wife???

Blue cow: “My Armand would have never permitted this!”

Blue cow: “He hated the eliatropes!”

Omg this bitch is actually clinically dumb there is no way. At what point are you so mentally constipated that your likes and dislikes depend on what other people like and dislike???

She was saying how Armand would have never accepted the eliatropes so therefore she hates the idea of them being here as well.

Blue cow: “This little pest is not wasting time!”

Blue cow: “In only a few months, she had given some funny ideas to my subjects…”

If Armand told you he hates Osamodas, would you also hate your own kind???

I literally don’t get it.

Blue cow: “She spends her time showing off the traditions of the sadidas though…”

Uh yeah, so what?

Amalia is into the Sadida traditions as she should because she’s a sadida.

But just because she practices her culture, that doesn’t mean she cuts off other races????

Like what???

Aurora talks as if the sadidas have never brought other races inside their kingdom before. RACES LIKE HER.

Did she never know how King Oakheart used to be??? The sadidas, have more than once, accepted people that weren’t their own kind. They have taken in two cras from an infamous assassin. They sculpted a statue of a iop and gave him the title of “Savior of the Sadidas”. They welcomed an eliatrope and his twin dragon into the kingdom by giving him a guest room, told him that they would welcome his family, and even let him marry their princess.

How…are you this constipated to not have known this before?

Wait it has only been a few months since Season 4 so wouldn’t these two newlyweds technically be considered the second recorded interracial couple in history to have a twelvian and non-twlevian together?

“Long live the bride and groom!!!”

Omg this would also mean this was Amalia’s first time marrying a couple!!

I just want to highlight that @onyichii was the one who initially suggested that the marriage could have been between a sadida and an eliatrope, and it turns out they were correct. I had previously believed that the eliatropes aged slowly like the primordial ones, which is why they couldn't have been able to get married with someone who already looks like an adult, so I didn't think one of them could have been getting married. However, it turns out that only the Council of Six ages as slowly as dragons. The female Eliatrope in question is clearly a grown woman, and the Great Wave is set to occur right after Season 4, just a couple of months later.

In Season 4, it's possible that the elite eliatropes all looked the same due to budget constraints at Ankama. This could explain why they all wore identical clothes, colors, and were the same height.

Now let’s talk about Amalia again and how she killed it!!

Our queen CARRIED the ceremony so perfectly and elegantly!!

Look at her, she’s so experienced already!

Yugo is looking at her as she’s doing her thing. He’s so proud to have her 💕💕 omg I can’t 😭😭 LOOK AT HIM SMILING AT HIS WIFEY‼️‼️😩😩💖💖💖💖❤️❤️❤️❤️

I'm glad to see that there's no drama between the sadidas and eliatropes at the celebration, as Amalia and Yugo have enough on their plate. Amalia had to resolve a conflict between them this morning, so it's good to see the two races getting along here.

If we take a closer look at them, a good majority of the sadidas look young so maybe the new generation has a much faster and easier time accepting the eliatropes than the older generation.

And here is the part that immediately cuts off the fun entirely.

The poisoning.

During the lively event, a female Sadida was seen carrying a platter with two drinks, which she handed to Yugo and Amalia before leaving. Her sudden appearance and departure raised questions about her identity and origin. Despite this, no one seemed to pay much attention to her, possibly assuming she was a servant due to her role in serving the king and queen.

Unlike Aurora and her father, however, I actually would like to know what her deal is. Like I’m genuinely curious to know what could have been the reason to want to poison the king and queen.

Because yes, she didn’t just want to poison Yugo. She also wanted to poison Amalia.

The Osamodas king informed Aurora that he had been aware for weeks of the upcoming interracial marriage between a sadida and an eliatrope in the Sadida kingdom.

Blue cow: “A marriage?! And no one told us?!”

Cow king: “We’ve known for weeks, my daughter.”

But Aurora had no idea about it.

If Aurora, the wife of the late Sadida king, did not receive an invitation or any notification about the Sadida kingdom's upcoming marriage celebration, it raises questions about how the Osamoda king became aware of the event. Aurora's absence during the war could be the reason why they did not invite her but it remains unclear how her father came to know about the wedding.

This can only mean one thing.

The Sadida kingdom may have multiple spies who could have warned the Osamodas king. It is possible that the female Sadida who poisoned Yugo was not the only one willing to go to such lengths to get rid of the king. If she holds such a strong grudge, it is strongly possible that there could be other Sadidas who share the same sentiment.

By the way, it still surprises me that Amalia could have been poisoned too. How else would she have known that her cup had poison in it before trying to warn Yugo? The whole reason why Yugo had been targeted was because he wasn’t like them. So to have a sadida try to also poison the last member of the royal Sheran Sharm family is very off-putting.

Amalia knows her plants and remedies so the reason as to why she immediately thought something was up was probably because she either smelled something very deadly about the cup she was holding or she had a very strong gut feeling.

Either way, she dodged a bullet from not drinking it. Unlike Yugo who could survive this, Amalia would have likely died from the drink (the results would have made her look like how she did in Yugo’s nightmare, choking to death).

This is what I mean when I say I want to know more about this sadida servant.

We know she’ll make a reappearance because we can see her on the cover of the 10th chapter of volume 1.

I just don’t see why poisoning Amalia would have been a great idea. Because if she did die, who would replace her? Like I said, she’s the last member of the royal sadida family so was the female servant prepared to see Aurora replace her?? Why?? Is it because the sadida doesn’t like Amalia’s beliefs? To a point where she’d be fine seeing an osamodas replace her???

Man, Amalia has it rough. She knew that some of her people wouldn’t be pleased with having the eliatropes here but I bet she never imagined she would have almost gotten poisoned by one of her subjects.

Also what the fuck is the Osamodas king’s deal here?

If the sadida servant does work for him (for some reason), then he expected Yugo to have gotten poisoned. Okay, I get that part. So he wants Yugo to die because he’s too powerful to have him around.

So why did he tell Aurora that they were going to have to wait until they make sure the sadidas don’t trust Yugo anymore??

Cow king: “This pretentious little Yugo has powers beyond imagination…”

Cow king: “He is the one who we must succeed in getting rid of.”

Cow king: “And the only way to do that is to turn the sadidas against him.”

By doing what?? Poison him??? What???? How will that make the sadidas not trust Yugo anymore?? They just witnessed him coughing and bleeding like crazy. And they just heard Amalia scream that he’d gotten poisoned. The only thing they’d wanna do right now is help him, not run away from him. In fact, after Yugo gets healed, they’d be very understanding if the Eliatrope king tries to distance himself from them because he had just been fucking poisoned by one of them.

This is some deep clown behavior right here.

Anyways, these blue-skinned clowns are giving me too much of a migraine to keep up with their bullshit. That sadida servant looks more entertaining than them because she at least did the work and expected Yugo to instantly die instead of whatever the fuck the Osamodas king is expecting to happen.

After the incident at the wedding, it's possible to claim that the Osamodas king has spies within the kingdom. It's likely that he convinced some sadidas to join him in his disdain for Yugo, gaining their support. The sadida woman in question may be one of these spies, potentially acting on her own agenda as well. Although she doesn't appear to harbor the same malice towards Yugo as the royal Osamodas family, her anger is evident, as seen in her expression on the cover of the last chapter.

Either way, I hope we get to know more about her later on. Also, I’m pretty sure Amalia didn’t focus too much on the unnamed Sadida’s face when she handed them the drinks so it’s possible she wouldn’t be able to identify who the assassin was in the next chapter.

In the meantime, while we’re waiting for the continuation, let’s just enjoy Yugo’s suffering ✨✨

I swear there’s nothing personal about me wanting to see him like this it’s just that ever since I’ve seen him tied up on the ground shirtless and screaming in pain, I’ve been wanting to see more 😤😭

I can’t wait to see more in the next chapters 😍🥰🥰

But seriously no joke, this is not looking good for Amalia. The poor girl had recently experienced the loss of her father and her brother. On top of that, her husband Yugo, whom she had shared so much with ever since they were both little, was now coughing up blood from poison, adding to her distress. Even Yugo's wakfu wings appeared to be affected, suggesting a connection between their condition and his overall health.

Just look at the sheer horrified panic in Amalia’s eyes as she could only stare down at him, feeling completely powerless.

I wouldn’t even blame her if she lost it then and there. Yugo is literally her only family left. So to have an unknown enemy (since she still doesn’t know who could have done this) do this to her on a day that is supposed to take the stress of everyday life away must be incredibly traumatic for her.

Amalia: “The king has been poisoned!!!”

Also when you think about it, Yugo and Amalia’s cute kiss in this panel might as well have been their last kiss together if they both drank their drinks. It would’ve been over for them because Amalia would have instantly died. Yugo, on the other hand, will survive this but not without any damage to the body and brain.

I really wanna know what happens now it’s only been 6 days and I’m getting stressed out. I hate how the chapter ended, I NEED MORE.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 6: Sidelines and distractions

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: being sidelined with Paige= fun...right?

Welcome to the chapter 6 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

The crowd inside the XL Center was electric, the energy spilling from the stands as Pride Night banners waved in celebration. UConn's players were locked in their warm-up routines, dribbling and shooting on the court, but my attention was on the sideline. Specifically, on Paige Bueckers.

Her grey tech sweatpants and the  Pride Night shirt gave her an unusually relaxed look for someone used to dominating the court. But the thin knee brace imprint peeking out from under her sweats was a stark reminder of why she wasn’t warming up with the team.

“Superstar!” I called out, jogging over with my camera strapped to my shoulder. “How’s the most stubborn player in UConn history doing tonight?”

She rolled her eyes, though her smirk betrayed her amusement. “Photographer extraordinaire! Fine, but thanks for the  new title. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. M'not that stubborn.”

“You better be,” I replied, plopping into the seat next to her. “You’re insufferable when you’re sidelined.”

“Insufferable?” Paige put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

“You’ll live.”

Out of nowhere Paige handed me a folded-up Pride Night shirt, the fabric soft and obviously well-worn. “Here. You need one of these if you’re sitting with us.”

I held it up, squinting. “Paige, this thing is huge. You think I’m trying to make a fashion statement or drown in it?”

She laughed, shrugging. “Oversized is in. You’ll look cute.”

“I’ll look like I’m swimming in fabric,” I deadpanned. “You’re tying it for me.”

Without missing a beat, Paige stood and motioned for me to turn around. She began knotting the back of the shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my back as she worked.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “You’ve got me doing all the hard work.”

Before I could respond, KK sauntered over, grinning like she’d caught us in the act. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”

“Mind your business, KK,” Paige quipped, not even glancing up.

KK leaned against the scorer's table, shaking her head. “First tying knots, next it’s gonna be shoe laces. You’re domesticated now, Paige.”

“Jealous?” Paige shot back, tightening the knot for emphasis.

The game started, and I couldn’t help sneaking a few candid shots of Paige as the first quarter unfolded. She sat at the edge of her chair, clipboard in hand, her eyes darting between players and refs. Even off the court, she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t think I don’t see you,” she said, catching me mid-snap.

“Relax,” I teased, lowering my camera. “You look great in action, and sleeping after drinking a whole pitcher of Shirley Temple. Ya know before crashing on my couch”

“Yeah, well, not too much on me, but just get a good shot of Azzi instead,” Paige muttered, cheeks tinting soft shades of red, her focus shifting back to the court.

Azzi Fudd had just made a perfect three-pointer, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Paige clapped enthusiastically, yelling, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

But the tone shifted with 05.5 seconds left in the first quarter. Azzi went up for a block, her hand making clean contact with the ball—but the whistle blew anyway.

“That’s not a foul!” Paige was on her feet instantly, "her" clipboard hitting the floor as she pointed at the ref. “Are you blind? That was all ball!”

The ref quickly acknowledging Paige by telling her it was too a foul and she need to step off the court. Paige still on the court how with her hand in the air for "huh."

“Paige,” I hissed, grabbing her arm. “You’re not playing tonight, remember?”

“He’s out of his mind if he thinks that was a foul!” Paige shot back, her voice loud enough to earn a glance from the ref.

“You’re gonna get a tech from the bench,” I warned, pulling her back into her chair. “Sit down before they eject you.”

Paige reluctantly slumped back into her seat, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, leaning closer. “And kind of adorable when you’re mad.”

That earned a small smirk from her, though she tried to hide it. “Whatever.”

By halftime, Paige had calmed down enough to crack a few jokes.

“What do you call a referee who gets everything wrong?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

I played along, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“A consistent ref,” she deadpanned, earning laughs from both me and Sarah sitting nearby.

Azzi shook her head, leaning back in her chair. “You’re really embracing the whole sideline coach thing, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Paige replied. “These refs sure aren’t exactly playing nice. ”

As the third quarter began, I shifted focus back to my camera, capturing action shots of the players on the court. Paige leaned over occasionally, offering her unsolicited critique of my photos.

“Too blurry,” she said after one shot.

“It’s an action shot,” I argued. “It’s supposed to show motion, now go back to being bored and biting your nails you weirdo.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Motion doesn’t mean out of focus, and im not a weirdo, plus its dead skin thanks very much.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her as I snapped another photo. “Stick to basketball, Coach Bueckers.”

When the final buzzer sounded, UConn had secured another win, and the team gathered for photos on the court. I hung back, capturing the perfect shot of the players huddled together, pride shirts on full display.

Paige waved me over, patting the seat beside her. “Hey, let me see those.”

I handed her my camera, watching as she scrolled through the images. Her expression softened as she stopped on one of Azzi mid-shot.

“You’re really good at this,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming under her gaze.

She handed the camera back, leaning a little closer. “You make this whole ‘sidelined Paige’ thing bearable, you know that?”

I smiled, nudging her playfully. “And you make my job harder by almost getting into fights with refs.”

Paige laughed, her voice warm and genuine. “What can I say? I’m a multitasker.”

As the crowd began to disperse and the team filed into the locker room, Paige lingered by my side, her hand brushing against mine.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said softly. “I needed the distraction.”

“Anytime,” I replied, my voice just as quiet.

And in that moment, as the noise of the arena faded into the background, it was easy to forget that she wasn’t on the court—because to me, Paige Bueckers was always in the game.

As the night came to an end I got a dreaded phone call from back home. "Baby, you need to come home granny she's sick and she wants to see you." My mom said.

Without a second thought I got the first ticket back home, I sent my professors and coah geno an email stating everything in details of what was happening and why I won't be in class or with the team for a few days to a week.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 .... (more to be added)

[howi99]

The Grimmwalkers Chapter 6

_ Weiss and Pyrrha's POV _

Weiss: *landing by using a nevermore she summoned as a glyder, its blue eyes and white appearance a testament of her mixed blood* Damn it! *Stomp the ground in annoyance* That imbecile didn't even listen to a single thing i said, did he?! I told him to stay next to me but NoOooO! He's going to be "Fiiiiine"!

Pyrrha: *landing next to her, morphing back into her human form as the black tar evaporates quickly* I think i saw him land near here.

Weiss: *quickly switching from annoyance to worry* Did he seem fine!?

Pyrrha: *making a so-so signe with her hand* He protected his vital area, but i also saw him hit his head against an enormous branch so...

Weiss: *wince* That's not good-

Pyrrha: He also landed his legs first without rolling. His legs are probably shattered as we speak.

Weiss: *now panicking* THAT'S NOT GOOD AT ALL!!!

_ Jaune and Yang's POV _

Jaune: *Opening his eyes, the light of the sun being filtered by the leaves* Ooooow... *Trying to move, wincing from the pain* Damn it, who would have thought they'd catapult us? I'm tough, but not THAT tough...

Jaune: *already feeling his "semblance" mending back his bone, as a thick black tar-like liquid began covering his torso* Good thing i can heal rapidly, or i'd be toasted. *Pensive* Now, what was i supposed to do again? Getting a relic, right?

Jaune: *slowly getting up, wincing as the healing process continues* Urgh, damn that stings. *Look at his side, the new scroll the school had given to him, already broken* ... Oh, that's bad.

Jaune: *hearing noises coming from the bushes, turning his head towards said sounds as the last remaining tar dissipates in the wind* Hm?

Yang: *waving at him while approaching* Oi! Jaune! *Looking at him from top to bottom* You good?

Jaune: *smile* Yeah, why?

Yang: *pointing upward* I saw you crash through a tree, even with Aura, that must have hurt like hell.

Jaune: *shrug* Eh, i lived through worse.

Yang: *surprised* Really?

Jaune: Sure! I was hit by a truck once. Had to stay a week in bed.

Yang: *now confused* A week? Only that?!

Jaune: *now his turn to be confused* What do you mean, only that? That was slow for me-

Yang: Slow?!

Jaune: Ye.

Yang: Holy- How much Aura do you have?! *Approaching him* Let me see your- *sees the busted Scroll on the ground* Oh. Guess i can't see it then.

Jaune: *Wince* You think i'll have to pay for it?

Yang: Probably not?

Jaune: I hope you're right...

_ Ozpin and Glynda's POV _

Glynda: *sigh, feeling a headache growing in* Great, that's just great!

Ozpin: ...

Glynda: *pointing Ozpin, looking angry* I told you how many times that something like this could happen!? *Walking back and forth* Now there's a kid in the middle of a Grimm infested forest who can't even call for help!

Ozpin: I have complete fate in this batch of students. *Chuckle* Beside, the tracker of Miss Xiao-Long is now walking alongside Jaune's. *Shrug* He probably landed on his scroll, it would hardly be the first time this happened-

Glynda: Did you not see him?! There's no way he landed safely! Miss Xiao-Long is probably dragging him to safety as we speak!

_ Back to Jaune and Yang _

Jaune: *walking alongside her* Really!? Do you have it here!?

Yang: *sigh* No, my sister insisted on making modifications to her. But Bumblebee should arrive in a week or two.

Jaune: *looking excited* Yooo, you have to take me on a run! I always wanted to, but my dad always said it was "too dangerous".

Yang: *smirk* Seems like an overprotective guy.

Jaune: *rolling his eyes* You have no idea. It's as if he thinks i should be caged all my life for my own safety, but that's not life! *Grin* I want to fight Grimm, save the day, be a hero! *Sigh, slumping slightly* But my dad says it's just stupid dreams and that i should become an athlete instead.

Yang: That doesn't sound so bad-

Jaune: *deadpan* I come from a huntsmen family. My father is a huntsman, half of my sisters are huntresses and i'm the only one being discouraged to follow my dreams.

Yang: *wince* That rough buddy.

_ Weiss and Pyrrha's POV _

Weiss: *panicking* WHERE IS HE!?

Pyrrha: *pointing the marks on the ground* Probably that way-

Weiss: HOW!? HIS LEGS SHOULD HAVE SHATTERED ON IMPACT!

Pyrrha: *shrug* Probably has something to do with his wild-born attributes? Beside, there's a second pair of tracks beside his. *Pensive* Probably that blond girl, they did jump in the same direction-

Weiss: But she's a human! What will happen if she finds out, huh!?

Pyrrha: *crossing her arms, looking at her best friend with a dubious expression* Honestly, that was bound to happen anyway. Did you forget that we are only three in the entire school year? Probably even the entire school?

Weiss: I... Did not think of that. *Shake her head* But still! We could have chosen someone who is open-minded and-

Pyrrha: *sigh* Weiss, we don't really have the luxury to choose who is going to be partner with who.

Weiss: But-

Pyrrha: *chuckle* Come on, let's follow them. *Smirk* We just have to kill the Grimm before they find them.

Weiss: ... *Sigh* I guess you're right.

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 6

I'm sorry again this one took so long! I'm still not happy with how it turned out but if I hold and try to fix it any longer I'll never post again.

The names suggested for the spider were all so good. I chose Silk, adorable name. Another suggested name was Spider-mite, I think that would be a cute hero name for them.

Reader ages 17 - 18

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

With the last year of highschool coming up Gewn’s been diligently looking for colleges. Her schools have already been picked and her applications ready, she's now helping the two of you. Since her school choices align with all your dreams of escaping Gotham, she's finding both something in New York.

“Try Education Connection. You could get connected," MJ sang from her seat slouched over your desk. “For free.. free with education connection."

“What about this one?” You turn the laptop towards Gwen, grumbling when the rubber foot catches on your blanket, “It looks like the program has good reviews. Journalism, photography and acting...”

As she leans in to see, setting aside the sample of your web. The floor in front of her is scattered with her little notes and tools. She's been interested in what it's made of and has even synthesized it. While it's not so tough that you need something like a batarang to cut, it still works the same. With it you work together to design a web shooter that straps to the wrist. Together the two of you make quite the neat little invention.

“Hey, so, does your spider have a name?" MJ calls out to you, her finger taps gently against the glass causing the creature inside to surry over, investigating the noise. “Like, what do you call them?"

“Huh?" Quirking a brow, you turn away from the info page. “Umm.. My baby..?”

She huffs, spinning about to face you properly, “Seriously? What about a name?!" Crossing her arms she contemplates the strange arachnid meandering about their enclosure, “How about Yuk-yuk? Lil’ Nasty?”

Gwen shakes her head, considering the creatures as well before giving her own, “What about Silk?”

You crawl across your bed and over your desk where your dear pet resides, “Do you like that one?” MJ rolls away as you open the top to pull out the excited spider, “Silk it is."

Besides school, you've been considering starting to make some of your own money. You don't want to stay used to relying on the Wayne's seemingly endless supply of wealth. The possibility of selling your creation crossed your mind but, even if it's not as strong as your webs, it's too much power to let fall into the wrong hands. You'd rather keep it to yourself or at least let Gwen have it, she did come up with the main component. Which she does gratefully, the two of you even try out swings across small gaps and webbing up practice we.

Luckily, there's another one of your hobbies that has a great chance of earning you cash. So, you went digging through your trove of Dynamic Duo pictures. The older ones, that you could bring yourself to part from, were quickly snatched up by obsessive fans and collectors. A few investigation sites took your more recent shots but nothing made you more than getting fresh action shots to news outlets. Besides the bank you were putting away, seeing your work starting to make front pages was nice.

Since it's been working out so well, you'd almost forgotten about the costume. You tested out the type of material that doesn't hamper your cling abilities together once but it had slipped your mind. That was until MJ pulled it from her closet one night with excited jazz hands. She hadn't said anything when she insisted you two spend the night.

MJ waves the suit around as she pushes over her hard work, “I even got Gwen help install this so you can switch on your.. Wall-see-through thingy." She wiggles her fingers over the large white eyes of the mask.

Gwen ushers you out into the hall, suit in hand. “Now go! Put it on! Hurry!" You're all but shoved into the bathroom to change.

Slipping the mask on and adjusting to your face, you look into the mirror for the first time. “This is...” Holy shit, you look like a real vigilante- one that can’t be ignored. The red and blue cut around your form is surprisingly flattering. It looks cool, feels cool, you feel cool. What more could you ask for in a superhero costume?

There's a knock on the door behind Mj call in to you, “It's too tight isn't it? Sorry, i really thought-”

Flinging the door open, carefully not to damage it, “Mj, it's amazing!” You wrap her in a tight hug, carefully not to hurt her, “Thank you so much for doing this for me.”

“So, you're really gonna swing around Gotham like that?” Gwen quips with a chuckle as you release the frazzled ginger from your grasp.

MJ winks, “Take lots of pictures, tiger.”

“Always do."

What started as a test run of your new suit that has quickly turned south when you spotted them. While snapping a few pics of the bat and bird you managed to land yourself right in the heart of a fear toxin explosion. The impending blast caught your danger sense in time but you couldn't get away from the gas fast enough. A scarecrow thug managed to grab you while you were disoriented, sinking their switchblade into your side.

Coughing and sputtering, you manage to push them away, just for them to come back swinging. The knife edge sliced straight through your suit and the skin underneath with each swipe. Stuffing your face into the crook of your elbow, you managed to grab their wrist. Tossing them over your shoulder and their back hits the brick wall behind you before they fall to the ground head first. Giving them one good parting kick you crawl up the wall before they could get up again.

Swinging to a nearby apartment complex, your foot slips on the ledge as you stumble onto your rooftop. Retching the camera from your neck with one hand, you press the other into your weeping side and totter over to where you stashed your bag. The downside of a spandex suit is having absolutely nowhere to put things like your phone. You have to get out of here, you need to get home, you need... “Alfred, please...”

The next time you open your eyes the grimy alleyways of Gotham are replaced with the pristine walls of your modest bedroom in Wayne manor. Sitting up you find yourself free of pain despite the agony of getting attacked. Every scrap and cut is gone, as if they were never there to begin with. Your hand slides under your shirt to find a bandage over the spot that pricks knife got you. Peeling it off you find the gash has healed completely, leaving only the faint sliver of a scar in its wake. Nice.

NO, not nice. How did you get here? Where is your camera? Phone? Suit- YOu rip the blanket from your body, finding yourself in a pair of your pajamas. Fuck! Where the hell is your spider suit?

Jumping out of bed you start scouring your room, your suit or bag or something! Trying to be mindful of your own strength, you sling your door open. If you got home and changed then it must be in the house somewhere. You just have to find it before-

“Looking for something?” Alfred stands on the other side of the door, his arms folded neatly behind his back.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sight. Your arms flying into the air involuntarily as wips of webs shoot out to dangle from your wrists. “Alfred! Uh..” Coughing away the squeak in your surprised voice doesn't help the lump in your throat. “No, no of course not. Why would- what would I even be looking for anyway?” Shaking off the web you cross your arms tight over your chest.

The old butler cocks his head, “Are you sure, young master?” Pinched between the two fingers on each of his hands is your suit, bloodied and tattered. “So, this isn't yours?”

“How did-?” It feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs.

“You sure took quite the beating if you can't remember who picked you up last night, patched your wounds, and put you to bed.” His mention conjures the vague memory of being dragged into a car and dumped onto a table with a bright light above. “Though, everything seemed to be mostly healed by the time I got you to the cave. All under your father's nose I'll have you know.”

Shame licks its hot flames up the back of your neck. “Ah, shit-”

“Language.” He corrects.

“Sorry! But, um..” Eyeing the tattered garb, you ask sheepishly, "What are you.. gonna do with it?”

“I will respect your..” One of the old man’s snowy brows raises, deepening the creases of his forehead. He searches for the right words and settles on, “creative decisions in design..” then folds it up as nicely as he can, stony gaze returning to you, “I will not have you running around unprotected.”

Shrinking under his gaze, you couldn't possibly just let MJ's hard work all go to waste, “Please, let me at least hold onto that one. It's.. special.”

The old man's concession was obvious the moment he saw your pleading face. “Well, I suppose so.. After I mend it, that is, young master.”

You can't help throwing your arms around him and he accepts you gladly, “Al.. I don't want him to know...” Sniffling into his suit, he pats your head.

Alfred lets out a heavy sigh and nods, “I understand...”

Nothing could shake the bond the two of you shared. Like the doting grandfather coming around to clean up after his reckless grandchild. He patched your wound, mends your suit, and It takes twice as long as the first but you made due with the patched up one MJ made in the meantime. Not that you're out fighting crime for real.. yet.. and that's not because you're scared after that whole incident.

Of course, when it does arrive, the suit is a work of beauty all over again. The design was faithful to MJ as promised with your eye covers still having the X-ray tech Gwen put in. This time the material is more durable, insulated even, and a few extra features too! You haven't figured them all out yet but you'll get there.

Test run, take two! This time you're not gonna get caught up in some crazy fight. Batman's plethora of super powered villains were tucked away for the moment. That left you free to follow him through the city using one of your new gadgets- a batman tracker. Oh Al, he knows you too well.

Traversing the Gotham rooftops, something peculiar catches your eyes just as you catch up to your target. Golden hair flutters behind her as a young girl leans over the gaps between buildings. Wow, a new Robin already? And a girl, nice! Although it does leave a heavy feeling in your heart. Is Tim okay? He's alive right? Damn kid, why do you have to be so worried about him? God, you wish the little prick wasn't so skittish, you might actually know what's going on. Maybe Alfred knows, he better, you're asking as soon as you get home. If your bastard of a father left another child for dead-

"Woah! Who are you?!”

The sudden sound of the new girl's chipper voice coming from right beside you sends you scrambling up the wall in surprise. "Please, I'm good, promise!"

Mouth hung open, she had to crane her neck to look up at you, “Promise?"

“Uh, yeah.." Shimmying down the wall you extend your hand to her, little finger raised. “P-pinky promise?”

She’s eyeing you behind that mask and you can feel it. Oh yeah, your suspicion as hell and she has every right to tuck tail and run. “Well.. I've definitely never met a bad guy like you.” Luckily for you, she doesn’t seem to think you're a threat and even cracks a smile.

Before you can say more, probably for the better, she’s called away, "Robin. Stay focused." Batman gruff command causes you both to straighten, exchanging waves before parting ways.

“Her name is Stephanie Brown.” Alfred was surprisingly forward with you when you came in flabbergasted and waved a picture of the new Robin.

You couldn't suppress the tight feeling in your chest. “What about Tim?” The old man seemed to know what you were thinking before the words left your mouth.

He pats your back reassuringly, “Don't worry, he's simply been grounded.”

That answer triggered a bout of giggles that had nearly choked you, “G-grounded?” Fuck man and here you were all worried about that little shit.

The hand that had reassured you smacks your trembling shoulder, “It is no laughing matter, young master.”

Shaking your head, you successfully stifle your laughter, “No, no. Of course not..”

OH, you have got to get this on camera a hundred times over. A robin with strong screen presence, style, grace, and, to the bats chagrin, an unstoppable sense of humor. Honestly, you couldn't get enough.

The charm she brings to her role reminds you of watching Jason on his first days and you think the two of you might have even gotten close. It's a shame she's never been introduced to you... technically.

In the quiet moment of a now hectic life, when you're the only one in the manor. When you can feel the despondency of those interminable halls seeping into your bones. When the emptiness of this large house is just too much to bare.

You miss it most.

Having someone to bother at times when your friends were too far or your grandfather too busy. Having somebody who filled the gaps of your most lonesome hours. Who made that hollow house only truly feels like home when you were together. Even when you were left in the dark, like the sun is sure to rise every more, the light never stayed away. The melancholy couldn't get through with the fortissimo of your twain joy when reunited.

You miss your brother.

So, deciding you've been away too long, you decide to make the trip over. Pulling on your suit, and throwing something on over top, you all but fly down the grand staircase. Your heart practically stops when you nearly run head first into Alfred, who you swear wasn't anywhere to be found just a moment ago.. sneaky old bastard.

He seems pensive at first but finally gives, pulling out an envelope. Despite the fact it's sealed, you're sure he knows its contents already.

It's a letter from someone claiming to be your ‘Uncle Ben’ who says he's been looking for you and your mother. He wants to know about how your life has been and if you'd come to New York for a visit. It was vague but strangely well timed, so super suspicious. Yet, something you couldn't quite place gropes your heart the thought. That you had other family, could have those familial bonds you craved but were continuously denied. Maybe, just maybe, you would even be able to find her or at least know something about her. The letter crumples in your grip and Alfred takes your hands in his, gentling your touch.

“Alfred.. Please, don't tell him about this.” A sense of deja vu comes with those words and this time you don't think he'll be so easily convinced.

“Young master, please, understand. The last time a child under my care left to-” You're hands, clasped in his, are given a gentle squeeze, “To search for their mother...” He clears his throat, you've never seen him cry but you can hear the pain in his voice. It hurts to know you've caused it.

“Hey- wait- this is different! So different!” You blurt out your hastily in your own defence, "I know you're worried, but I'll be in New York with my friends anyway! Gwen is touring a college there and even MJ has a few schools she wants us to look at.”

Alfred isn't surprised easily but your words actually seem to take the old man off guard for once, “Is that where you plan to further your education as well?” Shit, right, you haven't told him yet.

“Yes, I am..” You admit with a guilty edge, “We'll all be together. I'm not going out on my own..” Swallowing past the lump form in your throat, you add, "and if my.. family- other family? Is there? I need to know.”

His shoulders slump as he concedes to you, “I beg you, dear. Be safe.”

“Of course, Alfred.” Hugging him tight, easing um when you hear him wheeze, “I'm strong enough now to keep everyone plenty safe.” He shakes his head, returning your affection with a morose sigh.

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

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[ghostlyglimmer]

The Fun Zone Part 6

You can find more chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

It was another night of chaos at The Fun Zone. Danny was manning the counter, the arcade humming with the usual neon glow, when the doors slammed open yet again. This time, the intruder was a gang leader Red Hood had been gunning for: "Blackjaw," a burly man with a cybernetic jaw and an arsenal strapped across his chest.

Danny sighed, not even bothering to look up. “Welcome to The Fun Zone. Do you need tokens, or are you just here to wreck my night?”

Red Hood emerged from the office with guns drawn, his helmet glinting in the fluorescent light. “Blackjaw. You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

“Yeah, well,” Blackjaw sneered, pulling out a high-tech rifle. “I figured it was time we settled things.”

Danny groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can you guys not do this in front of the counter? I just cleaned the carpet.”

“Get behind cover, Fenton,” Jason barked.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just stay here and watch you two macho it out.”

Blackjaw snarled, aiming his rifle. “Smart-mouthed brat. You should’ve stayed out of this.”

Everything happened in a split second. Blackjaw pulled the trigger, and Danny caught a glimpse of Jason moving to return fire. But the villain had shifted his aim. Jason was in the crosshairs—and Danny didn’t think. He stepped directly into the line of fire, the bullet catching him square in the forehead.

The arcade went deathly silent.

Danny staggered back, the impact knocking him to the ground. His coworkers screamed and scrambled for cover. Jason froze mid-aim, the sight of Danny’s limp form sending a rare flash of panic through him.

“Fenton!” Jason yelled, dropping to one knee beside him.

Blackjaw cackled. “Serves the kid right for getting in the way.”

Jason’s guns clicked, his fury palpable. But before he could pull the trigger, Danny groaned, sitting up as if he’d merely tripped. He pressed a hand to his forehead, glaring at the crimson stain on the carpet beneath him.

“Great,” Danny muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. “Now I’ve gotta clean that up, too. Bloodstains are the worst.”

Jason stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “What the hell?”

Danny waved him off, getting to his feet. “I’m fine. No thanks to you.”

Blackjaw’s laughter faltered, his expression twisting into confusion. “How are you still alive?”

Danny turned, pointing an accusing finger at Blackjaw. “You know, I was willing to let this whole ‘gunfight in the arcade’ thing slide, but now you’ve gone and made it personal. You ruined my carpet!”

Jason was still frozen in place, his mind scrambling to process what he’d just witnessed. “Fenton, you just got shot. In the head.”

Danny shrugged, brushing off his uniform. “Yeah, well, it happens.”

“It doesn’t happen,” Jason snapped. “Normal people don’t just walk that off!”

“Well, lucky for me, I’m not normal,” Danny muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “Can we focus on the guy with the gun?”

Blackjaw, clearly unnerved, aimed his rifle again. But before he could fire, Danny stepped forward, casually phasing his hand through the barrel. The rifle sparked and sputtered, the circuits frying instantly.

“What the—” Blackjaw yelped, dropping the ruined weapon.

Danny smirked. “Oops. Guess your fancy toy broke.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed behind his helmet. “What did you just do?”

Danny ignored him, grabbing an arcade token from the counter and flicking it at Blackjaw with a burst of ectoplasmic energy. The token hit the man’s cybernetic jaw with enough force to send him reeling.

Blackjaw stumbled, clutching his face. “You little freak!”

Jason, finally snapping out of his daze, moved in. With a swift series of punches and a well-placed kick, he had Blackjaw on the ground, unconscious. The villain’s men had already fled, unwilling to face Red Hood and whatever the hell Danny was.

Jason turned to Danny, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got five seconds to start explaining, Fenton.”

Danny raised his hands in mock surrender. “Uh, let’s call it… a perk of working in Gotham?”

Jason took a step closer. “You got shot in the head. You’re still standing. And you just melted a gun barrel.”

“Did I?” Danny said, feigning innocence. “Must’ve been the adrenaline.”

Jason wasn’t buying it. “Don’t mess with me, Fenton.”

Danny sighed, glancing at the bloodstain on the carpet. “Can we maybe do this later? I’ve got a carpet to clean.”

Jason folded his arms, his stance unyielding. “You’re not off the hook.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny muttered, grabbing a mop and bucket. “Take a number, boss.”

Jason watched him for a long moment before muttering under his breath and stomping back to the office. Danny sighed in relief, mentally kicking himself for letting so much slip. He’d have to tread carefully—Red Hood wasn’t the type to let things go.

[alexispunkkk]

not yours

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 6

read the series!

last chapter | next chapter

- warnings: religious trauma + guilt, joel's perspective, mention of loss of innocence idk, age gap description, very light sexual thoughts. honestly nothing in here this is js joel's perspective regarding it all, anyway he's sexy and tortured but a great man and deserves a big ole kiss

- summary: joel's turmoil when you fall asleep in his bed

- word count: 1.5k 😓😓 this is a filler chapter i'm so sorry i totally didn't feel like writing tonight so this is the best yall are getting i fear...

on ao3

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Joel doesn’t sleep. Barely breathes. 

After the warring night you spent dealing with your hypersexuality–and Joel calming you down from it–it wore you out. Your excuse was that it started raining and you didn’t feel safe to drive home in the dark. But, in reality, you both know it’s because you wanted nothing more than to stay.

He’s the only thing down here in Texas that actually makes you feel safe. Makes you feel seen. And you need to soak up every bit of comfort in his little house that you can before you’re forced to leave.

So, that leaves you in his bed. He’d moved you there from the couch after finally giving in and formally allowing you to spend the night. You end up curled up in the middle of his mattress, tucked into one of his old t-shirts that he so generously slid over you. Your limbs fold in on themselves, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Small and delicate in his big, warm bed.

It’s the stillest you’ve been all night after being disgustingly touchy and fidgety with Joel. The bed smells like his shampoo. Sweet and soft. Something too old and out of reach for you.

The thing that drove you to sleep was the gentle kisses on your forehead and soft stroke of your back that he offered. It felt comfortable, as tranquil as a holy sanctuary. 

But he got up, moving across the room to the old armchair in the corner. Dark red and brown, sunken in from years of use–little rips and a few cigarette burns in the worn fabric. His elbows are on his knees, hands knotted together as if praying, or waiting for the passing of a storm that already hit. 

It ripped through the house in the shape of you. Your body, thighs, the hands trying to push up his shirt and feel his soft belly. Your mouth on his lips, later gnawing animalistically at his Adam’s apple. 

Joel closes his eyes, trying to think of quite literally anything besides that–besides the feeling of you forcing yourself onto him and the way your voice broke when you begging for him so desperately:

Please, Joel. I need you.

As much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, it did turn him on a bit. He chose the less sinful route tonight, shutting you down and telling you not to throw yourself away like that. But little did you know he was achingly hard after the interaction, twitching uncomfortably in his pants as much as you were dripping wet in your little thong. He wanted to give in. But he can’t. You may have stopped believing entirely, but a small part of him is trying to hang on to God, despite having a feeling deep down that He isn’t real. 

It’s not that you’re rubbing off on him. Joel’s been thinking of this for a while now. Hell, years, even. He used to be such a good man of God, attending church with the brightest smile, the glow of the Lord. But over the years, the love has warped into a sickening mix of doubt and confusion. 

Maybe seeing you slip away like this did the same to him. Or maybe it brought him closer to God in hopes that it wouldn’t also happen to him. He feels bad. So, maybe, it’s worsening him. He’s too focused on helping you that he doesn’t care–he’d do anything for you, essentially.

His eyes open back up. Fuck it. He reaches for his Bible on the table.

It’s old, wrapped in leather and cracked from years in waves of different habits: either sitting untouched for months or being obsessively read for a span of a few weeks, only to be disregarded again on his nightstand. The edges of the paper are yellowing.

In hopes it might speak to him, give him some guidance with what to do with the girl in his bed, he runs a thumb across the cover. It could have some answers when he’s too weak to have any of his own.

He flips to a random page, the verses once imprinted in his brain now a lost cause. Doesn’t even read it, but lets the words blur together on the page. With the way they looked, he’d think he forgot to put on his glasses. But no, they’re resting on his nose like always.

It’s the words’ fault. They don’t stick like they used to–don’t echo in his brain and whisper the answers to him in a time of need like this one. You’re in his bed, and he can feel the ghost of your wet mouth on his throat. The way your hips rolled forward in desperation into his, just trying to break him.

The Bible stays open. But it’s useless. He’s watching you instead.

Your breathing is slowed,mouth slightly parted and cheeks pink and soft with exhaustion. The red color of that sinful lipstick is still on your mouth but faded from tears and rushed kisses, hardly hanging on where it’s smudged off the corner. You look so small, the same way you did in his arms when you whispered how badly that you needed him. 

To Joel, it’s kind of sad to see your innocent body wrapped up in his sheets like that after tonight. He could ruin you–further than the church already has. Further than your father did. 

He wants to hold you so badly. Scoop you up and never let go, leave everlasting kisses to your forehead and hope that you don’t wipe them off right away. But he can’t.

You’re cracked open, raw and vulnerable.

It’d be bad to worsen that. But he still wants to. The ache sets into his chest, pressing down with the weight of the situation–your sleeping frame in his bed, the Lord, and everything in between. He’ll remember the feel of your knees pressing into his hips each time he sits on his own couch, the smell of your stupid vanilla perfume you’d put behind your ears and ankles in hopes of getting something in return. 

He’s at least a little proud you didn’t get anything tonight. He didn’t give in. Not only is it a sin, but it’s also ruining you. He can’t crack you like that, can’t steal your purity. Not when he’s known you since you were born, not when he used to lead prayer circles with your father. 

Especially not when you’re this vulnerable, your emotions heightened so terribly that you pounce at every little touch and opportunity. 

You’re not his. 

He thinks it once. Then again. As if repeating it like a mantra would make it register in his brain. She’s not yours. Never was. 

The main bit weighing on his mind that makes it all so much worse for him, besides his own religious guilt, is your innocence. He thinks of seeing you when you were a child, leading Christmas plays with your feet dangling from the pew at the front of church. He’s known you for so long–you called him ‘uncle’ a few times as a child, even. Which makes it worse that you’re grown now and so, so pretty. 

You trust him too much. You shouldn’t be with someone his age–shouldn’t even risk being with someone in the church because it stirs your emotions further. He isn’t made to be your savior.

So, the Bible sits unused and open on the table, and he can’t touch it again. Instead, looks back at you, sleeping softly and unaware under his blankets. He’s afraid.

For the first time in years, he’s afraid.

The man’s been through hell, hardened by years of tough work and baggage that he carries in his dark undereyes. He’s not afraid of much, but this gets him. Not of God or sin, but what he’s doing to you.

The rest of the night he doesn’t let himself get closer. Doesn’t take his boots off, sleeps in the chair as if punishing himself. He tries to pray but his hands seem to push away from each other like magnets of the same kind do. The second he almost admits to himself how much he wants you, he grips the arms of his chair to stop it. Grounding himself in the chair. Stays there, doesn’t take his shirt off either. Can’t go in his own bed because you’re in there. 

But on the other hand, he just can’t bear to leave you alone tonight. He’s only a man, after all. 

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