#to be clear i think it's a good thing. i think despite it all he's actually capable of making progress now

[immortalmrwavell]

More Like A Real Man

(Original story posted September 8th 2022) This story has been significantly Updated!

A rare Gay to Straight themed story from me here so if that’s your thing then I hope you enjoy! 😜

“Finally I’m starting to look less like a nerdy piece of shit and more like a real fuckin man.” Henry smirked as he checked himself out in the selfie camera. At last he was starting to see the results of his labour. His body was finally starting to take shape. All the new muscle he’d been able to pack on made him a far cry from the stick figure of a man he was before. “Next thing will be to get some contacts so I don’t have to wear these dumbass glasses half the fuckin time.” He scoffed.

———

This all started over 6 months ago Henry was practically the picture of a skinny booknerd. With his frail body, glasses that framed his average face and clear lack of fashion sense. He was intelligent for sure, easily making it into one of the most advanced courses at his local college, but that only made him less popular when it came to the jocks. Henry was everything they weren’t. And most of all he was gay which didn’t help his reputation with the jock either.

Despite this, one day Henry found himself sneaking into Coach Kent’s office. The Coach had been in charge of the college’s football team and physical education courses for quite some time now. However, news had recently spread about Coach Kent deciding to leave. Saying something about a “Change of scenery”. And so this day was said to be his last day at the local college. Of course Henry, being the meek gay nerd that was, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see if the coach had left anything behind for him to steal. After all, he'd had a secret crush on the older burly man ever since he started going to this college.

He’d hoped to find maybe an old shirt or pair of shoes. Anything Henry could use to remember the Dilf that was Coach Kent in his own perverted way. What he didn’t expect to find was one of the coach’s jockstraps!?! He couldn’t believe the coach had left it behind but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. The nerd swiped it up without a second thought, giving it a good long sniff before shoving it into his bag.

Henry made another sweep of the office to see if there was anything else worth grabbing. He grabbed an old blue cap that had been left hanging on the door along with a pair of football socks remembered seeing Coach Kent wear a few times before. He was already imagining how hot the cosplay was going to be as he quietly slipped out of the office. Knowing he was gonna nut in that jockstrap as soon as he got home had him struggling to hide his boner.

Once in the comfort and privacy of his bedroom, Henry tossed his bag on the bed and immediately stripped down. He pulled out the worn jockstrap before pressing it to his nose yet again, loving the strong masculine scent left behind by Coach Kent. All the while thinking back on all the fantasies he’d had of worshipping the hot older man.

Eventually however he was able to pull jockstrap away from his face long enough to start putting it on. Sliding up over his lanky legs until the pouch pulled over his moderate cock and balls and the straps came up just below his flat butt. As expected it was far too big for him. So much so that it wouldn’t stay on properly without Henry holding it in place. But it was still super hot nonetheless. Causing his already stiff cock to pulse even harder with excitement as he used his free hand to jerk it.

He was already thinking of grabbing Coach Kent’s socks and cap to wear too… until a strange dizziness washed over him. He could hardly explain it as he started to lose what little strength he had before collapsing on the bed behind him. It was like his consciousness was being squashed down from the inside. That was the only way to explain it. But it wouldn’t matter as he soon faded from consciousness.

———

“Fuck sake! Why did this skinny nerd faggot have to find it first.” Henry shouted in frustration as he looked down and his scrawny body in disgust. Pawing at his non existent biceps and flat chest. Only it wasn’t Henry anymore. “I was sure I told one of the faggy jocks to check my office after I left!” Even his own voice was pissing him off now. Completely lacking any kind of real masculinity or power behind it.

Henry didn’t know it at the time but the jockstrap he’d stolen actually had Coach Kent’s very soul embedded into it. It was part of a sacred ritual that would allow him to take over the body of whomever wore the jockstrap. His plan had been to trick one of the younger closeted gay Jocks into taking it and putting it on but clearly things didn’t go exactly to plan. “I can’t do that fucking ritual for at least another ten years!” The coach vented in frustration.

The body snatcher looked himself up and down in the nearest mirror he could find. “Jesus Christ. I’ve seen chicks that don’t even work out with bigger muscles than this…” When he’d put his soul into that jockstrap he’d hoped to find himself in a new body that was young and strong. One that had potential to become a great athlete some day. Unfortunately Henry met only one part of that criteria. He might’ve been young but his physique was laughable at best. It was practically just skin and bone. And now that’s exactly what Coach Kent was stuck with. “Why did this pathetic little shit have to ruin everything…” He grumbled while gritting his teeth.

It was tough for him to adjust at first. Kent couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this puny but there was nothing he could do about it now. He was stuck in this imp’s body for the foreseeable future as infuriating as it was. However he had no plans looking like a thing for the next ten years so he did the only thing he could do to fix this fuck up. He got Henry’s skinny ass body into the gym.

It was embarrassingly tough at first for the once manly and imposing coach. Only being able to lift some of the smallest weights and having to set the machines he used to a light load. But despite that he pushed this pathetic worm’s body as far as it could go. He combined his efforts with a well thought out meal plan that he stuck to religiously over the next couple of months. It took some time but eventually he began to see some results in muscle gains that made him slightly less disgusted by his own reflection.

Those weren’t the only changes Kent had been making to Henry’s life however. In this time Henry’s friends had noticed a very sudden shift in his behaviour. He used to be a kind and timid guy that loved to talk about nerdy things with them. Yet one day he suddenly began acting crude, boisterous and talking like an absolute gym rat. Just like the dudes that would bully their friend group. In less than a week Kent had already cut ties with them after he started acting like a complete douchebag and calling them all a bunch of homophobic slurs. He didn’t want to be friends with a bunch of geeky homo’s anyway. Henry might’ve been a fag but Kent was as straight as a fuckin arrow!

Speaking of, it didn’t take long for him to have his straight orgasm. On the very first evening of being inside his new body, the coach first opened Henry’s laptop to find tabs upon tabs of gay porn open and in bookmarks. He was disgusted by it and was even more disgusted when his body reacted and got a semi for it. “Fucking faggot body…” He muttered to himself before swiftly deleting all the gay porn tabs with a strong grimace.

“Time to fix this broken dick.” He smirked before clicking on the search bar and pulling up the hottest straight porn he could find. It didn’t take long for Kent to find countless incredible videos of beautiful big breasted bimbo’s shaking their tits and fingering their wet pussies. Their feminine moans were like music to his ears. He glanced down at his cock as he started jerking it. “See? This is what you’re supposed to get excited about.” He said seemingly to no one but his own stolen dick as he returned his attention to the hot chicks on the screen. “Tits and pussy.”

The first few times he jacked off he found it tough to get fully hard due to his current body’s innate gay urges. Thankfully it got easier with each load he busted to the sight of huge tits. Almost like he was shooting out this body’s homosexuality in small doses with each orgasm. This of course only spurred Kent on more. Jerking off Henry’s once gay dick to the thought and sight of women every single night. After that it wasn’t long before the coach had fully conditioned his new cock to get incredibly hard at the sight of women and only women. He was proud to finally have a straight dick again that craved tits and pussy, like he believed all men should have.

But what happened to the real Henry during all this? Well his soul was cursed to be suppressed and trapped inside his own mind. He could see and hear everything but had zero control over what Coach Kent did and said with his body. Kent was in the driver's seat permanently. Henry tried to fight it but there was nothing he could do. Only being able to watch and feel as Kent forced him to workout and be an asshole to his friends. Forced to be a spectator as Kent redecorated his bedroom by ripping down the Star Wars posters in favour of putting up posters of footballers and women in skimpy bikinis. The Coach even went as far as to sell Henry’s comic collection and figures to make money and room for some new weights and home exercise equipment.

“Maybe I can make something outta this shitty body and life after all.” Kent would comment, looking at all the changes he’d made for the better so far. He still had a long way to go if he wanted to transform Henry’s life into the alpha male jock life he’d wanted to relive but it was a good start.

———

Jumping back to the present, Kent had finally gotten his new body into pretty decent shape with some good muscle and size showing. He managed to fill out most of the clothes that’d been baggy on Henry before and some he’d even had to trade for a size larger. His biceps were showing at last and his pecs were starting to come in nicely. Henry's once skinny legs were now looking a fair bit meatier. Not to mention his back and shoulders looking noticeably broader, giving him a far more masculine build. Naturally he still wanted to get much bigger but at least now he felt as though he could look in the mirror and see a real man staring back at him.

In this time he’d even signed up to the college football team at the start of the academic year where he was able to make some new bro friends. Though it a little strange for a couple reasons. One being that most of his new bros were players that he used to Coach before the takeover. The other reason being that most of them also used to bully the old Henry and make fun of him and his former queer friends. That said they gave Kent a hard time at first. Not that Kent minded. If anything he was glad that the young jocks he used to coach weren’t going easy on someone they believed to be a worthless faggot. It showed that he’d done a good job at raising them to be real men as well. And it also meant that he’d have to prove himself to them.

The attitudes of the other jocks began to turn around sooner than he expected. Mostly thanks to seeing the sudden shift in Henry’s attitude to become a jock like them. It wasn’t long before they started to admit how they were actually pretty impressed by the gains he’d made and that he was maybe cooler than they’d originally given him credit for. Especially now that he’d stopped hanging around those losers he was with before. What had earned their respect the most however was how well Kent played on the field with them during practice. By all accounts Henry should’ve been a complete amateur but with Kent in the driver's seat he had decades worth of experience that allowed him to keep pace with the other jocks.

Once again through it all the real Henry was helpless as he watched himself be transformed into even more of a typical straight jock with everyday that passed. Being forced to watch himself become ‘bros’ with the other jocks that he detested. Fist bumping and bro hugging them whenever he saw them whether it be at the gym, football practice or elsewhere on campus. He’d even been forced to use the same kind of dumb brotalk that all the jocks used. And of course joining in alongside them as they hurled homophobic insults towards the types of people he’d have been great friends with before. It was torturous!

The most torturous part for Henry however was the way Kent saw Women. He constantly found himself disgusted at the way Kent used his voice to talk about ‘hot chicks’ to his new bros. Describing how fat their tits and asses were to them and how he’d wanted to bend them over rail their tight pussies. Henry was disgusted at hearing the words leave his mouth. He would never have agreed with objectifying women like this. Yet now he found himself unwillingly staring at the huge racks of any sexy babes around the campus and feeling his bulge growing at the sight.

Tonight however was the night both Coach Kent had been waiting for and Henry had been dreading. Since getting into much better shape, girls around the campus had begun to take interest in the new, confident jock on the football team. Noticing this, Kent thought it was about time to shoot his shot and landed the number of one of the art students Talia. She had a reputation of being one of the “hottest chicks on campus” so when the other Jocks heard they all crowded around ‘Henry’ while jumping and cheering for him. That certainly boosted Kent’s ego for the first time in a while since taking his new body.

After a couple dates, Talia was finally coming over to Henry’s place for the night and wouldn’t you know it before long the two began pulling off each other's clothes. On the inside Henry was cringing, wanting nothing more than for this to stop and take back control of his body and life. Unfortunately on the outside his cock was rock hard as Kent was busily sucking on Talia’s tits while massaging and fingering her pussy like a pro.

“Oh my godddd…” Talia whined lustfully. “Where’d you learn how to touch a girl like that?” She asked between bated breaths. Going on to imply that no other guy she’d been with had been nearly this good at pleasuring her.

“Dunno.” Kent shrugged with a sly smirk. “Just instinct I guess.” He answered playfully before burying his face between her tits again, of course not revealing that in reality he had many decades worth of experience.

Henry’s protest became more and more frantic as things started to heat up. He was begging for it to stop when Talia wrapped her lips around his cock and began to stop but the only things that left his mouth were the soft grunts that the Coach let out. But when the busty college girl laid herself out on the bed, legs spread eagerly, Henry was reduced to screaming ‘NO! NO! NO!’ Over and over again. But his protests fell on deaf ears as they always did. Completely powerless to stop Kent as he their cock up with Talia’s slick entrance. And for the first time in his life, Henry felt himself plunge his cock deep inside a wet welcoming pussy.

“Fuuuuuuckkkk yeahhhhhhhh…” Kent growled at the familiar feeling. Also enjoying the subtle differences in how it felt fucking with a different cock to his previous one.

Henry tried his best to fight against it. To rebel and protest but nothing worked. He couldn’t even stop himself from moaning internally at the feeling of being inside a pussy. After all he could still feel all the same pleasure as Coach Kent pumped in and out rhythmically while groaning out in Henry’s noticeably deeper voice. The thrusts grew faster and more aggressive as the two changed positions a couple times. It wasn’t until Kent had already fucked Talia so good that she’d orgasms all over his dick that he could feel a load welling up in his balls. Something Henry was terrified about. Yet, a few more powerful thrusts and a long groan later, Henry found himself being forced to do something he never thought he would. Pumping a tight pussy nice full with his thick potent load.

In that moment something changed. The Coach was still in complete control but suddenly the real Henry found his mind linking up to Kent’s. Like the act of breeding a woman had left them both in such bliss, whether the real Henry had wanted it or not, that it allowed them to become truly intertwined. After that Henry found himself in a daze internally as Kent’s very soul weaved itself around Henry’s, corrupting him slowly but surely.

‘Maybe I like pussy after all…’ Henry would soon start to think, oblivious to what was happening to him. ‘Maybe being a football jock isn’t so bad…’ Tye corruption would spread as his old sense of sense began to dwindle. Little did he know that soon his individuality would be wiped without a trace. His consciousness would become like a mirror to Coach Kent’s until Henry was more than happy to go along with anything Kent had them do. Whether that be sports, joining the fraternity and fucking busty bimbo’s left and right.

And after that Henry would be consumed entirely, leaving only Kent and his new body…

[sunsetsover]

looking back at kantbison's relationship and specifically kant's relationship with submission throughout the show after episode 8 has really put a lot of things into perspective for me.

bc like. it's complicated. i'm not gonna pretend that it's not. there's too much there in kant's character to ever really be able to isolate one thing he says or does before like. episode 6 or so. and be able to say 'this was exactly what he meant, this was his sole feeling and/or his sole motivation here' bc everything's far too intertwined to ever pick apart properly.

that said though. i always felt there was a sense of reluctance in kant when it came to giving bison power over him and specifically the bdsm thing. and i could never quite figure out bc i didn't particularly get the impression that he disliked it either but there was just something that was off about it that i could never quite put my finger on, but i think i've finally figured it out. and it's really not that surprising, bc as this show's gone on it's become increasingly clear that with kant all roads lead to the same place, and that's the issue of choice - or lack of choice, in kant's case.

submission was never really the issue i don't think. kant knows how to submit, is good at submitting - at the end of the day, isn't that what he does with christ? submit to his will, follow his orders? isn't he collared and chained to him? isn't he such a well behaved dog for him? kant knows very well how to submit. but the thing is is that it's not a willing act of submission where christ is concerned. kant submits because, like with pretty much every other facet of his life, he has no other choice. he behaves because he has to.

and then the next thing kant knows there's bison, outright telling him that he'd like him to submit. to let bison take charge and have kant bend to his will, to follow his every whim. and bison wasn't pushy about it - if anything it was the opposite. he was reluctant, assuring kant that it was fine, that he didn't have to, that actually maybe it was better that they didn't. he gives kant the choice. but it's not a real choice. kant's answer is already laid out for him.

and i think that's where the dissonance entered. you see hints of annoyance and frustration before then, but the much more subtle 'off' feeling that i felt started around then. and i think it's bc for all intents and purposes kant was already completely submitting to bison's will. he was already going along w whatever bison wanted bc he had to, bc he needed bison to trust him, bc saying no to anything thrown his way wasn't (and had never been) an option.

but ofc bison didn't know that. he just wanted to dom his boy. but i think he could also feel the reluctance and the confusion around it all. bc despite what he said and did to reassure bison that he was into it and wanted it too, kant was always subconsciously resisting. and as i said i think there's a lot in that too, it's not simply one thing - bison is a murderer at the end of the day, and dom/sub dynamics are supposed to be built primarily on trust, and kant didn't trust bison not to hurt him too much or go too far. it was also clearly a new thing to him considering he didn't even know what a safeword was. and it was maybe even some weird sense of loyalty to christ. you know what they say: you can't serve two masters. and kant already had one. he was already collared and chained, already submitting. and kant's current master had an awful lot of power over him. he knew what kind of punishment awaited him if he disobeyed.

but above all else kant knew he couldn't really say no. and he hated that.

and so we're back to choice again. the one thing kant has never had. here he is getting forced into submission again - not by bison, but by circumstance. and so no matter what he says or does or how into it he really does seem, there's always this subtle reluctance that rolls off of him. there's always just something off about it all. (which, thinking about, may have been one of the reasons why so many people were turned off by kantbison, bc there was just something not quite right in the vibes, but i digress)

but obviously things change. kant accidentally falls in love with bison, despite his best intentions. and, maybe even more importantly, bison falls in love with kant. and that love changes bison - bison, who needed power so desperately when they first met that he turned nearly every interaction they had into a game of tug of war. bison who, despite not necessarily needing kant's submission, would also never ever give in to kant's will, not even a little. but that same bison falls for kant, and he begins to yield. starts to let himself just be, and by extension let kant just be too. bison begins to settle, become a little docile. he lays on kant's chest and kisses his feet. he rolls onto his back and lets kant loom big and dominating over him, despite how desperate he once was for power. and kant is clever, he knows that's what bison wanted. that's why he gave into him all the time. but by letting kant maintain some of the power in their relationship without a fight, he's basically telling kant i would like you to submit to me, but i don't need it. i just want you. and kant hears that. and that changes things. because without knowing it or even really meaning to, he's given kant a choice.

and we all know what kant chooses.

and to be clear, for the most part i think this is all happening on a subconscious level without either really realising it or thinking about what's happening. but the choice is conscious. it's his. and kant chooses the master that gives him the option to choose. that choice changes everything for kant. everything. it recalibrates his whole world view, his whole life. and the minute he chooses (chooses!) bison, he submits himself to him wholeheartedly. he puts the collar on himself.

but we don't get the reality of what that means until ep 8 bc of yknow. all the stabbing and kidnapping and manipulation and retraumatisation and scheming such. but then we do see it. and we see just how deep it goes for kant, that ease of submission, and his desire for it. how he doesn't run despite having many, many opportunities to do so. how he doesn't eat even when bison's nowhere to be found and he has freshly cooked food in his hands bc bison hasn't said he can. how he doesn't untie himself despite being able to bc bison tied him up for a reason. and sure, all of that is love too, and it's also playing nice bc he desperately wants bison's forgiveness. but this is all also an active form of submission, the same way a dog submits to their owner when they say sit, down, stay, wait. a good dog doesn't eat until it's given permission. and ultimately doesn't the fact that kant safewords tell us exactly what kind of state of mind he's in? what he thinks about their situation and their relationship? (and i won't go over it bc i've already talked about in length here but the act of safewording truly said so, so much)

and yknow, thinking about it really it shouldn't even be surprising bc we were literally shown who kant was back when they first met. and what did he do? went when bison said to go, came when bison said to come back. bison said you're not doing this alone and kant sat still and let bison ride him to his heart's content. it was very subtle, but he really was submitting to bison in little ways all the way back then! the signs were there!

and the beautiful thing about it to me is that in episode 8 there is not a single moment of dissonance between kant and bison. there's no more weird vibes. there's just kant and the first choice he's ever got to make. kant and his chosen master. kant and the hand at the end of his leash. kant and bison.

[luanna801]

Despite me joking about Lan Xichen not reading the room re: NMJ and JGY, I actually disagree with the idea that the Sworn Brotherhood was inherently a terrible idea and he should have known it would make things worse. I think it's a classic case where because we as the audience know how it turns out, that outcome seems like an inevitability and the characters end up being called dumb for not predicting it. But I think with the information Lan Xichen had at the time, it wasn't unreasonable for him to think this might work and was at least worth trying.

And I think in a different story, this is the kind of idea that could easily have worked and led to a heartwarming story about redemption and healed relationships. MDZS is just sadly not that story, at least for these characters, but as always fictional characters don't know what story they're living in and can't be expected to predict the future. All they can do is act based on the information available to them, and I would argue Lan Xichen didn't really have enough information to predict how this would turn out:

(1) At this point, the only time Nie Mingjue has tried to kill Jin Guangyao is when he mistakenly thought JGY had actually betrayed them and defected to the Wen side. Once the truth was cleared up, NMJ is still furious but backs down from trying to kill him. (JGY, meanwhile, has made no attempts to kill or even harm NMJ yet, and in fact actually saved his life.)

From Lan Xichen's perspective, he has every reason to think this incident was just an anomaly based on a very extreme situation where NMJ was acting on faulty information. He has no reason to think Nie Mingjue would try to kill Jin Guangyao again, or vice versa, so as far as he knows the worst case scenario for the sworn brotherhood is just... that it won't go great. That maybe they'll never really get along again, but they'll still collaborate politically for the sake of the Sworn Brotherhood, and there will be no real harm done that they tried. There isn't really a way he could have predicted things would escalate to them trying to kill each other.

(2) Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao used to not just tolerate each other but get along/work together EXCEPTIONALLY well, and Lan Xichen saw them during that time. He also knows they're both pretty closed-off people who canonically don't have a lot of friends and are hurt by the way things fell apart. It makes total sense for him to think they might be able to get back to how things used to be if they just got a chance to clear up misunderstandings and be reminded of the things they used to like about each other. And it makes sense that as someone who cares about them both he would want that for them.

(3) Lan Xichen sees both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao as fundamentally good people. We can argue that he's mistaken in one or both of those evaluations, but based on what he knows, and indeed what they're respectively actually guilty of at that time, I don't think it's unreasonable for him to think so.

Most of JGY's worst actions are still in the future at this point. His only real crime (other than the things he did undercover, which LXC doesn't condemn) is killing the captain, which is an ambiguous enough situation that it makes sense for Lan Xichen to not consider it conclusive. Especially when weighed against what for LXC is far more substantial proof of JGY's goodness, like JGY having saved his own life when he was on the run, his time loyally and effectively serving NMJ, his incredibly brave and critical contributions to the war effort, etc.

Likewise, Nie Mingjue has yet to start acting as violent and unhinged as he later will on account of the saber spirit. While he's gotten angry, it was typically in rational ways that are largely proportional to the situation. He isn't doing anything comparable to the way he later flies off the handle at both Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang in largely irrational ways.

(We could argue that LXC should have known that he'd eventually end up there because of how saber cultivation works, but considering even Nie Huaisang apparently didn't know about it, I don't know that a member of another clan would have that kind of in-depth knowledge of the effects of Nie saber-wielding. LXC presumably knows the basic idea, but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows the specifics or how bad it can get.)

Therefore, from LXC's perspective these are two fundamentally kind, good people who all other things being equal should be able to work things out. And on the whole, he has far more evidence backing that up than contradicting it at this point in time.

[vanilladollette]

More of jae-jun pls! 🥹🤍

Silent Confessions || Jeon Jae-Joon x reader ||

Summary: Jeon Jae-Joon, who secretly had a crush on you in high school, sees you years later in his store, only to learn you're now engaged. Heartbroken but hiding his feelings, he regrets never confessing his love as you leave, realizing it’s too late now.

A/n: Jae-Joon may have been too ooc. I don't know. I didn't occur to me if you wanted headcanons or not but here is more Jae-Joon.

If someone had ask Jae-joon if he has any regrets, he'll say no but deep down, he does. One. It was him not confessing his feelings for you. He had fallen in love with you back in High school. He was madly in love with you. However, he never confessed his feelings for you. Not once. He never knew why he didn't confess his feelings for you. Maybe he felt you deserved better or feared you would turn him down.

Whatever the reason it was, Jae-Joon didn't confess to you. It was the only regret he had. The only regret that ate him up at night.

Jae-joon told himself that if he ever got the chance to see you one more time, he would confess his feelings for you.

It was until one day, Jae-Joon sees a familiar figure walked through the door of his store. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized you immediately.

You had changed in subtle ways—your hair was a little longer, your style more polished—but your presence still held the same warmth that had once captivated him. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you browse through the store, his mind racing with memories of the days when he had admired you from afar in high school.

Jae-joon watched you as you moved through the store, his heart heavy with emotions he’d buried long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the changes—the way you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, the soft smile that still seemed to reach your eyes, and the faint glow of happiness surrounding you. Despite the years that had passed, you were still the person he had secretly fallen for in high school, and now, here you were, standing in front of him again.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. It was hard to think clearly with the rush of feelings flooding his mind. Gathering all the courage he could muster, he took a few steps forward and greeted you, his voice betraying just a hint of nervousness. "Hey, it's been a long time."

You turned toward him with a smile, your eyes lighting up with recognition. "Jae-joon!" you said warmly, the sound of your voice like a familiar melody to him. "Wow, I didn’t expect to run into you here. How’ve you been?"

He managed a small smile, though it felt forced. "Good, good. Been keeping busy," he replied, unsure of what to say next. The words he had rehearsed in his mind for so long—everything he had wanted to confess to you—felt distant now.

You started to chat, casually catching up as if no time had passed, but Jae-joon couldn’t focus on the words. All he could think about was how he had never told you what had been in his heart all those years ago. It hurt to hear the easy, light conversation knowing that you were no longer the person he could claim as his own, that you had moved on to someone else.

Then, as you paused in your conversation, you did something that nearly broke him. You lifted your hand, revealing the engagement ring on your finger. His gaze immediately shifted to it, and his heart sank.

"Oh, wow," Jae-joon managed, his voice suddenly distant, though he tried his best to mask the hurt. "I didn’t know you were engaged."

You smiled brightly, a soft, contented look on your face. "Yeah, I’m really happy. It’s been a long journey, but I’ve found someone I want to spend my life with."

The words stung, but he nodded, forcing a smile. "Congratulations. I’m really happy for you," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he still felt, how much he regretted never confessing, how much he wished things had turned out differently.

You chatted for a little longer, but it felt like an eternity to Jae-joon. Every word, every glance from you reminded him of the silent love he had kept hidden for so long. And with every passing moment, the reality that it was too late hit him harder.

"I should get going," you said after a while, breaking him from his thoughts. "I’m meeting my fiancé soon. It was so nice seeing you again, Jae-joon."

You waved and turned to leave, and Jae-joon stood frozen for a moment, watching you walk away. The sound of the door’s bell as you left the store echoed in his ears, leaving a painful silence behind.

In that moment, all the regret he had kept locked inside came rushing back. He should have told you. He should have confessed. But now, it was too late. You were gone, and so were his chances. All he had left were the ghosts of the what-ifs that would never be answered.

As he stood there, the empty store around him seemed to echo the one regret that had haunted him all these years. It was a regret that would never fade, no matter how much time passed. He had missed his chance, and now you were someone else’s.

[acepalindrome]

I might be naive, but I still believe in people’s capacity to change for the better, even if they have held absolutely abhorrent beliefs in the past.

Here’s a fun fact: in the 1920s, a young Vincent Price traveled to Germany and thought Adolf Hitler seemed like a real cool dude! He got swept up in all that talk about restoring Germany to their past glory (does this perhaps sound familiar?) and was swayed into antisemitism. It was easy to get caught up in it all when someone is passionately appealing to all these things that resonate with you, especially when you’re young and/or ignorant about the world outside your little bubble!

And then he wised the fuck up. He started talking to a bunch of liberals in the 1930s and became friends with the likes of Lilian Hellman, and course corrected so hard that he got grey-listed under McCarthyism for being a ‘pre-war anti-nazi.’ And then he spent the rest of his life publicly supporting virtually everyone the nazis would have happily put in a camp.

So people who voted for Trump in 2020? I’m willing to accept that you had room to change and grow. Maybe you thought what you saw as the good would outweigh the bad. Maybe you thought he wouldn’t really do anything that awful. Maybe you were just ignorant and didn’t realize what you were voting for.

HOWEVER. It’s a different story if you voted for Trump in 2024. This isn’t someone thinking Hitler had some good ideas in the 1920. This is someone who thinks you can morally justify voting for Hitler in the 1930s when it’s abundantly clear what he’s about.

But good news, if you were stupid and morally bankrupt to still vote for Trump in 2024! There were people who kept aligning with the nazis for their own personal gain who managed to do enough good to deserve being remembered well by history! But those people? They had to do a fuck of a lot more than just renouncing Hitler. When you cross a certain threshold, that it no longer sufficient to make up for your crimes.

People who come to mind are Oskar Schindler and John Rabe. Both Nazi businessmen who sacrificed their fortune and good standing to save the lives of innocent people, and who ultimately die in poverty. They weren’t ’good Nazis.’ They did good despite their previous self serving, vile political affiliations, and were able to use their connections to protect the innocent. Schindler protected about 1,200 Jewish workers at his factory from being sent to Auschwitz. Rabe, who was doing business in China, created a safe zone during the Nanjing Massacre and sheltered about 250,000 Chinese civilians. I feel like that’s enough to be allowed to have history remember you well.

In short, if you still voted for Trump in 2024, you don’t deserve forgiveness unless you’re willing to give up everything to help the people you’re hurting with your vote. Words aren’t enough any more. Take real action to fix what you allowed to happen, or I hope you never know peace again for the rest of your miserable life.

[tarraxahum]

This was gonna be a reply to a reply but I thought maybe I should just make my own post. Yes this is about Vi again.

It's no secret that "Vi should've fought for Zaun" and the expectation of her being Vander's prodigy and feeling like the plot dropped the ball on her in that regard and the betrayal at the fact that she's living comfortably in Piltover now are. Frequent sentiments in the fandom. Which I get, but also I feel that this line of expectations is. Diverging from who Vi actually is by the end and what she was realistically capable of.

Vi in season 2 is basically running on fumes and because she has no other options. It is a well known thing in irl activist spaces that to participate in any kind of fight for justice you need to take care of yourself, otherwise you won't have the energy to be any kind of useful to your community. Ekko also says this - "It's not enough to give people what they need to survive, you have to give them what they need to live". Vi has been surviving and not living in any shape or form for years, she's exhausted and broken in places. That's no mental state to fight for Zaun or make any kinda change. I think it's extremely realistic and human and hardly a flaw of writing or the character if by the end the only thing she was able to do was collapse into the safety and peace she was offered for the first time in forever (aka Caitlyn). It's clear that in her last scene she's still recovering mentally - Cait seems to be excited to have any sign of life (singing) from her at all, and the "Are you still in this fight?" question is very loaded. (But it's indicated that Vi is very much still in the fight, so? It's really anyone's guess what she'll do once she's healed and remembers how to live. And don't bring up LoL's Vi brutality thing, it's clear they're different characters).

I think in wanting to see Vi stand up for Zaun or be Vander's prodigy we often deny her the flaw of being a breakable human and forget just how much she's held together by duct tape. Just because she was full of this 'fuck Piltover' fire as a kid doesn't mean she is still capable of matching that energy. Sometimes after lots of trauma humans grow up into tired adults who just want to sit down and feel safe regardless of where it happens and how questionable it might look (re: living in Piltover). Not to mention, that even as a child Vi's main reason for fuming at the Topside was wanting safety for her family and herself. Well, now she's all out of family, she's estranged from the community of Zaun thanks to being in prison for 7 years and Silco changing the place so much, and the only person who's offering her safety and not more fighting (which she's exhausted and thoroughly burnt out from!) is Caitlyn, so. How is where she ended up any kind of surprising or a failure of her writing/character?

Yes, a lot of people wanted a revolutionary, no, Vi isn't one. Dare I say, never really was one. At her lowest, when she's got no one left to protect, she's not trying to fill in that void by taking on protecting Zaun and becoming a vigilante or something, no, she spirals. That is not something on her radar, that's not something she's visibly cut out to do, she cares so so much but on a smaller scale. Even the whole shimmer factory debacle was less about Zaun and more about her desire to hurt Silco personally for what he'd done to her family. If Jinx agreed to run away with her back at the tea party Vi would ditch the entirety of Zaun (potentially leaving it to Silco forever since he's still alive at that point) in a heartbeat to keep her sister and save Cait in one move. She puts on an enforcer uniform BECAUSE she cares for Jinx (through convincing herself that at the very least she should take her out of her misery herself rather than leaving it to people who don't care, yes) and Cait both.

Perhaps a hot take, but not becoming a leader despite being good at taking hits to the head and caring about people in general and being a daughter of one does not make Vi a badly written character or a bad person. It just makes her a person. And a character whose arc culminated in choosing herself. And choosing yourself sometimes means leaving the fight to others (perhaps temporarily, considering the final dialogue). And that's okay.

Arcane is tragedy about flawed people, not a feel-good story about a successful revolution and rich people paying for their crap, and it was never going to be. Ergo one of our main character isn't an upcoming hero in shining armor who was allegedly robbed of her potential. She's just a broken young woman who barely knows how to keep her own little life together and her biggest victory by the end is allowing herself to take a breath and live for once. Yes, while her home down there is still in shambles. Yes, that sounds selfish. For some people a bit of selfishness is the greatest thing they can ever learn for themselves.

[himluv]

Together

Chapter 27 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or read it on AO3!

Lucanis was not a man well-acquainted with the outdoors. His youth in Treviso taught him the nature of cities – the rhythm and pulse of life that flowed in clear patterns. Even when he did travel for a contract, House Dellamorte’s wealth ensured he did so, if not in luxury, then in comfort. 

But, he’d read enough adventure stories as a boy to find Arlathan Forest fascinating, despite its utter lack of amenities. It was a place riddled with wild magic and ancient mysteries, but best of all, it was where Rook thrived. 

In the forest, Rook’s cheeks were always flushed, her eyes gleaming. She ran along the trails with an almost youthful energy, an eagerness that Lucanis found enchanting. So when she asked him to accompany her and Taash on an excursion to the forest, it was an easy thing to say yes. 

He and Taash stood by the merchant’s stall, Taash considering the wares while Lucanis watched Rook and Strife argue. The senior Veil Jumper was prickly at best, and while Lucanis couldn’t hear what they were talking about, it was clear that neither elf was happy. 

“You stare daggers any harder, maybe he’ll actually die,” Taash said.

Lucanis glared at them. 

Taash snorted. “You don’t scare me.”

He sighed. “I know.”

They moved to stand next to him, mimicking his posture – arms crossed and leaned against the wall beside the shop. They jutted their chin toward the arguing elves. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

Lucanis shrugged. “He always has a bone to pick with Rook.” Every time they came to Arlathan, Strife had a critique for Rook, some new grievance to air. It reminded him too much of Caterina, he realized. No wonder he felt on edge around the man. 

“Are you kidding me?!” Rook shouted. 

Instantly, Lucanis shoved off of the wall to come to her aid, but Taash put an arm out to block his path.

“Wait,” they said, voice low. 

Strife shook his head. “You don’t think things through, Rook.”

“This has nothing to do with the Veil Jumpers–”

“Doesn’t it? If you’re too distracted–”

“I can’t believe you think you can–”

“–or worse, heartbroken–” he continued, shouting over her.

“You’re not my dad, Strife!”

The whole camp fell silent at Rook’s outburst. 

“Oof,” Taash whispered with a wince. 

Strife blinked at Rook, and for the span of a heartbeat, there was hurt in the man’s eyes. “I’m not,” he said. “A good thing for us both, I think.”

Rook’s hands twitched at her sides, and for a moment Lucanis thought she might actually swing at Strife. Instead, she marched away and out of the camp.

Lucanis batted Taash’s arm away and hurried after Rook, shooting a glare at Strife as he went. The older man shot one right back at him, chin high and gaze imperious. 

Angry, Spite said. And scaaaaared. He glared at the man. Hurt. Rook! But… he grinned at Lucanis. Rook hurt. Him too!

Lucanis didn’t spare a single thought for Strife and his hurt feelings. He hurried down the trail, only slowing when he saw Rook standing at the edge of the lake, her back to him, wiping at her face. He paused, giving her space to regain her composure, and himself a moment to bring his anger to a simmer. 

Rook could – and would – fight her own battles. She needed him cool-headed and comforting, not spoiling for a fight.

Taash joined him and grunted. “Ugh. Why does family stuff always have to be so complicated?”

Lucanis snorted. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

They smiled at him as he passed on his way to stand beside Rook. 

“I’m okay,” she said before he could ask. She glanced at him and gave him a shaky smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her cheeks were drying. “Ugh!” She shook her head and wiped at her eyes again. “I hate that I cry when I’m mad,” she said. “It’s humiliating.”

Lucanis wanted to reach out to her, to squeeze her hand and reassure her that she wasn’t alone. But somehow, beyond the safety of the Lighthouse, he wasn’t sure if he should. They probably should have talked about this the other night. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” She smiled. “Really,” she added after his skeptical look. She glanced back at Taash. “Now, let’s go find this dragon.”

Taash grinned. “Hell, yeah!”

For awhile they walked in silence. Taash was certain the Fangscorcher was holed up in a ruin far to the north of the forest, so they had a bit of a hike ahead of them. The silence wouldn’t have bothered Lucanis, if he wasn’t so worried about Rook. What could she and Strife have disagreed about to the point where she’d wanted to hit him?

Ussssss, Spite hissed. 

Lucanis frowned. That didn’t make sense. Strife barely knew him. And how would the man even know about his and Rook’s burgeoning relationship? They’d only just talked it through a few nights ago. 

“Hey, Lucanis,” Taash said, pulling him from his worrisome thoughts. “When we were at that market? The lady selling ribbons was into you.”

–ahhhhhhh. “Smelled like strawberries and blood.”

“Hey. Spite. Eyes on me. That is a no. We do not talk about what other people smell like without their permission. Okay?”

Hisssssssss. “Fine.”

Lucanis blinked, suddenly back in complete control of his body. He hadn’t even noticed the seeping chill in his neck until Spite was speaking. The demon hadn’t taken control, at least, not in the way he used to. Instead, he’d left Lucanis in charge of his body, while… borrowing his mouth and sharing his senses. Lucanis had been present and aware the whole time, their voices twining, and as soon as Spite was done, Lucanis was back to his usual self. 

He frowned, and glanced at Taash. “You’re not scared of Spite?”

They shrugged. “I’m Rivaini. We’ve got all kinds of spirits.” They said it like it was nothing, as if demons spoke with mortal tongues all the time. And, from what little Lucanis knew of Rivaini Seers, he supposed that might be true. He should speak with Seer Rowan, perhaps she would have some insight about this new sort of harmony he had with Spite. 

Then Taash’s original point struck him. “What makes you think the ribbon seller was interested in me?” If the woman had been interested or, Maker-forbid, flirting with him, it’d been completely lost on Lucanis.

He caught Rook’s smirk at his question, but if she felt even a twinge of jealousy, she hid it well. 

Taash smirked. “Caught her scent.”

“Not. Fair! You just. Said!”

Rook laughed at that, which soothed Spite’s irritation some. The demon liked it when Rook laughed, especially if he was the cause. Lucanis couldn’t deny, he enjoyed her mirth just as much. And after her anger and tears earlier, he was relieved to hear her laugh again. 

“Shouldn’t be much further,” Taash said. “Come on, this way.” Their sudden shift in demeanor brought any banter to an end. Taash was in dragon hunter mode, so Rook followed after them dutifully. 

And Lucanis followed her, always ready to have her back. 

Mierda, fighting a dragon was no joke. Sure, he’d fought the one in Treviso, and been by Rook’s side in Hossberg when they’d fought both of the gods’ blighted dragons, but now he knew the difference. The Fangscorcher had been much more cunning than Ghilan’nain’s pawns. 

By the time they reached the eluvian room, Lucanis was desperate for a hot bath and even hotter cup of coffee. 

“Good job out there,” Taash said. “You guys didn’t totally suck.” They smirked and Rook laughed. 

Lucanis thought she sounded as tired as he felt. “We have a good teacher,” he said. 

Taash snorted, but there was a flicker of a smile on their face. “Yeah. Well. Thanks.” They shrugged. “Now, go be gross together or whatever.”

Rook laughed again, shaking her head as Lucanis scowled at Taash’s retreating back. When he turned to look at Rook, she was already watching him. 

She rolled her neck and sighed. “I need a bath,” she said. 

Lucanis shoved away the image that materialized at the thought of Rook in a bathtub. “Go,” he said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

She eyed him, noting the dust in his leathers and the smeared dirt on his forehead. He obviously needed a bath as well. Maybe someday they could bathe together, but not tonight. Lucanis’s throat tightened with anxiety merely at the thought. As much as the thought of Rook in the bath tantalized him, he definitely was not ready for that. 

Rook must have seen it in his face, or heard it in his silence, because her gaze softened. “Meet me in the music room later?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice. There was no way he could speak and not reveal just how much the thought of her affected him. 

“Bring. Rook. Coffee?” Spite asked when Lucanis didn’t speak. 

She grinned. “I’d like that, Spite. Thank you.”

Lucanis shook his head and smiled. “It’s going to take awhile to get used to that.”

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. “To what?”

Did it not seem different to her? “How Spite’s talking, now.” He shuffled his feet, rolling his neck and shoulders experimentally. There was only the barest twinge of ice at the base of his skull.

“We’re. Sharing!” Spite crowed. 

“Yes,” Lucanis said. Though he didn’t fully understand how. 

Her eyes darted over his face. “It seems like an improvement.” Her tone was careful, almost probing. She wanted to be sure he was okay. 

“It is,” he said. 

“Give is. BETTER! Than. Take!” Spite added. 

She smiled. “Good! Now–” she put her hand on his upper arm ”–you go wash up first,” she said. “I’ll check in with the other and meet you upstairs later.”

“All right,” he said, returning her smile with a small one of his own. Then he hurried upstairs to do as she said. 

Freshly scrubbed and two steaming cups of coffee in hand, Lucanis entered music room bone-tired, but happy. Rook sat at the piano, her hair damp and down around her shoulders. She wasn’t playing, her hands merely trailed the keys mindlessly as she hummed to herself. 

“Embria,” he murmured as he handed a cup to her. 

Her smile was bright as she took the coffee. She brought it to her nose, inhaling the steam and sighing in contentment. “Thank you.”

He went to his usual chair (usual chair, usual mugs – how quickly she’d become a usual part of his life) and sat with his legs outstretched and ankles crossed. 

She spun to face him, straddling the piano bench. “So,” she said. “The ribbon seller?”

“Mierda,” he chuckled. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

“Did you know she was flirting with you?”

He snorted. “No.”

She tilted her head. “Did you know when I was flirting with you?”

Lucanis scowled at her playfully. “Not at first.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes gleamed with mischievous humor. 

He shook his head. “I never know when – or why – someone is flirting.”

“It can be hard to tell,” she admitted. “As for why,” she said, and gave him a leisurely look up and down. “Have you seen yourself?”

He blushed and shifted in his seat. “Rook.”

Her smile was slow and tantalizing. “I’m just saying, you’re easy on the eyes, Dellamorte.”

Now his scowl was real. He didn’t understand how people found complete strangers attractive, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that random people on the street might find him… desirable. But, he couldn’t deny he was curious as to what Rook liked about him. He just didn’t know how to ask such a thing. 

Lucanis shook his head. “I don’t understand it,” he said.

“What?” Her demeanor changed at his tone. Gone was the teasing glint in her eyes and she sat up a little straighter. 

“Attraction,” he said. “I know some people are objectively appealing–” like Teia and Viago ”–but I look at them like one admires a fine painting.” To be admired from a distance, never touched. 

She hummed as she considered his point. “Do those paintings ever make you feel something?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then he smirked at her. “Though I’ve always found music to be more… stimulating.”

She huffed at that, her cheeks going pink. “That counts as flirting, you know.”

Did it? It was true, and he’d said it because he knew she’d like it. Was that all there was to flirting? He frowned. “Did it work?”

She laughed. “Yes!”

He smiled. “Good.”

“Lucanis. Rook. Belong together now?” Spite asked. 

They looked at each other and the warmth in Rook’s eyes made his chest feel flushed. 

“Yes,” they said in unison. 

“And Spite?”  The demon asked. “I belong. Too?”

“Yes,” Rook said, her voice unwavering.

Lucanis didn’t speak. He knew now that there was no ridding himself of the demon – wasn’t even sure he’d want to if he could. There was a growing fondness in his heart for Spite, like a troublesome little cousin he couldn’t avoid. 

But when he prodded at the memory of what Zara had done to him, of the dark and the pain and the isolation, of what she had stolen from him and left him in return… he found it was still tender. Even after Spite and Rook’s help, it was still a wound. Not quite open, but certainly not healed. 

Lucanis? Spite asked, just in his head, like it used to be. Just them. The demon’s voice sounded small, almost frightened. And the way that stung at Lucanis was answer enough.

“Yes, Spite,” he said, staring into his cup. “You belong, too.”

“Make. Rook. Happy?”

She grinned. “Yes. Very much so.”

Lucanis blushed again, but couldn’t contain a smile of his own. 

“Rook wasn’t happy. Today.”

She frowned, then made a displeased little noise. “You mean Strife.”

Spite growled at the man’s name.

“What was that about?” Lucanis asked. He’d been curious, but then the dragon had required his full attention. There’d been no time for wondering about Rook and her mentor’s argument. 

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. 

He waited, but she didn’t speak or look at him. “Embria,” he said, his voice soft. “Tell me.”

She glared at him, but sighed. “It’s just Strife forgetting, yet again, that I don’t actually value his opinion.”

Lucanis’s stomach clenched with a sudden suspicion that she was protecting him. “His opinion on what?”

She gave him a stony look.

“Me?” He frowned. “How does he even know–”

“How do you think?”

He blinked and then growled. “Bellara.”

“I doubt she even realizes she mentioned it,” Rook said. “But, Strife is convinced that my being with anyone is a huge mistake.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I care about what he thinks.”

Lucanis gave her a sad smile. “Don’t you?”

She groaned. “I don’t want to!”

He understood that feeling all too well. And while he was eager to get Caterina back, he did not relish the idea of telling her about Rook. But, that was a problem for another day. 

“He cares about you,” he said.

“I know.” She shook her head, staring down into the mug cradled in both hands. “We’ve always disagreed,” she said. She dropped her voice low to mimic Strife’s. “You’re more stubborn than a hungry halla!”

“Stubborn. Is. GOOD!” Spite said. 

Rook laughed. “I’m glad you think so, Spite.”

The demon beamed at her, and then at Lucanis. See?! Rook. Likes. ME!

Lucanis said nothing, waiting for Rook to continue. 

She sighed. “The worst part is that, a lot of the time, I think he’s right about me.” She shrugged. “I don’t think things through. I let my feelings run away with me, or get in the way of the job. And I don’t know when to back down from a fight.”

Lucanis stood and moved to sit across from her on the piano bench. He mimicked her, straddling the bench and sitting so close their knees touched. “Embria,” he said. 

When she didn’t look at him, he put two fingers under her chin and guided her face up to meet his gaze. 

“All of those things?” He said. “They’re what make you, you.” He gave her a tremulous smile. “They’re your heart, Embria. Don’t ever doubt it.”

She blinked against the tears that welled in her eyes. “Even when it gets people hurt?” 

He remembered her words, warm and reassuring in his mind not even a week ago. “Whatever the consequences, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Together,” Spite added. 

He let his hand fall from her chin, but she took it in hers and pressed it to her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

Lucanis held her gaze, marveling at how luminous the violet tone was behind the shimmer of her unshed tears. He wanted to kiss her, and mierda they were so, so close. But he didn’t want their first kiss to be so… sad. 

So, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Their noses brushed and she nuzzled against him seemingly on instinct. His heart raced at the proximity. They were touching in so many places at once – knees, hands, faces, so close they shared shaky breaths. The intimacy, the trust, and that she kept her word and pushed no further, all combined to leave him breathless.

Lucanis knew, when he finally did kiss this woman, it would be a life changing event. He would never be the same again. He looked forward to it more than anything else in his life thus far. 

[baxxartist]

A short story based on @aychama 's royal au and comic.

Part 1

Next here

(thank you for being an inspiration, your art and story is amazing and this has been on my mind forever)

✨Disclaimer✨

THIS IS VERY MUCH NOT CANNON FOR EITHER AUs

I do not speak for the creator

This is a fan creation of a fan creation. I do not expect this to ever be cannon and please never treat it as such.

I am writing this on my phone, instead of sleeping, so this will very likely be bad writing and under researched.

If you don't like oc x cannon in any universe, keep scrolling

Ari was watching from afar, he's been a loyal servant since he could remember. Abandoned by his nobal family due to being a hybrid, despite this Ari still did his best to hide his horns and wool-like fur mostly to blend in. Ari is trying to avoid harassment, but his family essentially wiped their hands clean of him...accept for his grandmother. Who took Ari into her care, despite it causing her to be disowned herself, and through many trials and errors. She got a job as one of Narinder's servants and trained Ari so he would be able to support himself after she died. Landing the job as her replacement quickly as all he ever knew was to serve.

He's been loyal...well despite occasionally sneaking off to meet with his "siblings" who are more his close friends. Sal, the oldest is an advisor of Shamura, Kay, is one of Kallamar's husbands, Harper, she's mostly in charge of the farms and villages ensuring they're all running properly, and Levi, the youngest, who was sent by Shamura to protect Leshy and to act as a guard. Despite this Levi acts more as a guide and personal serveant

They all taught Ari most of what he knows now, though most of his knowledge he keeps to himself. Despite being a skilled fighter and having a vast knowledge on medicine, scavenging, and hunting. He only plans to say something if needed.

Despite Ari trying his best to focus on his work. He kept glancing over at Aym who was sparing with a few of the knights. Mentally going over every mistep, wrong swing, bad form. Yeah that's why, he was looking for weaknesses in the knights that needed improving...not focusing on Aym, his perfect form, quick thinking...yeah Ari's not looking at him at all.

Ari snaps out of his thoughts, mumbling to himself before continuing his tasks for the day, though occasionally his eyes wonder back to Aym. He smirks seeing many struggle against Aym. "He's easy if you watch him long enough and not focus on him..." Ari mumbles as he felt his face getting red as he snaps his thoughts back to his tasks. "That's completely ridiculous, I'm a servant. I shouldn't know any of this" Ari says softly to himself, but he can't help but want to spar. But doing so could make things very bad for him as this is knowledge he's never told anyone he has.

Ari tried to get his mind of what was essentially the kingdoms military leader, before getting flustered again. Aym was so nice every time they interacted, speaking occasionally when they were younger.

Later that afternoon, as Ari finished his tasks, he snuck off into he forest. Occasionally he'd travel to the more monster ridden lands, but that was more for a day off. So for now he made his way to a clearing a good distance from the kingdom before reaching into a tree stump, confused. He kept the sword his grandmother gave him...the only sign of his noble heritage...now gone? He panicked, no one could've known about that until Ari heard a voice behind him.

"Looking for this?" Aym asks, his tone dark, protective. Ari knew he was screwed as he turned around, looking at the sword in Aym's hands. A silver handle with a red gemstone, protected by a leather sheath, prayer and symbols of protection and strength in an ancient language.

Ari knew he was fucked, if only he could think of an explanation

[transformers-spike]

Do you ever think one of the decepticons or autobots every harmed themselves? And how would it work??

Idk

I'm project

☣️ anon

Oh boy - I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about this.

I feel as though self-harm comes in a wide variety of ways. Here, I'll focus on TFP for this.

Optimus doesn't harm himself directly, but it's clear he's extremely willing to sacrifice his life for the good of others - ie: come on just take a look at the season 1 finale. He's got a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and while I believe the presence of the Primes inside the Matrix of Leadership may help him cope, he could be feeling a lot better.

Arcee obviously has a similar problem. Look at her obsession with taking down Airachnid. Losing two partners has crushed her, and while she's still going, she's very willing to risk herself if it comes to enacting revenge. Not to mention some clear signs of PTSD. While I have mixed feelings on associating human mental illnesses with bots (since I assume they have their own thing going on), she definitely has an equivalent.

Ratchet is constantly neglecting himself for the sake of his team. He doesn't refuel enough, he's overworked and he doesn't consider himself valuable enough despite being their backbone. Syn-En is just an example of a risk he's willing to take if it means helping his team. Let's not even address how he keeps blaming himself for things he couldn't fix (ie: Bumblebee's voicebox)

Wheeljack has lost so many of his fellow Wreckers he's willing to endanger himself on the regular. And he nearly died trying to avenge Bulkhead, so it's clear he was already steeling himself for his friend's possible death. Out of all of the bots, it's clear he's high up there when it comes to trauma.

Megatron is... out of his mind to say the least. He's incredibly contradictory as a person, and I believe a lot of it is influenced by his trauma as a miner then as a gladiator (especially risking his life in the Pits of Kaon). He's endangering himself on a regular basis (HE SHOVED DARK ENERGON IN HIS SPARK CHAMBER HE IS SO NOT OKAY) and I wouldn't be surprised if he got a kick from pain to a degree. Less in the masochism sense more in the "Bro, you are bleeding out, you need to go to a hospital asap" Starscream keeps going back to Megatron despite all the shit that happened to him, so I believe he's dependent to a degree (looking at you season 3) - and Megatron's constant belittling is doing wonders for his mental health Dreadwing is full of issues. @karinadele suggested he may have some kind of Avoidant personality disorder, which would make sense. He is not coping well with his brother's death and he keeps pushing himself to his limits and ignoring the clear grief he's feeling. His eventual death is to a degree the result of his unwillingness to let others in. Yes, he has his issues with the Autobots - but he could have also separated himself from both factions instead of, you know, getting himself killed. Breakdown to me has a load of issues and is the closest to presenting actual acts of self-harm (although minor). He is dependent to a degree, keeps himself in the background unless Bulkhead is involved, and of course; he feels the need to prove himself to others (baby girl, you're dealing with self-worth issues). While I believe his partnership with Knock Out definitely grounds him, sometimes KO's bossiness and laissez-faire attitude gets to him. Come on, Breakdown's been mutilated by humans and lost an optic as a result. Plus, I'm pretty sure shutting down his "pain receptors" might have caused more damage in the long run. I can see him developing nervous ticks, like picking at wounds or even scraping/peeling off small pieces of mesh. It's a coping mechanism. A bad one yeah. But it helps. He keeps lying about it to KO but the medic's onto him. Sadly, he isn't great at comforting Breakdown. KO wants him to stop but it's difficult for him to be emotionally available.

[kataraavatara]

and another thing about acosf!

If their sole plan was Nesta “getting better” via forcing her to do something against her will, they could have just forced her to spend time with Priestesses. Why not? Do they genuinely think SA victims are all silent and meek, and that no SA victims has ever behaved similarly to Nesta, so the priestesses would have no idea how to interact with her? If they think Nesta is self harming by having risky sex with men and hasn’t shown an interest in women, wouldn’t an all female enclave be ideal? They know the library has worked for hundreds of women.

Instead, Nesta is forced to

•live in close proximity with Cassian-so it’s more likely the bond will snap so she’ll be loyal to the Inner Circle forever. Her reliance on sex as a coping mechanism is now something that’s to their advantage instead of something they would have to let her work through. She can now be “fixed” not by addressing the underlying issues but by continuing the unhealthy behavior in a way that benefits the IC.

• Train as a warrior- I mean, obvious. They’re worried about potential threats and need to make sure she’s as efficient as possible when they shove her on the front lines again.

•Find the Troves- Free labor is free labor. Now instead of Feyre doing it, they can risk someone with less value to them. Best part? She doesn’t get a salary like every single other member of the IC does. Now Rhysand’s infinite wealth can stay infinite!

•Psychological conditioning- Yeah, I’m know the field of psychology hasn’t been invented in ACOTAR. Walk with me anyways. By positioning themselves as saviors they hope they can overcome the hurdle they placed by forcing her there to begin with. If Nesta sees the IC as the people who saved her, she’ll not only feel indebted but also be less likely to question them in the future. We see this working when she bows to Amren, and apologizes to Cassian for being upset when he violated her clear cut boundaries at Solstice. They want to acclimatize her to her autonomy being stripped for “the greater good.” If she was sent somewhere else, she’d be probably be more loyal to whoever actually helped her than the people who forced her to get help. That’s why Cassian and Azriel are in charge, despite the the fact that there’s the equivalent of talk therapy in the Library.

Anyways, the bullet points are Rhysand and Amren’s agenda. Feyre and Cassian are (perhaps intentionally) oblivious and thinks they’re just trying to help. Azriel wasn’t let in but has figured it out and doesn’t want to rock the boat. Mor is just happy to see Nesta suffer. Elain is a pawn who’s been strung along for the ride so they can get Nesta to do what they want her to by threatening to have Elain do it instead.

[gothicxreylover]

Hi! I'm back with a little request 😊 So it's a day when things get a little peaceful, no demons wreaking havoc and everyone can breathe more easily, y/n and their s/o (the Hashira (Tengen + his wives), Kanao, Aoi) play hide and seek because why not. This time, y/n goes into hiding and their s/o will seek them out. Interestingly, y/n is able to conceal their presence, like stilling their breath and heartbeat, staying scentless, etc. thus making them nonexistent in order to stay hidden better. Both y/n and their s/o are determined to win.

I imagine that it'd turn into a spooky prey/predator situation at some point because it's yandere. But in the end, it's all fun and games and they all enjoy every second of it. Nothing beats getting adrenaline and a little fear of getting caught in a good way like that. Like, if y/n is found, they will squeak and laugh out loud instead of getting scared. Fluffy yandere is pretty nice 😆

As always, take your time and have a nice day!

Hello! I hope you enjoy this scenario! I’m trying a new font lemme know what yall think! Anyways enjoy this is lagging very badly😭

You stood in the clearing with a grin, watching as your s/o and their group prepared to hunt you down. Little did they know, you had an advantage—your ability to completely conceal yourself. You could still your breath, quiet your heartbeat, and make yourself undetectable. This wasn’t just a game of hide-and-seek. It was a hunt.

Tengen Uzui & His Wives

The second the game started, Tengen smirked. “Alright, everyone,” he declared, “we’re not letting them win. Spread out and find them. I don’t care how good they are at hiding—this is a challenge, and the God of Festivals doesn’t lose challenges.”

Makio rolled her eyes, but there was a competitive glint there, too. “They’re not going to make it easy, you know.”

Suma, meanwhile, was already looking nervous. “What if we don’t find them? What if they’re too good? What if—”

“Suma, stop worrying!” Makio cut her off, exasperated but fond. “They’re hiding, not disappearing forever.”

Hinatsuru gave a soft laugh, already walking off with a sharp, calculated gaze. “Let’s just see who finds them first, alright?”

Tengen took a different approach. He moved with surprising grace for someone his size, scanning for clues while calling out, “You can’t hide forever, you know. You might be good, but I’m better!”

Despite his bravado, he couldn’t shake the thrill. You were nowhere to be seen, and even he had to admit he was impressed. His heartbeat quickened—not from fear, but from the excitement of the chase.

Hinatsuru, ever the strategist, noticed subtle disturbances in the area: a blade of grass bent unnaturally, a faint shift in the air. She followed these hints quietly, her soft footfalls barely disturbing the ground.

Makio was more direct, poking into hiding spots and grumbling when she came up empty-handed. Suma, meanwhile, was struggling to stay focused, muttering nervously as she searched.

When Tengen finally spotted the faintest hint of your silhouette, his grin widened. He crept closer, his movements eerily quiet, until he pounced with a triumphant, “Got you!”

Your squeak of surprise quickly turned into laughter, echoing through the clearing. His wives joined in moments later, Suma tackling you with a relieved hug while Makio teased you for hiding so well. Hinatsuru just smiled, her soft laugh adding to the joy.

Tengen ruffled your hair, his eyes gleaming. “You almost had me there. Almost. But no one hides from the God of Festivals for long.”

Kanao Tsuyuri

Kanao tilted her head slightly as she watched you run off. The rules were clear: she’d find you, no matter how long it took. Her quiet determination was almost unsettling—there was no trace of hesitation in her movements.

As she started searching, her sharp eyes took in every detail. A broken twig, a faint impression in the dirt��she cataloged everything silently, her focus unwavering. You were good at hiding, she realized, far better than she had anticipated.

The longer the game went on, the more her heart raced. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but an unfamiliar mix of emotions. You were out there, somewhere, and she needed to find you. The thought of you staying hidden too long stirred something possessive in her—she didn’t like the idea of losing sight of you, even in a game.

When she finally caught sight of you—a faint movement, just enough to give you away—she moved like a shadow, silent and swift.

“Found you,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her.

You jumped, a surprised laugh escaping as you turned to face her. “How did you—”

Kanao didn’t answer, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. She didn’t let you go immediately, lingering close as if to make sure you wouldn’t vanish again.

Aoi Kanzaki

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Aoi muttered, already scanning the area. She wasn’t as outwardly excited as the others, but the competitive spark in her eyes was unmistakable.

You’d been clever, vanishing without a trace, and Aoi found herself grudgingly impressed. Still, she wasn’t about to let you win. “You think you’re so sneaky,” she murmured, poking around hiding spots. “But I’ll find you.”

She moved with surprising stealth, her sharp eyes catching even the smallest details. The longer you stayed hidden, the more determined she became.

When she finally spotted you—thanks to a faint sound or a barely noticeable shift—her triumph was palpable. “There you are!” she exclaimed, grabbing your wrist as you squealed in surprise.

You couldn’t stop laughing, and though Aoi tried to maintain her usual stern demeanor, a smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t think you’ll win next time,” she said, her tone teasing despite the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Obanai Iguro

The game started with a calm but intense air between you and Obanai. His mismatched eyes narrowed as he watched you disappear into the trees. Kaburamaru, his ever-present companion, flicked his tongue as though sensing your trail.

“You can run and hide all you want, but I’ll find you,” Obanai murmured to himself, his voice carrying a soft, dangerous edge.

Once the countdown was over, he moved swiftly, blending into the shadows like a predator stalking prey. His footsteps were silent, his movements calculated. Obanai didn’t bother calling your name or announcing his presence—he wanted to catch you unaware.

Your ability to completely still your breath, heartbeat, and presence impressed him. He paused, crouching low to examine the forest floor. You’d left no obvious clues, but Obanai had the patience of a hunter. He scanned for subtle signs: disturbed leaves, a bent blade of grass, or a faint scent in the wind.

Every second that passed without finding you made his possessive side stir. The idea of you staying hidden for too long, away from his sight, gnawed at him. You were his, after all, and no game would change that.

Finally, Kaburamaru flicked his tongue in the direction of a dense cluster of bushes. Obanai approached silently, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the faintest movement—a tiny shift that betrayed your hiding spot.

“There you are,” he whispered, stepping into view with eerie precision.

You gasped in surprise, a laugh escaping your lips as he closed the distance between you. “How did you find me so fast?”

His lips curved into a faint smile as he crouched beside you. “You can’t hide from me, Y/N. No one can.” His tone was soft, but there was a possessive undertone that made your heart race.

Kaburamaru coiled down from his shoulder, flicking his tongue in approval as Obanai reached out to gently tug you closer. “You’re mine,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Even in a game like this, I’ll never let you out of my reach.”

Though his words carried a weighty intensity, the moment was softened by the warmth in his gaze. When you laughed again, Obanai’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he allowed himself a small chuckle. The hunt was over, and you were exactly where he wanted you—by his side.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Mitsuri practically bounced with excitement as you ran off to hide. Her braided hair swayed behind her, and her bright eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Okay, Y/N, ready or not, here I come!” she called cheerfully after the countdown ended.

Mitsuri’s approach to hide-and-seek was filled with energy and joy. She darted through the forest, her movements swift but not entirely quiet. She didn’t care about being stealthy—she was too excited to find you.

“Oh, Y/N!” she sang out, scanning the trees with a grin. “You’re so good at hiding, but I’m going to find you!”

She paused every so often, tilting her head to listen for any sound. When nothing came, she let out an exaggerated gasp. “You’re so sneaky!”

Despite her bubbly nature, Mitsuri’s sharp instincts couldn’t be underestimated. She noticed a faint shift in the leaves, a tiny disturbance that might have been from your movements. Her heart raced with excitement as she followed the faint trail.

As she got closer, her smile widened. She spotted a small gap in the bushes where you might be hiding. Trying to be quiet—though her giddy energy made it hard—she crept forward before jumping out with a delighted cry.

“Found you!”

You yelped in surprise, your laugh ringing through the forest as Mitsuri practically tackled you in a hug. “Oh, Y/N, you’re so clever! I almost didn’t find you!”

Her arms tightened around you as she nuzzled into your shoulder, her cheeks flushed from both the chase and her overwhelming affection. “You’re so amazing, you know that? I could play this game with you forever!”

Even as her excitement calmed, her grip on you remained firm. There was something in her gaze—a mix of adoration and possessiveness. She wasn’t letting you go anytime soon, even if the game was over.

“I love spending time like this with you,” she said softly, her voice brimming with emotion. “You make my heart race in the best way. Let’s play again soon, okay?”

Her smile was so radiant, it was impossible to say no. Even if she had a competitive streak and an intense desire to keep you close, her love was so warm and genuine that it filled you with joy.

Giyu Tomioka

Giyu wasn’t entirely sure why he agreed to play. Perhaps it was the way you smiled at him, or maybe he wanted to spend a quiet moment with you—even if the activity itself didn’t suit his reserved nature. Either way, he stood silently as you darted into the trees to hide.

When the countdown ended, Giyu began moving. His steps were deliberate and silent, his sharp eyes scanning the forest. He didn’t rush. Giyu had always been patient, and this was no exception.

As he searched, he appreciated your skill. You’d stilled your presence so effectively that he couldn’t hear your heartbeat or sense your breathing. A faint feeling of worry began to creep in. What if you were so good at hiding that he couldn’t find you at all?

Shaking off the thought, Giyu focused harder. He noticed a subtle detail—a small scuff mark on the bark of a tree. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He followed the clue with quiet determination, his heart beating just a little faster with every step.

When he finally spotted the faintest glimpse of your figure through the dense foliage, he stopped, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile.

“You’re good,” he said softly, stepping into view.

You jumped slightly before laughing, your smile lighting up the space between you. “How did you find me, Giyu?”

“I had to,” he replied simply, his gaze softening. “You’re important to me.”

Though his words were understated, the way he lingered, his eyes fixed on you, spoke volumes. Giyu didn’t like the idea of you being out of his reach, even for a game. Still, seeing you so happy made the hunt worth it.

“Next time,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “I’ll find you even faster.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi smirked as he watched you run off into the forest. “Think you can hide from me, huh?” he called after you, his tone equal parts playful and challenging. “Good luck with that!”

When the countdown ended, he cracked his knuckles, his sharp eyes scanning the area. Sanemi treated the game less like a friendly activity and more like a competition. He had to win—not just because he was competitive, but because the idea of anyone else finding you first made his blood boil.

His approach was loud at first, deliberately crunching twigs underfoot and calling out taunts. “You can’t hide forever, Y/N! I’ll find you!” But as the minutes passed and you remained undetected, his tone shifted.

The forest grew quieter as he started moving more carefully, his voice lowering to a growl. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But not good enough to outsmart me.”

Sanemi’s heightened senses kicked in, and he caught the faintest hint of movement—a disturbance in the underbrush that was almost imperceptible. His smirk returned as he moved swiftly and silently toward the source.

When he finally caught you crouched behind a fallen log, he lunged forward with lightning speed, grabbing you before you could react. “Gotcha!”

You let out a surprised yelp before dissolving into laughter. “Sanemi! You scared me!”

“Damn right I did,” he said, his grin wicked but his grip gentle. “That’s what you get for thinking you could hide from me.”

Despite his tough exterior, Sanemi’s expression softened as he looked at you. He brushed a stray leaf from your hair, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “Don’t think I’ll let anyone else catch you, even in a stupid game like this,” he muttered, his voice low.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku’s booming laugh filled the clearing as you disappeared into the forest. “What a splendid idea for a game!” he declared, clapping his hands together. “Hide as well as you can, Y/N—I’ll make sure to find you!”

When the countdown ended, he moved with boundless energy, his bright eyes scanning the area. Though Rengoku was known for his strength and intensity, there was a warmth to his search that made it clear he was enjoying every moment.

“Y/N!” he called out cheerfully, his voice carrying through the trees. “You’re quite skilled at hiding, but I’ll find you all the same!”

He noticed small details as he searched—the way the grass bent slightly in one direction, or how a few leaves seemed to have been displaced. Rengoku followed these clues with unshakable confidence, his grin widening with every step closer to your hiding spot.

When he finally found you, tucked behind a cluster of bushes, his eyes lit up with triumph. “Ah-ha! Found you, my dear Y/N!”

You burst into laughter as Rengoku reached down to pull you to your feet. “How did you find me so fast?” you asked, still giggling.

He laughed heartily, the sound warm and infectious. “Your hiding skills are exceptional, but nothing can escape my determination!”

Rengoku’s hand lingered on yours as he looked at you with unmistakable affection. “You make even the simplest games so exhilarating,” he said earnestly. “Let’s play again soon—I could chase after you forever.”

Though his words were playful, there was a depth to his tone that made your cheeks flush. Being near Rengoku always felt like standing in the sun, and his joy was so genuine that you couldn’t help but smile back.

Here’s how the hide-and-seek game unfolds with Gyomei Himejima, Muichiro Tokito, and Shinobu Kocho, with their unique approaches and personalities shining through:

Gyomei Himejima

Gyomei knelt on the ground, his prayer beads in hand as you disappeared into the forest. Despite his massive frame, there was an air of serenity about him, his closed eyes giving nothing away.

“Hide well, Y/N,” he said softly, his deep voice carrying across the clearing. “But know this—I will find you.”

When the countdown ended, Gyomei rose gracefully, his towering form moving with surprising quietness. Though blind, his heightened senses allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn’t. He listened for subtle shifts in the air, the faintest rustle of leaves, and even the rhythm of your heartbeat—though you had expertly stilled it to make yourself undetectable.

“You’ve trained yourself well,” Gyomei murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But even the quietest soul cannot escape the truth of their existence.”

As he walked, his presence was both calming and formidable, like a mountain moving through the forest. He paused suddenly, tilting his head slightly as he sensed a faint disturbance nearby. The shift in energy was almost imperceptible, but Gyomei honed in on it with unwavering precision.

He stopped just outside your hiding spot, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re here, aren’t you, Y/N?”

When you didn’t respond, he extended a hand, his gentle movements betraying the strength behind them. “I’ve found you.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh as you stepped out of hiding. “How did you know?”

Gyomei’s smile was kind, his expression serene. “The world speaks to those who listen,” he said simply, his large hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You are a part of that world, and I will always find you within it.”

Though his words were calm, there was an unspoken intensity in them—a promise that no matter where you went, Gyomei would always be there to protect you.

Muichiro Tokito

Muichiro barely reacted when you told him about the game, his usual distant expression in place. “Hide-and-seek? Alright,” he said with a shrug, though a faint glimmer of curiosity sparkled in his eyes.

When you disappeared into the forest, he stood still for a moment, gazing at the trees with an almost dreamy detachment. But as soon as the countdown ended, his demeanor shifted.

Muichiro moved through the forest with a fluid grace, his mind sharp despite his aloof appearance. He didn’t waste time calling out or making noise—his focus was entirely on finding you.

Your ability to conceal your presence intrigued him. Most people left traces without realizing it, but you were different. For a brief moment, Muichiro hesitated, wondering if he’d underestimated you.

Then, a faint detail caught his attention—a single leaf slightly out of place. His sharp mind pieced it together instantly, and he moved silently toward the source.

When he finally spotted you crouched behind a tree, he didn’t make a sound. Instead, he appeared suddenly beside you, his voice calm but tinged with amusement. “You’re good at this.”

You jumped slightly, laughing at how silently he had approached. “How did you get here so fast?”

Muichiro tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “I don’t waste time,” he said simply. “But you made it challenging. I liked that.”

Though his tone was calm, there was a flicker of possessiveness in his gaze. “Next time, don’t stay hidden so long,” he added, his words soft but carrying a subtle edge. “I don’t like it when you’re too far away.”

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu’s violet eyes sparkled with amusement as you explained the rules of the game. “Oh, how fun! I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said with a sweet smile. “Go ahead and hide, Y/N. I’ll be sure to find you.”

When the countdown ended, Shinobu moved through the forest with a dancer’s grace, her every step light and purposeful. She hummed softly to herself, the sound both playful and unsettling.

“Oh, Y/N~” she called out in a singsong voice. “Where could you be hiding?”

Despite her cheerful tone, Shinobu’s sharp mind was fully engaged. She noticed the smallest details—a broken twig, a faint disturbance in the dirt—and followed them like a predator stalking its prey.

“You’re quite clever,” she murmured to herself, her smile never faltering. “But I wonder…how long can you stay hidden?”

Shinobu’s voice carried through the forest, and though it sounded sweet, there was an undercurrent of something more. “You know, Y/N, I don’t mind a good challenge. In fact, I enjoy it. But if you stay hidden too long, I might start to worry.”

Finally, she spotted you, your figure barely visible behind a thick cluster of bushes. Instead of rushing forward, she circled around silently, appearing behind you with an almost eerie swiftness.

“Got you~” she whispered, her voice right next to your ear.

You yelped in surprise before bursting into laughter. “Shinobu! That was scary!”

Her smile widened, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, was it? I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She tilted her head, her gaze softening slightly. “You’re very good at this game, Y/N. But no matter how well you hide, I’ll always find you.”

Though her words were light, there was a lingering intensity to them—a reminder that Shinobu’s affection ran far deeper than her gentle demeanor suggested.

[wanderingmind867]

Here's my ideas for a season five of Batman 1966. This took so long to write. It felt exhausting. So I think this is my last post on all this for a while. If you read all of it, I don't think I'll be blamed for that decision.

Season 5: Season Five would be the last season before Robin goes to university and Batgirl goes on to become a congresswoman (or perhaps it's the season where all of that happens). I will work those story beats in somehow over the course of this season, but the more important thing is maintaining a sense of charm with this season. It'd still have 70-80 episodes (probably), but I think some of my focus would become dedicated to Introducing the League of Assasins, and having Batman '66 embrace the vibes of James Bond or Mission Impossible.

Episodes 1 and 2: Batman and Robin deal with Tiger Shark (Lloyd Bridges), a rich oceanographer who lost everything in a big scandal years ago; and who now moonlights as a cutthroat criminal in tiger patterned scuba gear. His hideout would be at the docks somewhere, and his henchmen would all have aquatic themed names.

Episodes 3 and 4: Batman and Robin team up to fight against The Minstrel (Van Johnson), their old musically inclined foe. He's broken out of jail to get revenge on The Dynamic Duo (as he promised he would way back in Season Two), and only the dynamic duo is capable of stopping him. But when The Minstrel hacks into all the computers and technological devices in Gotham, it becomes clear that they'll have to fight both him and his army of machines.

Episodes 5 and 6: Batman and Robin encounter The Bookworm (Roddy McDowall), who's now using famous crimes in books as the inspiration for his own crimes. But this episode doesn't explicitly feature too many Sherlock Holmes references. Mostly because I want to save all those references for a later date, because they can probably sustain a whole seperate story with The Bookworm.

Episodes 7 and 8: Catwoman (Julie Newmar) opens up a bold new discotheque in the heart of Gotham City. But things don't end up going according to plan. When Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson stop by to experience a night of fun and entertainment, they end up stumbling onto Catwoman's plot to rob all the dancers blind. Coincidentally, Barbara Gordon was also in the crowd that night (on a date with Jason Bard) and so Batgirl hops into the fight too!

In the end, it becomes clear that at least two of the Catwomen were involved in this fraudulent operation (Eartha Kitt was in on it too), and that means double trouble for our terrific trio! Can our heroes successfully save the day? Or have the feline felons finally achieved the impossible!?

Episodes 9 and 10: The Penguin becomes engaged in a new crime spree, when he learns that the deed to his family's old manor was never actually handed off to anyone. Technically, he's still in charge of the old Cobblepot estate! So Penguin manages to challenge all this in court, and successfully manages to win himself back his ancestry.

Batman and Robin still end up investigating him, though. Especially since his estate is now being used as a hideout for some of gotham's worst criminals and crooks. It'll be hard to prove, but Batman and Robin need to break Penguin's clean new record, and end the sympathy he keeps evoking by always talking about losing his heritage. Because he can't be allowed to use his manor as an aerie of evil!

Episodes 11 and 12: A story involving Mister Freeze.

Episodes 13 and 14: The League of Assassins storyline really begins here, as The Mad Hatter (David Wayne) returns to Gotham from England. He was released from Scotland Yard on good behaviour, and now he's seemingly all set up to establish a fine haberdashery in the center of town.

But despite trying his best to remain on the straight and narrow, The Mad Hatter ends up relapsing into hat thefts and mad schemes. Batman and Robin have to be called in to stop him, and he ends up sent back to the penitentiary. Meanwhile, a mysterious shadowy figure is watching from a high tech monitor, directing all their other agents to begin attacks on the Batman. He's meddled in their affairs for the last possible time…

Episodes 15, 16 and 17: Batman and Robin run into The Scarecrow, who's looking to break into a science lab to expand the power range of his fear toxin. Batman is too late to stop him, as The Scarecrow successfully tests the fear toxin on him. That's why this is a three parter, by the way. It's because part two is just one long flashback, finally introducing us to all the core events in Bruce Wayne's past. Losing his parents, being raised by his Uncle Phillip, deciding to become batman, etc. But in the end, Batman still manages to defeat Scarecrow. Mostly through the help of Robin, who helps his mentor and father figure recover his sense of self.

Episode 18: This episode would be a solo adventure with Batgirl and Jason Bard again. It'd also be the episode where I begin setting up Barbara's political ambitions. Barbara and Jason go to see a popular youth politician in the Gotham area, when said politician finds himself under attack by Poison Ivy and The Siren. Both are attacking him for different reasons (Poison Ivy for ecoterrorism reasons, The Siren for mysterious reasons tied in with the League of Assasins), but they successfully hypnotize his entire campaign team into turning on him.

When everyone turns on him, Barbara suits up as Batgirl and goes into action alongside Jason Bard. They manage to save the day, but Barbara ends the story very sad and reflective. The Gotham area doesn't have too many youthful faces in politics, and she fears it's breeding apathy. She wants to try and do something about all of that…

Episodes 19 and 20: A Christmas Special, and one of the last few storylines not to be tied to the League of Assasins plotline (for a while, at least). Mister Freeze and Marsha, Queen of Diamonds team up to hatch a mad scheme involving eternal winter and the theft of as many diamonds as possible. Batman, Robin, Batgirl and Jason Bard all end up having to deal with this case, even though it's all happening the same week as Christmas.

Sadly, crime never takes breaks, so neither can our heroes. But still, the story would end with a happy ending of sorts: Bruce Wayne and family spending the holidays with Commissioner Gordon and family. Meanwhile, the state penitentiary has organized a Christmas party. Safely allowing mad criminals like The Joker, The Riddler, Catwoman and The Penguin their brief moments of respite and revelry in a life of mad crime capers and failed schemes.

Episodes 21 and 22: A famous international criminal known as The Great Dane (Victor Borge) arrives in Gotham City, and he brings his remarkable talents with the piano to bear a most delightful fruit. While he performs in concert halls all throughout Gotham, his men go out and rob the city blind. Nobody can pin anything on him, though. He's one smooth operator.

Batman and Robin successfully manage to locate his hideout, but then they learn that the Dane was expecting them. And he's prepared a most devious trap. With the push of a button, Batman and Robin are lowered down a trap door and locked inside The Dane's Wolf cages. His babies, his wolves are the dane's pride and joy (and his engine of disposal for enemies).

Episodes 23 and 24: Batman and Robin end up dealing with The Joker, who's broken out of jail because he's been personally slighted. A popular entertainment magazine listed the best comedians of our era, and they never mentioned him! Him, The Clown Prince of Crime! Joker takes this as a sign that the world doesn't respect him, and it leads him to break out of jail to prove his skills as a comedian.

Harley Quinn also shows up in this story, serving as joker's partner in crime. She's more or less his permanent assistant now, joining him on all his capers (but occasionally pulling some of her own). But their efforts to prove their comedic value leads them to once again match wits with Batman and Robin, as the greatest comedy caper of all begins.

Episodes 25 and 26: A new villian comes to town on Valentine's Day: Cupid (played by Dean Martin), a suave performer who plans to hypnotize the citizens of Gotham. He wants to have a world where everyone loves him and fawns upon him, and he's going to use any and all methods at his disposal to achieve said result.

Episodes 27 and 28: The Riddler bursts onto the scene once more, as Gotham is menaced by riddles and clues delivered via acrostics. It's a new method for The Riddler, one he's hoping will help him finally get one up over Batman and Robin! But when Batgirl and Jason Bard also get involved, well… will four heads prevail where two might fail? Only this episode of Batman has those answers!

Episodes 29 and 30: King Tut is back in town, and he's become convinced that Catwoman (Eartha Kitt) is the goddess Bast. So he kidnaps her and tries to force her to be his queen. The Terrific Trio of Batman, Robin and Batgirl all have to come together to rescue Catwoman, as Tut himself has built an incredibly elaborate shrine to Bast's glory. Catwoman also tries to sneak out of Tut's pyramid, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to escape from. For once, King Tut has spared no expense in his worship of the gods.

Episodes 31 and 32: Batman and Robin run into The Penguin and Egghead, both of whom are competing to steal different rare bird and/or egg themed objects. The dynamic duo go out on the hunt for both of them, and they do eventually manage to capture them. But our heroes never even realized that these villians had more to their rivalry than just wanting the same objects.

No, they were competing for the rights to join the League of Assassins, a prestigious criminal guild looking to expand it's tendrils into Gotham. Lola Lasagne was the one who came to them with the proposal, and she was using them as pawns in the league's schemes. Since she escaped punishment here, she'll be back to menace Batman some other time. Namely, she'll be back next episode, as Batman and Robin travel to Texas to confront her!

Episodes 33 and 34: Batman and Robin travel to Texas to bust up Lola Lasagne's branch of the League of Assasins. But she's got a new partner down in Texas, a crooked gangster (played by Walter Matthau) who's invented many elaborate traps and gadgets to stymie the dynamic duo.

While Batman and Robin try to deal with the League, they end up accidentally running into an old set of allies: The Green Hornet and Kato! It turns out their neck of the woods was being victimized by the League of Assasins too, and so they'd come to Texas for the same reasons as Batman and Robin. So this old group of four teams up once again to battle the forces of evil! They go their separate ways at the end of the story, but they both wish each other luck on their quest to defeat the League.

So while there is an established story reason for Batman and The Green Hornet to reunite, this story is also me cynically attempting to pitch a Green Hornet season 2, where The Hornet and Kato fight off the many powerful members of the League of Assasins, who're attempting to infiltrate the criminal underworld.

Episodes 35 and 36: Batgirl and Jason Bard are helping defend Gotham while Batman and Robin are away, but they end up running into an old foe again: Signalman (played by Andy Griffith). Signalman has broken out of jail to try and get the attention of Catwoman (played by Lee Meriwether) who has some kind of connection to him. What that connection is remains unclear. But the one clear thing is that Signalman really cares about her, and he wants to draw her attention again.

Episodes 37 and 38: This could be a two parter, or it could be another tv movie. But Two-Face is back again. And this time we're going to do the comics thing, with the split personality and the anger and the paranoia. Harvey Dent is Gotham's District Attorney again, and he's interrogating an infamous mobster in one of Gotham's Courthouses. But just when it looks like he's got the crook on the ropes, he pulls out a vial of acid and splashes Harvey right in the face!

Since Batman was sitting in the gallery (in his civilian identity of Bruce Wayne), he was unable to get to Harvey in time. And by the time he does get to him, it's too late. His previous deformation has happened again, and this time it might be permanent. Two-Face is back, and his two sided crime spree is just beginning anew! Robbing two piece suits, bicycle shops, bicoloured stores, etc. Everything fits the Two theme, or else!

So this episode does actually have all the tragedy of a modern Two-Face story. Because it's clear Harvey Dent is mentally unwell, and that he's got a temper and probably really needs help. But the silly aspects are kept in touch too. Namely the obsession with the number two. Everything is dictated by his coin, and all his crimes (whether they be good crimes or bad crimes) hinge on some variation on the number two.

Oh, and the final note about this story: Batman is led to believe the League of Assasins is responsible for Harvey's disfigurement, which makes him now have a personal vendetta against the League. But did the League actually do it? Shockingly, no. This time it was all the Court of Owls (something we're not gonna learn until at least a season or two away from now).

Episodes 39 and 40: The Cluemaster and Marsha, Queen of Diamonds team up to commit a series of deadly crimes involving magic and puzzling clues. Batman and Robin are almost defeated and killed by this mad team, but they eventually manage to capture them. And once they have them in custody, we learn that they were brought together by the League of Assassins, who had many agents and allies in the Gotham area. Marsha and Cluemaster refuse to rat on their allies, besides giving Batman a clue to investigate in London.

Episode 41: Batman takes off on an cruise to London, little dreaming that Catwoman (Julie Newmar) is also on the boat, planning to hold it for ransom. Her and Batman end up getting in a scuffle over it, but by the time their fight is over, the boat has been utterly ruined. So Batman sends her to jail, and then prepares to take a flight to London instead of a cruise. But little does Batman know; a second Catwoman (Lee Meriwether) is continuing to follow him. She masquerades as the pilot on his plane and helps him get to england.

And before anyone asks: Robin isn't in this episode (or the next few in this league storyline). Batman was worried about Robin after his near death in the fight against Cluemaster and Marsha, so he's forbidden him from following him to London. All this means is that Robin and Batgirl are going to a nice team-up story back in gotham, however.

Episode 42: With Batman leaving for London, someone has to guard Gotham. So Robin and Batgirl guard it while Batman is away. Batgirl successfully manages to find time away from running her political campaign to help, leaving Jason busy running all of that (and unavailable to help in this episode). And while it's just the two of them in gotham, they end up having to deal with both The Joker and The Bookworm, who are competing to steal a rare copy of Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, which has recently been acquired by a famous antiquarian living in Gotham.

Episodes 43 and 44: Arriving in London, Batman ends up fighting off against some old enemies of his: Lord Marmaduke Ffogg and Lady Penelope Peasoup. It turns out that they're the ones responsible for testing Cluemaster and Marsha to see if they were worthy to join the League. But before Batman can get to them, they distract him by sending The Puzzler (yet another of the league's operatives) to bait him into a trap.

The Puzzler leads Batman to a castle near Loch Ness, where him and another of the league's operatives, a young socialite known as Lady Ophelia Keswick, bait Batman into a trap involving illusions and drugged food. Batman manages to escape from their trap in the castle dungeons, but he's too late to capture Lord Ffogg and Lady Peasoup. They escaped. But at least Batman can take The Puzzler and Lady Keswick to Scotland Yard. Then it's back to the United States, where Batman has to await news of the League's activities.

Episodes 45 and 46: Before Batman can leave for Gotham, he's baited into investigation a mysterious crime wave in Paris. The perpetrators? None other than The Clock King and The Sandman! Both members of The League, they've combined their skills to make a sand that can freeze time. So together, these two have been robbing Paris blind with their new "time sand". Only Batman can stop them now; but is even the dynamic duo up to the challenge?

This episode would definitely have a famous french celebrity in a wall climbing cameo. Maybe Maurice Chevalier, or Leslie Caron or something? Definitely a famous french celebrity of the 60s or 70s.

Episodes 47 and 48: Batman returns to Gotham City, only to find it's now been taken over by the combined forces of Nora Clavicle, Poison Ivy and The Siren. Turns out Nora Clavicle was an agent of the League too, and now she's planning an extra special trap for Batman and his allies. Locking him and robin in jail and manipulating most of the city's women, it ends up falling on Batgirl and Batwoman's soldiers to save the day and rescue Gotham from the evils of these three villainesses.

And yes, this episode contains a record number of women. Pretty much all the major female henchgirls over the past four seasons make minor camoes in this episode, excluding the ones who actually seemed to reform. That's just to give you an idea of how intensely jam packed this episode set is.

Episodes 49 and 50: Batman and Robin have to deal with The Minstrel, once again. Since The Minstrel's whole attire and gimmick revolves around Gilbert and Sullivan's song: "A Wandering Minstrel, I", The Minstrel has logically decided to take everything up to the extreme now. Crimes specifically based on different Gilbert and Sullivan operas drive the Minstrel's new crimes. Can Batman and Robin stop this musical maestro before he steals the spotlight (and the spoils) once more?

Episodes 51 and 52: Barbara Gordon's political campaign is almost destroyed by False Face and Clayface II, both of whom have been hired by the League of Assasins to distract Batman and Robin. So Batman, Robin, Batgirl and Jason Bard all end up having to deal with the tumultuous chaos of False Face and Clayface's frame job on Barbara Gordon's congressional campaign. Meanwhile, the leads on The League of Assasins are still null and void for Batman, something that won't change for at least a few more episodes.

Episodes 53 and 54: Batman deals with Shame, who's currently working solo again (since Nora Clavicle convinced his wife to leave him).

Episodes 55, 56 and 57: The Joker and The Scarecrow both end up breaking out of jail at the same time. But instead of having those two disrupt the orderly structure of gotham society, a new villian pops up to steal their thunder! Presenting The Thespian (Leslie Nielsen), a dramatic tragedian capable of bringing a tear to anyone's eye. With a charmingly delivered speech, this mad performer can dampen anyone's mood (including The Joker and The Scarecrows).

So while Batman and Robin start out Episode One planning to deal with Joker and Scarecrow, Episodes Two and Three end up firmly focused in on The Thespian and his tragic crimes. A real showstopper, this villianous rogue commands the scene whenever he's in it. With his hideout at the theatre and his henchmen all having themed nicknames based around tragedy and sadness, he truly is a foe to be threatened by.

Luckily for Batman, though, him and robin manage to successfully defeat The Thespian by turning his own gases back around on himself. Now reduced to a crying wreck, Batman manages to learn that he's another agent of the League of Assasins. And from him, Batman successfully pries the location of Lord Ffogg and Lady Peasoup. So finally, Batman can get back on the League's trail (solo, once again).

Episodes 58, 59 and 60: Batman heads to a small country nestled in the Balkans, where he finally manages to confront Lord Ffogg and Lady Peasoup. But before he can defeat them, they reveal their new ally in the form of Doctor Cassandra Spellcraft and her husband, Cabala. Yes, these two old foes of Batman were also members of the League of Assassins, and Batman has walked right into their trap!

Now trapped in a dungeon, unmasked and at the league's mercy, Batman ends up meeting Talia al Ghul (played by Sophia Loren), daughter of Ra's al Ghul, the head of The League. Teaming up with her, the two of them successfully manage to escape from the dungeon and confront our four antagonists. But in the middle of the scuffle, Lord Ffogg attacks Talia with a blade. And in retaliation, Talia shoots Lord Ffogg in cold blood.

After Batman comforts her for a little while, Talia leaves without a word. She leaves Batman to report Lord Ffogg's death, and to get the other three criminals to jail safely. But now that Batman has made himself known to the highest echelons of this secret society, it's only a matter of time before their leader comes looking for him…

Episodes 61 and 62: Batman returns to Gotham, just in time to help Robin deal with a new crime spree being put on by The Riddler and The Bookworm, who've come to realize they're not that different from each other. Together, the two of them have led a massive crime spree while Batman was in Europe. And Robin was unable to handle them all alone. So now that he's back, Batman has to try and help Robin deal with them.

Episode 63: Batgirl and Jason Bard have an adventure completely independent of Batman and Robin. While the Dynamic Duo is busy with The Riddler and The Bookworm, these two have to deal with The Penguin, who's been planning to orchestrate a separate scheme involving the illegal smuggling of some priceless caviar and cigars. His expensive tastes require him to smuggle most of his fine food and amenities in from across the ocean, you see. So Batgirl and Jason have to go out at sea and play coast guards for the day, as they prevent Penguin's shady smuggling deals from going through.

Episodes 64 and 65: Batman has to deal with Lady Shiva (played by Nancy Kwan), an elite member of the League of Assasins who was sent out to try and kill Batman. She stalks him all over Gotham City, which leaves Batman so distracted he never once manages to find the time to investigate Robin's absence. But that's a topic for the next episode. For now, we get a martial arts style brawl between Batman and Lady Shiva.

Episode 66: While Batgirl runs her political campaign and Batman deals with Lady Shiva, Robin has successfully snuck off from Gotham City to try and pursue the League of Assassins. So in this episode, we catch up with him in the middle of asia somewhere. While he's trying to infiltrate the league's headquarters, he accidentally runs into Catwoman (Lee Meriwether) too. It turns out she's been hunting the League since way back in episode 34. So she's successfully gained entrance into the League, and now it's time for her to report back to Gotham with her findings.

But because of Robin entering the picture, things get more intense. Catwoman and Robin have to successfully escape from the league's headquarters without being caught. We catch brief glimpses of Ra's al Ghul and his men, but we don't really have any guest villians this time. This episode ends with Robin and Catwoman getting caught by Ra's, and it's really more of an episode designed to build up to the dramatic two parter that begins after this.

Episodes 67 and 68: Batman is confronted by Ra's al Ghul (played by Ricardo Montalban), head of the League of Assassins. He's kidnapped Robin and Catwoman (Lee Meriwether), and he baits Batman into working with him to save Dick Grayson from a rival assassins society. But the twist is naturally that there was no rival assasins society, and this was all just an excuse for Ra's to test Batman.

Batman finds Robin half beaten to death, and he loses it. He beats Ra's in a fencing match, a hand to hand combat duel, and then successfully blows up the league's hideout somewhere in asia. This looks like the end of Ra's al Ghul and his League of Assassins. But it probably won't end up being the end…

Episodes 69 and 70: Batman is trying to deal with a still recuperating robin, yet an old enemy from the past has resurfaced to menace gotham yet again. The Cavalier (played by Tony Curtis), that evil musketeer of mayhem, has returned to loot gotham for everything it's worth. And Batman has to stop him, while also protecting a recovering robin from taking excessive damage.

Since Robin is injured and Batgirl is away (currently running for congress with her campaign manager Jason Bard), Batman has to turn to Batwoman to help him stop The Cavalier. And Batwoman brings in her niece Bette, the original Batgirl (although she now goes by Flamebird). So this new/old trio of crime busters now have to team up to stop The Cavalier and protect Gotham City.

Episodes 71, 72 and 73: It's Halloween Night, and Bruce Wayne is holding a fancy party with Kathy Kane. Dick Grayson is beginning to recover, so he's there alongside Bette Kane. Batgirl and Jason can't make it, but Aunt Harriet, Leslie Thompkins, Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara all show up. The night is going incredibly well; all until Solomon Grundy shows up to ruin things.

Yes, it turns out that all the old rumours about Slaughter Swamp were correct. Every Halloween Night, he rises from the grave to wreak havok on the people of Gotham. Being a mindless creature of the swamp, there's no way to stop him. You can only delay him until he sinks back into his grave. So with him on the rampage, Batman, Batwoman and Flamebird have to save the day yet again. They delay Grundy until the Dawn of November 1st, but he still seems unstoppable. Over the course of the night, Catwoman (Julie Newmar) even joins them, but nothing helps.

It's then that a dimensional wormhole opens, and The Huntress (Helena Wayne) steps out. She reveals that Solomon Grundy actually isn't from this earth. He's from Earth-Two, and he needs to be sent back where he belongs. So Batman, Catwoman and Huntress team up to capture him (while Batwoman and Flamebird protect the citizens of Gotham). During this episode, we'd hint at Helena's parents being the Batman and Catwoman of her earth, but we'd never say it outright. And after Solomon Grundy is corralled back through the dimensional portal, we'd never see her or solomon grundy again. So yeah, the Halloween special would be absolutely wild here.

Episode 74: This hour long finale barely even features Batman in it. It's all about Batgirl and Jason Bard. With Batgirl running for Congress in her civilian identity as Barbara Gordon, election day is about to come to pass. Will Barbara win!? Well, we won't know that until the end of the special. Because Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn decide to crash the polling stations, and they bring chaos and mayhem to the streets. Batgirl has to suit up and prepare to go into action against them.

So Batgirl defeats Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy and then saves the day. After that whole adventure, we get the results of the election: Barbara won her election, and she's going to DC as a Congresswoman! Flying out to watch her get signed into Congress are Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Kathy Kane, Bette Kane and Commissioner Gordon and his wife. It's a beautiful moment. It's also probably one of the last times we're going to see Batwoman and Flamebird. But rest assured: this isn't the end of Batgirl. No, Batgirl is going to do what she did in the comics: continue doing superhero work, and balance that with life as a politician.

[marifilue]

Part 10: What Remained Of Us

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Warnings: Violence, Angst, Mature content

Word count: 24.8k

A/N: This turned out to be longer than I intended because I really wanted to give these two a proper goodbye. Apologies for taking more time than usual, and thank you for reading this final part. I've written 92k words which is roughly 300 pages for this fic series, so enjoy! :D

What Makes Us Human Completed

<- Part 9

Einstein was right about his theory of relativity, not that you were the biggest fan of physics class back then, but sure, you caught a thing or two. The past three weeks had felt like the longest you’d ever experienced. Since that collar was... Wow, you can't believe you could say it in a past tense now. Since that collar was restraining your ability, three weeks had felt like a three goddamn shitty years.

You didn’t even feel that way when you were nothing more than a servant to the military. Back then, the concept of time blurred as you grew strangely fond of your well, forced mutation. As much as you despised the idea, you’d made peace with yourself, the ability is cool as fuck. You’ve had it for twenty eight years now yes, you counted. Twenty eight years is longer than the age you received those injections: twenty seven.

Back to that theory of relativity, one you could actually apply right now, in your daily life. You swore the clock was lying when you glanced at the table to check the time, how many hours had you spent with Logan on this bed? The two of you had agreed to clean up together after this mess—the one both of you, but particularly him, had made. Yet, you kept saying, “Five more minutes,” as you lay there, cuddled in his arms, skin to skin.

Both of your naked bodies were tucked under the warmth of the blanket. His left arm served as your human pillow, while his right hand roamed over your body, tracing circles with his fingers. Your right hand never left the toned muscles of his abs. You’d had your intrusive thoughts about licking them earlier—which he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, judging by his expression, he enjoyed it. That look on his face would never leave your mind, and it made you smiled to imagined it again, as your fingers trailed down his happy trail. Only after that blissful moment, which felt like heaven on earth, did you finally glance at the clock. It was already dark outside, but seriously—eight p.m.?

"Shit, it’s eight." Your head whipped from the clock back to Logan.

He let out a weak chuckle. "Still wanna shower?"

You shrugged, letting your palm glide over the popped veins on his bicep. Good god, he really was a sight. For a guy who’d been around since forever, he definitely hadn’t wasted a second of it achieving this every man's dream physique.

Before you could answer, not wanting to pass the chance to shower with his Greek marble statue-like figure, a muffled knock echoes from the hall. The sound is faint, making it clear it didn’t come from your room’s door, you assume it’s Logan’s room, across from yours.

You glance toward your door, pulling the blanket higher over the two of you. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Logan continues to squeeze your waist gently, as if he could reassure you. “Probably Marie. Kid can’t breathe five minutes without seein' me.”

You let out a low chuckle, knowing that despite the joke, the two of them have grown attached to each other. You can’t help but think Marie might have a little crush on him, but you don’t really see that as a problem. She’s a teenage girl, and Logan found her during a hard time, like a savior kinda way. It’s a pretty reasonable feeling for her to have.

Still, you can see Logan loves her like she’s one of his own, like a daughter. Damn, he’d make a great father, you think to yourself.

But then, a voice pulled you out of your thoughts about Logan—a voice you’d become all too familiar with.

"Logan? I’m coming in." Ororo voice faint.

The steps faltered as the door handle jiggled, only to stop short. You glanced up at Logan, sharing a silent, mutual hope. This was kind of a fucked-up situation. Shit.

Thank god you’d insisted Logan lock the door.

"That’s new," Logan muttered, more to himself than to you.

You clutched him tighter, shrinking into his warmth as if trying to make yourself as small as possible. Other thoughts began creeping into your mind now, like how the team would react to this. You and Logan? Nobody could’ve seen this coming.

The two of you didn’t say a word—not that it felt awkward. In fact, it was comfortable, really. Such a safe feeling, one you hadn’t realized you’d been longing for all this time.

Then the silence broke with the one thing you dreaded most at that moment: a knock. And it wasn’t just any knock—it was on your door now.

Shit, shit, shit.

You straightened up immediately, your body tensing as if facing an active threat. Ororo called your name, her voice loud and clear.

Instinctively, you whispered to Logan, "Go! To the bathroom, now." He half-frowned in response, clearly taken aback by the sudden secret-affair role he didn’t remember signing up for.

"Why?" he asked, with the audacity to question you in this situation. You shot him a look.

"It’s Ororo!" you whispered harshly, your tone low but not lacking bite. "The door opens straight this way—she’s gonna see you. C’mon, chop chop, mutton chops." You chuckled softly at your own words. God, you hadn’t called him that in what felt like ages.

Another knock came, firmer this time, followed by Ororo’s voice, clearer and more insistent. "I can hear you in there. Open the door."

You didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes, accompanied by that signature grunt of his. Was he really going to risk everything by staying in your bed for Ororo to see? Dear god, you had a reputation to uphold here.

When he didn’t move fast enough, you gave his body a shove, forcing him to get up. Standing, you pointed firmly toward the bathroom. He picks up his clothes and walked as if it was the heaviest task in the world, each step deliberate and slow.

Meanwhile, you scrambled to pick up your panties from the end of the bed and your shirt from the floor, throwing them on to look at least somewhat appropriate. Pacing toward the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever came next.

Now standing in front of your door, you glanced back at Logan—he hadn’t even reached the bathroom yet. "Close the door, c’mon, faster!" you whispered urgently, not even sure if he’d hear you. Finally, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Your focus shifted back to the door. With a sigh, you unlocked it and opened it halfway.

Ororo’s expression immediately shifted from irritated to slightly shocked. She lets out a small gasps, her jaw dropping before she quickly covered it with her palm.

You raised your eyebrows, smiling awkwardly. "Ro?" you asked, clearly puzzled by her sudden reaction.

She scoffed, then broke into the widest smile you’d ever seen. "The collar!"

The realization hit you as your hand instinctively went to your neck, your fingers brushing against bare skin. It was a feeling you hadn’t taken the time to savor, too busy savoring Logan earlier.

"Yeah, Hank figured it out," you said softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

Ororo stepped forward, her joy radiating as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Dear god, you hoped she wouldn’t mind the sweat on you, or the lingering smell. You returned the hug, wrapping your arms around her back.

As she briefly opened her eyes, her gaze landed on the mess of your bed. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, but she said nothing. It definitely wasn’t her business—but judging by the faint shift in her expression, she could’ve guessed.

She pulled back, flashing another wide smile, her shining teeth on full display. "I thought Hank was messing with me," she said, her hands lingering on your shoulders before letting go completely.

"He did a really great job. I couldn’t be more thankful," you replied, smiling.

Ororo’s gaze softened briefly before she glanced around the room. "Where’s Logan, by the way?"

Panic hit you like a freight train, and without thinking, you blurted, "I haven’t seen him all day."

The lie spilled out so suddenly that it caught even you off guard. Ororo furrowed her brows, her head tilting slightly. "That’s strange. Hank told me he gave the chip to Logan to unlock your collar," she explained, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

You clicked your tongue, realizing you’d been caught red-handed. "Right, of course," you stammered, quickly pointing a finger at Ororo. "Sorry, I just woke up. He did bring the chip to unlock the collar, but then he left."

You were doubling down now, lying even more. Ororo’s expression tightened—she wasn’t buying it.

"Alright then," she said, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to press further. "Anyway, the Professor left for another conference. Scott thought it’d be great for us to hang out—just at the bar down the street. I’m heading there with Jean and Hank. You wanna come? We can ask Logan to look after the kids. It’s Friday night, after all."

Your response came a little too cheerful, the faux excitement evident even to yourself. "That would be great!" you chirped.

"I know, right? We'll just have to find Logan first" she said, her tone bright.

You chuckled nervously. "But I can’t," you said, shaking your head.

Ororo blinked, taken aback. "Why? Come on, you deserve it."

You nodded with a soft smile. "Yeah, don't worry about me you guys have fun. I’ll stay and look after the kids. Besides, Logan’s nowhere to be found, and I’m just feelin a bit tired, s’all." You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her concern.

Though your excuse was flimsy, Ororo relented with a sigh. "Fine, but I’ll bring you something, don’t worry."

You smiled again, leaning slightly toward the door, hoping she’d leave soon. "I’m counting on it," you said with a light chuckle.

As Ororo turned back and disappeared down the hallway toward the stairs, you finally closed the door and leaned against it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you glanced at the bathroom door. You’d just hidden Logan—from Ororo—in your room.

You walked toward the bathroom door, reaching for the handle. When you pressed it, it didn’t click open—Logan had locked it from the inside.

"Logan?" you called, but there was no answer.

"They’re going out to the bar. You can join them if you want to," you said, raising your voice slightly toward the door. What the hell was he doing in there? You knocked again, this time with a little more force, guessing he hadn’t heard you the first time—but that didn’t seem possible.

"Logan? Open the door," you said, your tone firmer now.

Inside the small bathroom, Logan was already pulling on the jeans he’d picked up from the floor earlier. His shirt rested by the sink, forgotten for the moment as he stared at his own reflection—specifically, his eyes. What the hell was going on with him?

It wasn’t exactly the first time a woman had hidden him. Hell, once, he’d even been stashed in a wardrobe. He had a reputation for getting involved with women already in relationships. He’d even eyed Jean a few times when he first settled into the mansion.

But it had always been just a stupid fling to him—something meaningless. He didn’t care. He never did. At least, not until now. What had changed?

You?

Seriously?

He frowned, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought loose. He felt embarrassed.

You weren’t even in a relationship—there was supposedly no reason for you to hide him. At least, not in his logic. Why’d you have to hide him like that? Were you embarrassed?

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You were both adults, and so was Ororo. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of... right? Still, the knot in his chest refused to loosen.

Then a thought hit him, one so obvious it almost made him feel stupid for not realizing it sooner. He didn’t actually know if you were in a relationship or not.

The realization stopped him cold. He’d never asked. You’d never mentioned anything. For all he knew, there could be someone else in your life.

The idea gnawed at him, an unexpected twist of jealousy and unease stirring in his gut. Should he ask? Right now, while you were still outside the door knocking and calling his name?

Hell yes, he should. At least then, he’d know.

But then again, did he really want to hear the answer? What if it was something he didn’t want to deal with? What if it changed everything?

He let out a frustrated grunt, running a hand through his hair. His reflection in the mirror stared back, eyes conflicted and filled with questions he didn’t have answers to.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His attention shifted when something on the floor caught his eye.

A delicate gold necklace with a red heart-shaped pendant lay near his feet, gleaming faintly in the light. His brow furrowed as he crouched to pick it up, holding it carefully between his fingers. For a moment, he studied it, his thumb brushing over the smooth surface of the pendant.

The knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Without a second glance, Logan slid the necklace into the pocket of his jeans and turned toward the door.

"Logan?" you called again, your voice edged with concern. "What are you doing?"

He ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply before finally making a move toward the door.

The door suddenly creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway, shirtless displaying full muscles, jeans hanging low on his hips. Logan’s expression was unreadable, though the faint furrow of his brow hinted at something simmering beneath the surface.

His eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you freeze mid-knock, your hand still hovering in the air. You opened your mouth to ask what was going on, but he beat you to it.

“You seein' someone?” he asked, his tone gruff, low, and uncharacteristically direct.

The question knocked the air right out of you. For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said—and why the hell he was asking.

“What?” you managed, blinking.

“You heard me.” His eyes searched yours, his jaw set tight. “You got someone in your life or not?”

It wasn’t the question itself that unsettled you, honestly? A reasonable one to ask someone you just had sex with, well. But it was the way he asked it. His voice carried something raw, like he wasn’t just casually curious. Like the answer mattered to him in a way that didn’t quite make sense.

Your lips parted to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you studied his face, the lines around his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. Something had clearly gotten to him, but the reasons behind it were a mystery you couldn’t crack. Was this about Ororo catching him here? Or… was it about something else entirely?

“I don’t… I don’t have anyone,” you finally said, your voice slower, more deliberate. “Why suddenly ask?”

He didn’t flinch, but the shift in his posture was subtle. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced against it, his knuckles white. His eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his tone clipped. “You hid me in here. Why?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he phrased it, the accusation buried in his words, made your stomach twist. “I didn’t want Ororo to see you because I didn’t feel like explaining. S'all.”

“Explaining what?” he shot back, his voice sharper now.

“That you were in my room!” you snapped, frustration spilling over. “Do you have any idea how that would’ve looked?”

“And why do you care if it would look like anything?” he asked, stepping closer. “Why do you care so damn much what she thinks?”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling cornered even though he hadn’t raised his voice. His presence was overwhelming, and his words, his questions—they all felt like a trap you hadn’t prepared for.

“I don’t know,” you said, throwing up your hands. “I just didn’t want her to think… I don’t know! That we’re… involved or something. God, this is ridiculous. What is wrong with you?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes dark and stormy as they bore into yours. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something real, something honest. But instead, he straightened up, stepping back toward the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with tension. “Forget I asked.”

“Forget you—Logan, what the hell?” you demanded, but he was already turning away.

“Drop it,” he said firmly, grabbing his shirt from the sink and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

You stood there, stunned, as he brushed past you and headed toward the door. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve let it slide. But something about the way he asked—that vulnerability buried beneath all the bravado—stuck with you.

“Logan,” you called, your voice softer now, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

The door slammed shut behind Logan, the sound echoing in the quiet room and leaving you rooted to the spot, staring at the space he’d just occupied. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear or shock, but from sheer frustration.

What the fuck was that?

You try to make sense of the whirlwind that had just stormed through your room. He had the audacity to grill you about your personal life, and then shut down without so much as an explanation? It was infuriating. But then again, wasn’t that just Logan? Always halfway out the door before you could get a real answer, always keeping people at arm’s length.

Fine. Let him brood. You weren’t going to waste your energy trying to figure him out.

The clock on your nightstand read 8:12 PM. Scott, Ororo, Jean, and Hank had definitely left for the bar, excited for a rare night out. You’ve waved Ororo off, claiming you weren’t in the mood. Now, standing alone in your room, you regretted it. At least at the bar, you’d have a distraction.

Instead, you were here, stewing over Logan.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself to move. Stressing around mulling over his cryptic nonsense wasn’t going to get you anywhere. You grabbed a fresh change of clothes and headed for the bathroom, letting the sound of running water drown out your thoughts. By the time you’d finished cleaning up and pulling yourself together, it was close to nine.

You sit down on the edge of the windowsill, propping one foot up as you tighten the final knot of your shoelace. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting soft patterns on the floor. As you lean back slightly, adjusting the fit of your shoe, your gaze falls on the unlocked collar resting nearby.

For a moment, you just stare at it, the light glinting off its cold, unyielding surface. A wave of melancholy washes over you, pulling you into a haze of memories you’d rather forget. Slowly, you reach out and trace your fingertips along the thick metal, its weight almost tangible even without wearing it.

A short, bitter chuckle escapes your lips, breaking the silence. Without warning, you grab the collar and slam it against the concrete edge of the windowsill. The sharp clang echoes through the room, and with enough force, the metal bends slightly. You strike it again and again, as if each blow might break more than just steel.

When the anger subsides, you toss the collar onto the floor, standing over it for a moment. Then, with a final stomp, you turn away, leaving it behind as you step out the door.

You wandered the halls of the mansion, your footsteps light on the wooden floors. Few of the kids were settled for the night, and the usual buzz of activity had quieted down. As you passed the TV room, you caught sight of Logan sitting on the couch, surrounded by a few of the younger kids.

They were watching some old action movie, the screen’s glow casting sharp shadows across Logan’s face. He looked calm, almost relaxed, the gruff tension from earlier smoothed over like it had never existed. He didn’t even glance your way until you moved to leave, your quiet presence catching his attention at the last second.

Finding your usual corner, you pulled a book from the shelf and settled into one of the chairs. You let the silence wrap around you, doing your best to push Logan—and all the tangled emotions he seemed to stir—out of your mind.

His eyes was on you as you turned and walked away and you didn’t stop.

Instead, you headed to the library. The heavy wooden doors creaked slightly as you pushed them open, the familiar scent of books and aged paper washing over you. The quiet here was different—soothing, intentional. You let out a long breath as you stepped inside, your tension easing slightly as the door clicked shut behind you.

As you turned the pages of your chosen book tonight, seated in the most comfortable chair the library had to offer, a loud commotion broke your concentration. The rhythmic patter of children’s hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by frantic voices. Your immersion in the world of Wuthering Heights shattered, pulling you back into reality. It was nearly ten o’clock—far past curfew. What on earth was going on?

Curiosity pricked at you, and with a reluctant sigh, you closed the book, setting it carefully on the side table. Rising from your chair, you walked toward the source of the noise.

Outside the library, the chaos unfolded before your eyes. A crowd of panicked children filled the hallway, their anxiety palpable. The swarm of them seemed to converge at the backyard door, spilling out onto the cobblestone path illuminated by faint outdoor lights. From afar, you caught sight of Logan kneeling infront of a boy.

“Back to your rooms, everyone,” you called out, your voice firm but calm. Some of the older teenagers lingered, their curiosity outweighing their obedience. Turning to one of them, you asked, “What happened?”

“I heard there’s a student missing,” a teenage girl replied, her voice trembling.

Your brow furrowed at her words. Missing? Anxiety crept into your chest as you shifted your gaze back to Logan, still kneeling in the yard. Urging the gawking children to disperse, you repeated, “Come on, everyone, back to your rooms. Curfew’s long past.”

As the reluctant crowd thinned, you made your way outside, stepping onto the cool cobblestone steps. Logan’s voice carried through the crisp night air as he spoke to the young boy.

“Listen, Carter, I need you to tell me anything you saw. Did you see a logo? A picture? Maybe a name?”

The small frame of the boy trembling however he chimed in, “I saw a letter. It was on their phone.”

You stepped closer, careful not to interrupt, though Logan briefly glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours for just a moment before returning to the boy.

“Phone?” he repeated.

“Yeah, it was black and had... like, a long antenna,” the boy explained innocently.

“A handy talk,” Logan muttered, lowering his head slightly as if trying to piece it together. “What letter did you see?” he asked, shifting his attention back to the boy.

“Sac, I can read,” he replied with the same innocent tone.

Logan frowned, a slight furrow in his brow as he repeated the word back to her, confused. “Sak?”

The boy nodded eagerly, as if confirming his guess. “Yeah, Sac.”

Logan shook his head, his confusion growing. “How do you spell it?”

Before the boy could respond, something clicked in your brain. The pieces fell into place, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping in.

“S-A-C,” you said, spelling it out clearly, each letter cutting through the tension.

The little boy's eyes lit up as he pointed his small finger at you. “That’s right!” he said brightly.

Logan’s expression darkened, the weight of the realization settling over him. He glanced back at you, his jaw tightening.

“SAC, Special Activities Center,” he repeated, this time with understanding—and dread.

The word hit you like a cold slap. You folded your arms against the chill, the night air biting through your sweater.

“Thanks, Carter. You head back inside now.” Logan stand on his feet as he pat the child gently, sending him towards the mansion's backdoor.

Once he scurried off, you stepped closer to him, your voice low but urgent. “What's going on?”

Logan rose to his feet, brushing his hands on his jeans. “That's Carter he's Maya and Ellie friends.”

Your stomach dropped. “Maya? Where’s Maya?”

Logan hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The three of them were playing hide-and-seek out here earlier. Maya wandered out here to find them... she finds Ellie first, then Carter saw two people in black clothes take them two.”

“SAC take them?” you repeated, the weight of the revelation sinking in. “They're connected with the CIA. The fuck do they want?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But if they’re involved, this isn’t just about them mutants children—it’s about all of us. They’re watching, and now they’re making their move.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts racing as dread settled heavily over you both. The children inside weren’t safe, not anymore. The larger force at play had finally made its presence known, and the mansion, once a sanctuary, had turned into a trap.

“Shit” you said finally, meeting Logan’s grim gaze. “We need to find them.”

His nod was slight, but the determination in his expression was unmistakable. “We will.”

The team gathered in the common room for a late midnight meeting no one would expected, their exhaustion palpable. Scott slumped in his chair, the scent of alcohol faint but unmistakable, while Ororo leaned heavily against the armrest, her eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Jean sat cross-legged, her fingers massaging her temples, and Hank rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

The situation frustrated you as bad as it already was. Fuck this. If it weren’t for the team’s fun night out, all of you would be out there looking for the poor little girls. You thought about doing it alone—after all, you were the only adult who wasn’t drunk or exhausted. Wait... there’s still Logan.

Fuck him. You're not going anywhere with him. The two of you still hadn’t addressed whatever the hell was going on between you.

If you waited until morning, they’d sure as hell be hungover or nowhere near the appropriate condition for a mission like this. And knowing these people all too damn well, they wouldn’t let you sneak into a CIA headquarters alone.

But you’d do it anyway.

You’d have to sneak your way out of this. Screw them. They’d be thankful as fuck when you took matters into your own hands.

“We have to address this in the morning,” Jean said, her voice steady but weary. “The professor will know the best approach.”

Of course, one of them would eventually say it. You had guessed it would be Scott, but maybe Jean read his mind first—like she’s probably doing to you right now. Fuck, I should clear my mind, you thought to yourself.

Hank sighed, his fingers tapping the edge of the table. “I’ve done some preliminary research, but it’s just theories right now. The CIA base we suspect isn’t far from here, and given Killebrew’s ties to the military, this might all be connected. If I’m right, they’ve been operating covertly, experimenting on mutants in ways we haven’t fully grasped yet.”

Ororo straightened, her brow furrowed. “That’s not something we can charge into without a solid plan. It’s dangerous.”

Scott waved a hand, his tone slurred but determined. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, we all need rest.”

Jean nodded, glancing around the room. “Agreed. Maya and Ellie will need us at our best when we go after her.”

One by one, the team dispersed, their heavy steps echoing down the mansion’s halls. But you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. The image of those girls—scared, alone, possibly suffering—played on a loop in your mind. By two in the morning, sleep had become impossible as you kept staring at the ceilings with eyes wide open, contemplating your plan which you came with none.

"Fuck this." You quickly changed into black cargo pants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that pressed against your figure.

As you stood by the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to steady your nerves for what was to come. But when you reached for the towel, your eyes flicked to the small accessory holder where you usually kept your mother's necklace.

It wasn’t there.

A knot of anxiety tightened in your chest. You leaned closer, scanning the sink area. It had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe it had just fallen off? You crouched down, searching the floor around the sink, your fingers brushing across the tiles in frantic movements. Nothing.

“Come on,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding as you pulled open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Still nothing.

You swallowed hard, the realization sinking in that you might have lost or misplaced it. The thought made your stomach churn—it wasn’t just any necklace; it was your mother’s.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Maya and Ellie needed you, and every second you spent searching was a second wasted. Clenching your fists, you forced yourself to push the worry aside.

You turned back to the mirror, taking a final glance at yourself. Tight black long-sleeve shirt, black cargo pants. "I look like a goddamn ninja," you muttered, trying to inject a bit of humor to steady your nerves.

The necklace would have to wait. Right now, you had to focus.

You grabbed your gear quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The mansion was still, the night cold against your skin as you descended the stairs with heavy black boots. You had just reached the kitchen when you froze.

Logan stood by the counter, cigarette in hand, the faint glow of its tip casting shadows on his rugged features. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Figured you’d try somethin’ stupid,” he said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

You adjusted the strap on your gear, feigning nonchalance. “I need to get some air.”

Logan chuckled dryly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Air. Right. All geared up for a midnight stroll?” You frowned but didn’t reply, moving to the sink to double-check your supplies.

“You think sneakin’ out alone is a smart play?” he pressed, stepping closer. “What, you gonna take on the CIA single-handed?”

“I'll take my chances, better than doing nothing.” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “They're out there, and every second we waste, they could be hurting.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And every second you’re out there without backup, you’re walkin’ straight into their hands. You heard what Hank said—Killebrew’s probably involved. You really think they won’t have another collar?”

You hesitated but clenched your fists. “I won't let such fear stop me. I won’t leave Maya and Ellie to them, Logan. I don’t care what’s waiting for me out there. It’s not like they can kill me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he stubbed out his cigarette in his palm. You could never get tired from the sight of him rolling his eyes at the slight burn sensation on his skin that amused you—well, more than amused in different circumstances, really.

If only he hadn’t been so confusing earlier tonight.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “It ain’t about killin’ you. It’s about breaking you. They don’t need you dead—they just need you broken enough to get what they want.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you, but the image of the girls wouldn’t let you relent. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I’m leaving.”

Logan’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he’d let you go. But then he stepped back, grabbing his jacket. “You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, you know that?” You blinked as he shrugged into his jacket.

“If you’re hellbent on gettin’ yourself killed, I’m not lettin’ you go alone,” he growled.

Despite the tension, a flicker of gratitude warmed your chest. He might be impossible, but at least you wouldn’t face this alone.

Logan gripped the steering wheel tighter as the car cruised down the empty highway, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. You stared out the passenger window, the dark road illuminated by the occasional passing streetlight. The silence was unbearable, heavy with unspoken tension, until you reached out and turned on the radio.

Bye Bye Bye blasted through the speakers, the upbeat rhythm shattering the quiet.

Logan groaned audibly, his hand darting out to switch it off within seconds.

'Don’t wanna be a fool for.....'

The music cut off abruptly, leaving an awkward void. You furrowed your brows and glanced at him, annoyed, but said nothing. He didn’t either, his jaw tightening as he kept his eyes firmly on the road.

This is gonna be a hell of a ride.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, the clock on the dashboard glowing faintly. You stifled a yawn, the lack of sleep catching up to you. Logan glanced in your direction briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his focus to the road.

“Sleepy already?” he finally asked, his tone gruff but quieter than usual.

You blinked at the window, counting the sparse cars around you. “Oh, so you talk,” you shot back coldly, not bothering to look at him.

Logan sighed heavily, side-eyeing you before speaking again. “I don’t know whaddya want me to say,” he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of frustration.

Your patience snapped. “Fuck you, Logan. You’re the one pretending like nothing happened between us.”

His eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the road, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” he said, his voice steady but edged with tension.

“No! I don’t want that! Why are you acting like an asshole?” you snapped, shifting in your seat to face him fully.

Logan kept his focus ahead, his jaw ticking. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, but he didn’t raise his voice. “What do you want then?” he asked gruffly.

You opened your mouth to answer, ready to unleash everything bottled inside, but second thoughts hit you like a brick wall. Your throat tightened, and instead of speaking, you clamped your mouth shut and pulled your knees up, hugging them to your chest. Your gaze drifted back to the window, the darkened landscape blurring as tears threatened to sting your eyes.

Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, guilt flickering across his face, though he quickly masked it. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible but just loud enough for you to catch.

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into the fabric as you tried to steady your breathing. There was so much you wanted to say, so much that needed to be addressed, but this wasn’t the time. Maya and Ellie needed saving, and there was no room for emotions to get in the way.

You sat there, curled up in the passenger seat, clutching your knees tightly as the car glided through the quiet, empty highway. The faint hum of the engine filled the air between you, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. The longer the silence stretched, the heavier it felt, suffocating in a way words never could.

“M’sorry,” you whispered finally, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for exactly, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Logan glanced your way, his brow furrowing. You didn’t meet his gaze, your focus glued to the closed window, your reflection staring back at him. The image unsettled him—the way you sat curled into yourself, dressed in black like you were trying to look intimidating, but failing miserably with your chin resting atop your knees. You looked small, vulnerable, as though you were trying to shield yourself from something unseen.

He clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him as he returned his eyes to the road.

Logan took a deep breath, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. What the hell was he supposed to say now? Did you even realize how much he cared for you? How deeply?

Hell, he was out here driving through the freezing cold at two in the goddamn morning. Sure, finding that poor, innocent girl was the priority—but you were the real reason he’d agreed to this. He already knew how reckless and half-baked this plan was, especially with just the two of you. The team is going to be furious, he could already imagine the earful Scott would give him in this situation.

But he couldn’t fight you on it, he knew you too damn well. It was either he came along, or you’d go alone—and the thought of you facing this without him was something he couldn’t bear. Hell, he wouldn’t allow it.

If he had to, Logan would tear the whole goddamn world apart just to stand beside you. Whether to be an acquaintance, a friend, a partner, whatever you’d let him be. He would never leave you to deal with this on your own, not as long as he was still breathing.

“Don’t,” Logan muttered, his voice gruff as if the word was dragged out of him.

You blinked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, unsure of what he meant.

“I’m sorry,” he growled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I was being a dick.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, surprised. Then, without warning, a small chuckle escaped you.

Logan’s head snapped toward you, confusion written all over his face. “What’s so funny?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back your laughter, but it only made it worse. Finally, you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “I just... I didn’t think you’d fall for it.”

Logan’s frown deepened, his confusion growing. “Fall for what?”

You shifted in your seat, lowering your legs and leaning back like you didn’t have a care in the world. “It’s okay. Now we’re both sorry.” You grinned at him mischievously. “I just didn’t expect you’d actually admit that you’re a dick.”

His expression darkened further, and he shot you a flat look. “Oh, fuck off.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, the sound bubbling out of you as his frown became more pronounced. “You’re a horrible person,” he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“I know,” you said smugly, leaning back even further and resting your arm behind your head, clearly enjoying your victory.

But your moment of triumph didn’t last long. Logan’s eyes glinted with a mischievous edge as his foot suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The car jerked to a halt, and you—without your seatbelt fastened—were flung forward, hitting the dashboard with a loud thud.

“Ugh!” you grunted in pain, your hand rubbing to your forehead as you turned to glare at him. “What the fuck, Logan?!”

He was still in his seat, untouched thanks to his seatbelt “Sorry,” he said mockingly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “There was a cat crossing the street.”

He didn’t even try to hide his smug grin, leaning back in his seat like he didn’t just commit attempted murder. “Next time, buckle up, tough guy,” he said, his tone dry, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

Your jaw tightened as you fastened your seatbelt with an angry click, not that you should even care because crashing would literally kill none of you, really. But you wouldn't take the chance to be a part of his petty joke again. “You’re so petty,” you muttered, slumping back into your seat, arms crossed.

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “I know.” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as the car resumed its journey. The tension that had once suffocated the air now felt lighter, though your annoyance with him lingered.

You’d get him back. Somehow.

Logan parked the car a few hundred meters away from the high-security compound, the faint glow of cameras scanning the area. The building stood tall in front of you, a modern fortress with high, wire-topped fences and armed guards at every corner. This wasn’t going to be easy.

You both exited the car in silence, you popped the trunk, revealing your gear neatly packed. You reached for the heavy black duffel bag, pulling it out and unzipping it with quick hands. The bag was full of weapons built for efficiency and speed, the kind you knew you could rely on in a tight spot.

You grabbed the Heckler & Koch MP5, its compact frame sitting comfortably in your hands. The submachine gun was built for quick action, a weapon perfect for close-quarters combat. It was lightweight but packed a punch, with its 9mm rounds designed for high velocity and rapid fire. You checked the magazine, making sure it was fully loaded, before slinging the strap over your shoulder. The weapon's compact size made it ideal for maneuvering through tight spaces, and the sound of the safety clicking off was a sound you were all too familiar with.

You ran your fingers over the soft, rubberized grip, knowing you could rely on it when things went south. The bag also held extra mags, each one loaded with 9mm rounds, quick to reload and ready for action. You gave a quick glance at Logan, his eyes now locked on you again, but you didn’t let the moment last too long, the weight of the gun a comforting reminder of your readiness.

He gave a low grunt. “This is a bad idea.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, adjusting your gloves. The plan was simple: Get in, find Maya, get out. No alarms. No mess. The problem was, nothing ever went according to plan.

Logan took the lead, moving with his usual predatory grace. The two of you made your way through the shadows, careful not to alert the guards. The compound was surrounded by tall, overgrown hedges, giving you some cover as you approached the back entrance. You crept toward a side gate, its lock weak enough for Logan to pry open with ease.

"You always make it look easy," you whispered, impressed despite yourself.

He grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark. "Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You slipped through the gap, your footsteps silent on the cold concrete as you moved deeper into the facility. The perimeter was quiet, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Logan led the way, his keen senses constantly scanning the area. Every creak of a door, every flicker of a light, had you on edge.

You reached the back of the building, a narrow, unlit hallway leading inside. Logan paused, giving you a sharp glance. “Ready?”

“No shit,” you said, determination hardening your voice. You weren’t backing out now, no matter what.

He pulled open the door and ushering you inside. The air was cool and sterile, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the cement floors. You crept down the hall, moving in sync with Logan, every step calculated.

At the end of the hallway, you spotted a guarded door—high-security, with a keypad and a camera positioned just above it. Without hesitation, Logan stepped forward, grabbing the guard’s arm from the shadowed corner and pulling him into the darkness. He was out before he could make a sound, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of burning skin.

You shuddered slightly but stayed focused. This was just part of the plan. Getting in and out.

Logan keyed in the code he'd swiped off the unconscious guard’s wristwatch, the door clicking open with a soft beep. He held it open, letting you slip inside first. The room was dark and cold, filled with computers and high-tech equipment. At the far end, a small holding cell, barely visible in the gloom, had a single figure slumped against the wall.

“Maya,” you whispered urgently, your voice cracking.

She looked up slowly, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. But when she saw you, her lips trembled, and for a moment, you could see the faintest glimmer of hope. "You came..."

You rushed to her side, kneeling beside her, gently brushing a strand of her hair away to get a better look at her face. She was bruised and battered, her small frame trembling, but nothing seemed life-threatening. Still, the sight of her like this ignited a fierce protectiveness in your chest.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, your voice soft but urgent.

Maya flinched at the question, her lips quivering. “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We... we were playing together, and then—” Her words broke off, her small body trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Maya,” you said quickly, your tone firm but comforting. “We’re getting you out of here. You’re safe now.”

Logan moved around, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of further threats. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered, already heading toward the door. “We need to move. Get her to safety first.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep looking for Ellie, but Logan’s tone left no room for argument. He glanced back at you, his voice low but commanding. “We’ll come back for her. Right now, we’ve gotta get Maya out before we’re cornered.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and reached down to help Maya to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she winced at the effort, but she clung to you tightly. “We’re getting you out,” you reassured her again, though the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen.

As you moved toward the door, the beeping of the security alarm behind you confirmed the worst. Logan’s eyes flicked to you, his expression grim. “Move it,” he said sharply.

Grabbing Maya’s hand, you pulled her along, your heart pounding as you navigated through the dim hallway. Logan led the way, his senses on high alert. You reached the stairwell, but your stomach sank as you saw more guards below.

Logan growled low under his breath, his fists clenching. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Without hesitation, Logan leaped into action, taking down the first guard with brutal efficiency. You followed closely, keeping Maya tucked safely behind you, your body positioned as a shield.

Your MP5 hung at your side, a secondary measure tonight. Every movement was calculated, every glance behind ensuring Maya’s safety. No harm would come to her—not a single scratch.

Logan cleared the path with a relentless fury, and together, you pushed forward, determined to get Maya out of this nightmare and to safety. Only then would you think about going back for Ellie.

You would have the time of your life alongside Logan taking these guards down, but tonight your MP5 was nothing more than a safety measure, secondary to your true focus. Your attention was entirely on Maya, making yourself her shield, her protection. No harm would come to her—not a single scratch, not the faintest injury. You positioned yourself between her and the chaos outside, every move calculated to ensure her safety above all else.

Logan’s claws came out, the metallic sound cutting through the air. With every strike, another guard fell. You couldn’t help but watch in awe at the way he moved—fierce, unstoppable. He cleared a path toward the exit, but it wasn’t without cost. You could hear the distant sound of reinforcements arriving, the compound now fully alerted to your presence.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. There was no turning back now.

But you didn’t need to. Maya was free. That was all that mattered.

As you reached the exit, the lights behind you began to flash. You could hear the sirens, feel the pressure of the situation mounting. But Logan was already pushing you forward, his voice low and gruff. "Keep moving. I’ll cover you."

You barely had time to process what was happening before you burst through the door, the cold air hitting your face like a slap. The car was still a few hundred meters away, but there was no time to hesitate. Without a word, you crouched and scooped Maya into your arms. She instinctively clung to you, her small arms wrapping tightly around your neck, her feet curling against your stomach to secure herself. Her muffled cries broke your focus, soft and trembling as she buried her face into your shoulder, her fingers gripping your shirt like a lifeline.

You ran as fast as you could, every step echoing in the silence of the night, Logan keeping pace just behind you. The weight of Maya in your arms was nothing compared to the drive to get her to safety. You could feel her little hand clutching you tighter with every sound of pursuit behind you, her breath hitching against your collarbone.

You reached the car first, yanking the back door open and rushing Maya inside. Her tiny arms loosened around your neck as you gently set her on the seat, her tear-streaked face burying deeper into your shoulder for a moment. You whispered, "Stay here, sweet girl," before pulling back just enough to slam the door shut. You didn’t waste time sliding into the passenger seat as Logan bolted into the driver’s seat beside you.

The engine roared to life as Logan turned the wheel sharply, tires screeching against the cold pavement. The car bolted forward, but the horror started almost immediately. Gunfire erupted behind you, bullets slamming into the rear of the vehicle with sharp metallic thuds.

"Get down!" you yelled instinctively, your voice sharp and commanding. Maya screamed, a high-pitched cry that sent a pang through your chest. "Maya, keep your head down, baby. Stay as low as you can," you urged, already crawling from the passenger seat to shield her in the back.

The gunfire intensified, the attackers closing in. Logan growled under his breath as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “They’re catching up. Bikes.”

You twisted, catching sight of two motorcycles weaving in and out of the shadows. Their riders aimed and fired, their bullets shattering both side windows. Glass shards rained into the car, cutting into the chaos.

Logan flinched, jerking slightly as a bullet grazed his arm, tearing through his jacket. He hissed but kept his focus on the road. “Damn it,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Another bullet grazed your shoulder, burning through your jacket. The sharp sting was brief, dulled by your healing factor, but it still sent a jolt of frustration through you. "Logan, they’re on both sides!"

One biker closed in on Logan’s side, leveling his weapon for a clean shot. Logan swerved sharply, slamming the car into the bike, but the rider steadied himself. Without hesitation, Logan growled, "Hold on," and yanked the car door open.

In one fluid motion, Logan leaned out, his left arm shooting forward to grab the man by the neck. The rider’s eyes widened in shock as Logan yanked him clean off the bike, slamming him to the ground with brutal force.

On the right, another rider closed in, aiming for the car. You didn’t hesitate. The MP5 was already in your hands, and with a calculated burst of fire, you hit his front tire. The bike wobbled violently before tipping, sending the rider skidding across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" Logan snarled as another shot blew out the rear tire. The car lurched violently, metal screeching against the road as it ground to a halt. Logan slammed the wheel in frustration, his chest heaving. "Get her up. Now!"

You scrambled to Maya, pulling her carefully into your arms. She was trembling but responsive. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, trying to steady your voice.

By the time you turned, Logan was already at one of the fallen bikes, inspecting it for damage. "This’ll do," he muttered, hauling the machine upright. He swung onto the seat, revving the engine.

Then you saw it. Maya’s head lolled against your chest, and the dark stain on her shirt caught your attention. Blood seeped from a cut on her neck, spreading too quickly. Your stomach clenched.

"Logan!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "She’s bleeding bad!"

Logan’s head whipped around, his expression hardening. “Get on.” His voice left no room for argument.

Clutching Maya’s fragile body, you climbed onto the bike behind Logan, holding her close. Logan revved the engine, and the bike sped off into the night. You pressed Maya’s small frame against yours, one hand trying desperately to stem the bleeding at her neck.

“Stay with me, baby,” you whispered into her hair, your voice breaking as the cold wind whipped past. “Please, Maya, just hold on.”

4:27 a.m. You stood frozen, staring at Maya’s unconscious form in the medbay. The room felt distant, the sterile white lights blurring everything into a haze. Hank and Jean had been woken up barely ten minutes ago by Logan, and now they were rushing back and forth in their white coats, their voices low but urgent.

You should’ve felt bad for pulling them into this mess, dragging them out of bed at this hour. But even that guilt was nothing compared to the pit of self-loathing eating away at you. This was your fault. Maya’s condition, her pale face, her blood staining your hands was because of you. Reckless. Stupid. You didn’t fucking think before-

"Hey," Logan’s voice broke through the storm in your head, soft but steady.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t respond. You barely even registered his presence, the sound of Jean’s voice faintly breaking through your fog. She was explaining something to Hank, something about Maya losing too much blood, needing to confirm her blood type. But the words barely landed.

You clenched your arms tighter across your chest, folding into yourself. The weight of everything—Maya’s fragile state, your own failures was suffocating. Logan stepped closer, watching you carefully. His hand reached out, resting gently on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against you in a calming rhythm.

The small, unexpected gesture made you shiver. The knot in your chest tightened, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. Slowly, your head dipped, your defenses crumbling under the weight of it all. You couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of emotions crashing down on you.

"Go clean up. Let Hank and Jean do what they need to." he suggested.

A word didn’t even leave your lips. You felt lost, unmoored in a storm of emotions that you couldn’t navigate. You didn’t know what to do, how to move, how to think. You needed guidance, even if it was something as small and straightforward as Logan telling you to clean up. His words cut through the fog, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a sense of obedience—a familiar pull to follow orders. That was what you were good at, after all. What you were once best at: following orders.

Your eyes flicked up to Logan, searching for...something. His palm remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you, his thumb moving in a small, repetitive motion that somehow kept you from spiraling. His gaze met yours with the quiet reassurance there was enough to steady your nod.

You stepped away, walking out of the medbay, his hand falling from your shoulder as you moved. The absence of his touch left a strange void, but you pushed forward, heading toward the stairs. Logan followed silently a few steps behind, his heavy footsteps echoing softly against the walls. He didn’t push you, didn’t fill the space with meaningless words, but his presence lingered with constant, quiet support.

You climbed the stairs mechanically, every step feeling heavier than the last. The exhaustion, the guilt, the overwhelming swirl of emotions, they pressed down on you, threatening to crush you with each passing second. As much as Logan worried about Maya, you both knew there was nothing more either of you could do. It was Hank and Jean’s turn now. That truth didn’t make the wait any easier.

When you reached your room, you stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it could hold you upright. Logan paused behind you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He watched you closely, his sharp gaze catching every tremble in your hands, every shaky breath.

Your fingers fumbled with the straps of your gear, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a low growl as you yanked the vest off and dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. Bloodstains smeared across the fabric caught your eye, and your chest tightened at the sight.

Logan pushed off the wall and stepped inside, crouching down to pick up the discarded vest. He set it aside carefully, his movements slow and deliberate, as though giving you the time and space to process.

“I'll stay here,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, almost gentle.

You nodded again, your movements sluggish, and turned toward the bathroom. The weight of the day settled on your shoulders, dragging your steps, but you kept moving.

You stepped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you, you turned around to lock it immediately. The smell hit immediately—dried blood, sweat, and the lingering metallic tang of Maya’s injury. It clung to you like guilt, heavy and suffocating.

With trembling hands, you stripped off your clothes, dropping them into a heap on the floor. The fabric stuck to your skin in places where blood had dried, and the motion sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.

Standing at the sink, you turned on the faucet, the rush of water almost deafening in the quiet. You scrubbed your hands, desperate to rid yourself of the blood staining your skin. Maya’s blood. It was there, literal-fucking-ly on your hands, and no matter how hard you scrubbed, it felt like it wouldn’t come off. Your breaths grew erratic as the image of her unconscious face looped endlessly in your mind.

You turned the faucet off abruptly, the silence that followed almost unbearable. Moving to the shower, you twisted the knob to the hottest setting, steam immediately rising to fill the small space. You stepped in, holding your hands under the boiling stream, watching as the dried blood finally washed away, swirling down the drain.

The searing heat burned your skin, but the pain felt satisfying—a punishment you thought you deserved. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, not with your healing ability, but it gave you a brief, fleeting sense of control.

The water cascaded over you, from the top of your head to your toes, scalding and relentless. You gritted your teeth as the heat bit into your skin, but the pain wasn’t what broke you. The weight of everything did.

Your legs gave out, and you slid down onto the cold tiles, your back pressed against the wall. Hugging your knees to your chest, you buried your face in them, letting the boiling water pour over you as sobs wracked your body. It wasn’t the pain that made you cry—you weren’t even sure what it was anymore. You just needed to let it out, to feel something other than the crushing guilt.

Outside, Logan sat by your windowsill, his arms crossed as he stared into the night. His nose twitched as a faint scent wafted through the air—burned flesh. He furrowed his brow, his senses sharpening as the smell lingered. It didn’t fade. If anything, it grew stronger.

Concern etched into his features, he pushed off the sill and headed toward your bathroom door. The scent was unmistakable now, and worry gnawed at the edges of his composure. He knocked gently.

“Hey,” he called, his voice calm but firm. “You okay in there?”

No response.

He tried again, calling your name louder this time. “I’m gonna break this door if you don’t answer.”

Still nothing.

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his patience snapping as the smell of burning flesh only intensified. With a heavy thud, he slammed his shoulder into the door. The wooden frame groaned but held. Another slam, then another, until the lock finally gave way, the door flying open to release a rush of hot steam that hit him like a wall.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, waving a hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, curled up on the shower floor, water pouring over your trembling, bare figure.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, his jaw tightening as the scene before him sank in.

The scalding water hissed against his arm skin as he reached for the shower handle, shutting it off with a groan. His own flesh burned at the contact, but it healed almost instantly. He turned his focus to you, crouching beside your slumped form, his heart breaking at the sight of your vulnerability.

Grabbing a towel from a nearby rack, he opened it wide and carefully wrapped it around you. His movements were gentle, deliberate, as though afraid he might break you further. His voice was soft when he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing against your damp hair. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t respond at first, your head lifting only slightly as you noticed his presence. His face was etched with worry, his sharp features softened by the sorrow in his eyes. His hand came up to cup the side of your jaw, his thumb tracing lightly over your tear-streaked cheek.

You swallowed hard, your voice caught in your throat. The overwhelming emotions left you unable to speak, and all you could do was stare at him, your swollen eyes searching for something—comfort, reassurance, anything.

Logan shifted to sit beside you, his broad shoulder brushing against yours. He opened his arms, a silent invitation. Without thinking, you leaned into him, tucking your head against his chest as his arms enveloped you. The dampness of your hair soaked into his shirt, but he couldn't care less. His chin rested atop your head, his steady presence anchoring you as you sobbed quietly, the tears flowing freely now.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Logan stayed there, holding you as though his presence alone could shield you from whatever storm was raging inside. His arms tightened just enough to remind you he was there—not pushing, not forcing, just being. His thumb drew absent circles against your arm, a silent comfort that kept you tethered to the moment.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; time seemed to lose meaning. The bathroom remained cloaked in a haze of steam, the air thick and humid, but neither of you moved. The water had long since stopped running, leaving only the faint drip-drip of the showerhead to break the silence. Logan didn't rush you; he seemed to know you needed this space, this moment to fall apart without judgment.

Eventually, your sobs quieted, leaving you drained and trembling in his arms. Your head stayed tucked against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was grounding, a lifeline you hadn't known you needed. You felt small, raw, like a wound left open, but for the first time in hours, the suffocating weight of guilt started to ease—just a little.

Logan broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur. "I know you think this is all on you, but it’s not."

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you nodded faintly, your face brushing against the damp fabric of his shirt. He took the gesture for what it was, a small step forward, and didn’t press for more.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, one arm still wrapped around you as the other reached for the towel. He adjusted it, making sure it covered you properly before pulling back just enough to look at you. His piercing gaze softened when it met yours, his eyes filled with an understanding you hadn’t expected.

“You’re freezing,” he said, his brows knitting together. “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

You blinked, realizing for the first time that your body was shaking—not from cold, but from the aftermath of everything you’d been holding in. Still, you nodded again, letting him help you to your feet. His hand stayed steady on your arm as he guided you out of the shower, careful not to let you slip on the wet tiles.

He grabbed another towel, wrapping it around your hair with surprising gentleness. The care in his actions almost undid you again, but you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold it together.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he said quietly, motioning toward your dresser. “Just sit tight.”

You sank onto the edge of your bed, the towel still wrapped tightly around you as you watched him move. His presence filled the room—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that made you feel less...alone. He returned a moment later with a fresh set of clothes, setting them down beside you.

“You good to change?” he asked, his voice soft but firm, like he was giving you the option to say no.

You nodded, and he took that as his cue to turn away, suddenly finding your window so interesting to glance at. Giving you privacy while still staying within arm’s reach. His respect for your boundaries didn’t go unnoticed, and it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Once dressed, you hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice hoarse from crying. “Logan?”

He turned back to you immediately, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words trembling with guilt. “For dragging you into all of this. You didn’t deserve it.”

His expression softened, a mix of concern and frustration flickering in his gaze. “Don’t start with that,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m here because I wanna be. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling over you like a fragile reassurance. Your eyes flicked to the clock by your nightstand—5:03 a.m. The realization made your stomach twist, the hours slipping away faster than you could think.

“I need to check on Maya's condition,” you said suddenly, your voice steadier but still strained.

Logan’s hand, still resting lightly on your shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The hallway leading to the med bay felt like it stretched on forever, each step dragging like a weight tethered to your ankles. Logan walked beside you, silent but present, his steady pace offering a grounding presence you barely noticed through the storm raging in your chest. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, an unbearable mockery of normalcy as dread curled in your gut.

When you reached the med bay door, it opened with a quiet hiss, and the world seemed to tilt. The room was unnaturally quiet, the air heavy, oppressive. Jean stood by the bed where Maya lay, her figure tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A bag of blood hung from a metal stand, but the tube dangled loose, disconnected. Hank sat slumped in a chair nearby, his head bowed low, the white of his coat streaked with red that had long since dried. He didn’t even look up when you entered.

Jean turned as the door clicked shut behind you, her gaze snapping to meet yours. Her expression was grave, her face drawn and heavy with something unspeakable. The weight of her silence crushed you instantly.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, your voice trembling as you crossed the room in hurried strides, your pulse roaring in your ears. The question tasted bitter on your tongue, dread bubbling up in your chest. You didn’t want to know the answer, not really. You clung desperately to the fragile hope that what you feared wasn’t true.

Jean didn’t answer. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a flicker of helplessness in her eyes that made your stomach plummet. You turned your attention to Hank, sitting motionless, his large hands limp in his lap. Still, no response. It was the silence that told you everything. The kind of silence that only follows the unspeakable.

Your breath quickened as your eyes fell on Maya’s still form on the bed. You reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against her cold skin. The moment you touched her, you recoiled. No. This can’t be real.

“Maya,” you whispered, your voice cracking. The panic rose inside you, but you fought to keep it in check. You pressed your fingers to her neck, hoping against hope for a pulse, for any sign of life. There was nothing. The stillness suffocated you. “No, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You blinked rapidly, your chest tight, trying to hold it all in. Your knees buckled slightly, and you steadied yourself by gripping the bed rail. Your breath came in shallow bursts, but you forced yourself not to break down completely. Not here, not now.

“What happened?” The question slipped out of you in a broken, quiet voice, and you turned to Hank and Jean, your eyes searching for an answer they couldn’t give.

Jean’s gaze dropped to the floor, her voice soft but heavy. “She was gone before we could stop the bleeding,” she said, and her words cut deeper than anything else in the room.

“No.” You shook your head violently, your hands gripping the bed rail as if it could anchor you. “You’re lying. She’s not—she’s not gone. She can’t be. It’s my fault. I should’ve—” Your voice broke, your chest heaving as the truth slammed into you like a freight train.

Logan’s hand was on your shoulder then, warm and steady. “They've tried their best” he said, his voice low but certain. “So did we, so did you.”

Your tears finally slipping free, but you didn’t sob. It was quiet, contained, but the weight of them felt unbearable. You swallowed hard, wiping your face, but the tears came regardless, leaving silent trails down your cheeks. The grief sat heavily in your chest, raw and unyielding.

You looked back at Maya’s small body, your heart aching, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I should’ve—” Your voice faltered again

“Stop,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the chaos in your head. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Logan's arm rests steady by your shoulder, with a slight pressure, as if he's trying to pull you into his embrace. As inviting and comforting as it seems, you can't accept such affection from him—you simply cannot.

His heart shatters into pieces at the scene before him: the sweet girl who doesn’t deserve this, and you, torturing yourself with it. He can feel the guilt radiating from your very core, and whilst he's not a much of a believer at this very moment he wishes he could make it better, could make you feel better, if only he knew how. His vain attempt at a gentle pull to draw you closer goes unnoticed by you—or at least, that's what he thinks.

You felt worthless, an absolute failure. You thought you are a failure when Maya's injured but now to cost her a life too? Is there even a word for that, something lower than a failure, a disappointment perhaps. She deserved better, if only you didn't storm in like a rookie and thought everything would go as planned, maybe she'd be alive. If only you didn't let the paranoia get the best of you, letting yourself to work as a team with the others.

You stepped back, the nauseating feeling washing over you once again—one you could never get used to. It was overwhelming. Logan’s arm fell from your shoulder, and he glanced at you immediately, searching for your eyes.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden urge to hide overwhelmed you. Embarrassment crept in like a heavy shadow. They would acknowledge your grief, yes, but they would also acknowledge the truth you couldn’t escape—that it was all because of you. Your fault. No matter how hard they tried to mask their silent judgment, it was always written plainly on their faces.

You wanted to run away from all of it. Like you always do—an avoider. “Excuse me,” you said, your voice quieter than intended, as your hand relentlessly wiped at the stupid tears streaming down your face. Your feet, weighed down by guilt, carried you out of the medbay in seconds.

Logan's confusion was palpable. He would’ve expected you to mourn in a much different way—maybe saying a final goodbye to Maya with heavy, fat tears. Instead, your reaction left him unsettled. Turning his attention back to Maya's body, he murmured softly, “M’really sorry, girl,” a quiet apology and farewell meant more for her than for himself. He tried to be tough, for his own sake and, in part, for yours.

When he looked up again, his focus shifted to you disappearing down the hallway. With a deep sigh, he turned to Jean and Hank. “I’m sorry, Jean, Hank.” he said simply, nodding at each of them before walking out with heavy, deliberate foot steps.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, as if they could shield you from the crushing weight of your shame, you walked briskly, desperate to disappear before anyone could see you. But your hope shattered when Logan’s voice rang out from behind, calling your name—once, twice, and then multiple times.

That didn't stopped you, why would it be. You need a time, an alone time obviously.

You kept walking, your pace quickening with every step. Logan's voice called after you, his tone growing sharper, more insistent, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your feet moved on autopilot, carrying you toward your room as if it were the only safe harbor in a storm. You needed space—alone time, desperately—because facing anyone, even him, was unbearable right now.

Reaching your door, you fumbled with the handle, slipping inside just as Logan's footsteps came up behind you. The door clicked shut, and you locked it immediately, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of your room.

Your legs gave out beneath you, the weight of everything dragging you down. You fell to the floor with a quiet thud, your back sliding against the door until you were sitting, knees pulled to your chest. Your hands trembled as they wrapped around your legs, holding yourself together as though you might otherwise shatter completely. The tears came fast and hot, spilling down your face in relentless waves as sobs wracked your body.

Outside, Logan stopped just short of colliding with the door. He stared at it for a moment, frustration and worry warring on his face. His hand came up, hesitating before he knocked gently, his voice barely audible over the sound of your muffled cries.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said, his words soft but edged with a quiet plea. “C’mon. Let me in.”

Your sobs didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder, raw and broken, tearing through the fragile silence like jagged glass. The sound twisted something deep inside him, and Logan let out a frustrated growl under his breath. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he leaned his forehead against the door, the cool wood doing little to ground him.

He could hear every breath you took, every hitch in your voice, every agonized cry that told him exactly how much pain you were in. And it was killing him. Logan wasn’t the type to sit idly by, but now, he had no choice. You had locked him out—both literally and figuratively—and no matter how badly he wanted to rip the door off its hinges, he held himself back. Barely.

“Dammit,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. His fists uncurled, one hand coming up to press flat against the door, as if somehow that small gesture could reach you.

Inside, you heard his words, but they felt distant, like a faint echo buried beneath the tidal wave of your guilt. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, your chest heaving as the weight of everything pressed down on you. Maya’s face flashed in your mind—her lifeless body, the blood, the stillness—and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through you.

Logan's voice came again, this time firmer, though still gentle. “You’re not the reason this happened. You hear me? It wasn’t your fault.”

But you couldn’t hear him—not really. The voice in your head was louder, crueler, drowning him out with accusations and blame. It was your fault. You should’ve done better, been better. You shouldn’t have stormed into the mission so recklessly, thinking everything would go as planned. Maya was gone because of you, and nothing anyone said could change that.

Outside, Logan’s patience snapped. He slammed his palm against the door, the loud crack startling even him. “Lemme in,” he demanded, his voice rough, a thread of desperation woven through it. “Lemme in, Jesus.”

But there was no response. Only the sound of your quiet, choked cries bleeding through the door. Logan clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He wanted to be angry at you, to yell at you for shutting him out, but he couldn’t. Not when he could hear the sheer agony in every sound you made.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned back against the door, his body a tense line of restraint. The urge to break down the barrier between you was almost overwhelming, but he stayed put, knowing you’d only push him further away if he forced his way in.

“Please,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, almost a whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.” His words hung heavy in the air, unanswered.

Logan’s heart twisted painfully as he realized he couldn’t reach you—not like this. You kept putting distance between yourself and everyone else, a distance that felt impossible for him to cross. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to hold you until the storm inside you calmed, but you wouldn’t let him. And that broke something inside him more than he cared to admit.

Sliding down to sit on the floor outside your door, Logan rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He stayed there, silent but present, listening to your muffled cries. His claws itched to tear the door apart, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his voice barely audible as he spoke again.

“M'not going anywhere,” he said softly, his words meant for you and you alone. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

•••

The sun had begun its slow ascent, casting a dark blue hue over the horizon visible through your window. The shadows of the night retreated inch by inch, but the heaviness inside you refused to dissipate. You hadn’t moved from your spot by the window, knees drawn to your chest, the tears long since dried on your cheeks. An hour had passed, maybe more, though it felt like a lifetime.

Then, Professor Xavier's calm, commanding voice broke the silence, resonating in your mind. “I need you in the meeting room.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm inside you. Rising to your feet felt like a monumental effort, but you managed. You opened the door and froze at the sight of Logan seated by the wall just outside, his head resting against it, eyes closed but still alert. He looked up instantly, his gaze locking onto yours.

He stood quickly, his movements fluid despite the obvious exhaustion etched into his features. "Xavier?" he asked, his tone neutral but edged with concern.

“Yeah,” you croaked out, your voice raspy and weak, accompanied by a small nod. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor as you closed the door behind you. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward the stairs, your feet moving automatically.

But you hadn’t gone far when Logan’s hand gently caught your wrist, halting your steps. “Hey,” he said softly followed by muttering your name, his voice a plea more than a call.

You froze, your body stiffening at the contact. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn, couldn’t bear to see the worry or frustration in his eyes. But his pull was gentle, almost reluctant, and it broke through your hesitation. Slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze falling to where his hand wrapped around your wrist.

“You don’t have to go,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “I can talk to Charles.” His thumb brushed lightly against your wrist, the touch grounding in its tenderness.

“No, Logan,” you said, shaking your head, your voice steadier this time. “This is my responsibility.”

His grip loosened but didn’t fall away, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on your skin. “Alright,” he muttered, his tone almost resigned, though his words carried an undercurrent of understanding.

His voice pulled your gaze upward, and for the first time, you met his eyes fully. They were heavy with exhaustion and unspoken emotions, a reflection of everything he wasn’t saying but felt nonetheless. You swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at you as your eyes flicked from his to his lips for the briefest moment—a fleeting, subconscious act.

Realizing what you’d done, you flinched slightly, pulling your wrist free from his grasp. “I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, turning quickly and walking toward the stairs without sparing him another glance.

Behind you, Logan let out a quiet sigh, his frustration palpable. He followed a step behind, unwilling to let you face whatever awaited you alone, even if you didn’t want his company.

The room fell silent as you stepped in, Logan following close behind. All eyes turned toward you, their gazes heavy, searing into your already fragile composure. You glanced around the table, forcing yourself to take in each expression, though you couldn’t linger for long.

Scott’s face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even behind his visor, you could feel the weight of his disappointment. It radiated off him, sharp and cutting, like a physical blow.

Beside him, Jean sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red. She wasn’t just mourning—she was devastated, her grief a palpable force that seemed to drain the room of warmth.

Ororo’s expression was harder to decipher. Her lips pressed together in a grim line, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotions—grief, perhaps, but also a quiet sadness that hinted at disappointment.

Hank sat hunched over, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his brow furrowed in an almost pained expression. His guilt was etched into every line of his face, though you knew this wasn’t on him. Still, it weighed on him as if it were.

Finally, your eyes landed on Charles. His face was as composed as ever, his expression neutral and unreadable. Yet the silence that lingered between you spoke volumes. There was no condemnation in his gaze, but no reassurance, either—just the quiet presence of a man who had seen too much.

The weight of their collective stares became unbearable, and you looked down, focusing on the floor as you moved to take an empty seat. Logan’s hand lightly brushed your back, a silent anchor, before he stepped around you to take the chair beside yours.

The silence in the meeting room was oppressive as Charles cleared his throat, his voice calm yet heavy with the weight of the situation.

“We’re here to discuss the unfortunate events that has occurred,” he began, his tone measured, “And to prepare for Maya’s funeral this morning.”

The mention of her name sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you. You stared at the table, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Scott, however, wasted no time, his voice sharp and biting. “She needs to explain herself.” His gaze burned into you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the visor, the fury in his voice was unmistakable. “A student is dead, because she couldn’t keep her head straight.”

Logan shifted in his seat beside you, his fists curling against the table. “Ease up, Summers,” he growled, his tone low and menacing.

“No,” Scott shot back, his voice rising. “You think this is something we can just brush off? Maya’s gone, and someone needs to be held accountable!”

Logan leaned forward, his voice cold and deliberate. “Accountable? You wanna talk about accountability, Scott? Maybe we should start with who came back drunk last night.”

Scott froze, his jaw tightening as Logan’s words hit their mark.

“She was trying to do the team a favor” Logan continued, his gaze hard.

“Logan,” Charles interjected, his tone a quiet warning, but Logan ignored him, his focus locked on Scott.

“You weren’t out there,” Logan said, his voice sharp as claws. “You didn’t see what we were up against.”

Scott looked like he wanted to fire back, but Jean placed a hand on his arm, her touch calming him just enough to make him sit back.

Charles turned to you, his expression gentler. “Please, tell us what happened,” he said, his tone more of a request than a command.

Your hands tightened into fists against your knees, your voice trembling as you began.

“Logan and I got her into the car, we were already leaving from the facility and her condition was well” you said quietly, your throat tightening. “I thought we were clear, but then…” You hesitated, the memory of that moment flashing vividly in your mind.

“They catch up with bikers and started shooting, the window shattered” you continued, your voice breaking. “A bullet… or maybe a glass, it nicked through her neck.”

You couldn’t say more, your words catching as your breaths grew shallow. Logan’s hand moved, his rough palm settling atop your trembling one where it gripped your knee tightly. His warmth anchored you, his touch gentle but grounding.

“We almost got her,” Logan said, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension in the room. His tone carried a weight of guilt, even though you knew it wasn’t his to bear. “I couldn’t drive fast enough.”

His admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, as if he blamed himself when the truth was far from that.

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm. “It was mine. It was my idea to move faster, to take the risk.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, a silent protest against your self-blame.

The room remained quiet for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Even Scott, though still fuming, seemed to falter, the sharp edges of his anger dulled by the rawness of what had been said.

Charles’s gaze lingered on you and Logan, his expression unreadable but thoughtful.

Jean was the first to break the silence. “And Ellie?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. Ellie. You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “We didn’t find her. She’s still out there.”

Scott’s scowl deepened. “So, we’re sitting here, wasting time when we should be focusing on finding her.”

“We will,” Charles said firmly.

Ororo looked to you, her expression thoughtful but troubled. “Why would they target children, especially girls?” she asked. “It seems deliberate.”

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Because girls are less likely to be seen as a threat,” you said, your voice steady. “They’re easier to overlook, which makes it simpler to take them without raising alarm. And if they’re young enough, they’re more vulnerable—less likely to fight back or escape.”

You paused, glancing around the room. “But it’s not just about control. Girls are often underestimated, even when they have powerful abilities. Someone like Maya, with her supersonic scream, or Ellie, who can manipulate fire—that kind of power in someone people don’t expect to be dangerous? It’s exactly what these people want. They can groom them into weapons without the same resistance they’d face from boys or adults.”

Ororo’s expression hardened as your words sank in, the room falling silent under the weight of the revelation.

Hank nodded solemnly. “Their methods align with that theory. The equipment and resources we’ve seen point to calculated, targeted operations.”

“We need to find Ellie,” Scott said, his tone resolute. “And we need to stop SAC and Killebrew before they take anyone else.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his hand still resting lightly atop yours. “We gotta face something bigger” he began, his voice steady but edged with tension, “This wasn’t just random. The SAC, they’re mixed up in this probably alongside with CIA and Killebrew too. This ain’t the first time we’ve crossed paths with the man, he could be deep with all this.”

Scott’s scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms. “We’ve dealt with Killebrew before,” he said sharply. “There's not enough solid proof he was behind these new experiments. Just speculation. The man's old, he's running out of time.”

“Speculation doesn’t get us anywhere,” Ororo said softly, though her tone carried a distinct edge.

Jean leaned forward, her voice low. “If Killebrew is involved, we need to connect him to SAC and whoever else is funding these operations. Otherwise, we’ll just be chasing shadows again.”

Hank adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The attack on Maya and the equipment used tell us a lot. I analyzed the bike, custom made. It’s clear their resources are not only military-grade but could also specifically designed for counter-mutant operations. This suggests direct involvement from SAC, with Killebrew’s expertise likely supporting their goals.”

“What exactly are their goals, Hank?” Charles asked, his tone even but probing.

“From what we’ve gathered so far,” Hank said, his voice growing more serious, “it’s not just containment. SAC is using Killebrew’s methods to experiment on mutants. They’re trying to weaponize abilities. Think back to the enhanced weaponry we encountered—they’re taking mutant DNA and turning it into tools for warfare.”

A heavy silence followed as the weight of Hank’s words settled over the room.

Logan broke it, his voice rough. “We need to hit their base again. There’s gotta be somethin��� there—a lead, intel, anything. Webknow what we’re walkin’ into this time.”

Scott scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “Yeah because this time nobody's gonna be harmed” His voice was sharp, his anger directed more at the situation than any one person.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. “Can you stop being such an asshole for five fucking minutes?” he said pointedly, as Scott referencing the recklessness of his and your recent off-mission behavior.

The tension between them was palpable, but before it could escalate, Charles raised a hand. “Enough,” he said firmly. His tone left no room for argument.

Jean quickly stepped in. “Let’s focus. We can’t afford to splinter as a team.”

Hank nodded, his voice steady. “Logan’s right. Returning to their base may provide us with the evidence we need to finally pin this on Killebrew and SAC. We should move quickly before they clear out any remaining traces.”

Ororo glanced at Charles. “And Maya?”

Charles’ face softened slightly, though his voice carried the weight of leadership. “We will lay her to rest in the garden this morning. She was one of us, and she deserves to be honored as such. Afterward, we’ll plan the mission in detail.”

The group exchanged solemn glances, unified in their grief but also in their determination.

Logan gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment.

The room fell into a heavy silence after Charles dismissed the team, his parting words lingering in the air. "Pay your respects for Maya soon. She deserves it." One by one, everyone stood, somber and weighed down by grief.

You pushed yourself to your feet, still clutching your arms around your body for some semblance of comfort. The ache in your chest was unbearable, making it hard to even look up at the others. Logan followed closely behind as you stepped toward the door. By the time you exited the room, his palm rested gently on your back.

The touch was warm, steady—an anchor in the storm you felt raging inside. A shiver ran down your spine, one you couldn’t suppress. His voice broke through the haze, low and calm, “You should eat something.”

The suggestion felt like an afterthought in your daze, but it stirred a faint awareness of the emptiness in your stomach. You were too weak to respond, too wrapped up in your own exhaustion, but Logan’s sharp ears caught the faint growl from your stomach.

His lips twitched slightly, just enough for you to catch the ghost of a smirk. “I could make omelette and potatoes,” he said casually, as though trying to lighten the mood. “Like that one time, huh?”

A faint memory surfaced—Logan fumbling in the kitchen, you relentlessly judging his cooking skills for making something so basic. You’d teased back then, earning a gruff chuckle and a sarcastic quip.

Now, despite the heaviness pressing down on you, a weak laugh escaped your lips. You glanced up at him, catching the faint amusement in his expression. His palm remained firm against your back, grounding you, while his other hand rested casually in his pocket.

But the small moment was shattered by a sharp voice from behind.

“Right, keep her tame like your little pet.” Scott’s words were venomous, startling you as you turned, not realizing he’d been walking behind you. Logan froze mid-step, his hand dropping from your back as he turned to face Scott.

“Whatddya said?” Logan’s voice was low, his tone barely controlled, carrying an edge that made you flinch.

Scott met his glare with one of his own, unflinching. “You heard me, I said keep her tame like you—”

Scott never got to finish. Logan’s fist flew faster than you could react, connecting with Scott’s jaw in a sickening crack. You flinched, your body tensing as the scene unfolded before you.

Scott staggered back, his hand shooting to his jaw as he scowled. Without hesitation, he retaliated, throwing a punch that caught Logan square on the nose. Blood trickled down, but Logan barely seemed to notice. Instead, he grabbed Scott by the jacket, pulling him close.

You swear you couldn't care less about their immature behavior, you got too much on your plate and barely enough energy to raise your voice for them to hear. “Please, just stop” you said weakly, stepping forward, but the two were frozen in place before you could intervene.

You blinked in confusion, your voice uncertain as you took a cautious step closer. “Logan?” you called, your concern palpable as you inspected their frozen forms. Logan’s hand remained clenched around Scott’s jacket, while Scott’s arm hovered mid-air, inches away from his visor.

From behind you, a familiar voice broke the tense silence, tinged with exasperation. “They’re getting too old for this,” Jean said dryly, stepping into view.

“Since when could you do that?” you asked, glancing back to see Jean emerging from the meeting room.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Professor taught me a while ago.” She clicked her tongue, strolling closer to inspect the scene. “Look at them.”

Despite yourself, a weak chuckle escaped. Jean nudged you lightly with her shoulder. “It’s kind of amusing,” you admitted, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of laughter.

Jean smirked, crossing her arms. “Aren’t they?”

Charles and Hank appeared from the hallway, both glancing at the spectacle before them. Charles sighed but didn’t stop strolling, his voice calm but firm. “Jean, let the poor gentlemen go.”

Hank shook his head but said nothing, following Charles without breaking stride. Jean tilted her head slightly, and in an instant, Logan and Scott were moving again.

Logan blinked, releasing his grip on Scott’s jacket as he stepped back. Scott stopped his arm mid-motion, lowering it reluctantly as he glared at Logan.

“Not cool,” Logan muttered toward Jean, his voice rough with irritation.

Jean just smirked, her attention already shifting. Logan turned back to you, his features softening immediately. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head and gesturing for you to follow.

You clutched your arms tighter around yourself, your exhaustion evident as you walked to his side. His palm found its place on your back again, steady and comforting.

Jean and Scott trailed behind, their voices low.

“Are they together or something?” Scott whispered, his tone both bitter and curious.

Jean gave him a look, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I don’t know.”

Scott frowned, skeptical. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a telepath.”

Jean rolled her eyes, her smile widening as she glanced ahead at you and Logan. “Some things are better left unanswered, Scott.”

The garden was silent except for the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. The students and staff of Xavier’s School had gathered in somber rows, faces etched with grief. The small tombstone stood freshly planted in the earth, its inscription simple yet heartbreaking:

Maya Fernandez

Gone but not forgotten.

You stared at it, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each passing second. The sound of Charles’s voice delivering a eulogy barely registered, muffled as though you were underwater. You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere else, not even as the team began to disperse after the ceremony.

Logan stood across from you, his arms crossed tightly, his sharp eyes fixed on your still figure. He hadn’t moved since the gathering started, lingering at a respectful distance but watching you closely.

One by one, the others left the garden, the sound of footsteps fading into the background. Ororo cast a last glance in your direction, her expression heavy with sympathy before walking away. Jean lingered for a moment, exchanging a look with Logan before she too left, leaving only the two of you standing there.

Logan’s boots crunched softly against the gravel as he approached. His presence was solid, grounding, but he hesitated as he neared you. His jaw worked, as though he was trying to find words, but nothing came out.

Finally, he stood by your side, silent. His hand hovered near your back before finally resting there, his touch tentative at first, seeking permission. When you didn’t flinch or pull away, his palm slid gently to the curve of your waist. The pressure was light but steady, a silent invitation to let him be there for you.

Without looking up to him, you stepped closer, leaning into his side. The movement was instinctive, your body desperate for some kind of support as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. Logan’s arm tightened around you slightly, anchoring you to him.

Your left arm reached around his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. The closeness sent a faint shiver down his spine, but he said nothing, letting you take what you needed. Your right hand rested against his chest, your fingers brushing over the soft shirt he wore as you wiped away tears that seemed endless.

“You're always have been the resilient one,” Logan murmured, voice low and rough but carrying a gentleness.

You shook your head. “Not today.”

He exhaled deeply, his hand moving in small, soothing circles against your waist. “And that’s okay,” he said quietly.

The words, simple as they were, broke through the dam holding back your emotions. You buried your face against his chest, muffling the quiet sobs that racked your body. Logan stayed still, his broad frame solid against you, his warmth a shield against the cold weight of grief.

By the time darkness had fallen, the team was already prepared for a calculated mission to find Ellie, putting the grief of Maya aside to save, hopefully, the living one. You'd picked a twin pair of handguns—glossy black—safely secured in their holsters.

The Blackbird took off as usual, with Hank in the pilot’s seat and Ororo co-piloting. Logan, as always, secured his favorite spot next to you on the long bench in the cabin, various straps holding his broad frame in place.

However, unlike the rest of the team, Logan wasn’t dressed in the usual black suit—no tactical gear, no uniform. He just sat there in a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt alongside with black leather jacket, like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Scott eyed him, his lips twitching in mild exasperation. "You're seriously not going to wear the team gear?" he asked, an eyebrow arched.

Logan shot him a quick glance, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nah. Don't need it."

"Party pooper," Scott muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Logan didn’t bother responding, keeping his focus on the mission ahead.

It was a smooth takeoff at first, but soon heavy clouds began shaking the Blackbird. Despite its sophisticated technology, it couldn’t fully defy nature's might. The turbulence wasn’t unfamiliar to you, but the violent tremors made even you a bit uneasy. Your mutation would protect you if anything happened, but you couldn't help wishing this particular flight would remain incident-free. After all, this plane carried the only people you truly cared about in your half-century of life.

You glanced toward the cockpit. Hank’s normally calm demeanor was strained as he gave Ororo instructions, his voice steady but clipped. Ororo nodded, adjusting the controls to lower the jet and avoid the worst of the storm. Their calm professionalism grounded you, even as the turbulence worsened.

Jean and Scott sat across from you and Logan. Scott’s expression was unreadable behind those glasses, his posture relaxed as though turbulence were just a minor inconvenience. Jean, gripping her seatbelt casually, seemed equally unbothered. Your gaze drifted left to Logan, though, and what you saw surprised you.

His eyes were shut tight, his jaw clenched, and his hands gripped the safety straps like they were his lifeline. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his normally robust complexion had turned pale. His lips were pressed together so hard they almost disappeared.

He was scared. That was new.

“For someone who can’t die, you kinda sucks at it,” you quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.

Logan’s eyes snapped open, meeting yours, but the stress etched into his features didn’t soften. The lines on his forehead deepened as he shook his head silently, a clear sign he wasn’t in the mood for your jokes.

Realizing you’d misread the situation, you softened your tone. “It’s just a little turbulence,” you said, trying to reassure him, but the jet betrayed you as another violent jolt rocked the cabin. Logan grunted, his grip tightening on the straps.

“Little’s a strong word,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip. His breathing grew short and shallow, a rhythm that immediately set off alarms in your mind.

“Logan, breathe,” you said gently, leaning closer. His eyes locked onto yours, and you exaggerated a deep, steady breath, silently urging him to follow. Slowly, he began to mimic you, his breathing evening out with each deliberate inhale and exhale. Another slight shake hit the jet, but this time he managed to stay calm, his breathing steady under your watchful gaze.

You nodded to him, and he returned the gesture before breaking eye contact, his hands finally relaxing their death grip on the straps. He let them slide down to rest on his thighs, his shoulders sagging as some tension left his body.

Then another violent jolt struck, causing Logan’s hands to clench into fists on his thighs. You caught snippets of conversation from the cockpit as Hank and Ororo discussed a change in altitude to escape the worst of the storm. Acting on instinct, you placed your hand over Logan’s right arm, the one gripping his thigh.

His gaze darted to your hand, a flicker of surprise and, perhaps, gratitude flashing across his face. Almost immediately, his grip relaxed, his arm going still under your touch. You rubbed small circles on his forearm with your thumb, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor him further.

From across the cabin, Jean caught your eye, her expression laced with quiet amusement. She smiled softly, and you pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling warmth creeping up your neck. You quickly shifted your focus back to Logan, whose arm beneath your palm now felt steadier, the tension in his body beginning to ebb away.

Jean turned slightly, nudging Scott with her shoulder. Without speaking, she sent him a telepathic message: "They’re going to end up together by the end of the week."

Scott glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in amusement. His thoughts answered hers with a teasing tone: "End of the week? Please. I give it forty-eight hours."

Jean raised an eyebrow back at him, her lips twitching in a restrained smile. "Oh yeah? Wanna bet?" The spark of challenge in her tone was unmistakable.

Scott smirked, meeting her gaze. "Sure. If I win, I’m picking the next Saturday movie night."

Jean’s nose wrinkled in mock disgust. "Ugh, not a three-hour boring war movies. Fine, but if I win, we’re going on a picnic Sunday morning. No excuses."

Scott tilted his head, feigning consideration before nodding. "Deal."

Their expressions mirrored a conspiratorial delight, both barely containing their amusement as they exchanged a subtle smile. Scott leaned back, looking smug, while Jean cast another knowing glance in your direction.

Neither you nor Logan noticed the silent exchange, too absorbed in the moment between you. Logan’s grip had relaxed completely now, and your thumb instinctively moved in small circles over his arm. Whatever storm lingered inside him seemed to settle under your touch.

Jean fought the urge to laugh, her amusement evident as she leaned slightly toward Scott. Telepathically, she added: "Better start picking your movie, Summers."

Scott's response came swiftly, with equal confidence. "Better packing that picnic basket, Grey."

The rough flight to the SAC headquarters had unsettled the team, though Logan hid it better than most. The turbulence seemed almost symbolic, foreshadowing the chaos they were about to face. When the Blackbird finally touched down, everyone was tense but laser-focused. Logan led the charge during the initial infiltration, his claws carving a silent, efficient path through the guards. Behind him, Ororo and Scott cleared the way for Hank and Jean to access the facility's systems. You followed suit, the rhythm of combat grounding you in the moment.

The team split up for efficiency. You found yourself alone, navigating the sterile hallways. The lab doors loomed ahead, and when you stepped inside, a sight far worse than you'd imagined greeted you.

Stacks of files and records lined the walls, their labels clinical and cold: Mutation Experimentation Logs, Specimen Decommission Reports. You hesitated, dread coiling in your gut. Pulling out a file at random, you scanned the contents, each word cutting deeper than the last.

The SAC wasn’t just experimenting on mutants—it was cross-breeding them with animals to create grotesque hybrids. Descriptions of failed experiments leaped off the page, detailing lives spent in agony before termination. Your breath hitched as you stumbled across a photo clipped to the file: a child, no older than ten, with reptilian scales covering half her body. The caption read: Deceased – Subject incompatible with human host.

Your hand trembled as you shut the file and grabbed another. This one bore a name you recognized—Ivan Sokolov. A pit formed in your stomach as your eyes skimmed through the familiar handwriting: Killebrew's.

"Subject terminated following loss of viability due to prolonged suppression of mutation. Will be sent to battlefield without request for funds. Further trials planned with new candidates."

The words blurred for a moment, but your gaze snapped back to a single phrase that sent a chill down your spine: "prolonged suppression of mutation."

Mutation? Ivan was a mutant?

Your breath caught, your pulse pounding as you scrambled to reread the lines, searching for anything that might explain. Ivan, your closest friend in that desolate sea of blood and cruelty, had never hinted at being anything other than human. He hadn’t had the enhanced strength or agility some mutants wore like badges. He hadn’t shown any signs of powers you could remember.

The realization struck like a thunderbolt—he never told you. Or perhaps, he couldn't. The military had kept his secret, used him just as they had used you. But why? What was his mutation? Questions clawed at your mind, unanswered and unanswerable, now that Ivan was gone.

Your vision blurred as you returned to the file, flipping through pages frantically. Buried amidst the clinical notes was a vague mention: "Unidentified genetic anomaly. Presumed linked to cognitive augmentation." Cognitive augmentation? Your chest tightened. Ivan had always been the strategist, the one who saw patterns, who seemed to anticipate moves before they happened.

The finality of Killebrew’s words—discarded like so many others—hit you with full force. He wasn’t just a casualty of war. He had been erased, his humanity stripped away in the same cruel experiments that had stolen so many others.

Ivan had been a flicker of light in your darkness, the anchor that kept you grounded when the horrors of the battlefield threatened to swallow you whole. And now, that light was snuffed out, leaving you alone with the knowledge of the secret he had carried to his grave.

Your hands shook as you shut the file. But this time, it wasn’t just grief. It was rage—cold, seething, unrelenting rage. Ivan had deserved better. They all had.

A sound behind you snapped you out of your daze. Whirling around, you saw Logan emerging from another hallway, flanked by four wide-eyed children. Their faces were pale, their thin bodies trembling with fear.

"There's more?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Another batch of kids these bastards managed to catch," Logan growled, his tone a mix of rage and quiet grief. “Still no sign of Ellie.”

Your jaw tightened. “Take them back to the jet. I'll keep looking.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Not alone, you're not."

“Logan,” you said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “They need you more than I do. I’ll manage.”

He stared at you for a moment, torn between arguing and trusting you. Finally, he relented. “Fine. Be careful.”

You nodded and moved past him, your steps purposeful despite the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Deeper into the facility, you found another lab, and your heart sank at the sight. Ellie sat inside a cage, her small frame curled up in a corner. A thick collar rested around her neck—the same mutation-suppressing device you knew all too well. Her tear-streaked face lifted at the sound of the door opening, and your chest tightened.

“Ellie…” you whispered, stepping closer, but your movement was halted by a voice that sent ice down your spine.

“They found a way to unlock your collar,” Killebrew said, emerging from the shadows with a smug smile. “Still playing the hero, them disgusting mutants band messed with your head.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Let her go.”

Killebrew ignored your demand, circling the room with calculated steps. “Do you ever stop to think, my dear? Everyone who comes near you ends up dead. Ivan. Your father. Your mother. You’re a curse.”

The mention of your parents made you freeze. “What did you say?”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Your father’s betrayal was just the beginning, wasn’t it? But your mother—oh, she broke after his death. I heard she didn’t last long. A few months, maybe?”

The words sliced through you, but you refused to show weakness. “What did you do to Ivan?!” you hissed.

Killebrew chuckled, leaning casually against the workstation. “Face it—you’re nothing but a harbinger of death to those around you. Maybe your new guy can’t die this time, but I suspect something far worse than death is already creeping up on him. The big bad Wolverine with fire and flesh... Oh, they call you ‘Hollow’ now, don’t they? I have to admit, you two make such an exquisite pair.”

Rage boiled over. With a growl, you launched yourself at him. The fight was vicious, Killebrew surprisingly agile for his age. He dodged your first swing, reaching for a scalpel, but you knocked it away. As the scuffle continued, you kicked over the cage holding Ellie, breaking it open.

“Run!” you shouted at her. “Find the others!”

Ellie hesitated, her wide eyes darting between you and Killebrew. “Go!” you yelled, your voice raw. Finally, she bolted, disappearing into the hallway.

Killebrew used the distraction to strike, slamming a piece of equipment into your side. Pain flared, but you ignored it, throwing yourself back into the fight with renewed fury.

Ellie stumbled into Scott first. “I found her!” he called into the comms. “She’s alive, but we need to move. Everyone, back to the Blackbird!”

Jean and Hank joined quickly, carrying armfuls of documents. By the time they reached the jet, Logan was already there with the other children, his expression dark and searching.

“Where is she?” Logan barked, his eyes scanning the group. When no one answered, he yelled your name.

“She’ll manage,” Scott said firmly, strapping in. “We can’t risk the kids.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his rage simmering just below the surface. “Fine,” he snapped, storming out of the jet. Jean called after him, but he ignored her, leaping down and heading back toward the facility.

“Logan, wait!” she yelled again, but he was already gone.

Scott shook his head. “Start the engines,” he ordered, leaving no room for debate. The roar of the Blackbird filled the air as Logan disappeared into the woods, determined to bring you back.

That old age isn’t lying; Killebrew is slow and can’t put up with your fight for so long. You manage to tie him to the laboratory chair with cable and some rope—god knows for what. His ridiculous face whining in pain and gray hair striking under the harsh light is absolutely amusing.

You shake your head, the view is amusing, but you can’t shake the question out of your system. What the fuck happened to Ivan? So you pull a chair and sit across from him.

“What’d you do to Ivan?” you manage to ask calmly, despite the raging storm.

“Injected him with the formula I bought from Russia. It was so expensive, he was practically a waste of funds.”

“Waste of fucking funds?!” You grunt in disgust. “Why didn’t he ever tell me? Why didn’t you?”

Killebrew shakes his head, confused. “Tell you what?!” he yells in frustration.

“That he was a mutant?! All this time, I thought he was human. Some random guy that got tangled under the filthy US government military that he probably didn’t even know half of what was going on. And I just fucking find out he’s one of your projects, just like me. Why’d you keep it from me?” you cry in frustration.

Killebrew’s brows narrow together. “Why on earth would I fucking tell you that? I’m rather surprised he didn’t tell you,” he says, leaning back with the slightest grin forming on his lips.

You shake your head. Of course, he didn’t fucking care. And here you are, thinking he kept it all away for a reason, but it’s all on Ivan. He didn’t tell you anything, and you thought you knew him, only to be proven that you didn’t know him at all, years after he was gone.

You sit in silence, letting this new fact that alters a big part of your life sink in. Your head feels heavy, and it suddenly drops as you look at the floor.

A whole year, maybe even a little more than that, you were stationed together. Sure, a year is a pretty short time to get to know someone new, but it’s a different case when the only time you didn’t see each other was a week out of that one year. You and Ivan, alongside ten other human soldiers—or at least you thought they were human because now Ivan has you questioning everything—were stationed under that sergeant whose name you can barely remember. But you remember every minute you spent with Ivan.

He told you his father was in the military. It was a common ground that instantly clicked between you two. You remembered his witty jokes: “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? I bet ten dollars your father served.” To which you instantly replied, “And I bet you twenty your pops also served.” That day, you lost ten dollars but also gained another ten.

He’s from Montana, he told you that. His father served in the military and wanted him to be a real man and serve their country for being so kind to them as refugees. His father used to say their family owed America their lives, which you both laughed your asses off at. Owing America your life... what a shithole nightmare of a life to live.

He left Russia when he was six and never came back. He told you that. He pretty much fucking told you everything about his life because none of the other ten soldiers were fun to talk to. You did the same thing—told him pretty much everything about your life, even the experiments Killebrew had done and how they affected you. He had shared his sincere apology to you for it, but that was all.

You two lived the same life. He never told you that part. He never told you he was also an experiment, someone whose choices were taken and rights violated?

“So, Ivan’s father also sold his son to you?” you ask, finally breaking the heavy silence and lifting your head.

“Sold? He volunteered,” Killebrew says.

Before you can speak, Killebrew opens his mouth again. “It was because of you. He adored your ability and wanted to have what you have. That one week off, when all of Sergeant Cooper’s soldiers were sent back to regroup, Ivan willingly came to me. His body just rejected it.”

Your breath comes in shallow at another heartbreaking piece of information dropped like some atomic bomb on your head. What the actual fuck? Why would he fucking do that? His blood is actually on your hands? Gosh, he’s so fucking stupid—you should never have told him about your experiment.

You’re upset, angry about his decision. You can’t wrap your head around it. Just why? You feel like throwing the chair across the room. Your hands go up to your head, massaging your temples, then rest on your thighs as you bend slightly forward in the chair.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

As you’re distracted, too busy controlling your breath, Killebrew slips himself free with a piece of broken glass hidden under his white coat sleeve. He cuts the knot on his hand and lunges at you, stabbing you in the neck with the glass.

You scream in pain as he frees himself from the other knot. Your hand instinctively covers the stab wound, carefully pulling the glass out and letting your skin knit itself back together.

He runs toward one of the lab’s drawers and opens a metal door. You try to chase him but stop in horror at the sight of what he grabs.

A mutation inhibitor collar.

“One step closer, and you won’t fucking survive this time, bitch!” he spits, holding the collar out toward you as you stand a few steps away, raising your hands smartly to avoid getting caught in that shit again.

Fuck him.

You run toward him and lunge, knocking him in the stomach until his body drops with a loud thud onto the floor. You pin him in place, and he drops the collar.

Combat isn’t your strong suit, but right now, you want nothing more than to punch him bare in the face. Your fist curls, and you land a fat punch straight to his nose. He grunts in pain and manages to grab a piece of steel, smashing it into your head.

The fight isn't over. You slam Killebrew's head into the wall with a sickening thud, his skull making contact with the concrete. Не lets out a sharp cry of pain, but you don't stop. You keep smashing his head, again and again, until there's a small pool of blood trickling from the back of his skull. He slumps against the wall, his body barely staying upright, but still conscious.

Footsteps approach. Logan walks in, his gaze immediately locking onto the scene. He stops just in time to see you standing over Killebrew, his figure now small and pitiful, sitting and leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

"Hey," Logan calls your name softly. You turn at the sound of his voice. His expression softens when he sees you, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. "You okay?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. His hand reaches for your shoulder briefly, giving you a comforting squeeze.

Logan looks down at Killebrew, who's still breathing heavily, his face twisted in pain. "Look at you two," Killebrew sneers, his voice ragged. "Gonna outlive every single person you knew on this earth, until nobody's left but the two of you. A match made in hell, an eternal damnation."

Logan glances at you, and you start walking away. He follows, his voice lowering. "Aren't you gonna finish the job?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Let him suffer."

Logan steps in front of you, halting your progress. "Woah, woah, what if someone finds him and rescues him?" He looks at you, concern flashing in his eyes.

You pause, eyes flickering to Killebrew as he struggles for breath. "If I kill him, I'm just proving his point," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not what he created," Logan's gaze softens as he processes your words. He nods in understanding. "If he survives, he won't stop."

"I know," you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "You might think I'm crazy, but I just... I'm proving this to myself. That I'm much better than him." Your gaze falls to the floor, your emotions a mess.

Logan steps closer, his breath steady, his tone gentle. "Do you want him dead?"

"Logan, I-"

"It's a yes or no question," he says cutting you off, more firm now, his voice low but unwavering.

You take a deep breath. "Yeah." You sigh, the word heavy on your chest.

Without another word, Logan walks past you, his figure casting a shadow over Killebrew's beaten form. He kneels down in front of Killebrew and curls his fist, bringing it to the man's chest. His claws emerge with a sharp, unmistakable snikt, and without hesitation, he stabs them right into Killebrew's heart.

The life drains from Killebrew's eyes, and his body goes limp. Logan pulls his claws out, the blood dripping slowly down his wrist. He retracts them, wiping his other palm across the blood-stained hand without a care in the world.

He stands up and looks at you, your eyes flickering with something, gratitude, maybe. He approaches you, his hand warm as it rests gently on your back.

"C'mon," he says softly. "Let's get outta here."

You nod, and together, you walk away, leaving the body of Killebrew behind.

The two of you walk down a desolate road, surrounded by dense woods whose name you don't even know. Glancing at your watch, you note it's half-past midnight. You still can’t believe Logan had no better plan for getting back to the mansion than walking. It’s freezing, and the single piece of black leather you’re wearing does nothing to help. And now, left alone with Logan again, you can’t ignore the awkwardness lingering between you two.

A question drums against your skull, one you’ve yet to address properly. You cringe at the thought of saying it out loud, but it keeps circling in your mind.

What the hell are we?

Maybe drop the "hell"—just what are we? Dear god, it sounds absolutely pathetic. Maybe Logan does this often, y’know, the casual thing. You’re not against it, but the idea doesn’t sit right with you. Especially since, well… it’s Logan. He gave you the best head you’ve ever had.

Or maybe it’s better left as is. No strings, no drama. No breakups, no obligations. Nobody gets left behind because there wasn’t anything to fulfill in the first place.

The two of you keep walking down the road. A few cars pass by, and Logan halfheartedly sticks his thumb out for a ride. You quickly point out that it’s not the brightest idea.

Then, a light catches your eye—a building, glowing in the dark with a bright orange sign. "You hungry?" you ask, nudging Logan with your shoulder and nodding toward the diner across the road, about a hundred yards away.

Katz Diner, the sign reads, gleaming through the gloom of night.

"We don’t have any money," Logan says, his boots crunching against the gravel.

"You don’t have any money," you reply, reaching into the pocket of your holster and pulling out two neatly folded hundred-dollar bills.

Logan scoffs, clearly amused. "You’re carryin’ cash around on a mission?"

"What? This is a survival kit." You flash him a wide smile, and his husky chuckle follows, warm and familiar against the cold night air.

The two of you finally make it to the diner, your steps quickening as the glowing orange sign promises warmth and food. But as you reach the glass door, the truth dawns on you. A "CLOSED" sign hangs in clear view, mocking your misplaced hope. You groan, your breath fogging up the glass as you clutch yourself against the biting cold.

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath, shivering as you glare at the locked door.

Logan glances down at you, his expression unreadable except for that flicker of mischief in his eyes. Without a word, you already know what he’s about to do.

"Logan, don’t—"

Before you can finish, his fist smashes through the glass. You flinch at the sound, but Logan barely reacts, calmly reaching through the jagged shards to unlock the door. Pushing it open, he gestures for you to go in first.

"You’ll have to leave the hundred bucks on a table," he says, stepping aside with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, walking past him into the dark, empty diner.

"We’re gonna get arrested," you tease, glancing around the quiet interior. Your gaze catches a red light from CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

"But maybe if there’s no footage," you quip, pulling your gun from its holster.

The loud crack of the gunshot shatters the stillness, and Logan startles, snapping his head toward you. "Geez, give a guy some warning, will ya?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" you reply with a grin, holstering your weapon as you take stock of the diner.

Behind the counter, you push open the swinging door to the kitchen. A quick glance around reveals a treasure trove of ingredients—raw chicken, beef, potatoes, eggs, butter, pasta, tomatoes, sausages, bacon, and more.

"Jackpot," you mutter, pulling a few items off the shelves.

Logan steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you inspect the food. "You planning to cook or hoard?"

You toss a bag of potatoes at him, which he catches with ease. "Both," you shoot back.

Within minutes, the two of you are working side by side, a light banter filling the room as you chop, stir, and fry. Logan handles the meat, seasoning and grilling the chicken and bacon with surprising skill. Meanwhile, you focus on the carbs, boiling pasta and mashing potatoes.

"You're getting better with that," you remark, watching as Logan flips the bacon in a pan.

"Had to learn," he replies with a shrug. "Ain't gonna risk the chance of you callin' my meal closer to inedible, again..."

You chuckle recalling your own joke to him "I really did hit a nerve there huh?" you tease.

Logan smirks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Wound still fresh"

The playful tone lingers in the air as you finish cooking, the warm scent of food filling the room. You walk from the kitchen to the table first, balancing your plate carefully, eager to sit and eat. But as you place it down, Logan appears behind you like a shadow, plate in hand, following without a word.

You turn back toward the kitchen, remembering your forgotten glass of water, and nearly crash into him. You freeze as he blocks your way, standing so close that you feel his warmth against the cold air of the diner. Startled, you glance up, and for a brief moment, his heavy, tired eyes bore into yours. It’s like he’s seeing through you, and you’re not sure if you want to look away or keep holding his gaze.

The tension breaks awkwardly as you both shift to move, but in the same direction, cutting each other off. You chuckle nervously. "You want water?"

Logan’s lips twitch into a soft smile, rare and disarming. "Yeah."

You gesture to his right, stepping aside to give him space. "Okay, I’ll go this way, you go that way," you say, slipping past him and retreating to grab two glasses.

Your breath feels shaky as you fill the glasses, your mind stuck on that split-second where he had looked at you. Only if he knew how much he was affecting you, how much you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you.

When you return, Logan is already seated, waiting. You slide the glass to his side of the table, his quiet "Thanks" breaking the silence as you take your seat.

You eat in silence at first, avoiding his gaze, your eyes fixed on your plate. The chicken looks unappetizing, under-seasoned and bland, but you tell yourself it’s fine—you’ve had worse.

Logan, on the other hand, occasionally glances up from his plate to you. His fork pauses midway to his mouth as he studies you, the way your focus stays locked on your food, the way you keep your head down.

Finally, he speaks. "Y’alright?" His voice is steady, cutting through the quiet scrape of utensils against plates.

You shrug without looking up. "Yeah."

Your gaze shifts to the window beside you, the yellow streetlight casting a faint glow against the black of night. It’s easier to stare at that than at him. After a moment, you bring your attention back to your plate, but the awkward weight of his question still lingers in the air.

Logan’s fork clinks softly as he sets it down, leaning back in the booth. His sharp eyes don’t leave you. "What’s wrong?" he asks again, his voice gentler this time, but persistent.

"Nothing," you reply quickly, a little too quickly, cutting another piece of your chicken as though focusing on the task would shield you from his gaze.

He doesn’t let it go. "Look at me," he grumbles, his tone low but firm, the kind that makes your hand freeze mid-motion.

You hesitate, but eventually tilt your head, meeting his eyes. They’re heavy with something you can’t quite put into words—concern, maybe frustration, but most of all, care.

"What’s wrong?" he repeats, this time softer, your name slipping from his lips like an anchor, grounding you.

You hate that. Hate how much his concern cuts through your walls, hate the way it makes your chest tighten. It’s unbearable, so you break the contact, dropping your gaze back to your plate.

"I don’t know," you admit, your voice small, barely above a whisper. You spear the last bite of chicken and shove it into your mouth, hoping to end the conversation.

But Logan doesn’t move. He doesn’t pick his fork back up, doesn’t shift his attention elsewhere. You can feel him watching you, his patience unnerving.

"You do," he mutters, his voice calm but resolute.

You glance up briefly, your brow furrowing. "No, I don’t," you insist, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

Logan leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "You’re not a good liar, y’know that?"

The corner of your mouth twitches, but you don’t let the smile break through. "Guess I need more practice."

His lips quirk in a faint smile, but his eyes remain serious. "You don’t need practice. You need to talk."

You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed under his unwavering attention. "Not now, Logan. Can we just… drop it?"

For a moment, it seems like he might push further, but then he exhales heavily, leaning back again. "Fine," he says, though his tone suggests he’s not letting it go forever.

You stood up quickly, desperate to put some space between you and Logan, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You felt a mix of frustration, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite place. But before you could walk away, his voice stopped you.

"Hey."

You froze, heart pounding, and turned to face him. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unyielding. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out your mother’s necklace, holding it out to you. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, and you could barely process it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped closer. "Where the hell did you find that?" you demanded, your voice coming out shakier than you intended as you snatched the necklace from his arm.

"Your bathroom’s floor," Logan said, his tone almost too casual, like it was no big deal. A smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no hint of apology.

"My bathroom’s floor?" You repeated, disbelief taking over. You could feel your anger rising, the frustration bubbling up. "What the fuck, Logan? Why the hell would you put it in your pocket?!"

Logan's eyes narrowed, and he shifted, standing up from the booth in one smooth motion. He was inches from you now, his body tense with frustration. "Jesus, calm down. It’s just a necklace."

"Just a necklace?" You snapped, voice rising. "It’s my mother’s! You don’t just take things and shove them in your pocket like it doesn’t matter!"

You stood there, fury coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest as Logan continued to stand in front of you. He looked almost unbothered, his stance relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes were anything but.

"You always do this," you said, stepping closer, your voice low but trembling with frustration. "You make me feel like I’m the one losing my mind while you—" you gestured sharply at him, "just stand there like nothing’s wrong!"

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. "And you think I’m not losing my mind too? You think I don’t feel this—" he waved vaguely between you both, his voice rising, "whatever the hell this is?"

"This?" you shot back, your chest tightening. "This is you pushing and pulling untill I don’t even know where I stand with you!"

His laugh was bitter, almost a scoff. "Yeah? Well, try being on this side of it. Try waking up every day thinking—" He stopped abruptly, his words catching, and his eyes darted away.

"Thinking what?" you demanded, stepping closer. "Say it, Logan. For once, just say it!"

His head snapped back toward you, and his voice dropped, low and rough, like he was forcing the words out. "Thinking that if I get too close, I’m gonna ruin you. And if I stay away, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my goddamn life."

The air between you felt like it might break. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you couldn’t look away from him.

"Then what do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips parted, but the words seemed to stick, his throat working as he searched for something to say.

"Stay," he murmured raw and pleading. "For once in your damn life, just stay."

You shake your head hesitantly. "Why?" Your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes stinging as you fight back tears.

Logan steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. His gaze searches your face as if memorizing every detail, etching it into his mind.

"Because we need each other," he says, his voice rough but steady. "You and I... we can be quite destructive on our own. But together—" he pauses, his jaw tightening as if the words are caught in his throat, "we cancel that out."

Your fingers tighten around the heart-shaped pendant in your hand. He reaches for you, his touch impossibly gentle, and you resist, unwilling to let go of this fragile barrier. But the tenderness in his hand disarms you, and slowly, your grip softens.

Logan carefully takes the necklace, holding it as though it’s something sacred. His gaze softens as it locks onto yours. "I've been the best version of myself when I'm with you. And I think—no, I know—you feel the same."

He steps behind you, his movements slow, deliberate, as he fastens the necklace around your neck. You close your eyes, his nearness overwhelming. The familiar scent of him—leather, smoke, and something distinctly Logan—wraps around you, grounding you and pulling you apart at the same time.

"Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll stop," he says softly.

You don’t answer. Words fail you as his fingers brush the back of your neck and lift your ponytail for adjusting the clasp. Your breath catches when his hand grazes your waist, the touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His voice drops, barely audible. "Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking."

You lean into his touch despite yourself, your head tilting slightly as his breath warms the curve of your neck. When his lips hover, hesitating, your resolve weakens entirely.

"Logan..." you whisper, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

He exhales sharply, the sound laced with longing. His palm rests firmly on your waist, and his other hand grazes the zipper of your suit. Your heart pounds as he begins to pull it down, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

Unable to take the tension any longer, you turn to face him, the suit unzipped halfway. His hands find your waist again as you rest yours on his shoulders, grounding yourself against the storm building between you.

"What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling as his forehead touches yours, his nose brushing against you in the smallest, softest gesture.

"You," he breathes. "I want you."

His hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness that sends heat spiraling through your chest. Before either of you can think twice, you close the gap, your lips crashing into his.

Logan kisses you back with equal intensity, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both desperate and certain. It’s messy, passionate, and utterly consuming. When your tongue slips past his lips, he meets it eagerly, a low growl escaping his throat.

Without warning, a wild thought flickers through your mind, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to hurt and leave an impression. Logan pulls back with a sharp inhale, his eyes wide with surprise.

You grin, mischief playing on your lips as you watch the small wound heal almost instantly. He licks the blood from his lip tasting the iron.

He cooed "Easy there" the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

You grab his wrist after he moves to wipe the blood away and bring his finger to your lips. Slowly, deliberately, you lick the crimson from his skin, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

"Then I’ll make sure it’s slow and satisfying," you reply, your voice a whisper dripping with challenge.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, his lips crashing into yours again, hungrier this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his body tense against yours as if holding himself back from unraveling completely.

"Logan," you moan against his lips.

"Say it again," he murmurs, his voice raw as his lips trail down to the edge of your jaw.

Your breath stutters. "Logan..."

The way he reacts, the way his name seems to break something inside him, sends your heart spiraling.

Logan pulls back suddenly, his gaze darting to something behind the counter. His expression is unreadable as he peeks over, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Logan, what—?” you start, but before you can finish, a familiar tune blasts through the speakers.

'I could stay awake... just to hear you breathing... Watchin’ you smile while you are sleeping.'

Your eyes widen as you recognize the opening chords of Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing by Aerosmith fill the room.

Logan steps back toward you, a mischievous grin on his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he extends his arm, inviting you to take it.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half-laughing, but you instinctively reach out, letting him guide your hand to his.

“Dance with me,” he says confidently, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head but allowing him to pull you closer.

“Didn’t take you for a sucker of romance,” you tease, laughing softly as he spins you around the empty diner.

His movements are surprisingly smooth, his hand guiding yours to his shoulder while the other stays firmly at your waist. “Yeah, well,” he smirks, “I don’t even know how to dance.”

“Sure you don’t,” you reply with a grin, noticing how effortlessly he leads.

'Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure.....'

As the music swells, your eyes meet his, and the warmth in his gaze makes your chest tighten. This song—it hits every nerve just right. And then, as if on cue, the two of you burst out in unison:

“Don’t wanna close my eyes…”

Your voice is off-key, and so is his, but neither of you care. You’re singing with abandon, your joy filling the room.

“I don’t wanna fall asleep, ‘cause I’ll miss you, babe!”

Logan laughs, a deep, husky sound that makes your stomach flutter, and you can’t help but join in.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

You yell out the lyrics, your voices echoing through the diner. Logan suddenly lifts you off your feet, spinning you around, and you shriek with laughter, clinging to his shoulders.

“‘Cause even when I dream of you…” Logan sings the line. You laugh so hard tears prick your eyes.

“The sweetest dream will never do…”

You quiet down, your smile fading into something more genuine as he carries you in a slow, swaying circle.

“I’d still miss you, babe…”

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you press closer, resting your forehead against his.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Logan’s grin softens, and he pulls you even closer. His chin rests gently on top of your head as the two of you move in slow, easy steps to the rhythm of the song. Your hand squeezes his arm, and you close your eyes, letting the moment take over.

The beat of his heart is steady beneath your ear, grounding you. His hand at your waist tightens, his touch warm and reassuring. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right—no fights, no pain, just the two of you and this perfect, fleeting moment.

'Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we’re together, And I just wanna stay with you, In this moment forever, forever and ever.'

The song continues to pour through the diner speakers as the two of you move in slow, deliberate steps. You pull your head away from Logan’s chest, your eyes flickering with unspoken gratitude. He holds your gaze, leaning in closer, and brushes his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

Outside the diner, across the road, Scott and Jean stand in their gear, clearly fresh from their mission. Ellie and the children have been safely returned to the mansion, and with the tracker embedded in your suit, it wasn’t hard for them to find you and Logan in the middle of nowhere.

What they didn’t expect was… this.

Under the diner’s bright lights and with its large glass windows, you and Logan are clearly visible, completely absorbed in each other.

Scott lets out an incredulous sigh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

Jean chuckles, nudging him playfully. “Man, can’t believe we both lost this one,” Scott grumbles.

Jean smirks. “Lovebirds,” she teases, crossing her arms as they continue watching the scene unfold.

Scott huffs, stepping off the curb. “Alright, let’s break this up.”

The two of them approach the diner, standing awkwardly just outside the glass. They exchange a glance, silently debating what to do. Finally, Scott knocks loudly on the glass, startling you both mid-kiss.

You jolt, pulling away from Logan as your heart jumps into your throat. “Fucking hell,” you mutter, your face flushing as you spot Scott and Jean standing there, Scott looking thoroughly unimpressed and Jean offering a thin, awkward smile.

Logan doesn’t look even remotely phased. He’d sensed their presence long before the music even started, but he hadn’t cared. With a soft grunt, he reaches behind you and zips your black leather suit back up, taking his sweet time.

Scott and Jean step carefully through the broken glass on the diner floor, their expressions half-amused and half-annoyed.

“I had high hopes for you two,” Scott says, his tone dry as he surveys the scene.

Logan raises an eyebrow, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You’ve got a point, Summers, or are you just here to gawk?”

Jean laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking because he bet you’d get together in the next forty-eight hours.”

Scott scowls. “And she bet it’d take at least a week,” he grumbles, gesturing at Jean. “Turns out, we were both wrong.”

You blink in disbelief, glancing at Logan, who looks utterly amused. He lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Guess you two underestimated us,” he says, flashing a smug grin before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips—right in front of them.

Your cheeks warm, but you can’t help the wide smile spreading across your face as you lean into Logan’s side.

Scott groans, throwing his hands up. “Alright, get a room, you two. Your ride’s outside. Time to go home.” He turns, wrapping an arm around Jean’s shoulders as they head for the door.

'Don’t wanna close my eyes… I don’t wanna fall asleep… I don’t wanna miss a thing,'

the song continues, fading behind you as Logan intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Home,” you murmur with a soft smile, glancing up at him.

Logan’s lips press gently against your temple, his touch grounding and warm.

“Home indeed,” he echoes, voice filled with quiet contentment.

Together, you walk out of the diner, leaving the music behind and a two-hundred-dollar bill on the counter by the radio.

[ejzah]

A/N: For @anonkp, who suggested a fic where Kensi and Deeks find out Whiting is actually Steven’s mom.

***

The In-Law

“They should be here any minute,” Rosa said, looking beyond Deeks, in the direction of the entrance. “Steven says they got stopped by a red light.”

“That’s ok,” Deeks assured her, gesturing around the restaurant. “It’s pretty busy, so we’ll probably have to wait anyway.”

After officially dating for three months (following nearly two months of being “just friends”), Rosa had agreed to let Kensi and Deeks meet Steven’s mom. The event had come with a good amount of back and forth between Rosa and Steven over details, worrying if everyone would like the food, and so forth. They finally settled on a Mexican restaurant both kids approved of and had an open table for five.

“You know, I thought we’d never meet either of Steven’s parents. He must be pretty important for all this secrecy.”

Rosa blushed, dipping her head. “I just didn’t want to rush things.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Baby, stop teasing her,” Kensi intervened.

“Thank you, Kensi.”

“You’re welcome. The teasing will come later, on the way home.”

“You two are awful,” Rosa complained without much heat.

“Which is how you know we love you,” Deeks teased. He grinned at Rosa’s unamused expression. He tried not to embarrass her too much, but occasionally, it was fun. Especially when it came to Steven, who Rosa clearly adored, despite her claims it was still casual.

“Shhh, here they come,” Rosa said, making a waving motion as she hushed them both and sat straighter.

“I wasn’t even talking!” Kensi protested.

Deeks turned to look, catching sight of Steven’s sandy blond hair first, then the woman standing slightly behind him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

“What?” Kensi asked, but he didn’t have a chance to respond before Steven and Ellen Whiting, of all people, were within Kensi’s line of sight too. She had her hair down and wore casual clothes, but it was definitely her.

Standing, Rosa met Steven and Whiting a few feet away.

“No, this can’t be real. What are we going to do?” Kensi hissed.

“I don’t know, but they’re coming back, so try to act normal.”

“Mrs. Hardy, these are my parents, Kensi and Marty,” Rosa said as she returned with Steven and Whiting. She smiled nervously, clinging to Steven, who looked equally anxious.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Whiting drawled, looking at them with a mixture of amazement and annoyance. “Thought I was seeing things when Rosa pointed you out.”

“Good to see you too, Whiting,” Deeks said wryly.

“Wait, you know each other?” Rosa asked in obvious confusion.

“Oh, that’s one way of putting it.”

Whiting made a face at that, but before she could expound on her and Deeks’ past encounters, Kensi spoke up.

“It’s nice to see you, Ellen. Please, sit down.”

Soon after everyone was situated, a waiter came to take their orders, and Rosa and Steven began to visibly relax.

“So, where did you and mom meet?” Steven asked, twisting a balled up straw paper between his fingers. “I didn’t think you handled criminal law.”

“I used to be a detective,” Deeks explained shortly.

“And I worked in law enforcement too,” Kensi added.

“And I arrested Deeks once.” Whiting smiled at Deeks’ glare and Steven and Rosa’s twin looks of shock. “Just kidding.”

“Yeah, your mom’s just a barrel of laughs. I’ve always said that about her.”

“Baby, play nice,” Kensi said warningly.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat sharply. “So, I’m guessing Whiting is your maiden name.”

“I changed my name to Hardy after I got married but kept Whiting professionally. It’s easier to keep the parts of my life separate,” Whiting answered. “When we talked about kids that last case we had together, I never imagined my kid would be dating yours.”

“It’s definitely a shocker.”

“Is that why you asked me about Steven’s last name?” Rosa wondered, narrowing her eyes at them.

“We thought there might be a slight chance,” Kensi explained. “We didn’t think there’d end up being a connection.”

“I think it’s cool.” Steven nodded happily, sharing a smile with Rosa. “Since you guys already know each other, it’ll be a lot less awkward getting together.”

“Maybe we can have Steven and Mrs. Hardy over for dinner sometime soon,” Rosa suggested.

“Oh, sure, of course. You know, if you’re available. We know how busy your schedule is.” Kensi chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m free this Saturday,” Whiting said with a familiar, biting smile.

“Awesome. I’ll make something special for dinner,” Rosa offered.

“Great.” Deeks purses his lips, forcing a smile of his own. “This is going to be fantastic.

[zepskies]

Oh God, here we go!!

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

Ahaha I love this mention! 😂

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

Hmm interesting...

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

Ha! I love her, she's such a badass.~

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back. You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

Ho lord, I was on the edge of my seat throughout this ENTIRE scene, proverbially biting my nails. 😬😬 Especially wincing at this part:

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

(Good metaphor/play on words there though 😅)

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Ugh, she's so much stronger than me. I'd be a blubbering mess on the floor, poor thing. 😭😭 But it was so interesting watching her try and figure out the puzzle of this room (and Diane's game). I love those moments where you as the audience know there's an answer here somewhere, but you just have to watch on edge as the person works it out in desperation. 🥲

And on the flip side, this is torture for Beau, a man of action, to not be able to do anything. To just wait and see if anything changes.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

This is so truly intense -- it's cinematic in so many ways, and I'm loving this suspense...

But most of all, you had thought about Beau. Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood. Fuck.

Oh God, oh God, oh Goddddddd!!!!!!!

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized. The ring.

Oooh I'm sensing some symbolism here, despite the gravity of the situation!! lol GO, BEAU, GO!!!!

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning. I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

GAH! This is the delicious White Knight-saving angst that I live for. 🥹

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

When I tell you my heart was in my throat during this entire scene, but this is the part that gave me stomach flips...

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays: Pudding.

Lmaoo this kind of pudding??

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes. A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Aww in a way I do still feel bad for Randy, but "dissolved;" I think that's the right word for it as well. I love that last line in the scene. 💙

Beau and Randy's parting was bittersweet, but Beau's apprehension coming to the reader's hospital room was honestly kind of adorable (since we already know where this is heading) lol.

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?” Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.” Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Awww haha, they're so cute!! I would've loved to see that reunion kiss. 🥹 But I have a feeling these two are finally off to their happy ending...

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Lol that is peak Beau behavior there! I love the rambling and the adorable fussing. Makes my heart so full. ❤️ Especially how she's just like, "sit down and be with me, you fool." 😂

I also found it very interesting how they both decided to retire. They've clearly been through the absolute wringer, plus the whole matter of Beau probably never feeling safe in that office again, and the reader needing time upon time to recover from all that trauma. It's a lovely new chapter for these two to have a quieter life together, whether or not they have kids down the line (though I love that conversation they had. Beau's line of “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” had me dead lol). 🥹

This was a crazy ride of a series, but beautifully weaved with a lovely finish. Amazing job, my friend!! 💕💕

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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[sinsodom]

Ive seen someone pointing out Caleb most likely being experimented on as well and also that remembers it and can we talk how devastating that could be his personality developtment as a literal child? As LI all he sees and has is MC - the only person who survived the same thing he did, be it experiments or/and being orhpaned due to chronorift catastrophy. Stripped of everything but his name and few perosnal data, MC doesnt even have that. So MC remains his only link to past and present. But she doesnt remeber and he doesnt want her to suffer, not then, not now. Most people would be pissed off or hurt upon being forgotten *cough raf cough* which is valid human reaction, but from what we saw in the memories, he is soft with her, ready to remind her his name and their bond. Because despite being child himself, who needed to be protected as well, he decided to care for her. And we could write paragraphs about how draining it must have been and how damaging to young person' developtment. He shows clear signs of untreated trauma but yeah, call him a villain and lets call it a day /s. Sorry for rambling >.>

Ramble xD i love it 💚

The only thing i really put hate on, is the reunion. No one was sorry, not even a hug?? What would've been possible in his home ffs. No. Cold and nothing. But thats the storys fault.

My theory from Sylus on is still: linkon is the bad shit here xD Bad Sylus prepares n109 for war and ratting out the truth. The 3 boys are either in knowledge of that, or, if not, don't know that linkon is dark in real 🤔

With this perspective its a wonder that Caleb came through with lying to the whole fleet 🤣 that was way too easy come on 🤣 fact is: he has a plan. For me: i think that Caleb got found from Viper and co. Side, they saved his life but he has to pay for it. Or they are in fact good maybe xD ofc he is a bit possessive?? Are you for real he suffered af and what, took her hand at night and dreamt to keep her safe 🤣 yeah bad Caleb.

I point out here that he COULD lock her if he wanted to and he didnt. Facts. The "no caring for the others hurt" rages me just 😒

The first thing i asked myself was, whats MC's story. Parents where?? Core how?? Not much info. What if she has like an alpha core or whatever, fact is, everyones behind her. For that Caleb is kinda calm?? Its sad that so many people want a SO dark villain (+fanfics present him like that too mostly)... i would call him everything, curse him and maybe a soft punch but fuck, i would hug the shit out of him and cuddle him to sleep meanwhile being mad on him 🤣

I am happy that i am not alone with my perspective and dont hesitate to throw theories and storys at me 🤣💚