#time to admit that whoever this was made for - i am not part of that group

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay not that he needs it but what a ego boost it would be if sebastian stumbled upon mc and ominis talking about the guy she likes and she just like he's so out of my league listing positive traits (cue sebastian getting very jealous) Only for ominis to be like just tell sebastian then I don't have to hear you wine about it all the timee

Eavesdropping | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Thank you for the request Anon! I hope you love it!!! :")

Words: ~4,600

Tags: Love Confessions, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The stone door of the Undercroft groaned softly as Sebastian pushed it open, stepping carefully inside. He exhaled softly, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. He had snuck out after curfew, hoping to release some pent-up frustration with a few dueling spells.

He was halfway down the stairs when he froze. Voices—two of them—floated up from below.

Sebastian frowned, his grip tightening on the banister. He recognized them instantly. You and Ominis.

What were you doing here so late? He edged closer, careful to stay out of sight.

“I just don’t see the point,” your voice echoed softly. “It’s not like anything’s ever going to happen.”

Sebastian froze mid-step, his grip tightening on the banister. His brow furrowed. What wasn’t going to happen?

“It won’t if you keep dragging your feet,” Ominis replied, his tone dry as ever.

“It’s not that simple,” you shot back warily.

Sebastian tilted his head, curiosity sparking to life alongside a strange, uneasy feeling in his chest. You sounded frustrated—almost pained. What could possibly have you so worked up?

“It is that simple. You’ve been in love with him for years,” Ominis said, his tone cutting. “Merlin, I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve had this conversation. Either do something about it, or stop talking about it.”

Sebastian’s heart stopped. In love? You’d never mentioned anyone. Not once.

“There's nothing I can do, Ominis,” you said, exasperated. “He doesn’t see me like that.”

Sebastian’s stomach twisted painfully. Who was this mysterious he? Why hadn’t you told him about this before? You usually told him everything.

“And how would you know?” Ominis challenged.

“Because I know him,” you replied firmly. “We’re best friends!”

Sebastian’s chest tightened, a painful mix of jealousy and confusion swirling inside him. Best friends? You were his best friend. Who could possibly come before him in your life?

“Right,” Ominis said sarcastically. “Because you’re so unremarkable.”

“Ominis,” you groaned, “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he shot back. “Half the school is in love with you, and you’re acting like you’re some invisible wallflower.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. Ominis wasn’t wrong. People were drawn to you—how could they not be? But you’d never seemed to notice, much less care. And now you were sitting here, pouring your heart out about someone who clearly wasn’t him.

You sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and tinged with a hint of defeat. “It doesn’t matter what the rest of the school thinks when he’s completely out of my league, Ominis. With his stupidly handsome face and that ridiculous smile that makes it impossible to think straight…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Merlin, he’s just… he’s everything. Funny, clever, brave, loyal—he could have anyone he wanted.”

For a moment, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under Sebastian’s feet. How could you possibly think that? How could you believe, even for a second, that you weren’t good enough for whoever this bloke was? And the worst part—the part that made his chest ache—was that he couldn’t step in. He couldn’t tell you how wrong you were because he wasn’t supposed to be listening this in the first place.

“And?” Ominis prompted.

“And what?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“You’re always going on about how wonderful he is, which, I’ll admit, I struggle to agree with,” Ominis said with a dry chuckle. “But you never actually tell me how he makes you feel. Isn’t that the important part? Does it matter how... how handsome and funny he is if he doesn't make you feel something special?”

You hesitated, your voice soft and uncertain when you finally spoke. “He… I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, Ominis. Like no matter what’s going on, as long as he’s there, I’ll be okay. And he makes me feel seen. Really seen. Like I don’t have to be the ‘hero of Hogwarts’ or ‘the girl with ancient magic.’ I don’t have to be anything except… me. He knows me in a way nobody else does. And when I’m with him, it’s like—for once—I don’t have to prove anything.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, more painful. Because that’s how he felt about you. You were his safe place, the one person who saw him as more than the brash, reckless troublemaker everyone else thought he was.

And now… now he was realizing that someone else held that place for you.

Ominis huffed a laugh, breaking the silence that followed your confession. “You know, it’s almost tragic.”

You glanced at him, confused. “What’s tragic?”

“That it’s him you’ve fallen for,” Ominis said, his voice laced with dry amusement. “Of all the people in Hogwarts—all the people who would gladly worship the ground you walk on—you’ve managed to lose your head over the most chaotic, reckless, insufferable person I know.”

Your jaw dropped, and a laugh bubbled out of you despite your embarrassment. “Ominis!”

“I’m serious,” he said, smirking. “You could have anyone. Anyone. And yet you’ve decided to pine after someone who probably doesn’t even realize you feel this way because he’s too busy rushing headlong into whatever absurd plan pops into his head.”

You groaned again, shaking your head. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Well, I do,” he replied, grinning. “Because clearly, he’s too thick to notice, and you’re too stubborn to tell him. I’m the one stuck in the middle of this ridiculous mess, forced to play mediator while you both dance around each other like idiots.”

Sebastian felt like his chest was going to collapse. The way Ominis spoke so casually about this guy—teasing, almost affectionate—was like a knife twisting deeper into his gut. Whoever you were in love with wasn’t just close to you. They were close to Ominis, too.

Who the hell is it?

Sebastian's mind raced through the possibilities, his thoughts a chaotic mess of jealousy and dread. It had to be someone you spent a lot of time with, someone you trusted enough to feel safe around, someone who was close enough to Ominis that he could make jokes about their recklessness.

And then it clicked.

Garreth Weasley.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. Of course it was Garreth. It made perfect sense.

Garreth was charming, clever, and funny. He had that easygoing, confident smile that always seemed to draw people in. He was loyal, too—always ready to back up his friends, even if it meant landing himself in trouble. And he had that playful, carefree energy that made everyone want to be around him.

Sebastian felt sick.

Of course she loves Garreth. Why wouldn’t she?

He thought back to all the times he’d seen the two of you together—laughing in the Great Hall, chatting during potions class, exchanging those little looks that he’d tried to tell himself didn’t mean anything.

But they did mean something, didn’t they?

And then there was Ominis. Ominis liked Garreth well enough, didn’t he? He put up with Garreth’s antics, even joined in on the occasional joke. If you were in love with Garreth, it explained why Ominis was teasing you so mercilessly.

It all fit together too perfectly.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. He wanted to hate Garreth—wanted to hate him for being everything Sebastian wasn’t, for being the kind of person you could fall for so easily.

But he couldn’t hate Garreth. Not really. It wasn’t Garreth’s fault that he was so damn likable. It wasn’t Garreth’s fault that Sebastian had been too much of a coward to tell you how he felt.

He pressed his back against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes and letting out a slow, shaky breath.

I’ve lost her, he thought bitterly. I never even had her, and I’ve already lost her.

“It’s not like I have a choice, Ominis,” you continued on, your voice quieter now, tinged with frustration and something far more raw. “If I could stop loving him, don’t you think I would have by now? Believe me, I’ve tried,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve told myself it’s just a stupid crush, that it doesn’t matter, but it does. And no matter what I do, I can’t… I can’t make it go away.”

“Then why don’t you tell him?” Ominis asked, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “What are you so afraid of?”

You groaned, the sound laden with frustration. “Because it doesn’t matter! He doesn’t like me back, Ominis. I’d destroy our friendship for nothing!”

Sebastian’s heart clenched painfully, the bitter sting of your self-doubt twisting something deep inside him. How could you think so little of yourself? How could you not see what he saw when he looked at you?

Ominis let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think he deserves you,” he muttered. “Merlin knows he’s well aware he doesn’t deserve you. But you can’t decide his feelings for him. That’s not how it works.”

You scoffed. “Your point?”

“I’m just saying,” Ominis replied, his tone exasperated, “that you’re doing both of you a disservice. It’s… it’s getting to the point where something has to give. Either you tell him how you feel, or—”

“Or what?” you interrupted, glaring at him.

“Or I will,” Ominis said firmly, his expression unyielding.

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Ominis said, his smirk returning. “I’m tired of watching you both suffer in silence. Merlin knows Sebastian’s too dense to work it out on his own. Maybe hearing it outright will knock some sense into him.”

Sebastian’s heart stopped.

It’s me.

The thought hit Sebastian like a stunning spell, freezing him in place as the pieces of the conversation finally fell into place. Every word, every hint, every exasperated sigh from Ominis—it all pointed to the same answer, one that he’d been too blind, too self-critical, to see.

You were talking about him.

You were in love with him.

His breath hitched, and his grip on the banister tightened as his heart pounded so loudly he was certain you and Ominis would hear it. The jealousy, the doubt, the sharp ache in his chest—all of it melted away, replaced by a dizzying mix of disbelief, relief, and something far brighter: hope. Because you loved him.

“I mean it,” Ominis was saying now, his tone both firm and teasing. “If you won’t tell him, I will. Frankly, I’m tired of sitting through these endless heart-to-hearts when the solution is so obvious.”

You groaned, your frustration evident. “Ominis, I swear—”

“Do it, or I’ll make it the most public confession Hogwarts has ever seen,” Ominis threatened, though the smirk on his face made it clear he was only half-serious.

Sebastian couldn’t stay silent any longer. His feet moved before his mind caught up, carrying him down the remaining steps until he was standing in the open, his gaze fixed on you.

“Ominis won’t have to say a word,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside him.

You and Ominis both turned toward him, your expression contorting into shock while Ominis grinned.

“Sebastian,” you breathed, your eyes wide.

Ominis crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “Ah, there you are."

Sebastian ignored him, his focus entirely on you. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Everything you just said… is it true?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Your gaze flickered to Ominis, as if silently cursing him, before returning to Sebastian. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” he admitted, taking a step closer.

You flushed, your hands twisting nervously at your sides. “Sebastian, I—”

“Just tell me,” he interrupted gently, his eyes searching yours. “Please.”

You hesitated for a moment, your breath hitching, before finally nodding. “Yes."

For a moment, Sebastian couldn’t speak. He just stood there, staring at you, his heart so full he thought it might burst. And then, without thinking, he reached for your hands, his grip firm but gentle.

“You’re in love with me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, your voice trembling as you said, “I am."

“I love you, too,” he said simply, the words spilling from his lips like they’d been waiting years to be spoken. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember."

Tears welled in your eyes as you stared at him, your expression a mix of disbelief and overwhelming relief. “You… you do?”

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “I do. More than anything.”

Ominis cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. “Well, now that that’s settled, perhaps you two can finally stop making my life so unbearably dramatic.”

Sebastian shot him a look, but there was no real anger behind it. For once, he was too happy, too relieved to care about Ominis’ meddling.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of everything left unsaid finally lifted. And then, with a soft, almost hesitant smile, Sebastian tilted his head and closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was certain.

When the kiss broke, Sebastian rested his forehead against yours, his smile soft but unshakably certain. “You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. And as you laughed, the sound light and filled with a joy you hadn’t felt in years, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[braddourifscareertrajectory]

i feel bad but honestly idek if i’ll finish my emmrich run bc as charming as he is i find the game just…boring, on the second run. the gameplay loop is dull for me (yet also oddly stressful? idk, unfortunate combo lol) i simply do not care about elf lore to any great degree so that’s not super interesting to dig into now i know all the reveals, the borked inquisitor import defaulting to a romanced lavellan is funny but feels mildly insulting lol, the world feels so small despite all the locations for some reason but with little depth to make up for it, i find the hamfisted rook/solas parallels and obvious story preference for relating to and ultimately redeeming solas tiresome…idk. the replay value is very low for me, i’m discovering. ngl if there were more romance content i’d probably power through but idk if i have it in me with how sparse it feels.

ah well. it is what it is. probably time to move onto greener pastures (redoing my stardew valley mod setup)

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[theemporium]

[4.6k] as the season dwindles on and the new year approaches, luke comes to a handful of realisations. some of them were unsurprising. some of them were not. one of them leads to a very interesting interaction during his captain's new years party. (smut)

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Whoever said it was better to be self aware was a fucking liar. 

It had been a few weeks since the Hughesbowl and Luke had come to a few realisations in that time. Some epiphanies that had been tormenting him over sleepless nights as the season dragged on into December and quickly approached the end of the year. 

One: No matter how many times he had said it before, Luke still couldn’t quite grasp just how different NHL hockey was to the hockey he had been playing his whole life. And it sounded stupid to say, considering he had grown up being around NHL players and had two brothers in the league before him too. But it was tiring and rewarding and, fuck, he didn’t think he had ever been so hungry in his damn life before he joined the NHL. 

Two: Adulting in college versus adulting in real life was weird, different and not as fun as he liked to think it was when he was growing up. He felt like he spent most of his free time fighting the washing machine, wondering if groceries had always been this expensive and bribing Jack to do things for him when it got too overwhelming or confusing. Which, also wasn’t great considering his brother was just as helpless as he was, and Quinn was too far away to bother. 

Three: Despite the concerns tucked away in the back of his mind when he signed his first contract with the Devils, none of the team had made him feel like he was just Jack’s younger brother. He knew Nico had said as much at the start of the season, but experiencing it and really feeling like a part of the team brought a fuzzy warmth in his chest that he wasn’t quite ready to confess to anyone—but it was a nice feeling that followed him through the season, even after the losses. 

Four: Figuring out you were kind of in love with your friend who also offered to take your virginity was not exactly the best crisis to be having in the middle of your rookie NHL season. But he was having said crisis regardless and there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

And five: the Devils took New Years very seriously. 

As in serious enough that Jack was looking at him like he was the crazy one at this current moment.

“Did you hear what I just said?” 

Luke blinked, his spoon hovering awkwardly over his bowl of cereal as he stared at his brother across the table. “Yeah no, I heard you. I am just trying to wrap my head around why you decided to tell me at—” His eyes glanced over at the clock on the wall before returning to Jack. “Seven in the morning that I am banned from leaving the state for New Years?”

“Because you’ll make Nico sad,” Jack said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Luke put his spoon down. “Nah, you’ve still lost me.” 

Jack let out a deep sigh. “You can’t upset him like that, Luke. He’s our captain.”

“And me leaving the state in the three days off we have between games around then will upset him?” Luke deadpanned. He wasn’t even planning on leaving. He doesn't even know where he would go. But his sleepy brain almost wanted to pretend he had plans just to spite Jack right now.

“Duh,” Jack huffed. “He throws a New Years thing every year. Jonas missed it once when he had some family in town and Nico was pouty as fuck after, even if he didn’t admit it. It’s, like, a team bonding thing for him. Hockey families and real families coming together.”

Luke blinked. “It’s way too early for me to understand half the words that just left your mouth.”

“Plus we have a game on his birthday,” Jack added with a shrug. “It will probably be a double celebration.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grumbled as he shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I’ll be there. You know I’d be there. I don’t get why you’re asking.”

Jack didn’t say anything for a moment before he spoke again, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “He doesn’t mind if you bring some guests. The more the merrier.”

Luke bit back his yawn. “Who would I even bring?” 

Jack shot him a deadpan look. “You’re so dumb.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, almost tempted to lay his head down on the counter and fall asleep right there. “M’not gonna miss Nico’s New Years party, don’t gotta get defensive about your boyfriend.”

Jack let out a noise that sounded vaguely close to a squeak. “He is not my boyfriend—” 

Luke zoned out after that. 

…

It wasn’t until a few days later, when Luke was sprawled on the floor in some feeble attempt of stretching his muscles after a late morning gym session, that Jack’s words made sense. 

He stared up at the gym room ceiling, listening to the various noises around the room: machines humming, metal clinking, guys talking. It was oddly soothing, almost mindful. These were noises Luke was familiar with, that he sought out to cling onto when the noises in his head were a little more irritating. It reminded him that he was actually there in the moment.

“Are you stuck down there?” 

Luke blinked as a shadow suddenly casted over him, taking a few seconds before he saw Nico staring down at him with an inquisitive look, though he seemed more amused than concerned. 

“Cardio days suck,” was all he was able to supply, his hands resting on his stomach as he made no move to sit back up or head towards the locker room to shower and change.

Nico just snorted, shaking his head in a way that almost seemed fond. “Welcome to the big league.” 

“Every league has cardio,” Luke replied, a little snottily if he was honest with himself. “And it sucks no matter what age you are.” 

Nico’s grin just widened in response.

For a moment, Luke was happy to just lay there for a few more minutes and let Nico wander off to go check on some of the other guys dotted around the gym. He knew his captain, knew he was doing his rounds and knew that he would have done them anyways, regardless of the ‘C’ on his chest because that was just the type of person Nico was. Luke was happy to let him shift that attention onto someone else.

But then Nico turned to head towards Haula and Bastian on the treadmills and a thought suddenly entered his head and Luke was opening his mouth before he even realised it.

“Hey, are you still doing your New Years thing?” 

Nico paused, his face brightening up. “Yeah, I am.” He paused, his smile faltering a little. “Why, can you not make it? I swear Jack said you could—”

“No, yeah, I am,” Luke answered quickly, scrambling to sit up a little so he would feel less exposed. He ran his fingers through his curls, wincing a little when his pinky nabbed a tangle before making his eyes meet Nico’s curious gaze. “I was just wondering if it would be okay if I brought someone.” 

Nico’s shoulders dropped in relief but his head tilted in interest. “Brought someone?” 

“A friend,” Luke supplied. 

“A friend,” Nico repeated, looking as though he was biting back his grin. “Yeah no, bring her with you. The more the merrier.”

Luke raised his brows. “How did you know it was a her?” 

Nico smiled knowingly. “Call it a captain’s hunch.”

Luke frowned. “That’s not a thing.”

Nico just shrugged in response. 

He tried not to let the question linger too much, instead finally forcing himself to finish his stretches before heading towards the locker room. The noise of his teammates blurred in the background as he reached for his phone, typing out a message before heading towards the showers.

hockey boy: u got any plans for nye?

…

“You suck.”

“I literally don’t know how else you expected me to answer the question.”

“I asked you what the dress code was and you said ‘nice’,” you scoffed, shooting the boy a look as you settled into the passenger seat of his car. “Nice isn’t a dress code. Nice doesn’t tell me if I should be wearing jeans or a dress.”

Luke tried—and failed-–to bite back his grin as he glanced over at you. “I see you went with the dress.” 

“No thanks to you,” you retorted with a small huff, but your lips were already twitching upwards. “I would rather your teammates think I am weirdly overdressed than weirdly underdressed.” 

“They won’t think you are weird,” he assured you, deciding not to point out the fact you had been around them on previous occasions and had never ran into that issue before. He didn’t think you would want him playing know-it-all. “But maybe stay away from Curtis.” 

He could hear the glee in your voice, even if he didn’t turn his head around. “Scared he will give me some ammo against you?” 

“Yes.” 

You laughed, shaking your head. “My new favourite Devil.” 

Luke rolled his eyes, also deciding not to mention the small burn of jealousy that bubbled in his stomach at your obvious joke. 

“Don’t worry,” you said after a few moments of silence, playfully knocking your hand against his thigh. “I wouldn’t embarrass you in front of your people.”

Luke snorted. “My people?”

“Yeah, you athletes are all super weird about your teammates. You guys kinda seem more like a cult than a family but it’s cute,” you teased. “Does this mean I get to join the cult for the night? Special access?” 

“We aren’t a cult,” Luke scoffed, choosing to also not mention the handful of weird superstitions half of his teammates complete before every game. 

“But they are important to you,” you retorted.

Luke nodded, smiling a little softer. “Yeah. They are.” 

“Then I’ll keep the fact you thought the Titanic was a documentary a secret,” you concluded, snickering when the boy let out an exaggerated groan.

“It’s based on a real ship, okay!” 

“Yeah but Leonardo DiCaprio wasn’t on the ship back in 1912 when it went down.” 

“Whatever, there was room on that door and everyone knows it,” Luke grumbled, sniffling slightly before he turned to glance at you once again as the car came to a stop at a red light. “You’re important to me too, you know.” 

You turned your head to look at him, wiggling your eyebrows. “Working towards a midnight blowjob instead of a midnight kiss?” 

“I—no,” his cheeks burned hot and he was suddenly glad the car was too dark for you to see the full extent of how red his face must have been as memories of you on your knees—of his number on your cheeks—flashed to the front of his mind. “I mean it. You’re important to me.” 

You blinked, your smile faltering a little when you realised he was serious. “Oh.”

“Like,” Luke quickly cleared his throat. “We’re friends, right? My friends are important to me.” 

“Yeah no, of course,” you laughed, and maybe it was still a little awkward and stilted but he was glad you weren’t jumping out of the car and running off. “I didn’t realise I reached cult level though.”

Luke smiled. “Maybe just for tonight.”

“Knew it!” 

He turned his eyes back to the road for the rest of the journey to Nico’s place.

…

Luke knew he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. He knew that. He didn’t even mean to. It just kind of happened somewhere between him disappearing into Nico’s kitchen to look amongst the weird European beers and ciders until he could find two flutes of champagne for you both and walking back with said flutes in hand to overhear you talking to Jack. 

Jack, who he remembered being on the other side of the room almost on Nico’s lap, before he left to grab your drinks.

“You watch our games?” 

Luke paused, a voice in his head telling him to take that step forward, to walk back into the room, to intervene before Jack inevitably embarrassed him. The other—and louder—voice kept him put, holding onto the champagne flutes tightly as he listened. 

“Yeah, the ones I can.” 

“Really?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“Guess I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I mean, I don’t understand a single thing that is happening.”

“Luke hasn’t explained the game to you?”

“Oh no, he has. I still don’t get it. But hey, the commentators tell me you guys are pretty good.” 

Luke listened to the way Jack laughed, noted how it sounded more like his actual laugh rather than the stilted media one.

“I’m surprised Luke had the balls to invite you.” 

Luke’s eyes widened, his cheeks growing hot again as he silently vowed to trip Jack up during their next practice for that line.

“Am I that scary?” 

Jack didn’t respond for a moment. “I don’t think it’s you he’s scared of.”

“What? He thought you guys would scare me away?” 

“We can be overwhelming.”

“You guys fight other grown men on ice for a living, I think I can survive.”

Jack laughed again. “Mom would love you, you really know how to keep a guy humble.”

“You mean keep his ego in check.”

“Professional athletes with egos? Unheard of.”

This time it was you who snorted out a laugh.

“You’re not what I expected, Cherry.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” 

But before Jack could say anything, before he could possibly embarrass Luke any further and continue whatever weird interrogation he had going on with you, Luke quickly rounded the corner and practically shoved a champagne flute into your hand whilst shooting his brother a look.

“Shouldn’t you be bothering Nico or something?” 

Jack shot his brother a knowing look, glancing between the two of you before he took a step back. “Yeah, I guess I have a few things to tell him.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. 

“It was nice to meet you, Cherry,” Jack said earnestly, tipping his beer bottle towards you. “Maybe I’ll catch you at the house. It would be nice to see Luke around instead of running off to yours.”

You snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Luke watched the new but playful camaraderie between you and his brother. The banter and the shared laughs at his expense. He watched it as he chugged a mouthful of champagne, hoping the bubbles would drown the other fluttering feelings he was feeling in his stomach. 

…

“I’ve been looking for you.”

You snapped your head around, your smile widening a little when you found Luke standing by the door of the guest room. His sleeves were now rolled up, a few more buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his curls looked as though they had been ruffled by a drunk and very handsy Haula more than once.

“The main bathroom was occupied so Nico said I could come in and use the guest room bathroom,” you explained, nodding your head towards the other door. 

“And you decided to hide in here afterwards?” Luke asked, mostly playful and teasing but there was a hint of concern in his voice. The team could be a lot sometimes and, despite the fact you seemed more than capable of holding your own, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable and as though you couldn’t leave.

“I got intrigued,” you shrugged as you gestured towards the bookshelf that seemed to take over a large portion of the guest room wall. “How many languages does this guy know?”

Luke snorted as he walked deeper into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a small huff. “I think three?” He shrugged, leaning back against his hands. 

“That must be so cool,” you murmured, your eyes flickering over the book spines before turning back to look at Luke. “Do you know any other languages?” 

Luke shook his head.

“None?” You laughed in disbelief. “Buddy, most of your teammates down there speak English as a second language and you haven’t picked up anything?” 

“Do three words in standard German count?” Luke retorted, playful and sheepish all at once. “Jack tried learning on Duolingo for, like, two weeks to try to impress Nico during summer before realising Swiss German and standard German are different.”

You shook your head, trying to bite back your smile as you wandered closer. “F for effort on your part. I’m pretty sure Jonas taught me more in one conversation than you’ve learnt all season.”

Luke rolled his eyes, his fingers twitching against the comforter with the urge to reach out for you. “It can be my New Years resolution.” 

“Yeah? You have a list?” You questioned, watching as he spread his legs without thinking and let you into the space like it was instinctual. 

He shrugged. “I try. Achievable stuff, you know?” 

You raised your brows. “Like?”

“Eat better, workout more, start a new hobby,” he listed off, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he finally gave in, as he finally reached for your waist to tug you even closer to him. “Learn a new skill. Or improve on ones I already know.”

You hummed, your hands resting on his shoulders as your fingers skimmed the fabric of his shirt. “Hockey skills?” 

Luke glanced up at you, swallowing a little. “Not all of them.”

Your lips twitched upwards. 

His thumb smoothed over your hips, feeling the small details of your dress under his touch. “What’s on your list?” 

“I don’t have one,” you admitted with a shrug. “No point to it. If I want to do something, I’ll do it.” 

“Sounds like one of the media trained answers we are forced to give,” Luke teased, pressing his thumb a little harsher to gain your attention when your head tipped back with a laugh. “No, but really. There’s nothing new you wanna try?” 

“Are you offering?” You retorted, lighthearted and teasing. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Maybe I am.” 

Your head tilted slightly, your hand moving to lightly grasp the back of his neck. “We probably shouldn’t. I hate to break it to you, Hughes, but you’re not very quiet once you get going.” 

His cheeks burned but he didn’t tear his eyes away from you. “Who said I was the one getting off?” 

And that seemed to catch you by surprise.

“Pretty boy is feeling confident, huh?” You mused, your fingers brushing against the curls at the nape of his neck. “As hot as it is, I don’t think we have time.” 

And your words sent a spark through, soft and buzzing and persistent. A spark that he knew very well, a spark that made his grip on your waist tighten. A spark that he felt every single time he stepped onto the ice.

“Is that a challenge?” Luke asked, his voice a little lower than he intended. 

You smirked, shaking your head. “Depends what you have in mind.” 

His heart was pounding in his chest, loud and strong and overwhelming, but it didn’t stop him as he leaned his chin against your stomach. “I want to make you come.” 

Your eyes wandered over his face, at the pure determination in his eyes. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded, his hands trailing down the side of your thighs. “That’s on my list too.” 

Your lips twitched. “Thinking of becoming a ladies man? Live up to the hockey sex god stereotype?” 

He shook his head. “No. Not other girls. Just wanna make you come.”

You didn’t have a reply for that. 

“I wanna make you come right now. In here.” There was a flicker of something else in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. 

Your brows lifted slightly.

“If you want to,” he added, his hands squeezing the back of your thighs. “Consent is sexy, you know.” 

“Show me what you’ve got, pretty boy,” you murmured, leaning down to close the distance between you as you pressed your lips against his. 

The rest of the world was a distant buzz in the back of his mind once you finally kissed him, his shoulders dropping with some unexplainable relief that only being around you seems to bring. Your fingers were already in his curls by the time his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, leaving the boy groaning and gasping into your mouth as you tugged him closer. 

You pulled back for a second, to catch your breath and appreciate the flush on his cheeks before leaning back in. But it was enough. It was enough to have his mind spiralling faster than he could even keep up with.

For a split second, you weren’t smiling down at him. For a split second, the two of you were back in his car and you were staring at him with an expression he didn’t understand, an expression that made his stomach turn nonetheless. For a split second, he was just staring helplessly at you as you doubted the words he said. 

And whilst Luke never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew it would be a monumentally stupid idea to repeat the words. He knew that if he repeated the words he said in the car, if he tried to insist on their truth, you would shut down again. 

And he didn’t want that.

Not at all.

But the overwhelming and insistent need to show you what you meant to him was bubbling inside him, swirling along with the bottled up feelings and glasses of champagne he had drank over the course of the night. 

And if he couldn’t tell you, he would show you. He would make you see that you were important to him, that this unlikely and unconventional friendship may have started with you helping him but he was in this for you too. 

That your pleasure was important to him too.

He swallowed your gasp with another kiss as he tugged you closer, as he finally broke whatever restraint the two of you had until you were finally on his lap. Or, almost on his lap. But when you tried to shift in his hold, when you tried to straddle his lap properly, Luke’s strong grip on your waist kept you locked in place.

“Stay,” he murmured, swallowing harshly as he leaned back enough to watch the confusion wash over your face. 

“I thought—” You started but he was already shaking his head.

“Like this. I want to get you off like this,” he confessed, his voice rasping as he tried to pretend like his whole body wasn’t thrumming with excitement and nerves and something else he wasn’t quite ready to name. “On my thigh.” 

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. 

“Fuck, Luke,” you murmured under your breath before pulling his lips back onto yours through the hold you still had on his curls. 

He sunk into the kiss as easily as he breathed, moaning softly when he felt your tongue against his own. His hands clung onto you, squeezing your waist like he needed to make sure you were actually there, like this was real and not some sex-crazed dream he would wake up from, half-hard and alone in his room. 

But the silk of your dress remained under his touch, soft and smooth and bunching in his fists as he clenched the fabric in his hold. And then his hands started wandering as you continued to kiss him senseless. 

He pushed the skirt of your dress up until it pooled at your waist, until his hands were engulfing and squeezing your thighs. His fingers continued to skin upwards, until his fingertips were brushing against the waistband of your panties, until he could hear the small gasp you let out as he lightly traced them. 

It made his head spin the way you were straddling his thigh, the way he could feel the warmth of your cunt pressed against his leg, feel it through the fabric of the dress pants he wore for the party. It made his head spin how he wished he could pull them off, how he wished he could just feel you with no boundaries between. 

His hands were pawing at you before they started to guide you, rocking you back and forth on his thigh. It was slow and deliberate, almost unnoticeable until the first choked out noise you let out between the soft kisses he was giving you. 

“C’mon,” his voice was low, rough, full of desire. “Want you to take what you want.” 

One hand remained entangled in his curls but the other shifted down to grip his shoulder, to dig your nails into the fabric of his shirt as you continued to follow the pace he set. It shouldn’t have felt so good, but it did. It felt so fucking good with his sweet words smothering the slow pace he refused to relent.

“Shit, Luke, I—” You cut yourself off, biting down on your lower lip as he continued to guide your hips, as he continued to let you grind yourself against his flexing thigh. 

“Whatever you want,” he murmured out, feeling like he was in a daze as he watched your eyes flutter shut. You were breathtaking when you let the pleasure take over, when he got to see you with no walls up and unguarded. “Just tell me.” 

“More,” you managed to mutter out, your head falling back as you continued to ride his thigh, to feel the rush of what you were doing just down the hall from his teammates wash over you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered because he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t hold the thought back even if he wanted to. “Wanna make you come more, Cherry baby, shit.”

Because he did. He wanted to do this a million more times if he could watch you like this for the rest of his life. He wanted to see you riding his thigh, unashamed and unabashed, so lost in your own pleasure—pleasure that you were receiving from him—that you had no other worries in the world.

He wanted to watch you lean your head forward against his shoulder, his name leaving your lips between soft moans and a list of curse words as your orgasm washed over you. He wanted to watch the way your body shook with the after effects, the way you clung onto him like a lineline. 

He wanted to watch the way you lifted your head, giving him a smile so soft that he felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath him. 

“I have been severely underrating hockey thighs all these years,” you muttered, your smile widening a little more when Luke let out a disbelieving laugh.

Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away from you if he tried. “What? No thank you?” 

“That’s your thing, pretty boy, not mine,” you teased before you relented, leaning forward to press a soft but lingering kiss on his cheek. It was somehow the most intimate act you shared in the last fifteen minutes. “Ten out of ten for your thighs.”

Luke swallowed harshly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good, because that won’t be the last time we are using them,” you said to him, so sure of yourself and unaware of the muddle of thoughts in his head at that moment. 

“Happy New Years, Cherry,” he managed to mutter out, not even sure if the clock had passed twelve or not. But it was the last of his concerns when you smiled at him.

“Happy New Years, Luke,” you murmured softly. 

And yet, all he could think about was how he wanted to hear those words leave your mouth every year. 

.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Might as well be drunk in love: 3 of 3

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (CEO AU)

Summary: In which your friend thought it would be funny to give you a love potion, and in which seven CEOs accidentally drank it.

Warnings: Love Potion, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: HAPPY HOSEOK'S DAY! We made it! 2/7!!

Part 1, Part 2

Your smile was genuine when you met Kim Taehyung’s eyes.

Unlike the others who were punctual, he was a minute late. He was grinning though like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to share to you.

“You seem happy, Taehyung,” you remarked as you stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking with each heartbeat. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he waited eagerly for you to reach him. The only indication of his bubbling excitement was the way he bounced slightly on his feet. He looked so much lighter in this light, you noticed, the usual darkness in his eyes was nowhere to be found.

He looked truly happy like the sun had decided to shine just for him.

“I am,” he said, his grin widening even more. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. How can he not be happy when you were near? “You’re here with me. With us. How can I not be happy?” he murmured, gently pulling your hand into his and clasping your fingers tightly.

You blinked, surprised by his blatant statement. The potion was indeed so powerful that even the cold Taehyung turned into this kind of person you would want for you own had it been a different circumstance. You thought that whoever he would choose to love after all this fiasco would be the luckiest person.

However, you chose to not dwell on his statement. You were extremely happy with the good news your friend shared with you. There would be a cure soon, and you just knew that you would be nothing to him and all of them after this but a fleeting memory. You decided to hold on for a little while longer, and maybe just lived in the moment where this was a possibility. Sooner rather than later, they would go back to not knowing and caring who you were.

You cleared your throat, “So, where are you taking me?”

Taehyung took a sip from his coffee, the takeout food laid on either side of you on the bench. A smile tugged at your lips at the peculiarity of it all—here was one of the richest men in South Korea, someone with immense influence, choosing to share a simple day in the park with you. It felt surreal, the laughter of children and rustling leaves wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“This is really good,” he hummed appreciatively, his eyes lighting up as he sampled one of the dishes from the food truck. “And it’s really cheap. I cannot believe those fancy restaurants charge so much when the food is just so-so.”

“Right? Finally, someone from the rich admitted it!” you laughed, your voice mingling with the sounds of the park. “I always wondered if the taste buds of the rich are just inherently different from us. There’s no way you guys are satisfied with those little servings of dishes. Also, is this your first time eating here?”

“Yes…” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the pond sheepishly. “I always wanted to do this with a girlfriend. You know, those TV dramas show how romantic this is.”

You couldn’t help but grin at his confession and the innocence in his voice. The sincerity of his confession made him endearing, if not more. “So, here we are, living the drama, huh? Too bad you didn’t do this with your real girlfriend.”

He glared at you, his expression mock-serious, before playfully snatching your hand and fully enclosing it with his. “You’re my real girlfriend,” he grumbled childishly, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Your heart raced at the sudden intimacy, warmth flooding through you. “Oh, really? Guess I should start practicing my dramatic sighs and longing gazes then,” you teased, squeezing his hand gently.

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin, his earlier shyness melting away. “I expect nothing less from my leading lady.”

It was a nice lunch out which should have ended as nicely as it started.

But you should have known your wish was too good to be true.

You were walking with him on your way back to the office when he randomly decided to go back and buy his brothers takeout food. He claimed that since he thoroughly enjoyed it, his brothers should too so that they would know just what they were missing. He asked you to wait for a little while before he turned back. And you did. You were contented with scrolling through your social media when you were interrupted.

“Excuse me, miss?” A man called for you, his smile was warm as he looked at you. “May I know what time it is?”

“Oh uhm, it’s 1:37,” you replied, glancing at the screen of your phone.

He thanked you politely before resuming his walk when he abruptly stopped. He chuckled sheepishly, looking at you over his lashes. “I really don’t need to know the time. I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this. You’re just so beautiful –”

“May I help you?” Taehyung’s voice suddenly cut through the air, firm yet protective as he reappeared, a bag of takeout in hand. He stepped in front of you, effectively blocking you from the other man’s view. His face was void of any emotion, yet he managed to terrify the man.

The man straightened, clearly caught off guard. Taehyung’s presence shifted the atmosphere, his expression a mix of confusion and an underlying feeling of intimidation. “Uh, I was just… asking the time,” the man stammered, taking a step back.

Taehyung’s gaze narrowed slightly, a hint of a challenge in his posture. “Right. And now you’ve got the time. Anything else?”

“Man, I’m not looking for any trouble. I-I just really thought she’s single. I meant no harm!” the man protested, his voice shaky.

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung whispered, the sound of irritation was heavy in his tone. “Why are you still looking at my woman?” He asked, the words coming out as a low growl, each syllable deliberate and heavy.

The air between you crackled with tension as the man’s face blanched, realizing he had crossed a line. He raised his hands defensively, backing away further. “I—I didn’t know! Sorry, I just thought—”

“Thought what?” Taehyung pressed, taking a step forward, his stance unwavering. “That it was okay to interrupt her? To make her uncomfortable?” He was too close to the man, his hands closed to a fist as though he was just one look away from exploding. “That you can steal her away from us?!”

How could you ever think that he was something other than the darkness that was caging his heart? How could you ever be so naïve? “Hey, it’s fine. He didn’t bother me at all,” you interjected gently, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. “Let’s just let him go.”

Gone was the sweet man you perceived him to be not long ago, and in his place was the darkness you always knew him to be when he slowly turned around after the man swiftly escaped the situation. “Remember this, little one,” he started, his voice grave yet commanding, a blend of promise and threat. “We are the only one for you.”

You couldn't shake off the discomfort that Taehyung's interaction had stirred within you.

You were deep in your thoughts, terror and anxiety in your heart. He was the third in the schedule and you still had four to go. All the interactions you had with the boys so far only made you see the warning signs flashing in your mind. This was a wrong decision. You should have heeded your friend’s warning about spending time with them and avoided skinship as much as possible.  

You should have focused on finding the cure. However, you couldn’t just turn your back on them, not when they all acted like they were on their deathbeds as though you were the only cure, badly needing you to take their next breath. The weight of their dependency tugged at your conscience, making it harder to escape the turmoil that surrounded you. Hence, your predicament.

Taehyung’s reaction was too much. The potion was turning them into jealous, possessive men, their natural temperaments amplified into something almost unrecognizable. It had only been three days since the potion had taken effect, yet it seemed to amplify their emotions, turning them into jealous, clingy versions of themselves. You felt a chill run down your spine as you recalled the way his eyes had darkened, how intense his gaze had been, as if he saw you as something he needed to protect at all costs.

Consumed by these unsettling thoughts, you almost forgot about Jungkook entirely. His presence had slipped into the background amidst the chaos Taehyung’s behavior had caused. That is, until the hurried sound of footsteps interrupted your spiral. You turned, startled, to find a group of Jungkook’s guards, their expressions tight with fear. Wide-eyed and breathless, they approached you swiftly, the urgency in their movements sending a wave of panic through you.

“What—what’s happening?” you stammered, confusion mixing with dread.

“Mr. Jeon… he’s not well,” another guard murmured, his tone serious. “It’s bad.”

Your heart sank as the weight of their words hit you. Jungkook was not well.  If Taehyung’s possessiveness had shaken you, the thought of Jungkook in a similar state terrified you even more. Without hesitation, you followed them, a knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

As you neared his floor, the muffled sounds of destruction reached you—sharp crashes, the unmistakable sound of something heavy being thrown, followed by a guttural, enraged grunt. The noise alone made your skin crawl, but you pushed forward.

“Go in,” one of the guards pleaded, his voice quiet but urgent as you hesitated. You could hear the familiar voices of Jin and Namjoon on the other side of the door, their tones strained as they attempted to calm him.

“Jungkook, breathe,” Namjoon was saying, his voice low, trying to inject calm into the chaos.

“Come on, it’s okay,” Jin added, though the strain in his voice betrayed the calm facade he was trying to maintain. “She’ll be here. She didn’t leave… relax.”

The guard beside you pushed the door open, leaving you no choice but to face your oversight. Suffice to say, the scene before you sent a fresh wave of fear through your body.

Jungkook’s office was a mess. Papers were scattered across the floor, a desk chair lay on its side, and the corner of the large wooden desk had a jagged crack running through it as if something—or someone—had hit it too hard. A shattered vase lay in pieces, its contents scattered across the floor.

In the center of the chaos stood Jungkook. His back was to you, his broad shoulders heaving with labored breaths, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Even from where you stood, you could feel the tension radiating off him like a living thing. His stark, dark hair was disheveled, his usually sharp, precise appearance completely undone by whatever storm was raging inside him.

You knew you caused it. You were aware of you effect on them, but heavens, you didn’t know it to be this bad.

Namjoon was the first to notice you. His draconic eyes, once calm and calculating, now burned with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. The second your startled gaze met his, you saw it—the darkness swirling in him, consuming him. He hadn’t seen you since last night, and the distance had frayed his already strained control. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as if he were holding himself back from lunging at you. He needed you. Desperately.

But the leader in him fought against the urge, restraining the primal hunger clawing at his insides. He knew he had to hold back—for now. The others needed you just as much as he did. He could wait. He had to wait. His fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the struggle within him.

He could wait until tonight.

He had to.

“Thank God,” Jin breathed when he noticed your presence. He stepped away from Jungkook.

Jungkook’s head snapped up the moment you stepped further into the room. His body froze, as though sensing your presence before even turning to look at you. Slowly, he turned around, and the intensity in his eyes when they locked onto yours was nearly suffocating. His dark eyes, wide with emotion, bore into you, his lips parted slightly as he struggled to catch his breath.

The room went still as Jungkook’s gaze never wavered from you. You could feel the raw intensity behind his eyes, the same kind of possessiveness you had seen in Taehyung but magnified tenfold in Jungkook. It wasn’t just desperation; it was obsession, need, something far more dangerous than mere jealousy.

“You…” he stammered; his voice rough from all the screaming he had done. His words were laced with desperation and disbelief. “Y-you didn’t leave us, Noona?”

The room was too silent as though their stability rested entirely on your next move. You knew you had to thread extremely carefully.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, your knees locked. You brain was screaming for you to run away from him. “Jungkook,” you whispered, his name fragile on your lips.

It was him who decided for you.

He hated the distance. It gnawed at him, fraying what little control he had left. He took a step forward, his fists still clenched, muscles tense as if he were fighting some invisible restraint. “Don’t leave me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was a command beneath the words. His hands caressed your cheeks and tilted you face to meet his eyes. “You… you can’t leave me. You cannot leave us.”

He didn’t let you leave. And you couldn’t as well, not when he was visibly distraught. Most especially, not when his arms were wrapped around you like a vine. Before you knew it, you were lying on the sofa in his office, Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you like vines, pulling you impossibly close. His body pressed against yours, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of his emotions was palpable. His grip on you never loosened, his head buried in the crook of your neck as if he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

The only reassurance he seemed to accept was having you there, physically close to him, where he could feel you, touch you, and know that you hadn’t disappeared. But as comforting as your presence was to him, it left you uncomfortable, stressed by the weight of the situation. Jungkook was too close, his grip too tight, and the intensity of it all made your mind scream for space, for distance. But you couldn’t move—not when each time you tried to shift even slightly, he would hold on tighter, and the quiet, broken sobs would return, muffled against your skin.

Your unlikely savior came at exactly 3 in the afternoon.

Min Yoongi opened the door in a relaxed manner as though he was the owner of the office, his bored eyes finding your form on the sofa. His relaxed demeanor was a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the room. Jungkook hadn’t noticed him yet, but you softly calling Yoongi’s name alerted him of his presence —more a sigh of relief than an actual greeting—it was enough to pull Jungkook’s attention. Yoongi raised his brow at Jungkook, his expression impassive as ever, a silent question if the younger man was finally okay. Jungkook’s only response was the slight untightening of his grip on you. The shift was hesitant, reluctant, but it was there. Slowly, his arms loosened, though his body still remained close, not quite ready to let you go entirely. His possessiveness had dulled, but it was far from gone.

Yoongi’s gaze softened when he turned it back to you, his expression warm and unexpectedly gentle. He knew what you had endured, the strain it had caused you, and for once, the sharp edges in his usually indifferent demeanor softened into something close to tenderness.

"Good afternoon, darling," Yoongi said in his low, easy drawl, a hint of amusement dancing behind his words. “I’ve come to save you.”

Yoongi knew how overwhelming and overstimulating things could be sometimes. For the life of him and despite the instincts screaming in his head to have you close, he chose to silently walk beside you. You had been through enough for today.

You didn’t even question where the two of you were going. It was like all the energy you had was drained from you. You were silent even as he closed the car door for you, was speechless even when he expertly drove away from the building. Min Yoongi was just exactly what you needed after the conundrum being with Jungkook brought.

“I know it was tough,” Yoongi said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. His voice was low, steady, as though he had been waiting for the right moment to speak. His hands gripped the steering wheel loosely, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but you could feel the weight of his attention on you. Even without looking at you, Yoongi had this uncanny ability to make you feel seen, like he was always aware of what you needed before you even realized it yourself. “But still, thank you for calming him down.”

The soft hum of the car filled the space, and though you didn’t respond immediately, you knew Yoongi didn’t expect you to. From the short time that you were with them, you noticef that he had always been like that—patient, never pushing you to speak before you were ready. His quiet understanding was something that set him apart. There was no rush with him, no urgency to force words or explanations from you. Just his presence, calm and grounding, allowing you to gather your thoughts.

You nodded slowly, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. The memory of Jungkook’s desperate grip on you, the way he had refused to let you go, still lingered, and it was too raw to put into words. But Yoongi didn’t push. He never did. He was just… there, giving you the space to process, to breathe. “I owe it to all of you. This was all my fault…”

Yoongi’s gaze shifted toward you, and for a moment, he looked at you as though you’d just said something utterly ridiculous. His brow furrowed, and the corners of his lips tilted into a frown of disbelief. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head. “This isn’t your fault. How could you have known? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Min Yoongi was just the reprieved you needed. Where the others seemed consumed by their need for you, Yoongi remained steady, unaffected by the storm raging around them.

He took you home and told you that he already took care of your supervisor and said that you were needed for a meeting. A wave of gratitude washed over you, and you couldn’t help the small, tired smile that tugged at your lips. You didn’t know how to thank him properly, but it seemed Yoongi didn’t need grand gestures. His way of caring was quiet and understated, but it spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but Yoongi’s small nod told you he heard it.

Your schedule with him was calm, much like his demeanor. The kitchen felt like a small sanctuary, the aroma of garlic and herbs wafting through the air as you chopped vegetables together. The music of your choice filled the space, a playful backdrop to the evening.

You smiled to yourself, caught up in the moment. Suddenly, a chuckle broke your reverie. You turned to see him shaking his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Bad Romance by Lady Gaga?” he teased, but there was no edge to his words—just a warm acceptance of your quirky taste. You shrugged, a grin spreading across your face. It felt domestic, this shared moment, and you savored it. And yes, Bad Romance was truly a banger song.

But then, the atmospere shifted. Lost in thought, you almost missed his sudden remark. “I heard from Hoseok that your friend found a cure for the love potion.” His voice was steady, almost indifferent, yet you caught the tension in the way he gripped the counter, knuckles whitening against the cool surface. His eyes were focused on his task, a deliberate action on his part.

You nodded, surely this was good news for them, right?

 “That’s…good.”

It did not sound like it was good. You considered asking him, pressing for clarity, but you hesitated. This was Yoongi, after all. He wasn’t a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, and pushing too hard might cause him to withdraw further. But your instinct, the one that had kept you grounded in moments like this, told you to be careful. You trusted him, both him and Seokjin, but trust was a fragile thing—especially when it came to the men who surrounded you.

After you two finished cooking, he found you sitting on the sofa, mindlessly searching for what to watch when he lied down, his head resting on your legs. You looked down, surprised but not displeased. You noted how he refrained from physically touching you the past hour, his control and thoughtfulness of your situation did not go unnoticed by you. “I tried to hold off as long as I could,” he murmured, his eyes drifting closed as he settled in.

You chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his dark hair. “Thank you for being considerate, Yoongi.” The weight of his head on your lap felt grounding, a connection that made the world outside seem distant.

It was five in the afternoon when you decided to freshen up. The entire day, despite it being only being afternoon, left you exhausted. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that clawed at you; it was the emotional toll of navigating conversations that felt more like tightrope walks than exchanges. Each word had to be measured, each response carefully calculated. It was like it would only take one wrong word for them to crumble. Each of them just as needy as the others.

It did not come as a surprise when you stepped out of the bathroom and found the one and only Park Jimin in your bedroom. His head was hanging low as he sat on your bed, his form slouched as he stared down. Gone was his suit, and his necktie hung loosely around his collar as though he had spent the entire day tugging at it.

“Jimin?”

Slowly, he looked up. His dark eyes were impassive, the usual glint gone. He looked so far from the sweet persona he usually had, and in his place was a man that was emitting dangerous vibes. “Little one,” he called, his voice low and toneless. “I heard your...” he trailed off, his scoffed a telltale sign of what exactly he was feeling. “-friend found us a cure.”

You blinked owlishly, caught off guard with how displeased he looked. He raised his brow at your prolonged silence, “What’s wrong, honey?” He stood up and sauntered to you, his faux concern so thick that you could almost choke at it. “All seven of us are sick from that love potion, right? So it’s only correct that we get the ‘cure’, right?”

You looked up to meet his eyes as he neared you, his chest almost touching yours from his proximity. “Are we sick to you, little one?”

“I—” you started, your heart beating fast from his line of questioning. The intensity of his line of questioning made your pulse quicken. He tilted his head, his finger catching droplets of water that had escaped from your hair, trailing slowly down your neck.

“Hmm? You what?” His voice was low, teasing yet laced with something darker.

“I just want you all to return to your normal life,” you answered truthfully. “I know everything happening is not normal for any of you. Your life does not involve around…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “This chaos. You deserve to be free.”

He paused with his ministration, his hand hovering near your chest. A flicker of something crossed his face and you failed to decipher whether it was from amusement or annoyance. He stepped even impossibly closer. He looked down at you and whispered something that terrified you. “Did you ask us if we want to go back to how it was? Little one, did you even ask if we need a cure?”

Involuntarily, your foot took a step back. The weight of his words came crushing down on you. You were shaking your head even before he could finish saying his piece. You thought that it was a ridiculous thought anyway. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Park Jimin. None of what you’re all feeling is real,” you implored him, willing his true self to understand what you were saying, and not the version of himself that was ‘in love’ with you. “This potion-it’s not who you are.”

His gaze held steady, dark and penetrating as though what you said set off something in him…something they all tried so hard to contain. “And what will you do if this is who we want to be? What if we want these versions of ourselves that are so utterly in love with you, little one? What then?”

You felt your breath hitched at every word and expose he was telling you. “But it’s a lie. You can’t love something or someone that’s been forced upon you. This isn’t love. You have to know that.”

It was a little while before he even responded again as silence enveloped the room. The only indication that he heard you was that subtle tilt in his head. “I see you still see all this as lovesickness and not destiny.”

“Because it is!” you insisted, the desperation for him to see the truth made your voice rose. “You can’t really believe that this is meant to be!”

Jimin shook his head, strands of his hair cascading on his forehead, breaking the carefully gelled up appearance of his. “You’ll get sick, too,” he whispered as though it was an omen, as though foretelling a fate that even you couldn’t comprehend.

But you would later on.

You heard him wrong…right? There was no way he said that.

“What?” The word came out as breathless gasp, disbelief flooding your senses.

He smiled innocently, the sudden playfulness in his expression felt like a mask. “Let me dry your hair before you get sick, little one.” His tone may have seemed so casual, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you couldn’t talk sense into him, not when the seven of them were neck-deep in the effects of that love potion. Furthermore, you knew that insisting that what they were all feeling was far from reality would only leave them feeling abandoned by the supposedly love of their lives: you. You couldn’t make them see reason, at least not now.

Right now, the only way to calm down the simmering annoyance and angst in him was to let him do what he wanted to do. Jimin was gentle and thorough as he dried your hair, his touch so soft as though you were made of porcelain, something he feared might shatter.

“See how good I take care of you, little one? How good we all treat you?” he murmured, his voice particularly low and soothing as he worked the towel through your damp locks.

You felt your heart ache at the sincerity in his words, even if they were colored by the potion’s influence. “Jimin…” you started, but the protest caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. He met your eyes through the mirror, his chin resting on your shoulder and rush of warmth and happiness passed through him. He fucking loved you, he thought to himself as an even fiercer conviction took root. You would see it soon.

“You are our queen, my love,” he continued with fierce intensity. “Don’t you see?”

But if this was love, then it felt like a prison to you. The sensation of his arms wrapped around you felt less like an embrace and more like shackles, binding you to a reality that terrified you. The walls felt as if they were closing in, the weight of his affection pressing down on your chest. You felt it even more when he placed his plump lips on your neck.

“And we will always sacrifice everything for our queen.”

As soon as the clock hit 7 in the evening, you tore yourself away from his embrace and ran down to the living room, already typing down on your phone to call for a meeting with the boys when you saw them already sitting there. They seemed to be in a deep conversation, their voices low and their faces serious. Sitting in the middle of them all was Kim Namjoon who had his eyes closed and his head resting against the backrest of the sofa. He looked similar to how he was when he trapped you in the elevator. He almost seemed to be sleeping had it not been the slight tremors in his hands that gave it away.

It was as though they were attuned to your presence when they all turned their heads to where you were, sans Namjoon, their conversation coming into a halt. It was eerie, you thought. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the synchronized movement, as if they were all part of some unsettling choreography.

“There she is,” Hoseok said brightly his face lighting up with a happiness that seemed almost out of place in the tense atmosphere. On his lap was your cat who was sporting a new collar. And was that gold?! “How was your day, little one?”

“We need to talk.”

“Uh-oh,” Taehyung plainly commented, his hand absentmindedly playing with Jungkook’s hair. His carefree gesture was a complete contrast to the seriousness in his face. “I already don’t like this.”

“Park Jimin, what did you do now?” Yoongi quipped, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the mentioned man entering the living room behind you. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, but the underlying concern was palpable.

Jimin smirked, holding your hand briefly when he passed you and sat down beside the quiet Namjoon. “Nothing. I just…dried her hair.”

Jin shook his head, shooting the maknae line a look of disappointment. He just knew that they did something today. Afterall, he thought that the younger men didn’t know the meaning of control and working in the shadows. He would talk to them later. They should have known how much of a flight risk you were. They were just banking on the kindness of your heart and how they used it to play with your conscience. It was that and Namjoon and Hoseok’s tactics that got you here, after all. They should all play smartly if they wanted this to last forever. And for now, making you happy was the way to that. He stood up and walked to you. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.  “I heard from Hoseok that there is a cure. Is this about it, my love?”

“Let’s hear it then, noona,” Jungkook said with a smile on your face. It was a deceitful smile, you noted to yourself. How he could turn his playfulness and innocence on and off was terrifying, and the evidence of it was staring right at your face. You looked down and saw his bandaged hand from the breakdown from earlier.

Yoongi offered you an encouraging smile and you were only too thankful for his quiet support. You didn’t think twice to sit when he tapped down the empty space beside him. “A-as you all know, my friend’s grandmother knows of a cure in the mountains-”

Taehyung’s sharp scoffed interrupted you. “You’re tired of taking care of your mess when it’s only been a day?” His tone may be playful, but there was an edge to it.

You took a dee breath, “I know this is all difficult for all of us. But if she knows something, if there is even a small chance that there is really a cure, then shouldn’t we go for it? If this can help-”

“Help us?” Jimin interjected, his tone softer but laced with frustration. “Help us how? By running off to the mountains while we’re all here struggling with these feelings?”

“And how will we even know that you’ll come back to us?” Hoseok added, his anger bubbling to the surface. “What if you just leave?” he voiced the heavy question everyone in the room had been thinking about, not that they would let you, anyway.

The atmosphere grew tense, and you could feel the weight of their accusations pressing down on you. “It isn’t fair,” you retorted, your voice trembling slightly.

“Well, it was never fair to the seven of us,” Taehyung shot back, his tone sharp. “We were minding our own business when your negligence caused us this situation. You are to blame, and all you want is to escape from it.”

You could no longer take all the blamings, you realized. You were not the only one to blame in this, right? You were just as victim as they were! And the oldest should also share the blame! “But he knew!”

Seokjin blinked owlishly, attention now on him as you pointed your finger at him. “Knew what?”

“You knew that that pink tumbler wasn’t yours! You said so yourself that you knew it wasn’t yours because yours had coffee in it! You knew and you kept on drinking!”

“Ah, right” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he offered sheepish looks at the other CEOs who were all looking at him with seriousness and disbelief in their eyes. “What? It was delicious, right?!”

“Well, yeah it was,” Yoongi approved, his voice low. He looked like he was already long done with this conversation with the way he was leaning against the backrest and you knew with just one push he would already be lying down and dozing off. However, his attention was still on you as he played with the strands of your hair.

“So, if you are all blaming me, shouldn’t you put blame on him, too? He offered you the drink knowing that it wasn’t his! And he didn’t tell you all!”

Jungkook nodded, completely agreeing at whatever you were saying as long as you kept talking. Your voice was melody to his ears, like a siren, he thought. If he was a cartoon, you were sure that he’d already have heart coming out of his eyes from the way he was looking at you. He was giggling like a child, his chin resting on his palm, his body turned to you. “You’re right, noona. It’s Jin hyung’s fault. We should kick him out of the house or exchange him for ice cream…Speaking of! What’s your favorite flavor, my love?”

“Fine! Then sue me! Arrest me! But lock me with her forever!” Seokjin exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.

“Seokjin, for the love of all that’s good-“

“I love it when you call me that,” he said with sincerity in his voice.

“I literally just called you your name!” you shot back in exasperation.

“Yes. That. I love it.”

“Oh my God, we’re getting off track!” You exclaimed in frustration. “The cure. It’s worth pursuing, don’t you all think? Isn’t that why I’m here in the first place? To alleviate the effects of the love potion?”

You knew you had them when they looked at each other in silence. “And what’s more alleviating than actually freeing us all from the effects of that potion?” you continued, your voice steady, determined. “If we have a chance to break this spell—if we can find a way to return to our normal lives—shouldn’t we take it?”

“You’re not going alone. We are coming with you,” Kim Namjoon broke his silence for the first time that night. You couldn’t help but notice the strain in his voice despite the firm way he delivered his demand, a telltale sign that he needed you now. It was already past seven, and he was the last one in the schedule. It was already way past his schedule, and he had been patient and enduring enough. He just knew that anytime now he would break. He opened his eyes, and his gaze locked onto yours, “Tomorrow. We go to the mountains.”

Before anyone could respond, he stood up swiftly, his long legs carrying him away from the eruption of chaos and disagreement that erupted from his statement. The others began to voice their objections, a flurry of protests filling the room.

Yet, he never stopped.

“You know you have to come to him, right, noona?” Jungkook said amidst the chaos. “Namjoon hyung is suffering…”

“He has been patient,” Hoseok added, admiring the strength and resolved that their lead CEO had. “But he needs you, too.”

The walk to his room was long despite the reasonable distance. It must have been because of the rapid beating of your heart as you walked to the unknown. The six of them all showed their dark side, the possessive, obsessive and jealous side that terrified you. You wondered what the last member would show you tonight.

But they were right.

Despite your fear and restlessness, you had to honor your responsibility with them.

Your knuckles had barely grazed his door when it opened from the inside, revealing the disheveled lead CEO.

Kim Namjoon was breathing hard despite the cool air inside his room. The usually composed lead CEO looked disheveled and visible exhausted. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, strands of his dark hair tousled as if his fingers had raked through them in frustration. He had already donned out his dark suit, his white and crisp shirt was unbuttoned. His muscular chest was glistening with sweat. Your eyes traced his form and found him barefooted.

This was as unmade as you ever witnessed him to be.

You were right, you realized. Kim Namjoon suffered the most today as he was the last one in the schedule. The way he was looking at you made it seemed like you were nothing to him but a prey, one that he had been desperately hunting the whole day. His silence only made you more tensed. "Namjoon," you began softly, concern evident in your voice as you stepped closer despite wanting to run away. "Are you alright?"

Instead of a reassuring answer, his demeanor shifted. His answer was pulling you inside his lair. His movements were quick. Desperate. Frantic. The sound of lock clicking loudly in the quiet of the room. This wasn't the controlled man you were accustomed to—this was someone else entirely, someone driven by raw instinct and need.

Every step he took towards you was a step you took backwards. He was sauntering to you like a predator would, his movements slow and deliberate like someone who knew had you trapped. His muscles were tensed like he was barely holding onto his control. His eyes, usually so warm, now bore into you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the tension radiating from him, his body coiled like a spring about to snap. You had an inkling that he wasn’t okay, but you never expected him to be this intense, this desperate.

"N-Namjoon, please," you stammered, your concern growing as his presence overwhelmed you, "You’re not okay. Let me get some help, okay?"

He scoffed softly, a sound that dripped with frustration and desire. The truth was plain to see—he wasn't just physically spent; there was something deeper unsettling him, something that demanded your presence, your touch, as if you were the anchor he desperately needed.

He knew if he didn’t have you in his arms in the next second, then he would truly lose it. He was desperate for you. And so, for the first time ever, he damned the consequences.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?! No-“

“I need to feel your skin or I will fucking lose it, little one,” he gritted, his hands formed into fists in an attempt to ground him. He didn’t want to scare you, that was the last thing he wanted.

But he was scaring himself. The dizzying need for you was terrifying him. Dark thoughts were swirling in his mind: all of them were of losing you. He didn’t know what would happen if they lost you. He didn’t know what they would be capable of if you had someone else.

The only thing that could calm him down was you. But you were stubborn, weren’t you? He saw your eyes darted to the door behind him, assessing the probability that you could escape him. It wouldn’t happen, he was certain. Not in the state he was in.

“Don’t,” he whispered with a shake of his head. “Don’t test me tonight, little one. I am barely holding it in.”

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered in admittance, your eyes begging him to be sane, to at least reach the Namjoon inside him that knew this was a grey area.

He paused in front of you. he was breathing hard and his eyes seemed to be all dark. His voice was low as he explained his need for you and his promise that the two of you would only be sleeping.

Tonight, he claimed that you would be safe.

“I won’t ask again, little one,” he whispered as he looked down at you. “Remove your clothes and get on the bed.”

“And we’ll just sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

He nodded. What he didn’t tell you was how he wasn’t sure if you could still be safe from the monsters you woke up inside them tomorrow. But that was tomorrow’s problem.

His eyes followed your every reluctant movement as you walked near to his bed. This was all so sudden, and the darkness of the room didn’t help you observe his personality that was reflected in his room. However, you were thankful for the darkness because it gave you the courage to do as he bade without the full weight of his gaze on you. Shadows danced across the walls and with a shaky breath, you finally sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets soft and inviting beneath you. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, seemed to wrap around you like a comforting shroud. It was easier to let the shadows obscure your uncertainties.

You began to remove your shirt, your heart racing as you felt his eyes on you, the intensity palpable. The fabric slipped away, leaving you feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated.

“The shorts, little one,” he ordered quietly, his eyes still on you as he shrugged of his white shirt. He raised his brows when a flicker of stubbornness crossed your face, a silent warning that he was at the very edge of a cliff. With shaky hands, you pushed off your shorts before quickly getting under his thick blanket, hiding your exposed skin from his eyes.

Your heard the buckle of his belt coming undone, and the sound of zipper following next was too loud in the silence of his room which made you shut your eyes closed. But the prolonged silence made you take a peek. And there he was. He was stalking to you, his muscular chest bared for your eyes, his thighs so thick and strong. The only thing he still had on was his black boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.

You shrieked when he got on the bed confidently and flipped the blanket to the side, baring your body to him, both his arms encasing you as he hovered above you.

“N-Namj–” your words left you when he settled his weight on you, every ridges and corners of his body was touching you. His nose was on your neck, breathing in your scent. His hands moved from the side of your head down to your wrist, and everything he touched left goosebumps on your skin. “Don’t fight this,” he whispered as he pulled your wrist above your head and kept them prisoned there.

“Y-you told me we’re just going to sleep,” you reminded him, your voice shaking slightly as you felt the heat radiating from Namjoon’s body. The tension in the air felt electric, and your heart raced.

“I told you. You are safe with me tonight.”

His hard member certainly did not make you feel safe. You could feel his hardness poking your stomach, and you were no saint to not know what it meant. You were certainly not that innocent to not be affected by this. You were embarrassed with how you could feel your arousal seeping to your underwear, and you hoped that he wouldn’t notice.

You jumped when you felt his tongue swiped at the expanse of your neck. You were trying to free yourself away from his hold when he nipped at your skin, sucking at it hard enough to know that it was going to leave a mark. All the while, his hips were slowly thrusting to you as though he was barely holding onto his thin control.

“Do you not feel safe, little one?” he taunted, his voice deeper than you ever heard of him. He lifted his head from your neck, his dark eyes glinting with something akin to an animalistic desire to have you. “Is the pleasure too much for you?” he asked in faux concern before thrusting his clothed cock directly to your heat. And by heavens, a moan escaped you. “Or is it not enough?”

“F-fuck, Namjoon- please!” you gasped as his hand pinched your nipple over your bra. His lips hovered over yours, so impossibly close that you knew one wrong movement was enough to make yours touched his. His cock was brutal as he humped you.

“Don’t you feel safe with the desires you are feeling?” he whispered directly to your ear, his hot breath leaving tingles down your spine. “Don’t you feel safe with just one cock? Do you want me to call the six of them? I bet they’d be happy to make you come. I know Yoongi does.”

“S-stop!”

He chuckled, his thrust stopping altogether. “Little one, you’re free. You can push me anytime you want. But you don’t want to, do you?”

It was only when he pointed it out that you realized he was no longer holding you down. In fact, he hadn’t for a while. You were too drunk with the sinful desire and his primal need to be with you that you didn’t notice that you had the choice to push him away.

And the horrifying realization that you deliberately didn’t want him to stop came crashing in.

“Don’t you just want to give in? I promise…no one will know. It’s just the two of us,” he whispered seductively, his breath warm against your skin. The way his words wrapped around you felt almost hypnotic, stirring something deep within. “Turn that mind off, darling. You’re so fucking wet,” he growled sensually. “I can feel your wetness in my thighs. You deserve this, little one. You deserve to be worship. All you need to do is to move.”

Your heart raced at the intensity of his gaze, each word wrapping around you like a vice. There was a part of you that yearned to give in, to surrender to the pull between you.

And you did.

Your hips lifted slightly to meet his, and it was all he needed before he rutted on you, the control he had snapped like a twig when you took the first step. You could feel you were getting close, his movements were all unforgiving and sensual.

“See?” he growled, his voice low and intense, sending shivers down your spine. “I just want to take care of you, little love. We all just want to give you all you desire.” He stepped closer, the heat radiating off him like a tangible force, drawing you in. “I told you. You are safe with me. But you aren’t safe from your own desires.”

You could feel something hot, something with urgency. And it wasn’t long until you shuddered, you trashed with your back arched. And just like clockwork, Namjoon’s warm essence spurted out and onto his boxers.

“That’s it, little one. Good girl.”

And as he held your body in his arms that night, he lied awake with thoughts of how to keep you. You were so beautiful. And perfect for him. You were perfect for them. He was sure that all of his brothers were thinking of the same thing: how to keep you forever.

Day 4, morning

It didn’t come as a surprise when he woke up and found you gone, nor did it come as a surprise when you couldn’t meet his eyes when he came down early in the morning ready to leave for the mountains. Seokjin, ever the observant, noticed the tension between the two of you. Actually, it was more so from you as you tried your very best to stick with who you thought was the safest among the seven, Seokjin and Yoongi.

Seokjin, with his soft smile and easygoing charm, had managed to pull the wool over your eyes. How could you have known that Seokjin was a wolf in a sheep’s clothing while Yoongi was only patient until he wasn’t? How could you have known that they were truly far from who you thought they were?

The maknae line were already waiting by the door, talking animatedly among themselves as though all of you were just going to the mountains for a fun fieldtrip and not for the love potion cure.

It was Hoseok that broke the silence, “How was your sleep, little one?”

“G-good,” you stammered, your eyes lifting to meet the lead CEO’s gaze, only to find him already looking back at you with an intensity that made your heart race. You quickly looked down, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “L-let’s go? It’s quite a far drive.”

You swallowed hard, trying to shake off the knot of tension in your stomach. The closer you got to the mountains, the more real the journey felt, and the more daunting the implications of finding a cure. You turned to Namjoon, who stood nearby, arms crossed and expression unreadable. “Are we ready?”

It took him a moment to answer, as though weighing your question with care, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt too heavy for casual conversation. The air between you felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and the silence stretched on, longer than it should have. “Always ready,” he replied, though the weight of his gaze suggested he had more on his mind than just the drive ahead.

You sat quietly the whole journey. The feeling of freedom was so near, yet the implications of what happened the past three days weighed down on you. You knew things could never go back the way it was. You knew you had to leave your job and move someplace else. Despite the possibility of a cure, you knew that everything that transpired was far more complex that a simple remedy couldn’t fix.

You glanced around the van, taking in the familiar faces of the men who had turned your world upside down. This was probably one of the last times you’d be in their proximity, and that thought sent a shiver down your spine. You felt both relieved and terrified at the prospect.

It was as though Seokjin, the designated driver, could hear your thoughts. He glanced up into the rearview mirror and met your eyes, concern flickering in his expression. “You okay back there?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, an awareness of your internal struggle.

You offered a small smile, not quite reaching your eyes. “I’m good,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You looked down at the address your friend gave you. The mountains loomed in the distance; their imposing silhouettes framed by a clear blue sky. You could hear the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze, a stark contrast to the tension that had built up during the drive.

Namjoon was off to the side, deep in conversation with an elderly man. You couldn’t help but catch snippets of their dialogue—words like “cure” and “love potion” floated through the air, drawing your attention. You watched as the man gestured toward a narrow, winding path leading deeper into the woods.

After a few moments, Namjoon turned back to you, a satisfied smile on his face. “We have to walk. The car cannot pass through,” he shared the information with the group.

You nodded, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. “How far is it?”

“Not too far, just a little hike,” he assured you, though his eyes held a glimmer of seriousness. “Are you ready?”

Taking a deep breath, you glanced at the rest of the group, who had gathered around. The maknae line looked eager, bouncing on their feet as if they were about to embark on a thrilling quest. Yoongi leaned against a tree, his expression contemplative, while Seokjin was busy checking the supplies they brought along.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “Let’s do this.”

It was almost an hour into the hike, and your little group was nearing the top when you saw it. “That must be it,” Hoseok said, pointing excitedly at the small house perched on the summit. It looked quaint, surrounded by trees and flowers, with smoke curling from the chimney, hinting at warmth and life within. For a moment, the sight was serene—peaceful even. But there was something about it that made your skin prickle, a sense of wrongness you couldn’t quite shake. The beauty of it felt... too perfect. Like an illusion meant to distract. A narrow pathway led to a flight of stairs, and just as you felt a rush of exhilaration, a pained gasp broke the tranquility.

You turned around to see Jungkook wincing, his hand clutching his ankle. “Jungkook!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He was sitting on the ground, his face contorted in pain, his doe eyes looking up at you as though he was asking for help. Beside him, Jimin crouched down, his innocent-looking face betraying none of the tension in the air. He looked concerned, but there was something about the calmness in his expression that made you pause—something about the way he was sitting too still, too perfectly for the situation at hand. How he hurt himself when the path was no longer steep like before, nor was the ground slippery was lost on you. You foolishly thought that you were out of the danger zone.

"Jungkook!" you repeated, kneeling beside him, your voice trembling with concern. "What happened?”

“I think I twisted it,” he admitted, his voice strained. “It hurts so bad, noona. P-please stay with me.”

You blinked at his request, your heart aching at the sight of him so vulnerable, but a wave of doubt swept over you. You had to make a decision, and fast. The cure was still ahead of you, and the house at the summit was growing nearer with every step you’d taken. But now, Jungkook was down, and his injury looked serious.

You glanced around, unsure what to do. You could stay with him, of course, but you weren’t the only one in the group, and there were others who might be able to help him. Maybe someone else should stay with him while you continued on to the house? Just as you were about to ask Taehyung, Namjoon stepped near you and interrupted your thoughts.

“Stay with Jungkook,” Namjoon urged you, glancing back at the house. “We can take care of the cure. Don’t worry.”

You hesitated, torn between the urgency of reaching the house and your concern for Jungkook. His face was twisted in pain, and you felt a pang of guilt for even considering leaving him. But the reassuring nod from Seokjin was enough to convince you that the men could handle the cure without you.

“Okay,” you finally said, your voice steadying. “I’ll stay here with Jungkook.”

As you knelt beside him, your focus solely on his ankle, you completely missed the meaningful look shared between Taehyung and Yoongi, a silent conversation that hinted at something more.

“Just take a deep breath, Jungkook,” you said, gently placing a hand on his knee. “Let’s see if we can wrap this up.”

The six men trudged up the pathway leading to the small house in companiable silence when Seokjin suddenly stopped, halting the progress of the six men following him. They were almost near the house that his sudden pause caused confusion to the maknae line. It was a moment before he turned to face the group.

“Hyung?” Jimin asked, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Seokjin and Yoongi shared a meaningful look, their jaws set in stone and expression serious. “Taehyung and Jimin, I think you should stay guard here,” he said, his voice low and firm.

“Hyung, what if you need us there-”

Namjoon, who was quick to notice the peculiar seriousness in their eldest placed a reassuring hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and faced him. He flashed him a dimpled smile as though assuring him that everything was fine. “I think what hyung means is that this way, you can look out for little one and Jungkook.”

He tilted his head slightly, catching sight of you and Jungkook, a little ways down the path, peering curiously at the house.

“Don’t worry, we can handle this,” Hoseok assured the two age-mate with his charm. He gave a playful nudge to Taehyung as he stepped past them, confidence radiating from his every move. “Just keep an eye out, okay?”

With that, Hoseok entered the house, the door creaking softly behind him. The rest of the older members followed, leaving the maknae line standing in the fading light.

You didn’t have to wait long before the six of them descended the path, their expressions were mixed of triumph and satisfaction, and something that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t even that long when the six of them walked down to you. Yoongi led the way, a confident stride in his step, and in his hand was a small bottle filled with a shimmering pink liquid.

Your heart raced as you caught sight of it. “Is that—?”

“It’s the cure, little one,” he confirmed, holding it up to the light. The liquid sparkled, catching the sun in a way that made it almost mesmerizing, almost tantalizing, almost too hypnotic that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

You felt your heart leap in your chest. The weight of the world seemed to lift off your shoulders, and a wave of disbelief rushed through you. You could barely comprehend it, but there it was. “We’re free…” you said with disbelief in your tone. You were too happy that you jumped up and hugged Jungkook. “I cannot believe it!”

“Well, almost, little one,” Namjoon said, his expression shifting to something more serious. “We’ll take it at home where we can safely observe the effects. We can’t risk anything happening here.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. For a moment, the excitement faltered, and a small knot of worry tugged at your stomach. You had been so caught up in the euphoria of it all that you hadn’t stopped to consider the reality of it. There were still risks, still unknowns.

“Aren’t you just a little too excited about leaving us, little one?” His words were offhanded, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your eyes darted to him, surprised by the sudden comment. Jimin’s gaze was still fixed on his nails, as though the conversation were of no consequence to him. But there was a subtle tension around him, something in his posture that didn’t quite sit right.

Instead of dwelling too much in what he was enunciating, you decided to face Namjoon. “Right, of course,” you said, stepping back from Jungkook and if you noticed the reluctant way he let go of you, you didn’t mention. You rationalized that they were still under the influence of the potion. You just had to hold on a little bit more.

Seokjin clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Then let’s get moving! The sooner we’re back, the sooner we can celebrate properly.”

The ride back to the civilization was filled with different vibes, it was quiet yet there was a profound peace within the group. This time, it was Jungkook who was driving while Taehyung was in the front seat with him. Seated next to you was Yoongi who was quietly contented in engulfing your hand in his, both your hands resting on his thighs. On your other side was Hoseok who was uncharacteristically quiet until he caught you looking at him.

“J-Jin, this is a lot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you took in the lavish spread laid out on the table. Plates piled high with vibrant dishes, each one more mouthwatering than the last, sparkled under the soft glow of the lights. It was hard to believe he had managed to prepare all this while looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover.

“I want to celebrate us,” Jin replied, his smile warm and genuine.

You blinked owlishly, caught off guard. Us? What did he mean by that?

“You know, how we…survived this.” His eyes sparkled with sincerity, but confusion washed over you. You opened your mouth to ask him to elaborate, to clarify what “us” really meant, when suddenly, Taehyung appeared beside you. He leaned in so close that his lips almost brushed your ear, his voice teasingly conspiratorial.

“Hyung is so dramatic. He wants to do a big toast before drinking the cure.”

You missed the look the two men shared over your head when Jimin walked in and tugged you to sit next to him and Yoongi. “Come on, little one. I’m starving.”

One by one, the four other men took their seats around the beautifully set table. Directly across from you was Taehyung who was watching you intently, and beside him were Hoseok and Jungkook. On the other end of the table was Namjoon, manspreading like a king sitting in his throne. Seokjin moved gracefully around the table, setting down seven glasses that glinted like jewels, each filled with the pink liquid of the cure slushing around with every step. Your breath caught slightly as he approached, and when he stopped behind you, leaning down close, a shiver ran through you.

“And of course, for the lady. Only the best of wines,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You turned slightly, catching a glimpse of his serious and dark expression before he straightened, and just like that, he transformed it into a sweet smile that lit up the room. You wondered if it was just the light playing tricks on you.

“Hyung, ready for the toast?” Jungkook asked, his eyes on you even as he directed his question to Namjoon.

“I think it should be our little one that we ask,” Yoongi spoke for the first time that night, his tone unexpectedly serious. He turned to you, his eyes piercing through the moment, as if trying to read your thoughts. “Are you ready for what comes next?”

You felt a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of excitement and anxiety churning inside you. “Are you ready… for the rest of your life, love?” Taehyung voiced, his expression uncharacteristically solemn as he toyed with his glass, tracing the rim with his fingertip.

You blinked owlishly, wondering why there were too many questions from them as though they were asking something else. But they weren’t, right? They weren’t implying anything more, were they?

You wanted your old life back.

You wanted your freedom back.

With a steadying breath, you raised your glass of wine, a quiet resolve settling over you. “To our freedom,” you declared, your voice clear despite the whirlwind of emotions.

Namjoon smirked, a fondness in his eyes as he confidently raised his glass in response. “To you, little one.”

“To us,” Seokjin added, his voice warm as he joined the toast, and one by one, the others followed suit.

You all drank to the last sip of your drinks, the sweet, fruity flavor of the wine lingering on your tongue. Seokjin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his watchful eyes never leaving your face as he set down his empty glass. There was an intensity in his stare, an unspoken question hanging in the air, as if he were waiting for something to unfold.

And he waited.

And waited.

Until it happened.

You felt the warmth of the wine spreading through your body, a comforting buzz that made everything feel lighter, more vibrant. But in the back of your mind, there was a nagging sensation, a whisper that something wasn’t quite right. The room began to tilt slightly, chatter of the CEOs was fading into a soft murmur. “S-something’s not right,” you whispered, turning to your ever dependable Yoongi, the one who never put you down.

Your hand was clutching his sleeves, yet he paid you no mind. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the liquid in you, and that nagging sensation began to twist in your gut. The wine—was it the wine? The warmth, the lightness, the almost too comfortable feeling that was settling into your bones—had it been too easy? Too perfect?

“W- what was in t-that w-wine?” You asked shakily, barely a whisper, your eyes finding Seokjin’s apathetic ones.

He waited.

“Seokjin…” you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper, as the fear settled in your chest like a stone.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he simply stared at you, his expression unreadable as his fingers lightly drummed against the table, almost too casual, too relaxed.

The realization hit you like a gut punch: This wasn’t a celebration. This was a trap.

Your vision blurred, and you struggled to focus, the faces of Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Namjoon becoming indistinct. Slowly, your world faded to black.

The seven men watched you as Yoongi wrapped his arm around you, securing your head to his shoulder as though he didn’t do anything.

“Why… why would you do that, hyung?” Jungkook asked, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief, eyes wide with shock as he processed the scene.

Yoongi remained focused on you, his other hand gently caressing your face, a gesture of comfort that felt surreal. It was Seokjin, however, who broke the silence, his voice calm and measured as he quietly sliced his food. “She was going to leave us.”

Taehyung’s shock morphed into something deeper, worry etching lines on his forehead as he glanced between the two of them. “We can’t just keep her here!”

“She belongs with us,” Seokjin replied softly, an edge of finality in his tone as he continued to slice his food, unbothered by the tension brewing around him.

“But there is a cure—” Jungkook started, his voice rising in protest.

“There is no cure, Jungkook,” Namjoon interjected smoothly, his form relaxed as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass like a tempest. “There’s no cure because we aren’t sick.”

“The hyungs are right, Kookie,” Jimin said, his expression softening as he held your hand close to his face, as if trying to draw strength from your presence. “We just love her so much.”

“And now, she’ll love us too just as much,” Hoseok smirked, his gaze darting to the wine you had drunk.

A phone beeping continuously rose Seokjin from his slumber. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down to find you snuggled peacefully in his arms, your face nestled against his chest. On your other side, Jimin had draped his leg over you, a content smile gracing his lips in his sleep. It was only four in the morning, yet the incessant beeping of your phone pierced the quiet.

You must have been too exhausted to not notice, he noted. Of course, why wouldn’t you be when the seven men showed you just how much they loved you. And this time, you were only too enthusiastic to show them how much you adored them. With a sigh, he reached for your phone and opened your messages, curiosity piquing as he scrolled through the frantic texts.

You have to get out of there, Y/N. The effect of the love potion only lasts for 60 hours!

Y/N, honey, I’m fucking serious. The potion won’t even be effective if they have no feelings for you.

These men are insane. They know you before this, Y/N. You’re in danger there!

Where are you?

Seokjin scoffed, irritation bubbling up within him. He glanced down at your serene expression, blissfully unaware of the turmoil outside this moment. With a few quick taps, he deleted the messages, each one disappearing like smoke. You didn’t need to know.

It didn’t matter how you got here because you were here now.

And they would never, ever let you leave. As you nestled deeper into his side, he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, determination flaring within him. They would make you see that this was where you belonged, that you were one of them now. There would be no turning back.

More so now that they had access to that love potion. With just a few drops, they could weave the very fabric of your feelings, ensuring you remained anchored to them. They tasted heaven with you. What fool would let that go?

END

[heartlogan]

living to lose

✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in worst wolverine’s universe)

✮— summary: logan won’t wear the suit.

✮— a/n: this is gonna be kinda short, but i am in <3 w the concept. (i wrote this in less than an hour bro) i haven’t seen this before so .. lmk if yall want a longer version . perhaps a series ? if yall do, let me know what power reader should have !! and perhaps a nickname 🫡

✮— warnings: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, humans vs mutants, and all the prejudice that comes with that, talk of mutants being killed for being mutants etc, xmen bonding, angst, canon typical violence (kinda? mentioned?), logan being stubborn, lmk if theres more!

masterlist | part two

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Life in the X-Mansion wasn’t what it once was.

If you were honest, life itself had begun to lose that glow that it once had. You supposed that it was hard to retain it when every day you were faced with the reality that humans wanted you all dead. And sure, it wasn’t like you hadn’t known that before, but each day you saw news stories coming out about mutants killed in the street, the X-Men were called out constantly to assist in human and mutant matters, and were always met with hatred.

You just wished that people could coexist. Would that be so difficult? For the humans to realise that mutants weren’t that much different from themselves, not really. Everyone had the fundamental building blocks of human DNA, mutants just so happened to have the X gene thrown in the mix.

Still, there were positives to life. Such as Logan, for you, because you were pretty sure Scott wouldn’t categorise him as a positive.

There had been something unspoken between the two of you for almost a decade, stretching across hundreds of battles and memories. Neither of you had actually brought yourselves to talk about it, both too afraid of loss.

But every night when he struggled to sleep, he joined you in your own bed. An incredible progression of your relationship, really, because it wasn’t like Logan to actually ask for help. Not that he did much talking on those nights. Every time you needed comfort after a painful mission, he was there, brooding silently at your side. A hand on the small of your back, or around your shoulders, if you were lucky.

He refused to acknowledge his role in your life, or his role on the team, no matter how much everybody begged him to.

The infamous Wolverine was so intimidated by the idea of admitting he cared, so scared that it would turn out like his past relationships, that he couldn’t bring himself to accept his place in your lives. He was stubborn, and wouldn’t allow anybody to have leverage over him.

It was another afternoon call out, a mutant in distress, and humans harassing whoever it was. It was bound to get violent, which was why everybody was suiting up.

“C’mon, Logan, just wear the suit.” You said, brows furrowed as you held the folded suit out towards him, watching him roll his eyes. “You’re a part of the team. Wear it.”

“She’s right, Logan.” Storm agreed, already clad in her own suit, much like yourself. It presented a united front, a symbol for other mutants that there was hope out there for them, no matter how dire the world seemed.

“Fuck, no.” Logan responded immediately, voice gruff and dismissive, barely sparing the yellow spandex a glance before he was turning away, grabbing his own jacket from its hanger. “Yellow ain’t my colour, bub.” He grumbled when he felt your eyes still on him, practically carving a hole in the back of his head.

“Logan.” You said pleadingly, feeling disheartened. “We all wear it. You’ll look as handsome as you ever do, I swear.” You attempted, although you weren’t naive enough to believe that the almighty Wolverine could have his mind changed via flattery.

He might have admitted, in another life, that you made the yellow work extremely well. That he knew the team looked good in it, looked put together, almost untouchable. But that wasn’t this life. And he refused to let anybody believe he actually wanted to be a part of this godforsaken self-righteous team that named themselves the X-Men. That wasn’t him. It wouldn’t be him.

Scott wandered in, clad in his own suit, matching visor and all. “It’s not gonna work, guys. I’ve tried. Logan’s far too stubborn.” He said, and none of you could see his eyes, but his disappointment was palpable. Logan only grunted in response.

“Fine,” You said, and he could hear the disappointment despite this not being the first time he had denied the suit. It had been a debate for a long while, by now. “I’ll leave it with you. Just in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Logan said, with an air of finality. You said nothing.

The four of you headed out to the distress call not long after, three in cohesive suits, one decidedly not.

It turned into a fight, as most calls do nowadays, which lasted for what felt like ages. You returned, feeling more exhausted than you had in days. The humans only got more violent with time, inventing new and more powerful ways to hurt mutants. Weapons were being developed against mutant-kind with every day that passed, and it wasn’t lost on the X-Men. Your job was only getting harder and harder. And it was taking its toll on all of you.

“‘M goin’ to the bar. You coming?” Logan asked you, standing in front of where you sat on the couch with Storm, both still in your suits and equally tired. He raised his brows at you, indicating that this was a timed offer. You knew he would be out most of the night, getting as drunk as his healing factor would allow him. It wasn’t that kind of night for you.

“No, thanks. I’m gonna stay with the others.” You answered quietly, wanting nothing more than to marinate in your frustration with the rest of the team.

Logan looked at you for a second longer, hesitating for only a moment, before he grunted and stepped away. You could’ve sworn that he looked disappointed, as though he was hoping you would join him, or maybe ask him to stay. But you knew better, had become familiar with the sting of his rejection each time you had asked him to stay.

You wanted him to be a permanent feature of the X-Mansion, to stay after long missions, to not disappear for weeks at a time. You wanted the whole unspoken thing to become spoken at last, even if it hurt, but you knew he wasn’t ready for it. And despite you feeling similarly, feeling that exact same fear he felt, you knew he wasn’t willing to take on the challenge. To try. Hell, he wouldn’t even wear the suit.

If he had asked whether you wanted him to stay, you would’ve said yes without thought. Without hesitation. But Logan wouldn’t put himself in that situation, so he never did ask. He only hesitated. And for you, that wasn’t enough.

He knew it, too, which might have been the worst part of it all.

You watched him leave, heard the slam of the door behind him not long after, and could only sigh to yourself.

“Everything okay?” Storm asked you from the opposite end of the couch, tilting her head towards you from where she had been idly staring at the ceiling. She looked as though she knew the answer, whether she had already known, or had gotten it from the look on your face, though, you weren’t sure.

“D’you think he’ll ever stick around? Wear the suit?” You questioned her in response, fixing your eyes on the fireplace in front of you for a few moments before her silence became too much. You looked at her, confused and slightly concerned.

She looked as downtrodden as you felt, which was saying something. “I… don’t know. I hope so, but… hope is a feeble thing, in this world. I’m not sure it means much anymore.”

Beast wandered in, with Scott at his side, blue fur still singed from a battle a few days prior. “I’m sure he will come around. Logan is a stubborn man, but a good one.” He commented, pushing his glasses further up his nose, but still squinting through them as he found his place in an armchair.

“We’ll see. Maybe we can make an X-Man of him, yet.” Scott added, sinking into the sofa cushion between you and Storm, wearing his glasses rather than his visor, for once. You thought could almost see the shape of his eyes, through the red lens.

“Either way, I’m sure he’ll linger. If not for us, then for those poor kids. We have all seen how much they idolise him.” Storm said, which was true, but still stung slightly. You wished that Logan would linger for you, too, but you knew it wasn’t likely. But for the kids… well, he might just look back for them.

“He’s their hero.” You agreed quietly, before resting your head on Scott’s shoulder. He said nothing, but you felt his quiet appreciation of the touch. The team needed comfort, in times like these, you included. Beast reached over and took Storm’s hand not long after, and you saw her squeeze him in response.

Jean wandered in not too long later, having been busy helping to look after the new mutant in the medbay. You made space for her between you and Scott, and resumed your position on her shoulder. She rested her head on your own, and the five of you breathed quietly, not speaking. There was nothing much to speak about, nothing that could comfort you, anyway. The world continued its descent into chaos and hatred, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, nothing any of you did would be changing it.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

It was Beast raising the alarm that woke you up, and Jean jolted awake soon after you.

“The humans, they’re here!” He shouted, diving into action, with Storm and Scott following soon after while you and Jean shared a single glance, her eyes filled with terror.

“Get the kids!” You yelled to her, as you jumped from the couch, heading to confront the humans with Scott, Beast and Storm. All the while, you were wondering where Logan was.

It was a thought that remained present in the back of your head, a wish that he was safe, unharmed. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to show up, to be the hero all of the kids knew him to be, or whether you wanted him far away, safe from what you were certain would be a lethal encounter.

The humans wouldn’t just come to the X-Mansion lightly. They would be prepared. Armed to the teeth, you were sure. And the moment you caught a glance outside of the window, seeing the crowds outside, glints of machinery and weapons, you knew you were right.

For a moment, you thought you saw him out there, until the two humans stepped apart, shattering the illusion of their shadows. The call of his name died on your lips.

“X-Men, to me.” Scott called out, and his grave expression told you that he had already had the same realisation as you. Most of you, if any at all, wouldn’t be getting out of this alive.

“Together?” Storm questioned, eyes glowing that bright white that only added to her ethereal look. She locked eyes with you, and you nodded firmly.

“Together.”

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next series masterlist

summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour 

notes:  speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild 

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well. 

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours. 

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it. 

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss. 

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster. 

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty. 

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse. 

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp. 

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got. 

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery. 

It was cute. 

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley. 

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over. 

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan. 

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name. 

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow. 

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.” 

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.” 

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.” 

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion. 

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.” 

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.” 

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly. 

“And that?” 

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did. 

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face! 

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered. 

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp. 

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill. 

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day. 

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go. 

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked. 

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.” 

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response. 

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes. 

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet. 

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable. 

But you really needed to pee. 

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door. 

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke. 

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!” 

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up. 

“Be quick.” 

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed. 

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan. 

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence. 

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.” 

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour. 

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.” 

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.” 

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t. 

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater. 

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be. 

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off. 

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” 

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion. 

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe. 

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything. 

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.” 

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse. 

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?” 

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.” 

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on. 

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation. 

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow. 

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death PART 1.

Summary: They say opposites attract. But you? You weren’t her opposite. You were worse.

A/n: This is a new series, I actually had part 1 written like a month ago, But I didn't post it back then mainly because I won't write part 2 until I finish Her Heartbeat. I also am not really sure if you guys would like it, because its a bit dark. But I hope you do.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Violence at the end but you guys would be satisfied by it lol.

She met you in fencing class.

As Wednesday was walking through the hallways of Nevermore, on her way to the fencing class, she couldn't help but question herself, why had she returned?

Sure, she had defeated Crackstone. Tyler was locked away, the Gates family’s legacy was ash. Yet, despite her apparent victory over the forces conspiring against Nevermore, Wednesday couldn’t shake the hollow feeling of anticlimax.

So why?

Perhaps it was the faint pull of unfinished business. The photos of a shadowy stalker she’d received at the end of her first year were an unsolved loose end, but even those now felt underwhelming. Whoever it was hadn’t made a move worth her attention in months.

Or maybe she was here because it gave her the chance to humiliate Bianca this time. That thought warmed her more than she cared to admit. Bianca had always been the most formidable opponent in fencing, her skill matched only by her infuriating arrogance. Wednesday lived for that. She would never say it aloud, but Bianca was the only opponent worth her time.

As she entered the fencing room, the chatter of students died down. The tension in the room was immediate, Wednesday didn’t need to look to know that all eyes were on her. She had always been the odd one in this class, the only one to don a fencing uniform as black as her soul while everyone wore the casual white.

But something was different today. She caught sight of a figure seated casually in one of the chairs lining the hall but the reason her eyes found this one so fast because they dressed entirely in black fencing gear, just like her. Their mask and helmet obscured any hint of identity.

For as long as she had fenced at Nevermore, she had been the only one to wear black. This was an intrusion.

Her gaze shifted to Bianca, and for the first time, Wednesday noticed blood dripping from the other girl’s left hand. It was a small, angry trickle, barely enough to warrant alarm, but the sheer fact of it was startling. Bianca never bled. Not in fencing. Her form was too precise, her reactions too swift.

“Wait, that’s not Wednesday?” Kent was the one to speak out.

The rest of the students murmured, their gazes bouncing between her and the stranger. Even the coach was a bit confused.

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened but she said nothing.

Her dark eyes flicked back to Bianca. The siren’s usual air of superiority was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter. Humiliation.

Bianca Barclay had been beaten, and beaten badly, by... whoever this was.

“Barclay,” The coach said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Infirmary. Now.”

Bianca huffed, her glare locked on the figure in black. If looks could kill, the stranger would have been reduced to ashes. But they remained unmoved, offering no reaction.

As Bianca passed Wednesday, she slowed, her lip curling in disdain. “Not one word,” she muttered, low enough that only Wednesday could hear.

Wednesday tilted her head, her tone as cool as ever. “Careful, Barclay. Your blood loss is showing.”

Bianca huffed but she said nothing, stalking out of the hall with as much dignity as she could muster.

Wednesday’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. Whoever this person was, they had achieved something remarkable. The idea that someone could dismantle Bianca so thoroughly sparked a flicker of excitement deep in Wednesday’s chest, a sensation she quickly quashed.

The possibility of being bested was not one she entertained lightly, but the idea of such a challenge thrilled her in a way she couldn’t deny. It was rare to find someone who could match her ruthlessness, let alone surpass it.

Her gaze returned to the masked figure. They hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even acknowledged the chaos they’d caused. They simply sat there, busy in their own world.

She took a step forward, “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The figure didn’t respond. Their silence was deliberate, unyielding.

Wednesday’s lips quirked into something resembling a smile, dark, challenging, hungry. “If you’re going to steal my aesthetic, the least you can do is prove you’re worthy of it.”

A murmur swept through the room. Someone let out a low whistle, and the coach frowned, clearly torn between maintaining order and allowing the drama to unfold.

“Addams, this is not the time for theatrics,” the coach started, but Wednesday silenced her with a raised hand.

“It’s not theatrics. It’s a challenge,” she said, her dark eyes fixed on the seated figure. “Unless you’re too afraid to accept.”

For a moment, the figure remained motionless. Then, slowly, they stood. The black fencing uniform clung to their frame, and the mask’s darkened mesh remained inscrutable. They stepped onto the fencing strip—silent, measured, and deliberate and Wednesday adjusted her fencing mask.

The room collectively held its breath.

The coach sighed, knowing full well he can't stop Wednesday.

“En garde.” he yelled.

With her perfect stance and razor-sharp mind, Wednesday raised her blade. A precision tool she had used innumerable times, the weight of her foil in her hand was reassuring. The other fencer, whose mask concealed any emotion, mirrored her movements with eerie grace across from her.

“Prêts,” the coach said.

Wednesday’s focus narrowed. Her heart beat steadily. She would rule. She did it every time.

“Allez.”

The duel began. Wednesday moved first, her blade darting forward in a testing thrust. Her opponent’s response was immediate, a deflection so swift it was almost imperceptible.

Wednesday pressed forward, her footwork precise and aggressive. She lunged again, trying to draw her opponent into a mistake. But the figure in black sidestepped, their movements fluid and economical. They struck back, their blade skimming past her guard with alarming speed. Wednesday barely parried and dodged in time.

A flurry of attacks and counters. Wednesday’s strikes were measured, calculated to exploit any opening. Yet her opponent offered none. It was as if they were reading her mind, anticipating her every move.

Her frustration grew, simmering beneath her stoic exterior. She was Wednesday Addams. She did not lose.

Then it happened. In a single, breathtaking motion, her opponent disengaged, their blade whipping around her guard to land a clean hit on her shoulder.

The coach’s voice rang out. “Point. 1-0.”

The room exhaled collectively. Wednesday’s grip on her épée tightened. Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. She had underestimated them. That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

They reset. The coach’s whistle blew. “Allez!”

This time, Wednesday took a defensive stance, watching her opponent closely. Their movements were fast, almost inhumanly so, but there was no sound—no labored breathing, no huffs of exertion. It was as though they weren’t human at all but a ghost sent to haunt her.

Their blade darted forward in the blink of an eye. Wednesday countered, attempting to draw them into a trap. But they saw through it, disengaging and circling to her left. She pivoted, parrying a thrust aimed at her torso, but their follow-up was too quick. The tip of their blade grazed her arm.

The coach’s voice rang out again. “Point. 2-0.”

Wednesday’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. The students murmured, the shock evident in their voices. Anger flared in her chest, hot and unwelcome. She was not accustomed to being outmatched like this.

The next round began. Wednesday forced herself to focus, she studied their movements, searching for a pattern, a weakness. Their strikes were precise, but even precision had its rhythm.

Then she saw it—a slight hesitation in their retreat, a fraction of a second where their weight shifted too far back. It was enough.

When they lunged, she was ready. She sidestepped, her blade sweeping upward in a controlled arc. The tip struck their shoulder.

"Point 2-1" The coach whistled.

For the first time, her opponent faltered. It was subtle, a small hesitation as they reset, but Wednesday caught it. The way they froze for a heartbeat, their head tilting slightly as if registering the touch, was fascinating. She couldn’t see their face, but she imagined what might lie beneath the mask. Surprise? Annoyance?

She allowed herself the faintest of smirks.

But the pause was brief. The stranger reset, their stance as flawless as ever. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her foil. If they can get hit, she can win. She just needs to be patient.

The whistle sounded again, and they moved.

This time, it was a storm. The stranger’s attacks came faster, sharper, each strike more relentless than the last. Wednesday parried and countered, her heart pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up. They weren't getting tired, and Wednesday for a fact understood, this was must be because one of their powers, Was it fair? No. But it was... maybe a lit... amusing.

For every move she anticipated, they had another waiting in line.

She refused to give ground, but her endurance was waning. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her breaths coming faster despite her efforts to control them. And then, just as she thought she might regain the upper hand, they struck.

The tip of their foil grazed her chest with clinical precision.

“Touché! 3-1."

The class went full silent, except a few gasphs.

Wednesday staggered back a step, her breath caught in her throat. She had lost. And it wasn’t luck or a fluke. It was a deserved victory. This opponent, whoever they were, was better.

Her gaze flicked to the masked figure, who was already lowering their blade, their movements as calm and unbothered as ever. They turned without a word, stepping off the fencing mat as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

Anger bubbled beneath Wednesday’s surface, sharp and unrelenting. Not just at her opponent, but at herself. She had lost, just as Bianca had.

But unlike Bianca, she wouldn’t accept it.

“Wait,” she said, the stranger paused mid-step but didn’t turn.

“I’m not finished.”

Taking off her gloves, Wednesday ripped off her mask, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Her pale face, flushed faintly from exertion “One more match,” she said, “No helmets. No gloves. First blood.”

The figure paused mid-step. Slowly, they turned back to face her. The room held its collective breath as they reached up, removing their gloves with deliberate precision. Then, they raised their hands to their helmet and pulled it off.

Wednesday froze.

A cascade of hair fell free, framing a face that froze Wednesday in place. Deep blue eyes met hers, piercing and unreadable.

A girl.

For the first time in years, Wednesday Addams felt something foreign and unfamiliar. Her mind stumbled over itself, her usual composure shattered. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She could only stare. The sharp lines of the girl’s face, the way her eyes seemed to see straight through her.

The girl’s expression was unreadable, her silence almost oppressive. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no mockery in it, no trace of satisfaction. It was as though the outcome of their first match had been irrelevant to her.

That infuriated Wednesday more than the loss itself.

The coach hesitated before stepping back and raising his hand. His voice wavered slightly as he called out, “En garde.”

Her grip of her foil tightened as she drew her focus inward, forcing her breathing to steady. She couldn’t allow herself to think of the humiliation, This was about proving a point- to herself and to the girl who had dared to take her victory so effortlessly.

“Allez!”

The match began with a lunge from Wednesday, her blade aiming for the girl’s shoulder. It was a calculated strike, meant to gauge her opponent’s reaction. As before, the girl deflected with an unnerving ease, her blade redirecting Wednesday’s attack in a single fluid motion.

Wednesday pressed forward, her strikes coming faster, sharper, each one aimed to corner the girl into a defensive position. But her opponent was quick, impossibly quick, slipping out of reach with minimal effort.

Wednesday felt her frustration mount with each failed strike. No matter how precisely she aimed, the girl always seemed a step ahead.

Wednesday pushed harder, her movements growing more aggressive. She feinted left, aiming for the girl’s left hand, of course her attack was parried... but barely this time.

For the first time, her defense seemed less impenetrable. Wednesday seized the opening, striking with renewed vigor. But right then, Wednesday’s eyes locked on the girl’s, her heart skipping a beat. They were… haunting. Deep, unfathomable, and completely devoid of emotion.

And then, the girl did something that froze Wednesday mid-movement.

She shifted her stance; a slight adjustment to her footing, the angle of her blade. But as the girl moved, it became clear that this was something entirely different. Her grip on the foil changed, her movements adopting a fluidity that was both unfamiliar and unnerving.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. The stance was unusual, almost ceremonial in its precision. And then it clicked.

It was the stance of a katana.

The realization sent a chill down Wednesday’s spine. She had studied fencing extensively, priding herself on her knowledge of techniques from all over the world. But this was something else, something that Wednesday isn't an expert on...

The girl moved, and Wednesday barely had time to react. Her strikes came in sweeping arcs, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. The blade seemed to dance, its movements impossible to predict.

Wednesday’s defense faltered under the onslaught. She parried desperately, her mind racing to adapt to this new style. But the girl’s attacks were relentless, her blade slipping past Wednesday’s defenses with alarming frequency.

For the first time, Wednesday felt out of her depth.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus. She couldn’t let this girl overwhelm her—not again. She lunged, aiming for a weak point in the girl’s defense, but her blade was deflected with a force that nearly knocked it from her hand.

The girl countered with a strike so precise, so swift, that Wednesday barely dodged in time.... or did she?

Because the girl had stopped.

It wasn’t a retreat or a hesitation. She simply froze, her blade lowering slightly as though she had no reason to continue.

Wednesday frowned, her gaze dropping to her arm. Her stomach dropped. A thin line of red traced its way down her pale skin, a tiny drop of blood beginning to bead at its edge.

First blood.

Wednesday’s foil slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor as the weight of her loss settled over her. She stared at the girl, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

She had lost. Again.

The girl stepped back, her expression unchanged. There was no emotion in her eyes, no trace of satisfaction or smugness. It was as though the match had meant nothing to her, as though Wednesday had been just another opponent to dispatch.

Wednesday’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The loss was infuriating, yes, but it was the girl’s indifference that stung the most. She didn’t care. She hadn’t even been challenged.

The girl bent to retrieve her helmet and gloves. She turned without a word, walking toward the exit as though the match had never happened.

Wednesday watched her go, her emotions a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and something she couldn’t quite name. She had been defeated before by Bianca, but not like this. Not by someone who had reduced her to irrelevance with so ease.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to see Bianca, her left hand freshly bandaged. Bianca stopped a few feet away, crossing her arms over her chest as if she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Now you get it?” Bianca muttered, crossing her arms.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, “Get what?”

Bianca exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Why I lost.”

Wednesday remained silent, waiting for Bianca to elaborate.

“When she showed up in the black gear, I thought it was you.” She raised her bandaged hand, her irritation palpable. “So, naturally, I challenged her. Gloves off. I wanted to prove a point to you..."

“And yet here you are,” Wednesday noted, “Unproven.”

Bianca’s jaw tightened, but she pushed past the jab. “She’s not like anyone else. The way she fights? It’s... unsettling.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “She doesn’t fence. Not really. She reads you, adapts, and then it’s like she’s a step ahead of you the whole time. You can’t even throw her off. I tried."

“And failed.” Wednesday said flatly.

"So did you. But at least you got a point against her." With that, Bianca turned and walked away.

Wednesday remained where she was, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Why did it feel like she was everywhere and nowhere at once?

She exhaled sharply, spinning on her heel and leaving the gym.

By the time she reached quad for lunch, the words had already outrun her. As she stepped inside, the chatter shifted noticeably, students stealing glances at her as though they couldn’t believe the day’s events.

And then there was Enid.

The werewolf practically launched herself at Wednesday, her vibrant energy an unwelcome assault.

“Wednesday! Oh my gosh, is it true? Did you actually.......lose?"

Wednesday gave Enid her death glare... which Enid is immune to, unfortunately.

“Everyone’s talking about it. Apparently, you got your butt kicked by the new girl in, like, the most epic way possible! Like, who even is this girl? And why is she just as dark and scary as you?”

“I am not discussing this.” The glare deepened.

“Okay, okay,” Enid said, holding up her hands. “But seriously, who is she? And why are you so.... intense about this?”

“I am not intense,” Wednesday said curtly.

“Come on, are you jealous? Or just annoyed that someone might actually be better than you?” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or… is it something else?”

Wednesday’s turned slowly, fixing Enid with a look that could have withered flowers. “Your penchant for meddling will get you killed one day.”

Enid smirked, unfazed. “Uh-huh. So, jealous and annoyed. Got it.”

Before Wednesday could retort, her gaze shifted to the far end of the dining hall.

There she was, sitting alone at a table. She had chosen a seat far from the crowd, her posture calm and unbothered, as though the buzz around her didn’t exist. The students nearest to her stole glances at her, some murmuring, and some looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb.

“You should go talk to her,” Enid whispered, leaning closer.

Wednesday tore her gaze away, fixing Enid with an incredulous look. “And say what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. How do goths befriend each other?” Enid said earning another death glare. She shrugging. “Besides, you two have the same energy; dark and brooding. You’re practically soulmates.”

“Ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the girl. She was so still, so utterly composed, it was unnerving.

Before Wednesday could decide whether to act, the girl stood, collecting her tray and leaving the hall without so much as a glance toward anyone.

She found out your name in alchemy class.

Alchemy was Wednesday’s next class, and she had hoped it would provide a distraction, But as she sat at her desk, her mind kept going back to that girl... and as she began the delicate work of combining reagents, She glanced at the door, almost involuntarily, as though expecting something... and she wasn't disappointed.

The room fell silent. Every student turned to look as the girl walked in, unhurried and unbothered. Her expression betrayed no hint of apology, no trace of acknowledgment for the disruption. She simply stepped inside as though she owned the space.

The professor sighed, “Well, if it isn’t our newest addition. Everyone, this is Y/N.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “Y/N, I’d ask why you’re late, but something tells me you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

You said nothing, offering only a blank stare before scanning the room. The only empty seat was beside Wednesday. Without hesitation, you walked over and sat down.

Wednesday stiffened, her focus now completely obliterated. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, you seemed utterly unbothered by the attention of the room, just as she was at her start here in Nevermore.

The professor resumed his lecture, but Wednesday barely heard a word.

She pretended to focus on the lesson, her pen moving across her notebook. But her eyes betrayed her, darting toward you at every opportunity.

She should have been focused on the experiment, on proving her superiority in yet another intellectual endeavor. But all she could think about was.... those eyes.

Every time Wednesday stole a glance at you, she found herself lingering, her gaze caught by the depth of your stare. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at the edges of her mind. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t look away.

The rest of the class passed in a haze, when the professor finally dismissed them, Wednesday gathered her things ignoring you. She refused to acknowledge you as you rose and left the room, as silent and unbothered as ever... but she did. As she watched you disappear into the corridor, Wednesday felt a twinge of something she couldn’t name. Curiosity. Frustration. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn't like it.

She first talked to you in the library.

If she could eradicate botany from this school, she would. She despised the assignment. Plants were irritatingly alive, with their need for sunlight and water and their incessant growth. And worse, they were resilient, continuing to thrive no matter how much she wished otherwise. That their existence shared the same planet as hers was one of life's more enduring inconveniences.

But what annoyed her more was giving these green nuisances even a moment of her attention. It was an indignity she had endured only to achieve perfection in her report, which, of course, had been flawless. That's why she had come to the library, she needed a book, Comprehensive Biology.

And there you were.

At the far corner of the library, you stood alone, scanning the shelves.

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She hadn’t planned to confront you, but the sight of you, unbothered and aloof, stirred something in her. Frustration? No, she refused to acknowledge such a trivial emotion. It was something deeper. A need to understand. To assert control.

She approached quietly, her hands clasped behind her back as she stopped a few feet away. For a moment, she simply observed. You were searching for something, your eyes moving methodically over the spines of the books.

“Lost?” she asked finally, her tone sharp and cutting. Her voice broke the silence like a blade slicing through cloth. “Or have you simply forgotten how to read?”

You turned your head slowly, your expression unreadable as you looked at her. For a moment, there was nothing, no reaction, no flicker of recognition. Then you tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in your eyes.

“Who are you again?” you asked, your voice devoid of malice but also of any warmth.

The question hit Wednesday like a slap. Her expression didn’t falter, but inside, a slow burn began to rise. Who are you again? The words echoed in her mind, each one twisting the knife of insult deeper.

“Who am I?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief and irritation. She stepped closer, her dark gaze locked onto yours. “I’m the person you defeated. Twice. Today. The one you sat beside in class today. Or has your memory been as unimpressive as your personality?”

You blinked, unperturbed, and returned your gaze to the books. “Oh,” you said simply, as if the information had already slipped from your mind. “Right.”

The dismissiveness of your voice made Wednesday’s jaw tighten. Most people crumbled under her sharp tongue or recoiled from her glare. You, however, seemed utterly immune

“You’re remarkably unbothered for someone with so little reason to be,” Wednesday said, her voice icy.

You pulled a book from the shelf. “And you’re remarkably persistent for someone who lost.”

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. The audacity. The nerve. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to strangle you or applaud your ability to get under her skin.

“I don’t lose,” she said firmly.

You finally turned to face her fully, the book resting in your hands. “Then what do you call what happened earlier?”

Wednesday’s glare could have melted stone. “An anomaly. One that will not be repeated.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression still maddeningly neutral. “If you say so.”

Most people would have shifted under her gaze by now, stumbled over their words, or tried to appease her. You did none of those things. Instead, you opened the book, flipping through its pages showing your complete disinterest in the conversation.

“Why are you here?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less pointed.

“Looking for a book,” you replied simply, your tone making it clear that the answer should have been obvious.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is so fascinating that it brought you to the library instead of, say, gloating over your victory?”

You closed the book, sliding it back onto the shelf with the same quiet precision that marked everything you did. “I don’t gloat. Victory isn’t worth much if it’s expected.”

The words struck a chord.

“You’re insufferable,” she said finally, her voice a low growl.

You tilted your head again, considering her words. “So I’ve been told.”

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What type of outcast are you?”

No reply.

Her irritation spiked. “What’s your power? You must have one, unless the administration suddenly decided to admit normies."

Still no reply.

Wednesday huffed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Ignoring me is ill-advised. I’ve been known to make people regret it.”

You pulled a book off the shelf, inspected it briefly, and then replaced it with a calm that bordered on infuriating.

Wednesday stepped closer, her boots silent on the carpet. “I asked you a question.”

Without a word or any visible motion, a glint of metal appeared in your hand. A knife, sleek and deadly, materialized out of nowhere. Wednesday froze, her body tensing as her hand instinctively moved toward her own hidden knife. But she stopped short when you spun the weapon in your fingers with fluid ease, offering her the handle.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and calculating. She didn’t take it immediately, instead scrutinizing both you and the blade. After a moment’s hesitation, Wednesday stepped closer, her hand brushing against yours as she took the knife.

It wasn’t an ordinary knife; it was a parrying dagger, the kind designed to trap and break an opponent’s blade... and it looked old, centuries old.

“Conjuring weapons,” she said slowly, her tone even but laced with curiosity. “Is that your ability?”

"Something like that." you answered.

Before she could probe further, you let out a quiet sigh, your gaze drifting back to the shelves. It seemed you still hadn’t found what you were looking for. As you stepped away from the shelf and headed toward the exit, Wednesday tried to stop you. She held out the parrying dagger, “Here. Take it back.”

"Keep it." You said simply without even glancing back, leaving Wednesday standing alone in the dimly lit library, the dagger still in her hand. She slid it into her pocket, her mind already plotting how she would uncover the truth about you. She didn’t just let things go. And she certainly wasn’t about to start with you.

She understood a bit more about you during botany.

Breakfast was, at best, tolerable, and at worst, a chore. The only reason she even bothered was the unavoidable biological need to sustain herself.

She surveyed the room with her dark eyes, already calculating the path of least interaction to her usual seat with Enid.

But her gaze froze mid-scan.

You were there.

Sitting at her table.

Sitting in her seat.

And beside you, chattering as though her life depended on it, was Enid Sinclair. Did Enid mistook you as Wednesday?

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed as she stood by the entrance, taking in the scene. How did you end up here? Of all the tables, all the seats in the dining hall, why hers? . You, however, were picking at your breakfast with the same disinterest Wednesday reserved for Enid’s most frivolous stories.

Enid noticed her almost immediately, waving excitedly. “Wednesday! Over here!”

Wednesday suppressed the urge to roll her eyes but failed. She stood rooted for a moment, weighing her options. She could walk away, claim another seat, and avoid the unbearable company of Enid and you. But that would mean admitting, if only to herself, that she was bothered. She was not one to surrender her territory so easily.

With a sigh that carried all the weight of her disdain, Wednesday made her way to the table. When she reached the table, she didn’t ask for her seat back. She was too mature for that.

Enid beamed. “Look who joined us! Isn’t this great?”

“It’s something,” Wednesday muttered, her tone flat as she slid onto the bench across from you.

You didn’t look up from your plate. The lack of acknowledgment was grating, though she couldn’t decide why.

“So,” Enid said, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity, “Y/N was just telling me, well, okay, not telling, more like I was guessing, that she’s not really into breakfast food. Isn’t that funny? Like, how can anyone not love pancakes?”

Your fork paused mid-air for the briefest of moments before continuing its journey to your mouth. You didn’t respond.

Wednesday, who understood that pointless chattering annoys you as much as her... maybe she could try "The Enid Way"

“Perhaps Y/N finds pancakes as insipid as she finds conversation.”

Enid blinked, clearly unsure whether to laugh or defend herself. “Uh… okay, rude? But honestly, you two could totally bond over being broody and, like, totally impossible to read.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you then, a sharp, probing look. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Predictable, perhaps. There’s a certain monotony to Y/N’s silence and I do not find it intriguing at all.”

You glanced up, finally meeting her eyes. There was no irritation in your expression, no spark of retaliation, just an unreadable calm that only served to unnerve her further. “And yet, here you are, commenting on it,” you said evenly before returning to your plate.

It wasn’t the sharpest retort, but the way you delivered it, like an afterthought, as though Wednesday’s presence barely registered, made it sting all the same.

Enid looked between the two of you, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement only she could muster. “Oh my gosh, this is like watching two glaciers collide! I mean, not that you guys are slow or cold or anything. Well, maybe a little cold. Anyway, isn’t this fun?”

“No,” Wednesday and you said at the same time.

Enid burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “See? You’re already bonding!”

Wednesday shot her a look that could curdle milk, but Enid was unfazed.

Eugene was approaching their table but he stopped short when he saw you, his gaze darting between you and Wednesday. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Uh… are we seeing double, or is this the person who—”

“Finish that sentence, Eugene, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wednesday said.

Eugene’s eyes widened as he nodded quickly. “Got it. Not finishing the sentence.” And just as Eugene joined the table, her attention returning to you. You were wiping your hands with a napkin, getting ready to leave. Wednesday can tell, your hate for social interaction, raged more than her's. Perhaps, she can use that against you.

As Enid watched you stand and leave without so much as a goodbye, she sighed dramatically, "You two would make the perfect brooding couple.”

Wednesday shot her a withering look. “Your penchant for romanticizing everything is both exhausting and nauseating.”

Enid just grinned. “Admit it, Wens. You’re curious about her.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Enid was right. You were a mystery, and Wednesday Addams hated unsolved mysteries almost as much as she hated losing.

Wednesday walked into her botany class with her usual measured pace, her eyes scanning the room as she adjusted in her seat. She didn’t expect much from this class... wait... she forgot to pick up her botany book from the library last night because of you...

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. It was only fitting that you had managed to distract her into forgetting something as trivial yet necessary as a textbook. You were becoming a consistent thorn in her side. And speak of the devil,

You entered the greenhouse. Wednesday’s gaze flicked to you for a moment as you made your way to the empty seat beside her. You sat without so much as a glance in her direction.

When the class began, the new teacher, whatever her name was Wednesday doesn't care, droned on about invasive species and their effects on native flora.... just like you invaded her perfectly built world.

You weren’t writing anything down.

Your notebook remained mostly untouched, save for a few idle scribbles. Instead, you stared straight ahead, your gaze fixed on some undefined point, your expression unreadable.

For all your skill in fencing and your mysterious arrival at Nevermore, there was an emptiness in you, that Wednesday can feel now...

You didn’t belong here or maybe you belonged too much, in a way even Wednesday couldn’t define.

She first won against you during lunch....

During lunch, Wednesday sat at her usual table with Enid, who was excitedly recounting the latest gossip she’d overheard from the other werewolves. Her voice was a constant hum in Wednesday’s ear, background noise she had learned to filter out with practice.

Then Enid’s chatter abruptly halted.

“Y/N!”

Wednesday turned her head to see Enid bounding across the dining hall. You stood near the entrance, holding a tray of food with the same level of enthusiasm one might have for poison. Enid grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward their table with a persistence that could only be described as infuriating.

You shot Enid a glare that could have killed a lesser person, but the werewolf had her practice with Wednesday's death glare so she seemed unfazed. As you passed other students, you glanced down at Enid’s hand gripping yours with something bordering on confusion, as though physical contact itself was a foreign concept.

“Come on!” Enid chirped, her cheer undeterred by your visible disdain. “It’s not like it’ll kill you to sit with friends!”

“I wasn’t aware we were friends.” you said flatly.

“Not yet,” Enid said brightly, as if your protest were merely a formality.

Wednesday watched the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. How did Enid always manage to worm her way into the lives of people who radiated darkness like storm clouds? She had done it with Wednesday herself, and now it seemed you were the next victim.

When you reached the table, you didn’t sit immediately. Instead, you crossed your arms, glaring at Enid with a mix of irritation and reluctance.

“Sit!” Enid chirped, patting the bench beside her.

You exhaled sharply, muttering something under your breath, but eventually slid into the seat, placing your tray down.

Wednesday watched the exchange, her dark eyes narrowing at Enid’s ability to befriend the most unapproachable people. The werewolf had done the same with her. And though Wednesday would never admit it aloud, Enid had wormed her way into a space in her life that she didn’t entirely hate. Wednesday would be lying if she said she doesn't care for Enid at all.

Would Wednesday ever find you in that position? She quickly pushed that thought down the stairs, killing it then dumping the body.

“So,” Enid began, already bubbling with energy, “did you know that Wednesday is like, super into typewriters? It’s kind of adorable, honestly.”

“I’m right here,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Oh, I know,” Enid said, grinning. “Speaking of which, didn’t you say you ran out of typewriter paper last night?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied, her tone clipped.

“Well,” Enid continued, “I was thinking of taking Y/N to Weathervane for a tour. She’s new, after all."

You rolled your eyes. “I rejected.”

“Same thing!” Enid said brightly, brushing off your correction." Anyway, I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone? You can come with us and pick up your paper, Wednesday!”

Wednesday smirked faintly. She could tell you hated the idea of being dragged into Enid’s plans. You hated company, just as she did. But that made the opportunity to spite you all the more enticing.

“Fine,” Wednesday said, her tone even. “I’ll come.”

Enid clapped her hands together. “Yay! This is going to be so fun!”

You shot Wednesday a death glare, clearly unamused.

“Oh,” Wednesday added, her voice laced with mock innocence, “perhaps Eugene would like to join us. He loves coffee.”

“Eugene!” Wednesday called the hummer who was in their hummer's table. “Join us for a trip to Weathervane later.”

“Really?” Eugene’s face lit up, and he quickly shuffled over to their table.

You looked between Wednesday and Eugene, your glare sharpening. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Wednesday replied, meeting your glare with one of her own. “This is retribution.”

Enid, blissfully unaware of the tension, leaned forward with a grin. “This is going to be the best day ever!”

You didn’t respond, instead stabbing a piece of food on your plate with enough force to make the table tremble.

Wednesday allowed herself a small, victorious smirk. The fencing matches may have been your victories, but this round was hers.

But she hadn't seen the real you... until now.

“She’s late,” Wednesday muttered, already regretting her choice, agreeing to go just to spite you.

“Relax, Wednesday,” Enid said, though the werewolf sounded a little unsure herself. “Y/N doesn’t strike me as the punctual type. Or, you know, the type who tells people things. Like ever.”

Eugene adjusted his glasses. “Do you think she just bailed? Maybe she doesn’t actually want to come. I mean it has been almost half an hour...”

“She’s coming,” Wednesday said with conviction. She didn’t know why she was so certain, but she was.

Finally, you appeared in the distance, walking toward them with a measured, unhurried pace.

You stopped a few feet from the group, your hands shoved into your hoodie’s pockets, and regarded them with your usual, unreadable expression. You didn’t apologize for being late.

“You’re late,” Wednesday said, her tone biting.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Eugene offered an awkward wave. “Uh, hey, Y/N.”

Enid quickly stepped in. “Glad you made it! We’ve been waiting forever, but, like, no big deal or anything.”

You didn’t respond to Enid’s cheerfulness, your gaze briefly flickering to her before shifting elsewhere.

“Well,” Enid said, clapping her hands together, “let’s go! The bus should be there any minute.”

The bus ride to Jericho was quiet, at least between you and Wednesday. Enid filled the silence with her usual chatter, talking about.... everything?

“Have you been to Jericho yet, Y/N?” Enid asked, turning to you with a curious smile.

You shook your head, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the bus window.

“It’s cute,” Enid continued, unfazed by your silence. “Small, but cute. Oh, but you should know, some of the normies there aren’t super friendly to outcasts. So, it’s always good to go with people who’ve got your back, you know?”

At her words, Wednesday saw something flicker in your eyes. It was brief, barely there, but it was enough to catch her attention.

A shadow of acknowledgment, perhaps, as you gave a small nod.

The bus arrived at Jericho and the group hopped down.

Enid led the way, her excitement not affected by your clear preference for distance. You trailed behind, keeping a noticeable gap between yourself and the others.

Eugene tried to bridge the gap a few times, but each attempt was met with silence, and eventually, he gave up.

The group stopped at a small general store first. Enid immediately darted toward the cosmetics aisle, her eyes lighting up as she scanned rows of nail polishes and makeup.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Enid asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” you replied simply, your voice as flat as ever.

Enid shrugged and continued her search, while Wednesday moved toward the stationery section, searching for her typewriter paper and ink. She found the items quickly enough but lingered, her gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

You stood near the entrance of the store, your hands in your pockets, watching a pair of children playing near the candy section. The boy, no older than six, was laughing as he chased his older sister around, their footsteps light and carefree.

It was subtle, but Wednesday noticed something in the way you observed them. Wednesday noticed something in your eyes, different from your usual detached demeanor. Intrigue? Longing? It was impossible to say.

“What’s so fascinating about them?” Wednesday asked, her voice low as she approached.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s doubtful,” she pressed.

You finally turned your head toward her, your expression unreadable. “Who says it’s your business?”

For a moment, Wednesday considered pushing further, but something in your tone warned her off. You weren’t going to share, and she didn’t care enough yet to pry the answer from you.

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, turning back toward the shelves.

When she returned to the checkout counter, you were already standing there, waiting. Wednesday placed her items on the counter, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

You didn’t acknowledge her, your attention fixed on the glass door as though willing the others to hurry up.

“Got everything I need!” Enid chirped, appearing beside them with an armful of brightly colored products. She paid quickly, practically bouncing toward the exit.

“Come on, guys!” Enid called from the doorway, already heading outside.

Wednesday followed, her bag in hand. You moved to the door without a word.

The group had just stepped out of the store, when Wednesday’s sharp eyes caught movement near the counter, on the cashier, his shoulders hunched as five boys loomed over him. They weren’t just grabbing beers from the fridge. One of them yanked a handful of cash from the register

“C’mon, old man, don’t look at us like that,” one of them sneered. “Think of it as…taxes for keeping your store safe.”

The cashier muttered something inaudible, his voice trembling. The boys only laughed, grabbing more bottles and shoving them into their backpacks.

Enid’s cheerful demeanor shifted instantly. She grabbed Wednesday’s arm. “Wednesday…shouldn’t we do something? He needs help.”

Eugene took a step back, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know, Enid. These guys look...trouble. And we’re not even supposed to be here, technically.”

Wednesday frowned. On one hand, this was a normie problem, a petty theft that would resolve itself eventually. On the other hand, there was an undeniable injustice in letting the boys get away with it.

Before she could decide, the boys finished their “business” and left, swaggering out the door with their loot. Enid sighed, clearly disappointed but not wanting to push it further. “Guess we’d better go,” she said, turning to leave.

Wednesday hesitated for a moment but followed Enid and Eugene down the street. However, something nagged at her. A presence. She glanced back, and sure enough, there you were, still standing in the store’s doorway, watching the scene unfold.

“Y/N,” Wednesday called out,

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze with your usual unreadable expression. “I need to buy something.”

Enid frowned, confused. “But you said you didn’t need anything earlier.”

You didn’t respond to her. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked back into the store.

Curiosity piqued, Wednesday followed, with Enid and Eugene trailing behind. From their spot near the door, they watched as you approached the counter and spoke to the shaken cashier in a low, even voice. “I need that, that, and that.” you said, pointing to items behind the counter.

The cashier blinked, visibly confused but too shaken to argue. He retrieved an aluminum baseball bat, a heavy chain, and a pair of black gloves, placing them on the counter.

“What is she even going to do with all that?” Eugene whispered nervously.

You slid the gloves onto your hands, gripping the bat in one arm and coiling the chain loosely in the other. Without a word, you passed them, heading toward the alley where the boys had disappeared moments earlier.

“What is she—” Enid started, but Wednesday cut her off with a raised hand.

“Follow her,” Wednesday said, her voice low and firm.

The three of them trailed after you, keeping their distance until they reached the alley’s edge. Peeking around the corner, they saw the five boys lounging against a brick wall, laughing and drinking from their stolen beers.

When they noticed you, their laughter grew louder. One of them, tall with a cocky grin, stepped forward.

“Hey, little girl,” one of them said, smirking as he stepped forward. “What’s with the bat? You gonna play baseball with us?”

The others laughed.

But you didn’t respond. You simply stared at them, your grip tightening around the bat.

The first boy took another step closer, his smirk widening. “You lost, sweetheart? Or maybe you’re here to—”

CRACK

Wednesday can swear if she blinked she would've missed the swing of the bat as it connected with the boy's temple with a sickening thud, cutting his words short as he crumpled to the ground. The sound echoed through the alley, silencing the laughter instantly.

“What the hell?!” one of the boys shouted, his eyes wide with panic.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on you as you adjusted your stance. There was no hesitation in your movements, no wasted energy. You were a predator, and they were your prey.

One of them lunged at you, but you sidestepped easily, the chain in your other hand whipped out, coiling around the wrist of the next boy like a serpent. With a sharp tug, you yanked him towards you, and the bat came down again with brutal precision on his head. Another one down.

“Holy crap,” Eugene whispered, clutching at Wednesday’s sleeve. “She’s… she’s gonna kill them!”

“No,” Wednesday murmured, her voice almost reverent. “She’s too precise for that.”

The remaining boys hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized the odds weren’t in their favor. One of them pulled out a pocketknife, holding it up shakily.

“Stay back,” he warned, his voice betraying his fear.

You tilted your head slightly before the chain lashed out again, latching onto his hand. The knife clattered to the ground as you closed the distance, the bat swinging upward and catching him squarely under the chin. He collapsed in a heap.

You slowly picked up the knife and glared at the last two. With a flick of your wrist, the blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the leg of one of them. He screamed, collapsing to the ground clutching his thigh.

The final boy tried to run, But you were faster. The chain wrapped around his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground. The bat came down once, twice, and he was out.

The boy still screaming because of the knife latched onto his leg begged, “Take it! Take the money! Take the beer! Just don’t—” Your bat silenced him with a single, calculated blow to the side of his head.

Wednesday’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. There was something captivating about the way you moved; calculated, efficient, merciless. Not a single touch landed on you, and yet you left all five of them groaning on the ground.

You crouched down, rummaging through the pockets of the nearest boy. Pulling out a wad of cash, probably way more than what they even stole. You rose and picked up the bag of beers.

As you passed the trio at the end of the alley, Wednesday’s gaze followed you, her smirk still there, she wouldn't hide it because she was, truly, for the first time in her life, impressed.

Wednesday followed you instantly, and the other two followed hesitantly... stopping just inside the doorway as you approached the cashier.

“I’d like to return this bat,” you said, placing it on the counter alongside the cash and the beer.

The cashier stared at you, wide-eyed and speechless.

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked out of the store, passing by the trio without so much as a glance.

Wednesday watched as you made your way to the bus stand, and just stood there. The three of them stood there in stunned silence.

Enid was the first to break it. “Okay, I take it back. She’s not just like Wednesday. She’s way scarier.”

Part 2

[A/n: Tried a new route, Didn't really find much fics out there where reader is the one who is more badass , so thought about writing one myself lol, Comment how you guys like this new one]

[areyouwell]

Athazagoraphobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of forgetting. Children or adults with this condition tend to experience nausea, raised heart rate or panic attacks when attempting to remember someone they don't.

Ch.5

Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content, talks of suicide, suicide attempt, descriptions of extreme bodily harm, needles, this chapter gets dark, reader discretion is advised

Word Count: 13.7k

A/N: i have been looking forward to this chapter for so long oh my GOD i am vibrating. this is the shit i love, although the absolute BATTLE i just fought to get this post off the ground was long and arduous so rip my formatting tumblr didn't like it :( god gives his hardest battles to his silliest soldiers. also kurt and hank are here because i felt bad leaving them out timeline WHAT TIMELINE?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

To say Logan hadn’t gotten much sleep was an understatement. Sure, he’d dozed off here and there, but he would jolt awake every time you held so much as a sleepy breath. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Seven of them. The way their heads cocked at an unnatural angle. The way they silently stared, faceless, voiceless, seemingly just watching. Waiting. The way they sank back into the shadows the moment you stirred. They must have been from you, some subconscious product of your mutation. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t creep him out a little. 

Though, he didn’t know what else he expected. You could manipulate and walk through shadows. You were bound to have some creepy quirks, as well as constantly looking tired, apparently. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust mites floating in the golden beams filtering through the leaves of the various plants near your window. You’d told him a while ago you’d named them all, something about giving them a voice making them grow faster, or something else equally as ridiculous. He still didn’t quite know which one was Molly and which one was Dalia, but he could tell his Herberts from his Judases, which was a start, he supposed. 

Fucking hell he was down so bad.

You still slept soundly against his chest, occasionally a soft snore would melt his heart, or a discontented pinch of your brow only to smooth out when you nestled closer. Part of him wished neither of you ever had to move. Actually, scrap that, he wished you didn’t have to move with his whole being. He silently thanked whoever came up with the idea of Saturdays and the knowledge that the two of you could spend a lazy morning in bed without the approaching threat of teaching a class. 

Maybe he would take you out today, steal Scott’s bike and escape for one peaceful moment. There were a few lakes nearby he wouldn’t mind visiting with you, end the day at a bar or something. The image of you perched behind him on the bike, your arms wrapped around his middle, cheek resting against his back made up his mind. He was definitely going to take you out today. Get away from everything for a while. Away from teaching, training, the possibility that if you didn’t get your mutation under control you could be lost to the shadows for good…

That kind of thing. 

He gazed down at you, your mussed hair and twitching features. He loved you. Logan knew that. Two months and he was already certain. It was just saying it, he struggled with. Admitting it out loud. That’s where the problems started. It was like he was cursed, the moment he uttered those three words, some kind of catastrophe would strike and he’d lose everything for good. 

He hoped you knew. Fuck, he hoped you knew. Hoped you knew that with every waking moment, he burned to be near you, seared with the need to touch you. Even innocently. A hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, anything. Sure, he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his face between your thighs or his cock submerged in your cunt, but that didn’t seem realistic. And, if nothing else, Logan was a man of realism. 

A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips, eyes fluttering slightly as you started to wake. He brushed the stray hairs from your face, your features scrunching, blinking awake. 

“Good mornin’,” he smiled, and you groaned in response, closing your eyes again and hiding your face in his chest.

“No.” your response was muffled but audible, and he cocked a brow.

“Bad mornin’?”

You shook your head slightly. “No morning. Wake me when it’s midday.”

If there was one thing Logan had learnt about you, it was that you were not a morning person. ‘Too much light’ was your typical excuse, and he couldn’t say he blamed you. He used to drag himself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee before he became a teacher. He didn’t know why he was shocked to learn you were a night owl, it made a shit ton of sense considering your mutation. Though he chalked it down to the fact that your smile shone like the sun itself.

“Coffee?” He asked, and that silenced your protests. Your clock was still discarded on the floor, but flicking his wrist up in front of his face, he grinned seeing the time. 8 am. Oh, you were going to be furious. Especially since it was a Saturday. 

“What time is it?” you asked, raising your head from his chest and turning your head to your window as if the sun had personally offended you. You had half the mind to storm over to the curtains and snap them closed. If only you hadn’t been so comfortable, you’d really show the sun what for.

“A little after eight…” he said tentatively, and your head whipped back to look at him, face a picture of utter disbelief. 

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope, sorry sweetheart, the clock doesn’t lie.” he showed you his wrist with the time, and you groaned in frustration, your forehead hitting his chest in defeat.

“It’s a goddamn Saturday, not even Jubilee is up this early on a Saturday.” You lamented, pulling the covers up and over your head. Logan chuckled slightly, finding your detest for mornings amusing as you hid from the sun. “Fucking curtains not being closed for the fucking light to get in fucking god fucking damnit.”

“Yeah, you tell ‘em.” His hand rested on your covered head in faux protection, feeling you shift beneath the duvet, your angry huff fanning his chest. 

“I will.” He could almost hear your pout, shuffling forward to poke your head from the covers like the world’s most gorgeous groundhog, the duvet wrapped tightly around your head so he could see only your face. “Did you say coffee?” You asked, and even if you didn’t have the hope of a child being offered a lollypop dancing in your eyes, he still would have nodded. Though with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Couldn’t appear too keen to bend to your every request.

“What’ll you give me for it?” He smirked, knowing full well there were very few lengths you’d go through to acquire a fresh pot of caffeine in the morning. And your narrowed eyes confirmed that knowledge. 

“I’ll suck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

Logan choked on his own saliva. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. “Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered, failing miserably at hiding his smile. You flashed him a toothy grin, knowing you had him in a box. Honestly, you’d do it anyway just for fun and maybe to tease him a little. 

Logan threw back the covers on his side of the bed, waiting for you to move so he could sit up and start his coffee-making mission. Only, you didn’t move, just blinked at him expectantly. “You gotta move, hun.” 

“Why can’t you be telekinetic, so inconvenient.” You grumbled, reluctantly releasing him from your arms and rolling onto your other side, only to huff once again as sunlight invaded your eyes. “Fucking sun!”

Logan watched with no small degree of admiration as you angrily threw one of your pillows and the window, eyes tracking the trajectory as it hit the curtain with a slight thump before falling to the floor. “You showed him.” He quipped, receiving a small kick to his side. 

You looked over your shoulder as he stood, watching his naked body shamelessly. Shit, he was so fucking hot. Your mouth almost watered as he stretched his arms above his head, his back flexing, muscles tensing. You sat up a little against the headboard, sandwiching your thumb between your teeth as he flexed his back again, and this time you knew it was on purpose.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he didn’t even need to look to know your eyes were on him. He could feel them, for fuck’s sake. And your maniacal little laugh confirmed it all.

“You’re nice to look at, excuse me for finding you attractive.” There wasn’t even a hint of guilt in your voice. You really were a freak weren’t you? 

Logan slowly turned to face you, watching as your eyes dragged up and down his body, your mischievous smile only widening. He cast his gaze skyward, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Ya done?”

You clicked your tongue. “Not even close. But, I really want a coffee, so I guess I am for now.” You shrugged as if you hadn’t just been fucking the shit out of him with your eyes. Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head in fond disbelief. As if you couldn’t be any more endearing. Yes, you were a grumpy little shit in the mornings, but you were his grumpy little shit. And he had a sneaking suspicion you might feel exactly the same about him. 

You rolled your eyes as he shrugged on his singlet, pulling up his briefs and jeans before looking around the room, unable to locate his belt. He spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the floor. He swore it had fallen with his jeans. “Have you seen my–”

Hearing the telltale clink of metal, Logan looked back at you holding up the leather by his buckle. That was not where he thought he’d left it. He raised a brow of questioning, and you shrugged again. “I had it on hand. In case…” you trailed off and his eyes widened in scandal, brow furrowed.

“In case of what?!” 

“Just, in case.” You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide your filthy grin and failed spectacularly. Logan barked a laugh of disbelief, skirting around the bed and snatching the belt from your hands, tossing it on the covers as he trapped you in his arms.

“You,” he started, before pressing his lips to yours. “Are such,” he kissed you again. “A freak.” He finished, moulding his mouth against your own in a lingering, lingering dance. You giggled into his lips, your hands finding the soft strands of his hair. “Only two months in and you already want me to tie you up?” He drew back with a smirk, just far enough to see the perversity in your eyes.

“Who said anything about tying me up…?”

He blinked. How many fucking surprises were you going to spring on him this morning? “Hate to break it to ya darlin’, but if that’s your intention then a thin strip of leather ain’t gonna cut it.” 

Your irises sparkled with the realisation that he wasn’t saying no. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to get something stronger.” You murmured, closing the gap between the two of you once again before breaking it almost immediately. “Maybe some of those metal zip ties… or just a really thick wire. I dunno, how strong are you?”

“Real fuckin’ strong.”

Your brows furrowed in thought, and he ruffled the top of your head. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You gaped in mock offence. “So rude. Go get coffee, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that earlier, were ya?”

“Yeah, but now your shirt’s on.” 

“Face not good enough for ya?”

“Not when it’s insulting me, no.”

“And when it’s doing this?” Logan leaned into your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the side of your throat, teeth gently nipping at your soft, bruised skin from last night. You gasped a strangled moan, still sensitive from where he’d left his marks on you. 

“That’s more forgivable.” You breathed as he drew back, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “Go, before I drag you back into bed and have my freaky little way with you, belt and all.” You wiggled your brows and he chuckled darkly, as if anything you said could be seen as a threat. But he acquiesced nonetheless, feeding his belt through the loopholes of his jeans, securing the clasp. 

“I’ll be back in a few.” He placed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed a soft, contented smile before he turned away and headed out down the hallway. You were right, it was far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday. As far as he could hear, nobody was up yet, which just meant he got a good few more hours to spend with you before the rest of the mansion started to think you were either dead or missing. You weren’t a morning person, but that didn’t mean you weren’t up most mornings, just with a face like thunder. 

He loosened a contented sigh, cracking open the door to the kitchen before crossing to the kettle and flicking the switch, listening to the low hiss of the water heating up before he pulled open the overhead cupboards to retrieve two mugs, a glass one for him and your favourite one for you. Logan realised with no small degree of shame that he didn’t actually know your birthday, and come to think of it, nobody else had mentioned it either. He hoped it hadn’t already been and gone, seeing your small collection of mugs had given him the perfect idea. 

He rifled around for a bit, before locating the larger, cáfetier. It was easily big enough for two cups and then some. Popping open the steel lid to the coffee grounds, he spooned four heaps into the glass, guestimating the correct amount. Two heaps each seemed about right…

It had been too long since his biggest worry was something as domestic as how many heaps of coffee should he put in a cáfetier for two. It gave him a sense of peace, despite the events of three days ago. And with nobody else up and about yet, it really did feel like the two of you were alone in the world. 

And honestly, he’d be fine with that.

At least, it did feel like, before the fantasy was shattered by approaching footsteps. Logan groaned internally, knowing that gait and heft anywhere. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Scott. Why, of all people, did it have to be fucking Scott.

“Logan… I didn’t know you’d be in here so early.” His tone was curt, stunted almost as if he was allergic to being nice. Logan simply grunted, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cáfetier and placing the lid on. 

“I was just leavin’.” He responded gruffly, hooking his fingers around the two mug handles and carefully lifting the coffee pot, making for a quick escape before Scott cleared his throat. 

“I uh… Look man, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Logan paused, giving Scott a sidelong glance, a silent suggestion for him to continue. “About what happened the other day. The Professor was right, it wasn’t the time for us to fight.”

Logan grit his teeth. “That’s what you’re apologising for? Not for suggesting we should just get rid of her?” he snarled, his fingers tightening on the mug handles. Scott sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

“It’s not– It’s not that simple, Logan. She’s done this before, and last time it resulted in the death of one of our teammates. Jade was so kind. And she–”

“Loved her, yeah I know.” Logan finished, and Scott started in surprise.

“She told you that?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“I’m startin’ to think you’ve never actually had a conversation with her.” He bit, keeping his self-control intact. Though he didn’t know how annoyed you’d be if he told you he’d smashed your favourite mug over Scott’s head. 

“She was my teammate before you were, Logan. I– It’s not easy to be the one to make these decisions, or even suggest them. But sometimes we need to do things to protect other people. You know that.”

Logan nodded in confirmation. He did know that. He knew that better than anyone. “And you should know that there is nothing I won’t do to protect her. So you come at her again, spoutin’ bullshit about neutralising a threat, and there’ll be no Professor to stop me from tearin’ you apart. Got it?” He snarled, subconsciously baring his teeth. Scott sighed again. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to threaten his life, when they first met it was almost on a daily basis. 

“I don’t want to neutralise her. I just want her under control,” he explained wearily. “Sure, the first time this happened and she killed Jade, I’d been the one to suggest that. But we were scared. We were damn terrified of her. It was only thanks to Jean that she came back.”

Logan paused for a moment. He knew Jean was keeping something under wraps. “How? What exactly did she say?”

Scott shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “No clue. She wouldn’t tell me. She told me to ask the Professor, but we were all a little caught up in grief to ask questions at that point, and by the time we’d all managed to move on, it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Scott paused, evidently debating his next words. “But she responded to you. We all saw that. So, what I’m trying to say, is keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. None of us want her gone, Logan. We couldn’t help her, but maybe you can.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Logan had ever received from the man, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with it. So he nodded in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. But before he could contemplate it further, Scott piped up again. “I’m happy for you two, by the way. You really complement each other. Or maybe I’m just happy you haven’t been making eyes at Jean for the last two months.”

Nevermind. He hated the prick. “Go fuck yourself, Scott,” he uttered with disinterest, and if he had either of his hands free, he would have flipped him off as he left. Heading back up the stairs, Logan wondered when it would ever just stop. When everything would finally come to a halt and he could have just one day for the two of you and not think about anything catastrophic happening. Yet here he was, climbing the flight of stairs up to the third floor, contemplating your mortality. He fucking hated it. 

And he was having such a nice morning, too. 

Shouldering open the door to your room, he was greeted by an empty space and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, steam rolling out of the small gap where you’d left the door open a crack. Maybe he could still salvage this morning after all. 

Settling down the coffee and mugs on your nightstand, he left the grounds to soak in the water before briskly stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a collected pile at the foot of your bed and slowly opening the bathroom door a little wider. It was like a sauna in there, steam fogging up the mirror, the walls sweating. You hummed a soft tune, one he recognised after a beat.

It was the same song he’d asked you to dance to. 

His heart inflated as he opened the steamed-up door to step in behind you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist to your small jump and gasp of surprise.

“‘S’just me, don’t worry,” he soothed, burying his face in the crook of your slick neck. Your hair hung limp, freshly washed as you leaned back into him, holding his arms against you.

“Mmm, was just thinking about you.” You hummed, and if Logan wasn’t already half hard at the sight of your dripping naked body, that low, sultry tone of your voice would have been enough. 

“Yeah?” he loosened his grip so you could turn around to face him, your arms slinking up his body and around his neck. “What about me?” he asked, biting back his groan as you swapped places with him, warm water cascading down his back. 

“‘Bout last night… all the things I didn’t get to do…” You teased his lips with whispers of kisses, barely making contact as you held his gaze hostage, your eyes darkening with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded already when you bypassed his mouth altogether, your teeth instantly biting down against his collarbone. 

“Like what?” he strained, his hands skirting up and down your waist, your lips trailing up the hollow of his throat, over to the side of his neck where you sucked a harsh bruise that, to your irritation, faded instantly. You knew doing it again was a losing battle, but that didn’t stop you from sinking your teeth into his flesh, feeling his rising groan on your tongue as you smoothed over the unmarked skin. Your hands braced against his chest as you rose up on your tip toes to breath into his ear.

“I wasn’t joking earlier.” Was all you muttered, nibbling at his earlobe and leaving the side of his head tingling before you travelled lower down the curve of his fuzzy jaw, back down the path you’d carved for yourself, pressing kisses down his chest, your nails lightly scratching down either side of his ribs, following the curve of his hip bone and to his hard cock. 

Logan inhaled as you took him in your wet palms, squeezing around his shaft, delivering pinches with your teeth around one of his nipples, clamping down around when you teased his already leaking tip.

“Shit…” he gasped as you sucked against his shockingly sensitive bud, the scent of your own arousal heightened in the steamy heat, driving him mad with need. Releasing him from your mouth, you giggled softly as he thrust into your grip, his hands sliding from your waist to your hair as you sank to your knees before him, making sure you kept eye contact. 

  Sticking out your tongue, you waited for what felt like an eternity to him, before you delivered a small kitten lick to the underside of his cock. His jaw fell open as he watched you, all your attention now stuck on teasing the fuck out of him, not going any further than small, short swipes. He didn’t want to push you but holy shit were you testing his self-control. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He huffed, gritting his teeth when your malleable tongue traced one of the thick, pulsing veins down the side of his shaft. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not to move you, rather just to feel you beneath his fingertips. 

Logan’s head fell back as your lips enveloped his sensitive tip, and he realised he would happily drown in this shower if it meant you didn’t stop, water washing away the sweat from his brow, bouncing off his closed eyes. A gravelly moan bubbled from his chest, echoing slightly off the walls. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he whispered almost to himself as you took him further, your pointed tongue dragging down the underside of his cock, one of your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, the other braced against his hip to hold him still. 

You bobbed your head slowly, tasting the distinct musk and salt of his ecstasy as you flattened your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming lowly. The bathroom became an orchestra of gravelly groans and airy gasps, all drowned out from the outside world by the running water. Sinking into a comfortable rhythm, you looked up at his head thrown back, one of his hands had moved from your hair to the wall as he all but leaned against it.

Opening your throat, you slipped him further in your mouth until your nose was nestled comfortably against the coarse hairs at his naval. There you held him for a moment, swallowing around his cock and he fucking whimpered at the feeling of your throat squeezing him. You gagged slightly, and Logan looked down, his jaw slack as he took in possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his over a century of being alive. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and he made to pull away to give you a moment to breathe. But the moment he shifted, your nails dug sharply into either side of his hips, holding him against you. 

He stuttered moaning of your name and you knew he was close, so you hummed around him again, the vibrations of your voice travelling his throbbing length. The hand in your hair tightened as he slowly thrust his hips into your wanting mouth, gently fucking your face. 

“Jesus Christ you feel good…” he uttered breathlessly, tensing his jaw as he approached his peak. You smiled wickedly around his cock, dragging your slick tongue down that same vein you were paying attention to earlier as he moved back, your teeth ever so slightly scraping atop his length, and it was his undoing. 

Pleasure flooded his senses, fire coursing through his blood as he went to pull from your mouth, only to have you angrily shove your head forward, swallowing again around his member as he threw his head back to embrace the stream of the shower. “Fuck, fuck!” He stuttered a long, drawn-out groan as he spilled into your mouth, painting your throat white as his hips bucked uncontrollably, the tips of his claws poking through his knuckles as he fought to keep control, stars dancing behind his eyes.

The waves of ecstasy receded with each pulse, leaving him dizzy and gasping, his head falling forward to catch his breath and steady himself. Looking up from your knees, you drew back, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, your hands gently squeezing his thighs. 

“You okay?” You asked, rising to your feet, palm softly cupping the underside of his jaw and moving his face to look at you. He was stunned, dazed almost, as he wordlessly searched your eyes for an answer to a silent question. You laughed a little, and he drew you in with a thumb and forefinger pinching your chin, claiming your mouth with his lips in a delicately passionate kiss. The way he tasted himself on your tongue almost had him hardening again. 

“You almost suffocated yourself and you’re asking if I’m okay?” he asked with subdued disbelief, and you grinned wildly. 

“You seemed out of it for a moment, wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.” You responded with airy innocence, and Logan huffed a laugh.

“Murder attempt number two. Not a great track record, huh?” He teased lightly, and you narrowed your eyes at him. But before you could come up with some witty retort, he sank to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder so bruskly you had to steady yourself against the wall. “Fuck you’re so hard to ignore when you smell this fuckin’ sweet, darlin’.” He murmured, before wasting no time in devouring your cunt until you were whimpering his name and gushing all over his tongue. 

Consider the morning salvaged.

“This is going to be insanely strong coffee.” You called from the bedroom as Logan dried his hair with a spare towel, draping it across his shoulders before padding out the join you. “Someone didn’t want to leave the shower.” You shot pointedly with a small grin. He simply shrugged in response, trying not to be too disappointed that you’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Not sure how I’m to blame for that.” He crossed the room to stand behind you, towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips and circled his arms around your waist, setting his chin atop your head. “You started it.” 

You leaned back into his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It was these little moments of soft domesticity that you craved with him. Yeah, the sex was great. Mind-blowing, in fact, and teaching and training with him was a fantastic excuse for the two of you to spend time with each other, but it was these moments you valued. Swaying in the kitchen to whatever song blared from the radio, your head resting on his lap as you dozed off to some shitty reality tv-show, or vice versa. These were the moments you’d remember when you were old and grey and he was–

Still looking gorgeous and young. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. How had that only just occurred to you? You pushed the thought into the furthest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to be entertaining such things. 

“Why did you take so long, by the way? I was halfway through the intended length of my shower by the time you got back.” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact as you went to pour the coffee into the two mugs, your heart expanding when you saw he’d picked your favourite one. The one Kitty gifted you. 

“Ran into Scott in the kitchen…” You snorted at the irritation in his tone, clearly not a fond memory. 

“What’d he have to say for himself?” A hand extended behind you, clasping the top of the glass mug between your fingertips as you handed it to him, pouring yourself a mug of your own before you turned to sit on the bed.

“Thanks. He was just runnin’ his mouth, to be honest with ya. Though he did apologise, which felt weird.” Logan returned to his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard and raising his arm as a silent request for you to join him. You shuffled closer, ducking beneath his arm and cosying into his side, making sure to hold your full mug of coffee steady. 

“He did? What for?” 

“We argued the whole training thing. He was apologising for the timing of it.” 

You snorted a laugh into your mug. “Trust Scott to apologise for the thing that mattered least. But it’s a start, I guess. He say anything else?”

“Not really. Said he was happy for us and that we complemented each other, which also felt weird.” He didn’t think you’d be thrilled about the Jean comment, so he left that in the past like he had his feelings for her. 

“Huh. Strangely nice of him.”

“‘S what I thought.” 

You sipped on your drink, pleasantly surprised it was still warm, savouring the bitter-roasted flavour. “Yeah, a little too long, think the beans are a bit burnt, but it’s still good.”

“How’dya know the beans are burnt?” 

“You can taste it. Or I can. I was a barista for a while, dontcha know?”

He raised a brow. No, he didn’t know that. “How many jobs have you had?” He asked, impressed that you had such a wide range of skills. You thought for a moment, it was actually a pretty good question. 

“Ya know what? I have no idea. What’s funny is that I never remember quitting them either. I’d just wake up one day and bam! New job. I guess I liked to bounce around a lot. Still do.” You elbowed him, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and he groaned in exhaustion. 

“Terrible.”

“You liked it.” You stuck out your tongue and he huffed in amusement. Yeah, he did. And he wasn’t about to deny it.

Logan paused for a moment, knowing the next topic he wanted to talk to you about was likely going to be a sensitive one. You hadn’t told him for a reason, and if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push you, but he wanted to let you know that he knew. “Can I see your wrist…?”

Predictably, you shot from his side, muttering a curse as your coffee sloshed from your mug and onto your hand. It wasn’t like you’d made an effort to hide your scars, it was more that you banked on the fact that people, generally, were too afraid to ask. But you should have guessed Logan of all people wouldn’t shy away from something like that. Not where you were concerned anyway. 

Tentatively, you set your mug down on the nightstand, turning back to him and offering one of your wrists. He did the same, shifting to set his own mug down before slowly taking your outstretched hand in his own, inspecting the deep, faded scar with the pad of his thumb. “When?” He asked gently.

“Years ago. It’s all kind of a blur really, and I don’t remember much of it. I just– I was terrified of being a mutant and couldn’t see a way out. I think my brother found me, and took me to a hospital. I don’t know why they’re still there, honestly. I’ve used my mutation countless times since, but I guess scars are as part of the mind as they are the body. Or something like that.” It was the only explanation you had for the marks littering your body, not just the ones on your wrists, but your chest, thighs, and neck. You were a scrappy kid, always picking fights with the wrong people. 

Logan brought your wrist up to his lips, ghosting featherlight kisses down the raised line. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured, and your heart bled. He had nothing to apologise for, you hoped he knew that. 

“‘S’okay. I… learned to accept what I am. Rowan helped me with that. That’s his name, don’t know if I ever told you. After he was done being mad at me, that is. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what I would have done had the roles been reversed.” 

“You got on well, didn’t ya?”

You sighed. “Yes and no. We did when we were kids, but as we got older we started to drift apart. I think the grief over our parents changed him, and he got more cautious, whereas I got more reckless. We would fight a lot, but that didn’t mean I loved him any less. I just wish I could remember what our last argument was about. We were so fucking mad at each other, I left and deleted his fucking number.” You huffed a sigh of past frustration, turning to retrieve your mug of coffee. 

That was news to him. He didn’t know your parents had died. He knew they weren’t around during your teen years, but he didn’t know they’d died. But the way you just casually mentioned it told him it was a topic that didn’t need discussing right now. 

You settled back against him, his arm draping over your shoulders, your head dropping to the dip in between his collarbone and neck as silence settled back over you. You appreciated the way he didn’t press you for more. You doubted you’d be satisfied with such a brazen explanation, and you knew he most likely had more questions for you, so when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you smiled against his skin. 

“‘M gonna take you out today.”

“Like on a date or with a gun?”

You felt his snort of laughter against your cheek. “Have you always been this dark?”

“I’m a shadow weaver, comes with the territory.” You responded nonchalantly. 

“‘S that was you’re calling yourself now?”

“Nah. I still kinda like Phantom. But who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind someday.” You raised your head to take another sip of your coffee, grimacing as the liquid had gone from piping hot to lukewarm.

“On a date, dumbass. Thought we could get away for a while.” He brushed a strand of your hair back from your face, smoothing over your eyebrow with his thumb. 

“What’d ya have in mind?” You asked, leaning into his touch a fraction. 

“Take a drive, head to one of the lakes in the area, grab a drink after. Things normal couples do.”

You huffed in amusement. “We’re not a normal couple, Lo’.”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freak.”

“And you’re not? Mister ‘I can smell your arousal and it gets me going’.” You poked the centre of his chest and he flicked your forehead in retaliation. 

“You up for it?” 

“I get to spend the day away from the kids and visit a super scenic lake with my second favourite mutant in the mansion? Followed by an evening of drinking in a bar? You might as well have asked me to marry you here and now.” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, we’re n– wait second favourite?”

You nodded, looking at him like the answer was obvious. “Well yeah, Kitty bought me my favourite mug so she reserves favourite person rights.” 

“S’that how it works?”

“Bit slow on the uptake aren’t ya?” Logan pushed you off him, careful not to shove you too hard so you spilt any more coffee on yourself.

“I take it back. We’re gonna spend the day here.” You gasped dramatically, setting your drained mug to the side before trying to cosy back up to him, only for his arm to hold you at bay.

“I lied, I lied! You’re incredibly smart and quick and my favourite person I’ve ever met ever!” You exclaimed through fits of laughter as you tried to fight through the wall of sinewy muscle. 

“Didn’t hear ya. Come again?” He held you off with one hand, the other effortlessly raising his mug of coffee to his lips. It was a testament to his strength how he could keep you back with just one arm.

Maybe metal cable ties weren’t strong enough after all…

You conceded, flopping down onto the pillows next to you, bubbles of laughter still popping from your chest. “When do you wanna leave? What time is it actually?” you asked, taking him by the wrist only to see he wasn’t wearing his watch. Must have taken it off to shower.

“Lemme check, hold on.” Logan leaned down off the bed where the poor alarm clock still lay completely abandoned, retrieving your lamp at the same time and setting them both on the nightstand. “Just gone nine. Leave in an hour? I think it’s roughly three hours by car, but Scott’s bike shaves off at least half an hour so…” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, and you laughed at the mischief in his eyes.

“Gives us around six hours to ourselves, minus the journey. Sounds perfect to me.” Being unable to withstand a lack of physical contact with you for any longer than three minutes, Logan lifted his arm for you again, and you returned to the home you’d built next to his heart.

“We should get out more…” he lamented softly, his hand holding your shoulder, thumb stroking your soft skin beneath the short sleeve of your t-shirt. 

“If we had the time, that would be great.” You sighed, feeling his slight despondency. If only your circumstances had been different, and you were just a normal couple that could do normal couples things. But now, you had to teach younger mutants how not to accidentally kill the wrong people, and how to effectively kill the right people. Not only that, but you had to train to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill yourself in the process.

Fuck’s sake.

A fist knocked at the door three times, and you braced for Kitty to simply let herself in. But the longer the silence after lingered, the surer you became that, whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn’t Kitty.

“Come in!” You called, not making any efforts to obscure either yourself of Logan. The whole mansion knew by now, it wasn’t like you were trying to keep it a secret. The door opened to reveal Ororo, her white hair neatly tied back from her face. 

“Morning! Just wanted to– oh. Hey Logan…” she eyed the two of you suspiciously and you shared a glance with him. The fact he was only dressed in a towel and you in a loose tee and boxer briefs didn’t exactly help your case of innocence. “Right… anyway, I guess this saves me two trips. Xavier has a conference in Connecticut, Jean’s going with him. They’re giving a talk on starting up a new school for both mutants and humans to start coexisting, so you’re both on babysitting duty.”

Your heart sank. “What the hell are you and Scott doing?!” You asked accusingly, sitting up from Logan’s chest. Storm’s brows pinched like she seemed genuinely remorseful this was how things had to be.

“Tying up some loose ends for Kurt and Hank before picking them up. They’ve been away for a while now, but they’re back today. That and Scott has some errands to run, so we’ll be back late.” She explained sheepishly, and you groaned in frustration. The one day off you thought you could have and you’ve been stuck with babysitting.

The gods really like shitting in your dinner, don’t they?

“Alright… but you owe us.” Logan piped up, and you whipped your head to him in exasperation. He read your face instantly. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘Like we have a choice.’ he silently communicated back, and he knew you’d understood what he’d said when you sighed heavily, dragging a hand down the side of your face.

“Fucking fine, but Logan’s right, you owe us. And I was wondering where those two had got to, how long’ve they been away?”

Ororo loosened a breath of relief. “Thank you. And next Saturday? All your’s, I promise. As for Kurt and Hank, around a year or so? Xavier sent him off on a private mission not even we knew about until a couple months ago, just before you came back. We’re going to pick them up just to make sure they get here safely.” She didn’t seem too confident about wherever Nightcrawler and Beast had been.

“That dangerous, huh?” As if the mere mention of a dangerous mission set him on edge, Logan’s arm wrapped back around your shoulders protectively. Neither of you had been required for one since your return, and he was honestly dreading the day. 

“Kurt’ll explain more when he gets back I’m sure, but yeah, that dangerous. Hank doesn’t like to go on missions like these, but apparently, Charles needed his diplomatic expertise and Kurt’s quick getaways, so who knows?” Ororo shrugged, before looking pointedly at Logan’s bare chest and then your bare legs. “Do I even wanna know what you guys were up to before I knocked…?”

You laughed, waving off her concerns. “Having a coffee and chatting about the day we did have planned before being landed with babysitting duty, nothing exciting don’t you worry.”

“Unless you wanna talk about the shower…” You shot Logan a scandalised look, mouth and eyes wide in utter shock.

“Ew, no, I’m good, see you later.” Ororo shielded her eyes as she left as if she could unsee the mental image Logan had just planted there. As soon as the door shut you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“What was that for?”

“Did it look like she was gonna leave anytime soon to you?” You took a moment to think about it, and Logan’s expression shifted to self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You offered him a little, defeated smile. “Guess our day off will have to wait.”

He leaned forward, tucking you into his side before relaxing back against the headboard. “I’ll take you out soon, ‘kay? Promise.”

“Like, on a date or w–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before he clapped his hand over your mouth, stopping you midway through.

“Enough. It wasn’t funny the first time, why did you think it would be funny again?” 

You stuck your tongue out to lick his palm, a foolproof method of removing someone’s hand from your mouth. Or, at least it had been foolproof in the past. But you raised your eyes to his face, and he looked at you with disinterest. “Not gonna work, firefly.” 

You adored that nickname. He never explained where it came from or why he started it, but it didn’t matter to you. As long as he never stopped. 

Thick black boots pounded the floorboards as you raced through the hallways of the mansion, vibrations humming up your legs with every step, your breath like fire in your lungs. Shouts and screams echoed in every corner, flashes of torchlight illuminating cones of white against the walls like searchlights. The Professor was away. Why was the Professor always fucking away?

Sliding to a halt as you heard footsteps around the corner, you quickly slipped into the shadows, hushed voices muffled as if underwater as you jumped to the ceiling. Light separated the shadows, and four silhouetted figures walked cautiously beneath you. You could make out the outlines of their guns as the torch shifted before the hallway was again drenched in darkness as they continued their search.

Morphing to the floor, you reformed from the black, stealing a quick glance behind you to where they’d disappeared. There were no students that way, Logan and Scott had made sure of that. The moment Logan had sensed something was off, the evacuation had begun, escorting the students silently from their beds and through the hidden channel behind the panel wall. You knew there were stragglers, but you focused on the knowledge Ororo and Kurt were with them.

How had things gotten so out of hand so goddamn fast? You’d woken up on Logan’s chest this morning feeling like a whole new mutant, comfort wrapped around your heart like an embrace. Now, the opposite couldn’t be more true. You cursed the fact that Jean followed Xavier around like a lost soul. You could really use her help right about now. 

A piercing, shooting pain rushed through your head as you clamped your hands down over your ears, crouching to the floor. Your eardrums throbbed as you recognised that ability, gut knotting at the realisation that Theresa was still inside somewhere, her sonic scream sending waves of agony through your mind before it stopped abruptly. Fuck.

With a new sense of urgency, you sprinted through the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time. If you’d been a little more focused on your surroundings and less hellbent on saving the girl, perhaps you would have noticed the line of guns pointed in your direction. One moment you were racing full speed down the first-floor hallway, the next you’d frozen solid as torches flared simultaneously, erasing any easily accessible shadow. You braced, knowing after they “killed” you, they’d turn away and leave you to sink into the darkness and reform. 

But they held fire, your strained pants the only sound in the eerie silence of the bedroom corridor. 

“They were right…” you whipped your head back to the voice behind you, knees bent in anticipation as two figures stepped from the room you knew to be Jubilee’s, and you prayed to whatever sick, twisted gods above that Logan or Scott had got to her first. The torches behind you revealed a man you thought to be in his thirties, a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. He was taller than whoever was next to him and unnaturally thin. “We missed you dearly.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Come again?” You spat, eyes darting between the two.

The man just laughed heartily, opening his arms as if offering you a hug. “Of course, how could I be so rude? I’ve read the reports… Subject Five, if you could be so kind.”

Panic surged through your body as Subject Five stepped forward, a golden glow emanating from beneath its clothes. Your eyes closed instinctively as the hallway lit up as though the sun had risen, your hands flying to shield your face. 

“That’s a bit better. You look good, Eight, but you always were the resilient one.” You were barely listening, still caught up in the dawning revelation that you knew that mutation. You’d know that mutation anywhere. “We’re here to take you home. Subject One isn’t here, sadly, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it, but we really have missed you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you managed to grit, your eyes adjusting to the light as you cracked them open a little.

“I have to say, when I received word you were a teacher now, it almost made me laugh. You hated kids! Why on earth would you surround yourself with them? But then it dawned on me. A mutant school. If only my great-grandfather had thought of that at the start.” He continued as if you were engaging in nothing but a pleasant conversation in the park.

“Ya know, for someone who talks so much, you really are saying very little.” you quipped, finding a nugget of solace in the fact that this man didn’t want you dead, at least as far as you could tell. “Let’s start with introductions, yeah?”

He chuckled again. “You’re absolutely right. My name is Doctor Kreva. This man here, why you should already know him, even without Subject One to help out.” he was almost condescending in his tone, and you hated the fact he was right. You did know the mutant. And your heart bled for him. What the fuck was he doing here? Why was he raiding the school with this chucklefuck?

“Means nothing to me. The fuck do you want?” you snarled, to his further amusement.

“Were you not listening, darling? We want to take you home. My father was so stupid for letting you go,” it was the first emotion you’d seen on his face beyond sadistic joy. His eyes filled with frustrated hatred. “He never had the stomach for science. And after Seven somehow managed to kill my mother, a problem you so kindly took care of, he started to pity you all.” He spat like the word was venomous before he took a breath of collection. “Seven years it’s taken to track you all down and rebuild what he destroyed. Seven long years. But we’re nearly there. All we’re waiting for is you.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Seven years ago, you and Jade were picked up by Jean and Ororo on the side of that highway. How could he possibly know any of this? “You got the wrong gal, sorry bub.” Oh, you’d been spending way too much time with Logan. Dr. Kreva sighed, holding out his hand expectantly. Like a king’s attendance, one of the guards stepped up from behind you, making sure to keep his shadow far from your reach, before he slung a heavy pack from his shoulder, dropping it into Kreva’s waiting hand. 

The doctor took a knee, removing one of the thickest folder’s you think you’d ever seen, and holding it up. It was old. Incredibly old. Whatever colour it had been originally had faded to a pale grey, the edges frayed and splitting. He placed it on the floor face up, and your eyes caught sight of a label, though it was too far away for you to read accurately. 

“Everything you think you know is a lie, Phantom. Didn’t you think it strange your memories are jumbled? Important moments of your life scrambled or forgotten. Loose ends never tied, arguments never resolved? But this, this holds everything. Your entire life, in one folder. All eighty-two years you were with us.”

You scrunched your face, slightly offended. “I’m thirty-two, asshole.” You spat back, your skin starting to burn under such intense lighting, those threads in your body begging to be released into the shadows to escape. 

“So that’s the age he decided before releasing you. Interesting. Well, I’ll have Subject One rectify that when you’re back with us. Tranq her. Now. Subject Three, begin evacuation.” Before you could even turn around to defend yourself, a sharp pain spiked the side of your neck. You froze, blood draining from your face as you realised you’d been pierced with a needle. Heartbeat rising, you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t know where your fear stemmed from, but you assumed it was when you were taken for blood tests as a child.

If… if that even happened. Because if you were to believe anything this dickwad said, maybe you didn’t even have a childhood. 

Your vision started to swim, and you angrily blinked the grogginess away. “Rowan… wh– what’re y– what’re you doing…?” You could barely finish the sentence as the tranquiliser entered your bloodstream, taking quick effect on your mind as you struggled to stay upright, your knees buckling as you threw your arms out to catch yourself. Shadows. You needed a shadow. But there was nothing to morph into. Nothing you could reach to rid yourself of this feeling. Everything became muffled, as if you were underwater, only barely able to hear a gut-wrenching roar before your vision went dark, and you were out cold. 

Logan raced up the stairs, fury pumping through his blood. He’d been looking everywhere for you, crashing through doorways and slicing through skin and muscle to find you. Hank had mentioned he’d seen you sprinting toward Theresa’s room after she’d screamed, and he didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he’d said before he took off at a run. He crested the first flight just in time to see three figures halfway down the lit hallway, obscuring your unconscious body. He didn’t even take a minute to acknowledge the light was emanating from the figure on the right, rather than the lights themselves. The man in the centre turned just as Logan bellowed a cry of pure, unadulterated rage, offering him a curious tilt of his head before the one one the left took hold of each other their shoulders, and they disappeared before his eyes.

He didn’t care. They were gone and you remained. That was all that mattered. Racing to your side, he saw the cause of your condition, pulling the tranquiliser out from your neck and cautiously lifting you into his lap, checking your pulse just to be sure. 

You were alive. Your heart was still beating. He almost shook with relief. 

“It’s okay, I got you firefly, I got you.” He soothed, brushing your hair back and cradling you against his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Logan?” He turned his head back down the hallway, heightened sight able to make out Kurt and Scott by the stairs, Kurt wringing his hands with worry. “Is she–”

“She’s fine, just out cold. Theresa’s still in her room if you wanna make sure she’d okay.” He gestured to the room a few doors down, and Kurt jogged passed him, pausing as he saw the file on the ground. 

His eyes widened slightly, gaze flickering from the file name to your unconscious form, then back again, before looking at Logan. Crouching down, he flipped the folder so it was facing him, before continuing to Theresa’s room.

Logan froze as he read the scrawled, ink-smudged handwriting on the front of the file, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan paced as he waited outside the med-bay, chewing at the cuticles of his thumb. Scott, Jean and Charles were having a heated debate in the room to his right, he could hear raised voices even with the doors closed. Ororo and Kurt had chosen to wait with him, Kurt crouched against the wall opposite and Ororo fixed her hair every two minutes. A nervous twitch, he noticed.

Since Jean was currently held up in the furious discussion, Hank had offered to perform the routine checkups on all the mutants they’d managed to tranquilise, yourself included. It had been four hours since the attack, and he still hadn’t shown his blue furry face. Then again, there were quite a few students who’d been targeted, not just you. 

The meeting to his right went quiet before the doors slid open and Scott stormed out, a face like thunder. Logan couldn’t blame him, he had his own anger on a tight leash, simmering just below the surface. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell were you? Did Charles know about this? Did Jean? Was that why she’d been so strange lately after the training incident? The idea of the two of them knowing and not telling anyone made him want to tear apart the whole fucking mansion, and it seemed Scott was on the same wavelength as him for once. 

“Scott wait!” Jean called after him, running after the furious man, but not before casting Logan a cautious glance. He just glared at her in response, before she hurried to catch up with Scott.

“You should have told me, Jean. I’m supposed to lead this goddamn team, how can I do that without knowing who I’m dealing with. No wonder she can’t control her fucking mutation, and I’ve been made to look like a monster for wanting the situation sorted when you knew about this the whole time!” He heard Scott rage, and it was the first time he’d actually heard him raise his voice to her. It would have almost been refreshing if he hadn’t just answered one of Logan’s most burning questions. 

She did know about it. Oh, he was going to have a little chat with her later about that. 

There was a beat before Charles wheeled from the room, his face a grim picture. He loosened a breath upon seeing the three of them still waiting, his eyes lingering on Logan, the file held in his lap. Logan grit his teeth.

“Did you know?” Was all he asked, and Charles said nothing, moving his gaze to the med-bay doors. That just pissed him off further. “Did. You. Know?” he spat every word like venom, balling his fists in an attempt to keep his anger in check. 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly, as if speaking any louder would set him off. But Logan didn’t need him to raise his voice. That was all he needed to hear for his trust in the Professor to shatter completely. “Some memories are better off forgotten, Logan. You of all people know that.”

“Not her entire life!” He clamoured, causing both Ororo and Kurt to jump a little in surprise. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault. They were as in the dark as the rest of the team. Except, it seemed, team telekinesis. “What’s in that folder, Charles? And tell me honestly. No more bullshit.” He seethed, though, to his subconscious surprise, Xavier held the file out to him. 

“That’s for you to find out. If you wish. But I’ll warn you, Logan. Nothing in that file is good. Nothing is happy. Everything that’s happened to her in the last eighty years or so.” He explained sombrely, and Logan didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Eighty years? How was that possible? You were thirty-two. You’d said so yourself. None of this made any goddamn sense. How could you just forget the fact you’d lived at least eighty years of your life? As if Charles had read his mind, which he most likely had, he spoke up again. “A powerful mutant with a focus on memory altering known as Subject One, or Obscurity. From what I could gather, he could alter and re-alter memories, planting ones that never existed and pushing those that deep to the farthest reaches of their minds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they had at the time.”

The best they had? The best they had? Logan wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone bald and in a wheelchair. But he refrained himself when the doors behind him whooshed open, and Hank stepped through. 

“All stable. Took a little longer than I thought it would. I think Jones will be out for another few hours, maybe a day or so. The poor little guy barely sleeps as it is, so a tranq knocked him for six.” Hank explained before sensing the tension in the room. Logan said nothing, almost knocking Beast to the ground as he breezed past him, uncaring as he was once again greeted by yet another sight of you lying unconscious on a metal table.

This was becoming a bad habit of yours.

“She should wake within the hour. The tranqs weren’t too strong, only designed for short knockouts rather than extended periods of unconscious.” Logan was barely listening, his heart clenching as you slept peacefully, hooked up to another fucking machine. How many of these have you been hooked up to in your life? How many other machines have you been monitored on? Was that how you received the scars? Or had that part of your story been true? Did you know anything about this? Or had you been lying to him the whole fucking time?

He had too many questions for you, but he knew how he could answer them. He extended a hand behind him. “Hand me the file.”

“Logan, you should–”

“Hand me the fucking file.” His arm shook impatiently, and there was a beat before Ororo took the folder from Charles and placed it in his waiting hand. Christ, it was hefty. Though, he supposed there was eighty years worth of information within its pages. Storm hovered next to him, sparing him a worried glance as he opened the first page. 

Well, any hope that it was another Phantom was quickly dashed as the faded type described you perfectly. From the texture of your hair and the colour of your eyes to the size of your feet and the length of your legs. His heart caught in his throat as he flipped a few pages, hearing Ororo’s gasp of horror next to him.

4th September. 1932 Ex.3 – 12 pm - 9 am. Deprivation / Indulgence Subject 8. “Phantom” / Subject 5. “Solaris” Observer: Doctor R. Kreva.

Removed all objects from Sub.8’s and Sub.5’s observation chambers, and installed flood lighting on all surfaces. Sustain peak lighting in both chambers for 24 hours and record findings. Since 8 and 5 have similar DNA, they have both been selected for this experiment. Their mutations, whilst similar, are opposites. Two sides of the same coin. Will repeat experiment with darkness at a later date. 

Hour 1 – No change in any subjects. Sub.5 seems extremely content with the change of atmosphere, it’s skin emits some kind of glow similar in colour and frequency to the light around. 

Hour 2 – Still no notable changes. Sub.8 raised its head to look around the chamber, perhaps seeking refuge from the light. Only movement in the last two hours.

Hour 5 – Sub.8’s behaviour has become noticeably erratic, its eyes flickering all around the room, has yet to make a move. Sub.5 has remarkably begun creating its own lights, I have included a sketch of my findings below.

Hour 8 – Due to the lack of shadows, Sub.8’s movements have become peculiar. At times, fast and frantic, searching the room for refuge, whereas other times it would be slow and sluggish, barely able to lifts its head to look around. 

Hour 10 – Much the same as Sub.8 in the dark, Sub.5 had disappeared completely. We can only assume, due to the similarity in their DNA, that Sub.5’s body has disintegrated into the light. Sub.8’s vitals are spiking and dipping seemingly randomly. Its body lags when it moves, almost glitching into shadow with every movement. Is this the molecules trying to release?

Hour 17 – Sub.5 has returned, its hair is now elevated above its head and its eyes no longer resemble that of a human’s. Where there should be an iris and pupil, there is now nothing but smouldering light. Sub.8 has begun writhing, parts of its body disintegrating and reforming where it lies. Is it in pain? 

Hour 19 – Sub.8 has started to scream. It’s interesting. With every breath, its entire body shudders as if trying to phase through the fabric of light itself, like Sub.5 can do. Its fingers bleed from frantically clawing at the ground and blood is leaking from its nose. Will need a cleaning crew in hereafter. In contrast, Sub.5 Is now levitating approx. 5 inches from the ground. 

Hour 20 – Sub.8’s condition has rapidly declined in the last hour, its skin seems to have veins of black spiderwebbing across its face, hands and feet. Must make notes to strip both subjects next experiment, but for now I must assume this continues across its body. 

Hour 21 – Sub.8 has ceased all activity and now lies motionless. Vitals have dropped well below human sustainability, heart rate of 20 BPM, and blood pressure of 90/60 mmHg. How is it still alive? Sub.5 has begun wielding the light from its body. It seems as surprised by this as I am. It has been able to form duplicates of itself, objects, and what could be interpreted as a pair of wings. Could Sub.8 be capable of such things?

End of Hour 21 – Leaving the lights on for 24 hours would most likely be the death of Sub.8. With the slow decrease of light intensity, Sub.5 settled back to the floor, its eyes dimming before returning to what we shall now call the default state. Sub.8 remained motionless for another 2 minutes and 42 seconds before their body disintegrated. Interestingly, it couldn’t disappear before the lights were off completely. Saved footage of Sub.8’s disappearance, the infra-red camera pinpointing the moment its body broke apart. Fascinating. Placed them both back into the observation house, and monitored them for the next few days. Sub.5 is already up and around, behaving regularly. Sub.8 still rests in bed. How will this affect its interactions with other subjects?

Ex. Duration: 21 HOURS Ex. Outcome: Success Findings: See above. Memory erased: Last 21 hours Replacement memory: Cooking lesson, NLMO bonding Comments: Must remember to use the same memory for Subjects 2,3,4,6 and 7

Logan felt sick, bile rising in his throat as he blew out a shaky breath, checking the date three times to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Ororo whimpered a small sob next to him, her eyes scanning the page, her hand covering her mouth in utter devastation. Kurt looked between the two of them, not knowing if he wanted to be involved in whatever horrors lay within that folder. 

He couldn’t stop reading, some pages had notes about the life they made you believe you were living, a simulation world with the other seven, not dissimilar to the danger room. Only, every time you ‘went out on an errand’, or ‘went to work’, it was just a replacement memory for when they pulled you out for experimentations. Those were the pages that had shattered his very soul. What they did to you… How could they have been getting away with this for so long?

He continued flicking through, thumbing stacks of pages at a time before he settled on a less faded sheet, dated much more recently. He only read the first line before Ororo looked away, her head in her hands, Kurt bamfing next to her to hold her as she sobbed.

22nd September. 2008 Ex.1,243 6 pm-6:50 pm Pain Tolerance / Resilience Subject 8. “Phantom” Observer: Dr. J. Kreva

It has been noted that Sub.8’s tolerance for pain is exceptionally high. It can easily disappear with surface-level wounds and reappear as good as new. I want to test its durability to its limits and discover how deep we can wound it before we start leaving scars. In order to accomplish this without endangering Sub.8’s life, it will be stripped of clothing and strapped to the operating table and I have given us ten-minute windows. Using the same light-flooded room as Ex.3, a team will be entering the room with various appliances, following the strict instructions of careful harming, before leaving for the lights to be shut off. Sub.8 has been known to fight back, unlike its counterpart Sub.5, and we have lost good people to its unpredictability. So we will be using Sub.5 as a bargaining chip. It has been noted these two have some kind of relationship similar to that we would typically see in siblings. If Sub.8 refuses to cooperate, the team has permission to harm Sub.5 to whatever they deem necessary.

Each ten-minute window will be referred to as a cycle, due to the nature of the lighting we are implementing here. 

Under no circumstances should either Subject be killed.

Cycle 1 – Team TS8 managed to coerce Sub.8 onto the table, strapping it down with efficiency. It has yet to fight back, but it has noticed Sub.5 in the corner. It likely knows the terms already. A small cut has been made on its left arm, with no visible response from Sub.8, however, Sub.5 flinched. Interesting. Team TS8 left the room, lights still on. Nothing to note, Sub.8 disappeared and reappeared with the lightning, with no sign of the small cut. Though it is no longer strapped to the table. I am glad we brought along Sub.5. After seeing its capabilities in the mirrored experiment of Ex.3 (please see Ex.4), Sub.5 will be an excellent bargaining chip to ensure those abilities are not put to use.

Cycle 2 – Team TS8 has already threatened to harm Sub.5 to get Sub.8 to cooperate. Nothing physical yet, only threats. It understood and climbed onto the table itself, allowing itself to be strapped down again. It has said nothing in these moments, simply stared. Due to our already collected knowledge and the two-hour time limit on this experiment, I have had to jump a few levels of pain. I have provided Team TS8 with a conical flask of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It seems the jump was necessary, Sub.8 reacted with subdued screams and desperate tugging on restraints. With the skin tissue of its right calf burned away, I can see its muscular system is almost identical to our own, tendons working in the same way. Though this is no groundbreaking discovery, it is still important to note. Team TS8 left the room along with Sub.5, who seemed reluctant. Sub.8’s breathing is erratic, and it claws at the table in a similar way it did during Ex.3. Does this have any practical benefit or is this simply to ease the pain? It disappears once again along with the lights, a burn scar remains on its leg when it returns.

Cycle 3 – Sub.5 had to be harmed. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sub.8 wasn’t cooperating as well as I hoped it would. We removed Sub.8 and Team TS8 from the room and turned out the lights. Sub.8 thrashed against restraints as it watched Sub.5 be beaten from behind the door. It agreed to continue swiftly after. Sub.5’s wounds healed as the lights returned. Their bond is a fascinating one, and one I would like to explore further. Sub.8’s Trypanophobia has been noted in its records, having an extreme reaction to the sight of needles. I have provided Team TS8 with various sizes of serrated needles with a diagram of its body. The idea was to see whether Sub.8’s mutation could remove things from its body by disappearing and reforming, or whether obstructions could prevent this. Sub.8 seems panicked by the sight of needles, surely triggering its trypanophobia. Once again it thrashes on the table with each insertion, though it only cried out when pierced in the side of its neck and its inner thigh. Perhaps these are somewhat erogenous zones? Or particularly sensitive places? I will have to make comparisons to Sub.5. Team TS8 left along with Sub.5, who seems to be doing very little to stop the process, though is exhibiting signs of great discomfort. Once again, Sub.8 disappears along with the lights, and interestingly, the needles are left behind on the bed, along with copious amounts of its blood. Not sure the cleanup crew could get those stains out. 

A sob wracked from Storm behind him, though Logan couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away. They exploited your fears and used you to record responses for their sick, twisted gain. He grit his teeth, his jaw threatening to crack as his eyes continue to scan the page. 

Cycle 4 – We have recorded Sub.8’s behaviour on the brink of death in Ex.3, however it was due to lack of shadow. There were no threats necessary to encourage Sub.8 back onto the bed, the needles having been carefully removed. The next stage is incredibly simple. Team TS8 sliced through each radial artery on either side of Sub.8’s wrists. I am not a man easily haunted by much, however I do believe Sub.5’s scream will live in my memory for quite some time. I have made sure to set the cutting of the lights long before Sub.8 has time to bleed out. Sub.5 had to be dragged from the room, however, I can observe Sub.8’s body performing the same motions as it was in Ex.3 around hour 19, however, there is a complete lack of vocal response. Its body keeps attempting to disappear, though it has nothing to dissolve into. It’s fascinating to watch, parts of its limbs shimmering jet black before settling again. It’s like the molecules want to disperse. The lights have dimmed far quicker than the last three times. Sub.8 has not moved from the table. It has not disappeared at all, but it is simply lying in wait. Does it wait to die? Perhaps we underestimated its resolve. I have sent Team TS8 back into the dark room, a knife held against Sub.5’s throat. If it doesn’t dissolve, I have instructed them to make a small incision against Sub.5’s neck. It didn’t need to get that far, Sub.8 saw the consequences and immediately dissolved, though it took far longer for it to return. Perhaps the more severe the wound, the longer it takes to reknit the body back together. Will have to perform further experimentation on this. Two more scars have reformed on either wrist. Interesting. Will need to inspect needle incisions later.

Cycle 5 – It’s dead. I’m certain. Due to the ignorance and fear of man, I have lost one of my most valuable subjects. A terrified guard shot it in the chest several times and burst into the experiment. He didn’t exactly aim for it, but rather for Sub.5. It seems the bond between 5 and 8 ran deeper than even I could comprehend, 8 didn’t think twice about putting itself between the guard, taking several bullets to the chest. Four, to be exact, before he was apprehended. I couldn’t get the lights off fast enough, having to override the system I’d set specifically for this experiment. I wasn’t fast enough, and 8 suffered for it. It’s been here for the last 80 years, and one man ruined everything. Its body is still in the room. I haven’t found the heart to move it yet. Sub.5’s memory of the incident has been erased by Sub.1 once again, and replaced with a severe argument between it and 8, resulting in 8 leaving. I will most likely be dead before I find a subject as valuable for mutant research as Phantom. 

Ex. Duration: 50 MINUTES Ex. Outcome: Failure (subject fatality) Findings: I fear Mutants and Humans can never coexist Memory Erased: Experiment above, Sub.8’s death (for Sub.5 only) Memory Replacement: Severe argument. Comments: A devastating turn of events

Logan swallowed as he reached the bottom of the page. Was that how you escaped? Was that how you got out? They thought you were dead only for you to be able to heal from bullet wounds? Did you slip through the shadows? It took him a moment to think it over. No, that wasn't possible. The dates didn't add up. He turned the page over, seeing further notes scrawled on the back in pen rather than type.

22nd September, Ex.1,243 – Continuation. 1932, 11:42 pm.

The body has disappeared. I have kept the lights off since the incident at 6:50 and made the mistake of closing my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them again, Sub.8 had disappeared. I sealed the doors immediately, hoping this meant it had somehow found the strength to dissolve back into shadow. Looking into the infrared camera, I have noticed the projectiles of bullets scattered where Sub.8 had fallen. Does this mean it’s recovering? Is it possible for it to recover from four bullet wounds to the centre of its chest? 

12:08 am

Sub.8 has returned. Remarkable. Though there are clear scars on its chest and wrists, it seems to have almost completely healed from the incident. This is a staggering discovery. Will need to alter Sub.5’s memory once again.

Logan dropped the file, pages still spread apart as he took a step back. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. What you’d endured, what you’d suffered. The scars that remained. You were right, what you’d said this morning. Mental scars leave the same marks as physical ones. Your body had altered to the memories they’d forced into your mind. They couldn’t remove the scars, so they made you think you’d attempted to take your own life. Made you think you remembered getting into fights as a kid. He knew what mutant experimentation was like. He’d had a firsthand experience. But this was on a whole other level. What the fuck was this all for? 

Now Charles’ words made sense. Some memories were left forgotten. He glanced back to the Professor, who nodded grimly as if to confirm all he’d seen. “My first act as headmaster of this school is to tap into the minds and memories of its students and teachers. Logan, trust me when I say, some things are better left in the past.”

He didn’t know what was right or wrong. Keeping this from you felt wrong but at the same time, you were happy with what you had. Was it already too late? Was that glasses-wearing motherfucker Dr. J. Kreva? How much had he told you? How much did you know?

“They were looking for her, weren’t they?” It was the first phrase he’d spoken since reading the file, pieces of your puzzle clicking into place. Charles simply nodded again. 

“It’s not safe for her to be here anymore. For the students and her. They know where to find her now.”

“Then what to we do?” Ororo asked through heavy sniffles, teary eyes looking between you and the Professor. 

“We take her off grid,” Hank said, setting down his glasses. He’d picked them up to read whatever was in that folder but quickly decided against it after seeing Storm’s reaction.

“But we can’t do that without good reason?” Kurt chimed in, casting worried glances around the room.

“Two years ago, I received signals from an environmental research facility we all believed to have been destroyed in a freak accident seven years prior. I sent Jean and Storm to assess the situation after the explosion, and that’s–”

“That’s where we found her and Jade… Oh my God, that was the site?” Ororo finished, her voice dripping with dread. “But… how did they escape? What happened?”

Charles sighed with resignation. “We don’t know. It would take searching her locked memories and risk pulling them to the surface to answer that question, and that wasn’t a gamble I was going to bet on, not after what I’d glimpsed in the past.”

Logan could barely hear any of this. His ears were ringing, white noise clouding his senses as he just stared at you. Your whole life had been a lie. A jumble of nonsense knitted into your memories by another mutant, reality locked away within the darkest depths of your head. He didn’t know what to do. His urge to protect you from this new threat fought with the urge to protect you from your own past. 

“The decision should be hers.” He interrupted the ongoing conversation, moving to take your hand and press a kiss to the scar on your wrist. “Whether she remembers or not. Explain to her what you said to me, and let her decide.” It was the only course of action he could see. The room fell into silence, all contemplating the suggestion before Charles moved forward to the file on the ground, picking it up and closing it. 

“Wherever you take her, wherever you hide her, take this with you. You can’t tell me where you’re going, and I won’t search for you. The less people who know, the better.” He instructed, and Logan nodded, setting the folder to the side. “When she wakes up, we’ll–”

“When she wakes up, you’ll what?” 

The room had been too caught up in their conversations to notice you stirring from your tranquiliser-induced nap. “You know, I seem to spend a concerning amount of my time unconscious these days.” You sat up slowly, the heel of your palm braced against your forehead as if to help the slight pounding at your temples. 

Logan was at your side in a single stride, his hands cupping the sides of your face delicately, as if holding you any tighter would cause you to break. Your relieved smile when you saw him broke his heart. “Hey Lo’.” 

Though that smile faded as he didn’t return it, his eyes brimming with an emotion your groggy head couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He responded, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and it was as if that was all you needed for your headache to fade. You held one of his palms against your cheek, leaning into his touch.

“How long was I out?”

“Around four hours or so. You feelin’ okay?” Concern. That was the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint a moment ago. Concern and… heartbreak?

“Yeah… ‘m fine. Who died?” You asked, trepidation lacing your tone as you stole glances at the others in the room. Ororo had tears in her eyes, Kurt’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Hank looked more bleak than you’d ever seen him, his hands clasped together as if in mourning. You continued scanning the room, Charles offering you a look of sympathy before your eyes landed on the folder Logan had set down. It was like a trigger had been fired in your brain, hazy memories of before you fell unconscious rushing back to you in one big hurricane.

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and Logan wrapped his arms around your head in response, smoothing gently touches against your hair as you basked in the comfort of his embrace.

“How much do you know?”

[hunkpossession0]

Stealing my former high school bully’s body was so easyyy. Look, now I am hot, and the best part is that I’m gay.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of his—no, my—new car, savoring the feeling of power. God, I’d waited so long for this. All those years of torment, the sneers, the shoves into lockers, the homophobic slurs... they were all a distant memory now, fading away like smoke. The only thing that mattered was this body I was now inhabiting, perfectly sculpted and oozing confidence.

I smirked at the reflection in the rearview mirror. His—my—strong jawline, the chiseled features that had made everyone swoon, and those piercing blue eyes that used to look down on me with contempt were now mine to control. And control them I would.

The plan had come to me after a particularly rough night, one too many drinks mixed with the lingering bitterness of my high school years. I’d always been obsessed with the idea of revenge, but not the kind that left scars. I wanted something deeper, more satisfying. I wanted to become him. To live the life he’d never appreciated and do it better.

It wasn’t hard to find a spell. You’d be surprised at how many dark corners of the internet are devoted to body swapping. A few emails, a payment sent in crypto, and a strange-looking amulet later, I was ready. The ritual was simple enough—though it took a lot of concentration. But the moment I slipped it around his neck while he slept, it was over in seconds. I woke up in his bed, in his skin, and he… well, I don’t know where he is now. I like to imagine he’s trapped somewhere, conscious of what’s happening but completely powerless.

The first thing I did was check myself out in the mirror—really take in everything I’d just acquired. This body wasn’t just hot; it was perfect. Years of disciplined workouts, clean eating, and who knows what else had transformed him into someone who looked like they walked straight off a magazine cover.

Actually, make that literally off a magazine cover. I found a stack of fashion magazines under his bed with his stupidly gorgeous face plastered on them. He’d somehow turned his pretty-boy looks and gym rat habits into a full-fledged modeling career. I guess that explained the ridiculous number of selfies on his phone, each one showing off a different outfit or a perfectly timed flex in front of the mirror.

So yeah, I wasn’t giving up the gym. If anything, I was leaning into it. It’s not like I had to do much to maintain this body—he’d already done the hard work, and now I was reaping the benefits. I still hit the gym daily, if only to flex for the mirrors and admire my reflection. The attention I get now is incredible, and the best part is, I can be shameless about it.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to see what Grindr was like from this side of things. Installing the app was the first thing I did once I figured out the password to his phone. The moment I uploaded a shirtless pic, the notifications started rolling in—an endless stream of thirsty messages. Guys were practically lining up for a chance with me, throwing compliments, and I have to admit, I loved every second of it.

I’d spend hours swiping through profiles, chatting up whoever caught my eye. The way people reacted to me now was night and day compared to before. No more awkward small talk, no more second-guessing myself. I could tell someone to meet me at the gym just to watch me lift, and they’d show up without hesitation.

And the best part? I’ve started getting more gigs, just from a few posts on social media showing off his—no, my—body. Modeling agencies are all about that lean muscle, those killer cheekbones, that smirk that could melt anyone on the other end of the camera. He’d never really appreciated what he had, but I’m about to take this career to the next level. I’ve already got a photoshoot lined up for some luxury brand—an easy way to rake in the cash while showing off.

His—my—Instagram is blowing up too. I’m always in the gym, flexing and posting thirst traps for the masses. The likes pour in, and the comments? They’re pure gold. People are practically worshipping me, and I’ve only just begun. This body was wasted on him, but now that it’s mine, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.

Every time I flex, every time I see a new message pop up on Grindr, it’s a reminder of just how sweet this revenge is. Not only did I take his body, but I’m living his life better than he ever could. I’m hotter, more confident, and finally free to be myself in the best possible way.

This is just the beginning.

[lovexjoe]

PENPALS

Imagine getting bored going on the internet to see which prisoner you can penpal. Every prisoner had a description to get a little insight of their personality but Armando? There was nothing but his name, his age and where he was. He was handsome, so handsome you didn’t think it was real. You decided to send your first message out of boredom. Clicking the box that says “write your first letter and we will forward it to Armando”

You stared at the blank box wondering what the fuck to write to a prisoner who has been in there for years and seems to be serving life.

“Do you have books there? If so what’s your favorite ?

- My name is Y/N”

With that you click send and went about your day. It’s been two weeks till your email got a response. Shocked didn’t even cut it. You read the message a few times just to confirm.

“Most of the books are damaged. I don’t get to fully enjoy the book. The Great Gatsby was enjoyable. No one ever writes. How are you?”

Armando didn’t want to press send, but he was honestly so bored of the same routine every single day that maybe talking to someone wouldn’t be so harmful. Plus it wasn’t going to be anything beyond this computer screen that he only had for an hour to himself in the library. He glanced at the clock and he had about 15 minutes left when his email got a response.

“The Great Gatsby is a great book. No one ever writes because you seem unreal. I didn’t think I’d get a response, I still think you’re an AI. Things are okay on my side, life could be better but it also could be worse so I can keep pushing forward.”

Armando positions the webcam and takes a silly picture to attach to the email. He wanted to make sure you had the reassurance you needed, plus it’s nice for him to look forward to something.

“Am I real enough for you?”

Holy shit. You sent one back and he couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked. What was a girl like you doing talking to him? From then on the two of you got completely engulfed with each other. When Armando had the computer you made sure you had your phone or your laptop on you to talk to him. He eventually got access to video chat and he asked you for your first video chat date.

“I have video chat access now. Would you like to see me?”

You agreed to the video chat and quickly fixed yourself up with some lipgloss and brushing your hair quickly. One last glance at your mirror to see your computer ringing with a notification. You answered to see Armando and his handsome face.

“Como estas mi amor?”

Armando hates to admit it but he thought it was love at first sight. He felt giddy. Alive when he talks to you. Your smile, your voice and your eyes could light up an entire room. He was a little green of whoever got to see you everyday. He hopes one day he gets to hold you. You hoped the same thing. He was everything you could imagine minus being a fucking criminal.

You were pen pals with a criminal ….

Part 2?

Taglist: @yeahnohoneybye @cardi-bre91 @onlysarang @romanreignsluver1 @minwn

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[laurfilijames]

All I Want...

Pairing: Will Miller x reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. PTSD. Panic attack. Mentions of an unhappy childhood, military service, personnel being KIA. Tom's death. Grief. People being unhappy at Christmas. (There's some fluff too, bear with me!)

Summary: Will tries to fight off a panic attack early on Christmas morning, his unenthusiastic feelings toward the holiday making him feel guilty on top of everything else on his mind, only to be reminded that it's okay to not feel festive and that he's not alone.

A/N: I'll be the first one to admit that Christmas isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes. People often call me Scrooge, but I've learned over the years to prioritize my mental health around the holidays and take it all in stride. To those who struggle in any kind of way this time of year, I see you, and this is for you.

This fic follows some of my headcanons about the Miller brothers in that they didn't have a great upbringing, and that Will often suffers from poor sleep and panic attacks.

---

Scrooge. The Grinch.

These were some of the names bestowed upon Will over the years, his less than enthusiastic feelings toward Christmas noticed and pointed out as often as possible during the holiday season by those closest to him, mainly Benny.

It was innocent enough, his brother, Fish and Pope all aware and understanding to the reasons why Will wasn’t overly excited, but sometimes it got under his skin and the temptation to tell Ben to fuck off sat on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion when he got going on a roll of teasing him.

He always tried his best to keep his opinions to himself, not caring to bring it up in order to avoid the shock and disbelief that someone could hate Christmas, having to stand and painfully listen to whoever was scolding his humbug ways try to convert him and preach all the reasons why it was so magical.

He had been this way for as long as he could remember, the earliest memories of an unhappy Christmas morning tucked away in the back of his mind until they inevitably were pushed back to the surface each time the radio stations turned their usual music to all the annoying holiday songs and people started asking the mundane “Are you ready for Christmas?” questions to everyone who never wanted to give an honest answer. He could always see the stress most people carried with them this time of year, the worry of spending money they didn’t have and not meeting expectations evident on their faces as they frantically rushed around to get all the things ticked off their lists to make the day ‘perfect’.

Perfect was never a word Will would use to describe any of his past Christmases, the thought making him scoff and shake his head as he looked up at the night sky, counting the stars as a way to try to clear the persistent thoughts that had gotten him out of bed at 3:26 AM.

Vivid images that he had tried to blur and forget always reappeared no matter how hard he tried; his parents yelling from the kitchen loud enough he had to peel Benny and his one toy from under the tree to go outside to get away from the anger, not to mention the countless Christmas mornings he woke up to gunfire or spent the day trudging through the rain and freezing cold, or had sweat clinging to his back in the heat of the desert, more often than not spending December 25th on tour and deployed somewhere that mimicked hell.

Will couldn’t help but feel guilt more than usual on days like today, thinking of all the families whose sons or daughters, husbands or wives and everything between never made it home to celebrate another Christmas with them, that shame becoming part of the reason he tended to make sure he was always off serving somewhere, not feeling like he deserved to be in the warm comforts of home with those he loved.

Add that to the long list of things his ex resented him for, one more thing he could never do right, and something else she refused to make an effort to understand despite him trying to explain it.

Today it seemed to all weigh more than it normally did.

Tom’s death was still fresh in all their minds, this being the first Christmas Molly and the girls would have to spend without him, and the thought of their irreparable grief made Will want to crumble.

He exhaled a long breath, blowing it out shakily from his lungs, his chest feeling tight as his heart pounded inside it like a caged animal.

He inhaled as slowly as he could manage, one, two, three, counting in his head to gain control over the quickly rising panic.

Exhaling out, one, two, three, his heart still hammering, his pulse furiously thrumming in his neck.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to rub the back of his neck roughly, feeling sweat accumulating on it and dampening his palm that was equally wet.

The steadiness of the number of seconds between each laboured breath was doing little to keep him calm, the thoughts of his conversation with you a couple of days prior echoing in his mind to drown them out along with the ringing in his ears.

You swore up and down a hundred times that you were fine with not celebrating, assuring him that you were relieved to not make a fuss over Christmas and reminding him that your own views of it were also plagued by unhappy memories; that being alone with him was more a gift than anything wrapped in paper and bows under a tree. He knew you meant it when you said you wanted to hide away with him until the madness of it all was over, but now his mind was playing tricks on him, making him doubt your words and sending him into a tailspin over projecting his attitude toward it on you.

But he knew you wouldn’t lie to him.

He kept on that train of thought as his fingers wrapped around the railing on the deck, gripping into the wood as hard as he could, feeling the splintered pieces from years of weather digging into his skin. Drawing in another short breath and gasping slightly, he did his best to remember why he came outside in the first place, seeking fresh air that ironically had become suffocating.

One, two, three, he repeated to himself again, closing his eyes to better focus on slowing his breathing down.

A minute and thirty-seven seconds had passed with him concentrating, able to let the consistency of the numbers aid him as he continued to count, the feel of your warm hands slipping up his cold, clammy back allowing him to finally release the tension he had been holding in his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, his voice lacking the conviction he hoped it had.

“I never thought you weren’t,” you whispered, your hands still pressing reassuringly on his torso as you moved beside him, your lips meeting his shoulder to kiss it twice.

Will smiled, grateful for your belief in him, never making him feel weak or like he needed saving, simply there with a love and empathy he had sought his whole life.

He released his grip on the rail and glanced over at you, shooting you a weak smile gathering you in his arms for a hug, kissing the top of your head appreciatively while you continued to rub your hands in a calming, languid pattern across his skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beat in a stronger rhythm different from how it had moments ago.

“I love you too, Will,” your lips moved against his chest, your arms squeezing him a little tighter as you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“You’re sure you’re happy to spend Christmas this way?”

“More than happy,” you reiterated, pulling your face away to look at him, his blue eyes like flames against the deep navy of the night sky.

“Okay,” he sighed, leaning in to kiss you.

“You know there’s that song, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’,” you smiled, watching his expression change, his grin stretching out to form the creases in his cheeks as he shook his head.

“Please don’t sing it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Will chuckled and kissed you again, slowly, his tongue slipping into your mouth with a gentle demand.

“Let’s get back to bed,” he said quietly, nodding toward the house after he broke the seal of your lips.

As he led you into the house, your fingers laced with his, he thought how maybe he could find ways to celebrate Christmas with you that wouldn’t make it all seem so terrible, the idea of creating your own traditions somewhat exciting to him.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, stopping in the middle of the hallway where he clasped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, his body pressing into yours with a need to show you just how much you meant to him, knowing that as long as he was with you he could face anything.

---

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[lizhaoyu]

Why so shy? PART 2

(A/N): Hello, gaymers. I'm back at it again. Sorry for the late update, I've been busy malding in VALORANT lately. Thank you for all of the support in part 1, it means the world to me. Now, some of the things here are referenced to that one casual Iso fic. Huge thanks to whoever wrote that, I'm in love with that fic. I physically gagged and cringed at the part where I made the reader channel their idk to do sum shit I can't do this. Enjoy thirsting, gaymers.)

(I also accept requests, please request about Iso)

(Iso x Shy!GN!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2 (You are here.)

Part 3

Part 4

Nervous.

That's exactly what you were feeling right now.

Not nervous for yourself, but for Iso.

Today marks the day of Iso's first ever mission in the VP. To your advantage, you were assigned as Iso's lead comms.

You were busying yourself with taking breathing exercises in KJ's command room.

Iso was gonna be hearing your voice, following your orders and intel, counting on you to tell him what to do at the right moment and he's probably gonna fall inlo-

A knock on the metal door of the command room broke your trail of thought. It opened, revealing Iso.

"Hey." Iso walked in with a small smile, nodding to you.

You look up from the mission brief that Brimstone gave you and look at Iso. This time, you actually managed to train yourself to try and not stutter in front of Iso. You're not exactly there yet, but you're trying your best.

"Hi, Iso. Ready for your mission?" You offer him a small smile, feeling a little nervous for him and his safety.

"Yeah. I made sure to read the brief at least five times." Iso nods.

"Better safe that sorry." You smile, typing in the last command needed to start the mission.

"Right, uh... I just wanted to say that I wish you a very good luck on your first mission." You try to smile despite your nervousness.

"Thank you, but... I don't understand why I have to do this mission alone." Iso sighs, shaking his head.

"Brimstone says that he thinks that you're strong enough to handle it yourself, but I think he just doesn't want to admit that everyone is busy with everything else, so they can't go with you." You stifle a laugh.

"But I agree with Brimstone, whether or not he thinks you're strong enough. Your abilities are really powerful and you handle yourself pretty well. I think you got this." You smile at him, trying your best to hide your blush.

"Thanks a lot for your encouragements, it helps a lot." Iso smiles.

"And our training sessions, too. They're really helping me improve." Iso adds.

That alone was enough to make your heart race faster than normal.

"A-Anyway, I'll be the lead, and only, comms for today's mission. If you have any questions, calling for backup, or need help locating the target, I can help." You explain, turning to the table behind you.

You carefully took an earpiece from the table, turning to Iso and offering it to him. He follows your gentleness, taking the earpiece with careful hands.

In the process, his fingers brushed against yours. It was enough to give you butterflies on your stomach.

"This is what we use to communicate to each other from great distances. You can talk to me or hear me through it." You explain, snapping out of your thoughts.

"We have two trackers on you. One on your phone that we requested you to add, and one on your earpiece. Although you can turn off your location trackers, I advise you not to, just in case." You smile at him, hoping he'd understand what you were trying to say.

"I got it. Thanks for explaining it to me." Iso nods, taking off his left earbud and replacing it with the earpiece.

You took note of his actions, observing him closely.

"By the way, if I did ask for backup later on..." Iso paused.

"Yeah?" You tilt your head with a smile.

"Since you said that everyone else is busy, will you come?" Iso asks.

IS HE IMPLYING SOMETHING????????? AM I JUST DELUSIONAL OR WHAT, you thought.

"W-Well, yeah. I'm still responsible for you and your safety, according to Brimstone." You nod, pushing the thoughts to the back of your head.

"I'm glad." Iso nods, smiling.

WHAT DOES THAT MEANNNNNNNNNNNN???, you thought.

"Can I only talk to you about anything related to the mission?" Iso asks.

"Not necessarily, as long as you're not in the middle of a gunfight." You shook you head.

"Great. Uh, one last thing." Iso rubs the back of his head.

"After my mission, do you think we can go out for hotpot? My treat." Iso smiles, looking at you.

WHATWHATWHAT OHMYGOD IS THIS REAL FUCKFUCKFUCK, your thoughts raced.

You had to take a moment to process what Iso just asked you. Was this some kind of prank? Maybe Phoenix told him to prank you? Was this just a friendly gesture-

"You okay? You don't have to say yes, or we can get different food. Anything you like will do." Iso smiles.

"I- No! Hotpot is fine... A-Anyway, yeah, we can go out after your mission as long as you come back unscathed." You nod, your face turning visibly red.

"Then, I'm looking forward to it." Iso smiles.

"A-Anyway... The jet should be ready to transport you to the mission site. You can head to the departure wing now." You look back to the screen.

"I'm going, then. Thanks for your help." Iso nods.

You look back at Iso and smiled.

"Good luck on your mission, Iso." You nod as Iso walked out of the room.

You turn back and sat on the chair, all while letting out a shaky sigh. Was it just a friendly gesture or something more?

Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by Iso's voice in your earpiece.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Iso asked through the comms.

You snap back to reality and let out a small huff.

"Yeah, loud and clear." You nod to yourself.

"Right, thanks. I'm in the jet right now, heading to the location." Iso says.

"I got it. I'm writing the report for Brimstone right now." You reply, typing out a document.

After a moment of silence, Iso speaks up.

"Hey, when you first arrived in the VP, how was it?" Iso asks.

"Huh? Well... It wasn't really easy." You say, recalling back to your newbie days in the VP.

"I was kind of an outcast and everyone thought I was creepy and stuff." You shrug, still typing.

"Why's that?" Iso asked.

"Well, just like Omen and Fade, I have abilities related to shadows or darkness." You paused.

"I was really quiet and stuff, so some were afraid to even look my way, because I can just merge myself with their shadow without them knowing." You shrug.

"But hey, I managed. Omen became my very first friend. He understood me." You smile.

"Wow... Omen? That's kind of him." You hear Iso hum.

"How about your first mission? How did it go?" Iso asked.

"Back then, I had little to no control of my abilities. I was merging myself to shadows back and forth because I didn't know how to control it." You laugh.

"But I learned how to control it, thanks to Omen. He knew exactly how I felt and why, and he taught my how to control it, even if he can't control his own." You sigh.

"My first mission went really well because Brimstone paired me up with Omen. He was really helpful, teaching me how to defuse the spike." You explain.

"Anyway... How about you? How are you feeling? This is your first mission, after all." You ask.

"I was kind of hesitant when Brimstone first told me." Iso says.

"But when I found out that you're gonna work closely with me, I feel much better." You could almost hear Iso smiling. Wait, was that even possible?

You could feel your heart beating faster and your face turning red. Surely, he didn't mean it that way. Maybe it was just a friend thing?

"I think I can handle this mission." Iso continues.

You quickly shook off the lingering feeling.

"I'm sure you'll do great." You nod.

"By the way, what kind of milk tea do you like? Sorry, that was a random question." Iso chuckles.

"Me? Well, I like heavy oolong milk tea with tapioca pearls." You paused for a moment.

"Jett and Phoenix often made fun of me for being so basic, but I think it's really good." You smile.

"What about you? What do you like?" You ask.

"I actually like the same thing. I get it all the time." Iso replied.

"Whoa, really?" You smile.

"We have a lot of things in common, hey?" Iso says.

"That makes me really happy." Iso added.

It was starting to get hard trying not to think of this as a gesture of interest and not just for friends.

"Oh, we're landing now." Iso says.

"Be careful, Iso. You'll just need to eliminate the Omega Earth Radiants and defuse the spike if planted." You nod.

"You'll come if I ever need help, right?" Iso asked again.

"Yes, I will. Don't worry." You assure him.

"Okay, I'm heading out now." Iso says.

For the past hour, you've been helping Iso locate the enemies and giving him instructions. You watched his location attentively while writing a report, all while talking to Iso.

"Iso, there's one enemy left. Do you think you can defuse the spike until half?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think so. I'll try." Iso replies.

On the other end, you can hear Iso running to the spike. You heard beeping, which means that he was defusing now.

"Don't let your guard down. Don't rush, there's still plenty of time left." You remind him.

"Almost half, come on..." You hear Iso mutter.

A few seconds later you could hear a Vandal being fired, then Iso grunting.

"Iso?!" You stood up from your seat.

"Spike is half... I got shot on the shoulder..." Iso groans.

In the background, you can hear Iso firing his Sheriff, presumably at the assailant.

"Okay, okay... He's down, I can still defuse with my other hand..." Iso coughs, followed by the beeping sound again.

"Iso, listen to me. Just hold on and keep defusing, okay? I'm coming." You connect the comms to your phone, running out of the room.

"Really? You're coming...?" Iso asks, his voice low and pained.

"Yes, I'm on my way. Just a little longer, okay?" You ran to the departure wing, getting on the jet.

"I'll wait for you." Iso grunts.

"Keep talk to me, Iso. I need you to stay awake." You frantically went through the jet's storage for some medical equipment.

"Put some pressure on the wound to prevent excess bleeding. I'm on my way." You say, your voice shaky.

"Will we still go out for hotpot after this?" Iso asks, his voice low.

"Yes, I promise we will when you get better." You promised.

The jet hovered over the mission location. You shout for the pilot to open the door, as it'd take longer if you waited for the jet to land.

The door opens for you and you look out from it. Your eyes scanned the mission area from above, looking for any kind of shadow you can merge with. Once you do, you stepped back to prepare yourself to jump.

"I see a jet in the sky, is that you?" Iso asked, coughing.

"Yeah, it's me. I'll be with you soon." You breathe out shakily.

"What are you planning to do?" Iso asked.

But before you can answer, you dashed out of the jet. Your eyes locked onto the shadow of the building, preparing to channel your ability. You closed your eyes, letting your shadow take over.

In seconds, your body turned into a shadow-like orb, heading for the shadow of the building. Your body reached it immediately, merging with it. Once you did, you jumped away from it and ran to Iso.

"Iso! Hey, I'm here." You pant heavily, kneeling beside Iso.

"Hey..." Iso grunts, sitting up slowly. Beside Iso was the defused spike.

"Don't move, stay still. I'll do my best to help you, okay?" You mumble shakily.

How will you even do this? You weren't a healer, you weren't even trained for this. You look at Iso's pain expression and you knew you had to do something, anything.

You could make use of your abilities, the shadows. You remember what Omen told you, about how if you channel enough energy to your shadow, you could make it do what you desired. If you could do it, you could use them to absorb the wound, the pain and the bullet and save Iso.

Could that even work? Were you crazy? But you knew you had to try.

"Iso, listen to me." You hold his bloody hand shakily.

"This'll hurt a bit, okay? Do you trust me?" You squeeze his hand gently.

"I trust you." Iso nods.

"Stay with me." You mumble, letting go of his hand.

You place your hand over his wound and your other hand on your shadow. You close your eyes, channeling your shadow to your hand. You press your hand firmly on Iso's shoulder, your shadow entering his open wound, earning a pained hiss from Iso.

You focused your mind into commanding your shadow to absorb whatever it would have to absorb in order to heal Iso. You didn't know what you were doing, you were going crazy.

You let a few minutes pass, with your palm pressed on Iso's wound. You didn't know if what you did worked, but you were growing lightheaded.

pleaseworkpleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework, you chanted in your mind.

Once you feel your shadow disappear from your hand, you opened your eyes, slowly removing your hand from Iso's wound.

It was gone.

The would was no longer there, just the skin of Iso's shoulder through the hole of his hoodie. All that was left was Iso's blood.

"It... It worked..." You let out a shaky sigh, still not believing in what you did.

"What?" You hear Iso ask as he looks at his now-gone wound.

"It's gone? How did you..." Iso looked back at you.

"I don't know, I..." You mumble, looking at your shaking hands.

"No, I... It doesn't matter right now. Let's go back to HQ." You shook your head, shakily standing up.

"Can you stand? Do you need me to support you?" You offer your hand for him to take.

"I think I can." Iso nods, using his other hand to take your hand as you pulled him up.

"How did you do that? You never told me you could do that." Iso asked, looking at you in awe.

"I didn't even know that I could do that." You shook your head.

"Let's go back to the extraction point. I'll definitely need to write a detailed report about this..." You mumble, walking with Iso.

You and Iso walked for a few minutes, before finally arriving to the extraction point. You both got on the jet as it took off.

You plop down on the seat, still feeling a little lightheaded.

"Are you okay?" Iso asked, sitting beside you.

"I should be asking you that. How are you feeling? No more pain?" You sigh.

"I feel fine. It doesn't hurt anymore." Iso shook his head.

"Hey, thank you." Iso says.

It was enough to catch your attention, so you look at him.

"You came to save me, and I'm really thankful for that." Iso smiles.

"We can't have you dying on your first mission, Iso." You smile.

"But you hurried here, you tried your best to use your ability and ended up learning that you can actually heal me." Iso shook his head.

"Can I be honest with you?" You ask.

"I came to you despite knowing that I couldn't help at all." You admit.

"I had no medical experience and I wasn't anywhere near Sage's level." You sigh.

"But I still came to you. It was... an urge." You mumble.

"But now, I'm glad I came, after all. I learned a lot." You smile.

"I'm glad you came." Iso smiles.

-

After that, Iso was sent to the medic wing, where Sage checked Iso's health.

Brimstone informed you of this, so you went to check up on him for your hotpot with him later.

As you were about to slide the door open and walk in, you heard Iso talking with Sage.

"I'm glad you're okay, Iso." Sage says.

"Thanks a lot, Sage." Iso replied.

"Hey, do you think we can go out for milk tea later today?............" That was all you heard before your ears blocked out every other noise.

And here you thought that you were making progress. You really thought that Iso liked you back? Of course it was Sage.

You thought back to his interactions, how he'd look at her, how he'd call her his senior. But you were dumb and ignored all of it.

Now, here you were.

You had hoped for something when he talked to you earlier today when he asked to go out for hotpot with you and only you.

Maybe it really was just a friendly gesture.

[flamingpudding]

Summoning Gone Wrong

Ties to: Ouija Board Prompt and Ghost Hunting Vigilantes Part 1 / Part 2

A/N: Thanks to @lazy-alex for commenting the base idea in Ghost Hunting Vigilantes for Tim trying to do a summoning that just goes wrong~

Danny calmly sipped the ecto-tea and resisted eyeing the ghost club Lady Gotham had placed next to her as she also drank her tea with all the elegance the spirit possessed. The Ghost King was pretty sure she had placed it like that, in his view, on purpose. He just wasn't sure if it was as a warning or as a preparation since the last couple of times he had been in Gotham, she had felt the need of using it against him.

"I am very glad that you are finally looking into that matter, your highness." The spirit commented, placing the cup back onto the table and refilling it. "I wasn't sure if you had been made aware of it before, if I had known that the old beings had not mentioned it to you before I certainly would have sooner."

Danny nodded. "Yeah, about that. What are these Lazarus Pits anyway? Clockwork only told me to look out for the color green, which is not helpful. And Pandora started on an entire history lesson regarding Lazarus and I am pretty sure that has nothing to do with these Pits your 'knights' mentioned."

Lady Gotham chuckled amused with mirth in her eyes. "They are only known as Lazarus Pits in the human world, my king, not in the Infinite Realms."

"So what…" Danny couldn't finish his question as his ghost sense went off. He really wanted to slam his head into the table. It had been months since his senses went off like that and he hoped it was just Cujo who followed him or Fright Knight. But as no one appeared to interrupt them, he got ticked off because that meant it was one of his former rogues who was up to something. He excused himself from his discussion with Lady Gotham who appeared even more amused than before.

Whoever it was he would send them straight back to the Ghost Zone, they were interrupting some important kingly business here!

A little earlier not too far away from the ghostly discussion, by a recent regularly vigilante visited occult site, three vigilantes stood before a summoning cycle.

Red Robin was crouching by the circle, chalk in hand as he drew runes and symbols on the ground all according to one of his research papers that summed up all the information he had gathered. Including information he had obtained from the Justice League Dark, mainly Constantine since the man owned him and wouldn't just tell on him, behind Batman's back.

It had been weeks since their last encounter with the teenage ghost. He didn't want to admit it but Red Robin was getting worried about the ghost. Both times when they left they sounded like something was hunting or hurting them and last time there was even that green swirly thing they saw for a short moment right after they had heard the ghost say their goodbyes with an actual voice. Besides, that ghost was a mystery to them and Red Robin wasn't known to leave any sort of mystery they encountered unsolved.

"Should we really do this without B?" Nightwing asked, eyeing the strange symbols the youngest among them was drawing on the ground.

"Fuck him. If we get him involved we wouldn't be doing this at all." Red Hood added crossing his arms. "I am more surprised that its only us three this time. I would have bet that at least one of the others would have joined too."

"Baby Bat is out on a mission with B. Spoiler and Orphan are on a outer space mission and Signal has an exam tomorrow." Nightwing shrugged. "It's probably better form Robin not to be here. He was pretty spooked after the last two times."

"Ha! Spooked? The kid is dead set on Pit Demons trying to kill us."

"We can't comple-"

"Finished the writing." Red Robin cut in dusting his gloves from chalk, he was still kneeling on the ground as he turned to the older two vigilantes holding his hands out expectantly. "Nightwing, you brought the candles?"

The vigilante in question handed over a plastic back with the label of a gas station. Red Hood titled his head in question, indicating that he was raising an eye brow under his helmet. The elder only shrugged sheepishly as Red Robin stared at the colorful duck candles it contained.

"I forgot you asked me to buy some and went last minute to the late night open counter gas station. They only had these colorful duck candles."

"Well our fucking ghost has some Humor. Might work better for them then."

Red Robin only sighed but still placed the candles in the circle the way Constantine had described to him. "We will have to see if this will work."

He had made sure to also draw up a protective circle around the summoning one just like Zatana had instructed and Constantine had insisted he would need. Lighting up the candles he stepped back next to his brothers.

"So according to Constantine, we are now supposed to recite a summoning spell and think about the ghost we talked to before to call them back to us."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"So…" Red Robin distributed a piece of paper to each of his brothers. "We start on three."

"One…."

"Wait let me read that shit first!"

"Two…"

"Slow down, little bird."

"Three."

The three of them definitely were not in sync. Nightwing struggled with some of the words while Red Hood ended up mixing in some chosen curse words when he stumbled over a word. Red Robin even though he had practiced before still struggled with some of the words also but still all three managed to get through the incarnation.

They waited with their breaths held for something to happen but the seconds ticked by, with nothing happening. After three minutes Red Robin let out a sigh, deciding that this was a failure.

Just as he was about to step up to the circle to blow out the candles, a green swirling portal like the one he had briefly seen last time opened on the ground where the summoning circle was and a figure rose up from it. The figure was entirely dressed in white with black gloves, boots, belt and hat. Their skin was just as white as the clothes they were wearing and the being was staring back at them with completely green eyes, no irises or pupils. They stood firmly and straight in the summoning circle, arms crossed behind their back and by the way they were holding themself appeared like an authority figure.

"That doesn't look like a 16 years old ghost." Red Hood commented, his hand resting on his gun holder as he stared down their summon.

"Red, you did follow all the instructions right." Nightwing asked his hands, also moving to take out his escrima sticks, eying the being that was now looking at them in what he assumed was contempt.

"Yes, I did." Turning to their summon the vigilantes eyed it carefully. "Hi, sorry about the sudden summon. You obviously aren't the 16 years old ghost we had been talking to before. So uhm, you are free to go again? Unless you happen to know a 16 year old ghost that had been to Gotham at least two times now?"

The summoned being didn't look like they were going to answer, instead they took out a green glowing book that had 'RULES' written on it and leafed through the pages. Stopping when it apparently found a certain page. Their eyes focusing on the page then back at them. Still not grazing them with an answer. Red Robin however noticed how their inclined their head, for a short moment, over to Red Hood before turning back to the book and turning a couple of more pages.

He hadn't been the only one as he felt Nightwing tensing next to him too as well as heard the soft click of Red Hood removing the safety from his gun.

"Unauthorized summoning with out of date summoning methods. Interruption of security works. Unauthorized usage of corrupted ectoplasmic waste and apparent coverup of a human infected by corrupted ectoplasm." The being listed and the three couldn't help but feel reminded of a policeman listing crimes.

"I, Walker, reappointed Warden by his majesty the Ghost King and self appointed head chief of the security department of the Infinite Realms, hereby declare all of you under arrest for the previously listed offenses. Especially you, punk." The ghost called Walker pointed at Red Hood who in return pulled out his guns pointing them back at it. "You will be presented directly to our King. To think there would be a subject that failed to report back their existence."

"The fuck you wanna do? I ain't going anywhere." Red Hood scoffed, his distorted voice sounding challenging towards the ghost.

"Not to be rude but how can he report something he didn't even know about." Nightwing added eying the ghost as well as the protective barrier. The being hadn't made a move toward them yet and it should keep it contained but that didn't mean they just could let their guard down, not like he would let them take any of his brothers anywhere either. He took a step forward in case he needed to cover his younger siblings, protectiveness stirring in him. "RR, did Constantine or Zatana give you a spell to forcefully send them back?"

"Not exactly but they said destroying the summoning circle should send them back instantly." Red Robin mused after glancing at his notes for a brief moment. He didn't dare look away from that ghost for longer than needed. Normally he would be thrilled about having summoned a ghost and probably ask it a bunch of questions he had, ever since their first encounter with that 16 years old ghost left him with a tone of unanswered ones, but not with this one.

"Maybe we should-"

"WALKER! NOT AGAIN! BACK TO THE ZONE NOW!" A white haired 16 years old looking flying boy appeared through the wall without destroying it like he just phased in. The three vigilantes stared at the new presence that looked rather ticked off. The teenager had a cosmic with green flame outlined looking crown floating over their head and were wearing a jumpsuit with a logo that looked like a flaming D.

"Hey could that be our little ghost bastard?" Hood more or less stage-whispered over to Nightwing and Red Robin.

"Looks 16, maybe younger but not like what I imagined." Nightwing mused.

"Ghost Kid -ahem- your Highness, perfect Timing. I was just about to apprehend-"

"No." The teenager interrupted, arms crossed as he floated before the other ghost. "We went over this when I appointed you as the Warden again. Back. To. The. Zone."

"Did… did that other ghost call him 'highness' just now?" The more he got to learn about ghosts the more questions appeared to come up and Red Robin would definitely need answers for all of them.

"Your Highness, we need to-"

"Back now!" The teen repeated as he moved his left arm to point at a portal he opened especially for Walker. "Or do I have to get Lady Gotham to kick you out of her haunt herself?"

Red Robin watched how the two ghosts appeared to have a stare down before the white one closed his rule book and bowed before leaving. Well he would have left if he didn't smack right into the protective wall the vigilante had set up before the summoning. Good to know that Constantine's advice worked.

"Pff - cough -" The teenager covered his mouth, hiding a laugh behind a cough as he closed the portal he had opened and reopened it inside the barrier. The white ghost only sent them the most disgruntled and offended glare Red Robin had seen in a while before going through the portal the teen had opened.

Before either of the three could say anything the teenager let out a sigh and muttered something about having to deal with Walker being naggingly annoying about security and summonings later again. As if noticing them for the first time the boy glanced over at them and instantly stiffed and Red Robin definitely saw recognition in the boy's glowing green eyes. Could it be...?

"Shit." The teenager cursed. Yup, that's him.

"You are-"

"Sorry, no time for talking, gotta get back to Lady Gotham." They interrupted before continuing to ramble on. "You don't really want to make an old spirit with a ghost club wait. You guys better forget what you saw here. I would like Man In Black wipe your memory if I could but well for now please don't attempt summoning like that again? Summonings like that are outdated and barely work correctly for us ghosts. Demon summonings are a different matter but for ghosts this won't work correctly anymore or at least not since I got the stupid crown. You either end up with some random ghost or Walker trying to arrest humans. I soo have enough of getting him back from all the attempts of arresting humans that broke 'summoning rules'. Maybe I should have Fright Night arrest Walker for forcing his summon whenever he notices human summons… Anyway! Don't try again. Okay? Okay. Thanks and bye!"

The boy blinked out of existence before any of them could get a word in. The three vigilantes stared at the now empty spot. Red Robin had so many more additional questions now after having heard the presumed ghost teens ramble. So if the summons from the Justice League Dark were outdated then maybe he would need to find a more modern summoning? Also the teen had mentioned a Lady Gotham and Red Robin could only assume that that had to be their local city's spirit judging by the name.

"Well… we know now what our ghost boy looks like." Nightwing offered after some time and Red Hood scoffed.

"How the fuck was that boy a ghost? He looked more like a meta kid than a ghost."

"Well judging by the voice he definitely was the one that talked the last two times."

"So Demon Brat's Pit Demon theory is true?"

"He didn't lo-"

"I am going to try and summon this Lady Gotham next." Red Robin cut in as he turned on his heel, determined to get to the bottom of this ghost mystery even if he had to pester the JLD members for a while.

""What?""

[cryinhell]

so no one asked for this, but here's a post about my favorite Hazbin Hotel ships ( romantic and platonic) and what I hope they explore with them in the show.

1) Huskerdust/Angelhusk/Casino Hearts (Romantic)

Obviously, I got to start with my favorite romantic pairing in the fandom. Angel and Husk are my favorite characters in the HelluvaVerse, and both mean a lot to me. They are both old men born around the same time with a lot in common, and I know they would be close buds. From everything we have gotten in canon( fake instagrams which are not canon but in character, the fun hunicast streams, viv admitting to shipping them and allowing huskerdust into the merch, the fact that Husk was made to be Angel's bestie, and a lot of unnecessary information I know lmao, I do not doubt these two will be canon. I can't wait to see their friendship grow and all the trials and tribulations they will go through to become better for themselves and each other. And hopefully, the fun shenanigans that they do because I love me some shenanigans.

2) RadioHusk (Platonic)

Okay, so Husk's relationships with everyone interests me, but this one is probably the most after AngelHusk. It's clear these two have a past and that Alastor is comfortable enough with Husk to be incredibly annoying around him. Alastor is Husk's boss and most likely owns his soul, but there's also a strange bond between them I really want explored. I think Al loves Husk in a platonic and weird way because he's most likely his best friend, but Alastor may not be able to always express this normally. Husk is a good guy and a bit complacent, so he just deals with this shitheads nonsense and doesn't seem to fear him. Maybe there's some fucked up things between them and maybe their friendships has cons and pros. I'm not entirely sure, but I can't wait to find out

3) Angel and Vaggie (Platonic)

Okay, most of these are platonic ships, but whatever friendships are important. I love these two judgemental assholes and the way they judge people together. It truly is gay and lesbian solidarity, heh. They are gonna be the best of frienemies, and I can't wait for their relationship to be explored.

4) Voxval (Romantic)

Okay, I hate these bastards with a burning passion, but that doesn't mean their relationship does not interest me. Vox, Val, and Velvette are going to be the main villains of Hazbin Hotel, and without knowing too much about them, I'm excited. I want to know how Val and Vox are going to be as a couple. Since the instagram accounts are not canon, it is hard to tell if Val will be abusive or not. This is a possibility since the accounts seemed to be in character, but I want a different approach. I think it would be interesting for these two to genuinely love and respect each other and no one else. To see themselves as the true rightful kings of Hell and work together to destroy and belittle whoever they deem below them. It's an interesting dynamic that I prefer more than just "Val is abusive to poor baby Vox" cause Vox is also evil, and I want him to do evil shit.

5) Chaggie (Romantic)

There's not much to say about these two. I just think they are cute, and I want to see more of them.

6) The Hazbin Gang (Platonic)

And lastly, I can't wait to see how all of these fuckers get along and interact. As a group, I'm sure they will be very entertaining and I will enjoy every minute of it. Also, I am including Pentious because I know he's part of the main cast now, and I love that. Can't wait for these idiots to try and make this hotel work and hopefully grow together in the process.

[simphornies]

So my sad gay self found this while scrollin: https://youtube.com/shorts/KTjKsm2uLPA?si=aHCxEMjey1iZ_u0A

Very cute, very wholesome I AM YEARNING. So if I may request a mlm!reader who will just casually people soda tabs as a subtle means of flirting or asking for affection (mostly because its such a uncommon practice that it removes most of the actual stress of flirting) with Vox?

No pressure, please take you time! Kisses darling <3

-📽

A/N: Honestly the soda tab thing is SO CUTE. I'm experimenting with more with how I write Vox so hopefully this is good

Word Count: 1.7k (1,755)

Soda Tab [ Vox x M!Reader ]

“Vox what the fuck is that?” Velvette pointed at a jar full of soda tabs on his desks.

“I’m gonna be real honest with you.” He took a deep breath in, “I have no fucking idea.”

You were just a regular sinner in the Pride Ring. You grew tired of the one time dates that ended with your date wanting to take you home into their bedroom. You held yourself to a standard. It made sense why you were placed in this ring considering your pride never allowed you the speak freely, not wanting to damage whatever was left of your reputation after a failed relationship.

You eventually landed a job with VoxTek as an operation’s manager. The job wasn’t easy but it paid and gave you shelter. Your soul remained intact but your sanity was slipping.

Then it all changed when the fire nation attacked when Vox personally invited you into his office to discuss a promotion. He needed someone that could hold their composure better than the Vees during important meetings and speak on their behalf. You were basically Vox’s representative so they wouldn’t have to deal with whatever, or whoever, you had to deal with. You held your status with pride and Vox admired the way you didn’t take anybody’s shit professionally.

After years of working with the Vees, you became close with them. Conversations with the three weren’t easy but they were mandatory for you to be able to represent them properly. You and Vox were particularly close.

So when he invited you to a celebratory dinner, you donned yourself in the best suit money could buy and set off. You never admitted it but Valentino definitely caught onto your secret crush on Vox.

Vox rarely faltered his usual persona in front of you, only losing composure a couple of times when his emotions were at an all time high. What you didn’t know is how he admired your consistency with perfection. Perfection. Running this business with Velvette and Valentino, who are both hot-heads in their own way, was difficult at times but since you stepped in, it’s been smooth sailing. Your constant shower of praise fueled his ego and he enjoyed keeping you around, just so he can get his fill of ego juice.

This dinner he arranged was to celebrate your work, and to boast about how he’s so smart and picked perfectly because of course he picked perfectly. He was the Vox after all. So when he saw you running up to him a couple minutes early before the arranged meeting time at the limo, he was taken aback at your suit. He was enamored.

You matched him in colors, even wearing the same bowtie as him but blue. Your suit was a darker shade of his and he loved it. It was perfect. You were perfect to him. He didn’t know why his heart pounded louder so he assumed that he was just excited to talk about how he made an amazing decision to you.

“Vox, sir! I hope you weren’t awaiting my arrival.” You said, anxiously fixing your suit and straightening out any loose ends.

“Oh don’t worry about anything. I just got here. The suit is perfect. Where did you get it?” Vox spoke, looking down at you with his hands behind his back.

“I listened to your suggestion, sir, and went to Velvette to get suited. I paid her in full, of course.” You spoke formally. So formal that it somehow bothered Vox in a way. As much as he loved being perfect, he wanted to see you when you weren’t so…tense.

“Paid? You shouldn’t have to worry. You are a part of the Vees, services are free for us.” He laughed. He took note of how you looked in front of him. You stood up straight, not a single thing out of place. He wondered what exactly could break this perfectionist standard you held yourself to.

.

“He likes you, Vox.” Valentino said, “I’m fuckin’ blind and I can see the way he eye fucks you whenever you start talking about how you’re the shit and you know what’s right or whatever.”

“And how can you be so sure, Val? I think he just respects me.” Vox scoffed, “Not any of that nonsense.”

“Yeah and because any other demon would willingly hang out with your egocentric bullshit. I’ve known you for years and I can’t stand hearing you say you were right. Even if you were.” Velvette rolled her eyes, “He literally posts romantic bullshit all the time and they’re all about bosses.”

“Are you stalking our employees?”

“Cut the shit. It’s not ‘stalking’ if his account is open to me.” She flipped him off, “And he’s basically a Vee. He likes you. And now you’re going on a date. Be a dear and stop beating around the fucking bush and own up to it.”

.

Vox recounted the conversation he had with the two other Vees. This wasn’t a date. Or at least he didn’t arrange it to be one to begin with but with this revelation, it might just turn out to be just that.

As the limo began to slow, he glanced over at you. He sees you fiddling with…a soda tab? He squinted at it, trying to understand why you kept fidgeting. “We’re here.”

You quickly shoved the tab in your pocket and looked at him, “I’ll get the door for you sir.” You reached for the door on your side but he stopped your hand with his own.

“No, I got it. Come on.” He opened his own door and pulled you out, keeping your hand in his as you stepped on the curb. Your hands were warm and he enjoyed it. He looked at the way you instinctively held his hand back and he couldn’t help but feel how perfect it fit in his own.

“Thank you, sir.” Your thanks got a scoff and you stiffened, pulling your hand back down to your side. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Not that.” He said, grabbing your hand again, “For tonight, call me Vox. No more of that sir bullshit.”

You nod in response, unaware of why he’d grab your hand to say that. You were even more confused when he didn’t let go until you had to sit across from him.

“Regarding today’s meetings, I’d like to discu—”

“Hush. Please. No business talk. This is to celebrate you!” He proudly spoke, “I picked the best demon to be our representative and I’d like to give you another promotion. To be one of the Vees.”

You choked on your wine, “Excuse me? Me? No, I can't possibly be a fit person for that.”

“Look. You’re aware of our image, correct?”

“Yes. Perfection.”

“Well that’s exactly why you’re going to stand by us and be part of us. I have contracts ready for you to sign so you can get a couple of souls under your belt. Some goons to do your dirty work.”

“Sir—Vox. Vox, I thought this was a business dinner regarding my work quota for the week?” You questioned.

“What—No. You already exceed the quota triple the amount majority of the time. Consider this a…date.” He grinned, taking enjoyment in your flustered state. “A congratulatory gift for your hard work and your promotion. I called it too, by the way, your success with us.”

You were dying on the inside. He just gifted you a promotion and a dinner and now the dinner’s actually a date? You panicked, not having anything to give him.

“Well…I’m flattered but I don’t have anything to give you a gift in exchange.” You rummage through your pockets. Your fingers grazed the soda tab and your cheeks flushed a light red. “Actually…Here. A small token of my appreciation.”

Vox squinted at the soda tab you held towards him. “A soda tab?” He asked, “Do you just carry soda tabs? Why?”

“Just…trinkets! You know, my little collection. Actually you’re right, I’m sorry. It’s probably stupid.” You start to retract but he swipes the soda tab out of your hand.

“No. I’ll keep it. It’s weird and a little stupid but it’s…” He flips the soda tab around, looking at it from different angles, “Admirable. In a sense. Thank you.”

Oh if only he knew what he unlocked. Ever since the date, he’s been getting soda tabs from you. You were greeted with confused acceptance every time you gave Vox one out of nowhere. He tried asking you what they’re for exactly but you’d just run off, using work as an excuse.

“Vox, when are you going to cash these in?” Velvette asks, picking a pink soda tab out of his container.

He looked up, confused, “Cash them in? What are you talking about?”

Velvette bursts into laughter, “Oh my god. You’ve just been collecting these and didn’t know?!” She taps through her phone and shows him a video explaining the soda tab trend.

His face turned red, “These…these are for kisses? He didn’t tell me these were for kisses—I thought they were just trinkets! That’s what he said!”

“Vox for someone as smart as you, you’re really fucking dumb.”

“Velvette.”

“What?”

“Can you go get him for me?”

“I guess.”

.

You walked into his office thinking it was to talk about the latest update on his Angelic Security System. “Vox, I’m pleased to inform you that production is 80% complete. I was thinking the best workers get compe—” He cuts you off by placing a single soda tab on the stack of papers you had in front of you. You look at him confused.

“I’d like to cash one in.” He says, looking at you with a confident smile.

“Cash one in…” You think for a bit and as soon as you realize he knew what they were for, panic sets in and your face turns red. “Oh! Uh—Haha. What do you mean?” You lie.

“Y/N, dear, you’re terrible at lying. You’re perfect at everything but lying. And if you wanted some special attention, you should’ve said so.” He leans closer to you as he gestures to the jar on his table, “Also. I’d like to cash in half of this jar. 280 of them, including this one, I believe.”

“Sir! I can’t possibly—” He shuts up you with a sudden peck on your lips.

“Ah ah. None of that sir bullshit. I told you to call me Vox. Now…” He leans back and pats his lap, “I believe I have 279 left? Chop chop.”