#what with all the moving across the country and struggling to stay in a job and all

[tfalpha88]

Nerdy Film & English teacher here, I feel like some Red would really revitalise my life right now, especially since so many things seem to be going wrong for me these past few weeks!

Since Israel and Iran had declared war on each other, Henry had been afraid that a new world conflict might break out. He was sleeping worse and worse and struggled to stay on his feet throughout the day. One day, he came across an advertisement for a new energy drink called “Red.” He figured it might help him stay focused while teaching his English classes.

He had just finished his English class and could already feel the fatigue setting in. He grabbed a can of “RED” and drank it all, hoping to regain some energy just like the advertisement had promised, before heading into his next class.

No sooner had he finished the can than the drink did exactly what it was made to do. A thick cloud of red smoke poured from his mouth, and all his memories came rushing into his head. He had no idea what was happening to him.

He saw himself as a child again, with his parents, moving house once more. His parents had just been transferred to another military base. As a kid, it had been hard for him to make friends — he was constantly changing schools because of all the moves. He hated his parents’ job because of that.

They, on the other hand, were proud to be in the military and to serve their country. But Henry didn’t feel the same way. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he would never join the military.

As a child, he found escape in superhero movies. He loved them. He bought every bit of merchandise he could find.

Henry was gay, and he embraced it fully. He remembered the first time he met his boyfriend — at the cinema, during a screening of a Marvel movie. His boyfriend shared the same passion, which instantly brought them closer.

He also remembered his first day on the job as an English teacher. For him, it was an honor to do that work. He had always wanted to share his knowledge with others.

And more recently, he saw himself at home, watching the news as the conflict between Israel and Iran escalated. It triggered an irrational fear in him — the fear of a potential world war. He was terrified that one day, he might be drafted into the army to serve his country, just like his parents had been.

The smoke kept pouring from his mouth, and a wave of heat washed over him. His memories began to shift.

He saw himself as a child again, raised under the strict discipline of his parents, who had forced him to undergo military training to toughen his character. He had hated it, but he admitted that, during his teenage years, it had helped him build a strong physique — which, deep down, had made it easier for him to attract other guys.

He had still met his boyfriend at the cinema, during a screening of a Marvel movie, and they shared the same passion. But he had kept their relationship a secret, afraid of what others might think… especially his parents.

Even at work, as an English teacher, no one knew anything about his personal life. He preferred to keep all of that to himself.

When the conflict between Israel and Iran was announced, he hadn’t been all that surprised. And if it ever turned into a world war… he knew he’d be ready for it.

As these new memories erased the old ones, his body began to change. He became a more muscular, more assertive version of himself — as if this rewritten past was now reshaping his reality.

As the smoke kept flowing from his mouth, strangely, he felt less stressed about the conflict between Israel and Iran. He hadn’t slept in days and was completely exhausted, but now, it was as if, in the blink of an eye, all his anxiety had vanished.

Then, another wave of heat surged through his entire body — raw, intense, almost uncontrollable energy. His memories began to rush through his mind once again.

He saw himself eagerly going through the military training his parents had once forced on him. And this time, he loved it. He craved the adrenaline it gave him. He loved it so much that he eventually asked his parents to enroll him in a military academy.

There, he built a solid, powerful body. Later, joining the army had felt like the obvious path. He had only one passion in life: the military. He was obsessed with it. At home, he had a collection of replica weapons, miniature vehicles, and model warplanes.

One day, when a new war movie was released in theaters, he went to see it. On his way out, he crossed paths with a slightly effeminate guy who had just seen a Marvel film. He looked at him with disgust. He couldn’t understand how a man could love another man. To him, a man had to be strong. Alpha.

These new memories reshaped his reality one last time.

His already muscular body grew even more massive. And his clothes transformed into a full military uniform.

The smoke finally faded, giving way to Henry’s new reality.

Today, he stood in a classroom — no longer as a teacher, but to speak about his career as a soldier. He explained that there was no need to fear a new world war: the army was there to protect them.

And if they wanted to, the army was recruiting.

He even offered the students who were interested the chance to join the ranks, adding that anyone who signed up would receive a can of “RED” as a gift.

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞

SUMMARY: The Pack always knew imprints were a sacred thing. But when you're hurt, the imprint bond blurs the line between life and death. It makes for some interesting conversations with ghosts from the past. || multi chapter-fic PAIRINGS: Paul Lahote x fem!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: Clearwater!Reader; human!Reader; domestic fluff; hurt

2.6k words

Your siblings could tear into flesh, could break his bones if they so wished (and Leah had wished, had almost done it too before Sam intervened)–and yet, Paul considered you the most dangerous Clearwater out of all of Harry and Sue's children.

And it wasn't because you could flit between girl and wolf or because your teeth could rip into jugulars, but because you were you.

[Name] Clearwater: daughter to Harry and Sue, born a year after Leah and two years before Seth.

Before that night, your parents never intended for you to be keyed into the tribe's secret. It was only ever meant to be Seth, who they all anticipated would phase eventually.

But then Leah exploded into a four-legged beast with fanged teeth and matted fur, had shredded the Couch you'd been sitting on–and gods, if you hadn't moved when you did her claws would've gone deeper in your shoulder than it had–before Seth shifted, too.

The night had been a mess, to sum it up simply.

The pack link was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of grief-anger-hurt-blame that Sam ordered those who could get caught up in it all to phase out.

To give your siblings some semblance of calm, however futile, and to make sure you and Sue had help dealing with the aftermath.

The last thing the Pack needed was for someone to visit in the morning to find half the house's occupants missing, one partially mauled and the place looking as though it had been burglarised.

So Paul had phased out along with Jake. Jake, who came with his Dad's strength and his Mom's warmth that it brought Sue out of her shocked stupor and Paul, who didn't know what else to do other than turn your way.

Across the room, you were using the meat of your thighs to push the shredded couch towards the door. Single-handedly steering the couch outside whilst being mindful of your left arm which was bandaged over your chest, smelling of chemicals and iron.

He had expected tears. Had expected to scent the air for undertones of shock, fear or distrust as you grappled with the reality of seeing your sister and brother turning into something dangerous.

Of having two strange boys who could do the same clambering into your humble four-bedroom abode to see if you or your Mom needed help, but there was none of that.

Instead, you continued moving, holding yourself up by sheer force of will that Paul’s wolf stirred beneth his skin. Curious. Intrigued.

You hadn’t acknowledged him nor Jake when they had come in, but Paul moved toward you anyway. Body on autopilot as he followed an invisible path his wolf already seemed to be on.

"Here, I can help you with that," he said, bending down to lift one end of the couch.

On the other end of the long couch, you’d glanced at him for only a moment. A single moment to thank him politely, face solemn and eyes deep and soulful, that Paul struggled not to collapse to his knees then and there.

Because in that split moment, when your eyes met his for the very first time since he shifted, Paul’s universe ended and then began again with you at the centre of it all.

[Name] Clearwater: his imprint—his very human imprint—more dangerous than wolves and bloodsuckers combined after only a single glance.

After your siblings, your arm, your Dad—Paul thought you would stay far away from the Pack, maybe even La Push altogether.

Maybe you would find a job in Forks or somewhere else and hightail it out of there. Or maybe you would apply for a scholarship to some college on the other side of the country.

Instead you had done the least expected thing.

Despite what Paul thought, what he feared, you stayed; and then, you started coming around.

First to Sam and Emily’s where you spoke to his Alpha for an hour the first time you came, and then to Emily during all the visits after.

Sam was good at shielding his thoughts most days, but the gratitude and brotherly love he felt for you echoed in the bond for days after the first visit.

Every now and then you’d head over to drop off some spare clothes for Seth, laughing at one of Jared’s dry jokes before engaging in some light conversation.

About the Pack, about your siblings and how they were adjusting.

Their lives, Paul's life, before and after.

When Jake sheepishly admitted to falling behind in school, you’d settled on the dining room table, ushering him and Embry to do the same, too, as you carved out some time to come over and help them.

You even hung around on days Leah ran patrol, staying through dinner to act as a buffer between her, Sam and Emily when the tension grew too thick for the rest of them to breathe through the evening.

Paul had done a good job existing on the sidelines during it all, respecting Leah’s don’t you fucking force her into loving you by telling her, you sick bastard and Seth’s kinder plea to let you get used to the pack and him first without the weight of an imprint just yet.

But then one day you met his gaze, saw the poorly concealed reverence, devotion and warmth and instantly put the pieces together.

And because Paul knew better than to assume what you would do after all the times he had thought wrong, he did nothing.

He didn't think, didn't panic, didn't fear. Even when you asked if he imprinted, voice soft and eyes searching, and he told you the truth, Paul did nothing but be as he always was when it came to you.

Open, honest, and trusting that you wouldn’t hurt him if you felt even a fraction of what he felt.

And his ancestors must have seen fit to reward him for it because after he was done explaining, you stayed.

You stayed; and then, you gave him a chance.

The red-haired leech was still on the loose, and the pack's energy waned the longer she danced around them. Not that they weren’t trying.

She was simply too fast, too slippery, constantly evading them as they hunted her to no end. And since they hadn’t caught her, Sam figured it was best to amp up patrol to four per shift.

Even if meant older wolves like himself, Paul, Leah and Jared had to double the hours of their still-in-school members to compensate.

Paul understood, of course, but considering Leah couldn’t handle dealing with Sam it was Paul who was stuck being berated and vilified by her any time she so much caught an echo of you in his thoughts.

And Paul thought about you. Constantly.

The only reprieve he had was in moments like this, when their shift was over and Leah ran home along with Jared and Jake all the while you drove over to deliver Seth’s clothes for the following morning.

But Paul was exhausted tonight, so much so that he could barely keep his eyes open as you cuddled on Sam and Emily’s couch.

“Stay,” he murmurs lowly, being mindful of Emily sleeping in the other room. Sluggishly, he tightens his arms around your slender waist, a half-hearted attempt to get you to sink into him further, not that you would.

You may have been on good terms with Sam and Emily, but Leah was still your sister.

And even if you wanted to fall asleep encased in your boyfriend’s heavily corded arms, you wouldn’t.

“You know I can’t, baby,” you laugh, quietly, stroking a thumb over the apple of his cheek.

Your boyfriend chuffs at your words, blearily opening his eyes, before shifting forward so that that you can cradle his jaw.

A tide of emotion rises beneath your breast because even with everything happening, you’re so grateful for these stolen moments that you lean in, all petal lips and strawberry-flavoured gloss and Paul almost groans when your lips meet in a soft, unhurried kiss.

If it were up to him, there would be no red-haired leech and golden-eyed freaks. Just you and him and the taste of strawberries forever.

"I also think you should just crash here tonight," you tell him when you come up for air, slowly beginning to untangle yourself from his embrace.

For a moment, the muscles in Paul’s arm grow tense, and you know your boyfriend enough to know he’s about to protest. Or worse, get up to follow you.

Because if you can’t stay, then he’s going to force himself to escort you home anyway, even when he’s dead on his feet.

Gently, your hand drifts to the centre of his chest to keep him down.

“Em should have someone close by, and I’m going home to Leah anyway,” you remind him, lips curling at his small pout.

"And you can't even open your eyes properly, so I'll be back in the morning. Okay?"

Ordinarily, your shapeshifter boyfriend would move your hand away, before insisting he at least keep you company on your car ride home.

But as always, you’re right.

Paul’s tired. The kind of tired that should be impossible for someone like him, but it’s true.

So when you lean forward to press another kiss to his jaw, murmur quietly one more time for him to stay, that you’ll be okay, Paul relents.

The scent of you in the air, on his lips, is dizzying enough as it is. How can he possibly protest when all of it makes Paul want to–

"–M'okay," he slurs, eyes fluttering once, then twice, before shutting completely.

When he comes to, Paul remembers the scent of strawberries, your honeyed laughter and the lingering warmth of your touch.

It's enough to make him smile, before he blinks. In shock, then in confusion, turning around to take in his new surroundings.

Weird, he thinks.

Usually, when he dreams, he dreams of you.

On the beach, laughing as you kick up saltwater, before Paul runs after you and down the shore. Under the stars, a heated mess of tangled-up limbs, Paul in you and the feeling of you everywhere.

Sometimes, he even dreams of the two of you, together and years older, a little boy with his face and your smile held in your arms while a younger girl made in your image clutches to his pants.

But this time, though, there's none of that.

This time, he's in the middle of the forest, legs planted as if he were a tree himself.

All around him, there is a cloud of mist. Thick and encompassing, strange if not for the unnatural emptiness of the forest.

There are no cicadas clicking. No birds chirping. The forest, forever filled with even the quietest of whispers and groans, is dead silent.

That is, until Paul hears it.

Somewhere in the distance, a single voice hums something old, something ancient, the voice swelling into a song that shakes Paul to his core because he’s not alone.

He’s not alone.

The realisation is enough to spur him forward, Paul managing to take a step forward and then another, walking slowly through winding trees and thick mist before he ends up in a wide clearing where a bonfire has been lit.

Before the bonfire, still singing, sits a lone woman dressed in a traditional buckskin dress with a gentle face and two long braids.

She makes no move to indicate that she’s heard him. But the fire illuminates her face with an otherworldly glow, accentuates the way her throat flexes as she sings, the words sounding clearer now that he’s right in front of her.

It’s an old song, he remembers, one that has endured time and colonisation and everything in between.

He contemplates interrupting her, at first, uneasy by the strangeness of this situation. But then he inches closer, his wolf urging him to sit on the empty log across from her.

And so the woman sings, and Paul waits and he listens, because something in him, something instinctual, pulls at him.

Tells him that somehow this is real, that this is important.

And because the last time he felt this way was in the moments before he looked at you, Paul waits for the song to finish.

“The youngest of my sons made this song,” says the woman says after she stops singing, still watching the fire burn.

“The song opens up a door between your world and here, which my son used to communicate with us.

My older sons would listen to him with me here when he sang. They would even sing with him before he joined us, and they all left this place together."

The flames burn a little brighter, and the woman falters. Tilts her head, as if listening for something only she can hear.

And when she hears it, whatever it is, Paul catches her expression flicker in the firelight (grim, resigned) before she resumes, this time a little more hurried than before.

"But I didn't follow. I couldn't," the woman says, finally lifting her head to meet Paul's gaze from across the fire.

"Not without Taha-Aki."

And oh, Paul thinks, struck dumb.

Because painted in shadows made by the flames, the third wife–a woman he's only ever known through stories and legends–stares at him solemnly, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze.

“My husband’s spirit still roams your world," she says, ignoring Paul's clear shock.

“He guides all spirit warriors here when their time comes, and their imprints, too. This is where they rest for a while before they move on. But never does my husband come with them, though. Too ashamed, I think."

"Ashamed?” Paul asks, speaking for the first time before he stops himself.

The woman before him and Taha Aki were more than wife and husband.

They were imprinted, tethered together by the same forces that brought Paul to you. The same forces that wouldn't have put her in his dream unless there was something wrong with the imprint.

And there could only be something wrong with the imprint if something was wrong with...

"Why am I here?" he asks slowly, dread wrapping itself around his heart–painful and suffocating–as the third wife's face turns sad. Pitying.

…No.

"Why am I here?" he repeats, this time louder and more panicked as he surges to his feet.

Through the fire, the third wife stares at his face, her expression a little more troubled, a little more human, before the truth splits the air and his chest open.

"–Because my husband will soon guide your imprint here, and if you want to save her,"

NoNoNONONO

"–than you must to stop him before he succeeds."

A loud crash sounds in the distance, so loud that Paul slams his hands against his ears and grits his teeth, trying to convince himself that this isn't real.

That it's not the sound of your car folding in on itself that he hears in the distance, glass shattering into thousands of pieces.

It can't be, he thinks, agonised; and yet, it is.

Because the truth is that you're out there, somewhere in the wreckage of it all.

Paul knows it.

Feels it.

"How do I do it?!" he cries, turning to the ancient woman with wild, frenzied eyes when his ears won’t stop ringing.

(You’re screaming).

"How do I stop him?!"

(You’re crying).

The third wife at least has the decency to look regretful, before turning to look over her shoulder and into the long and dark forest.

“Have you not been listening?” she answers, cryptically.

And before Paul can snarl, beg, whatever he needs to do to get more than that (because what kind of bullshit answer is that), a howl echoes in the distance.

On autopilot, his body begins to shake, tremor, the air beginning to shift all around them before–

"Trust me Paul Lahote, you’ll know what to do," the third wife says, still looking into the unknown.

“–But you need to wake up. Now."

When I tell you the brainrot would not leave me alone for this one. But anyway, please feel free to comment, tag & repost. 🐺

©️ @intothemultifandom 2025

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

behind hidden pages (m) | jjk

title: behind hidden pages (pilot series) pairing: art student!jungkook x writer!reader(f)  rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; college / grad / coffee shop au summary: after being ghosted by your boyfriend with him disappearing off to a different country, it's not an understatement to say that it really crushed your heart and eagerness to ever be in a relationship again. well, good thing is that it leads to your first ever bestselling novel and peacefully working at your best friend jimin's cafe! however, someone appears out of nowhere to disturb your simple little life. enter: jungkook, a handsome young man with a hidden side to him who suddenly moves into the studio below you. when your paths collide and your heart is shaken by him, what more lies underneath the surface which will lead to more emotional turmoil?! warnings: no actual warnings for this pilot as it's very tame, but if I continue it, there will be: eventual smut (which you won't have to wait too long for it to happen), a lot of s*xual tension, a lot of smut, caught masturb*ting, dom! jk, jungkook's clingyness 50x, jungkook body worshiping reader heavily, exhibitionism, pwp, potential threesome, cheating (not jungkook or reader), best friend! jimin, ex boyfriend! seokjin, everyone's traits are slightly exaggerated/a bit out of character, a bit of angst note: loosely based on the korean novel and webtoon, trash's circumstance, i read it and thought this would make an interesting (and very messy, drama-filled) BTS AU but changed some aspects. i decided to write one chapter of it to see what you all think as a "pilot", and based on your response, I'll probably continue it. total word count: 5.3k drop date: February 16th, 2025 5pm pst ao3 link –

"A tenant will be moving into the basement today," Jimin says, his voice casual as he starts on an espresso order. The hiss of the steaming wand fills the air.

"The basement?" You glance up from your clipboard, where you've been noting inventory. Your fingers hover over the bags of coffee beans before you start counting them out loud.

"Yeah, so get rid of all your stuff down there," he continues. "It's all trash."

You pause mid-count, narrowing your eyes at him. "You do know there's one box that belongs to Kim Seokjin."

"I know," he says, unfazed, tamping the espresso with practiced ease. "So just clean it up."

"Because he's my ex?"

"Obviously."

"Rude." Jimin smirks, entirely unbothered, before his expression shifts into something borderline angelic. With a practiced smile, he slides a cup across the counter. "Your espresso is ready! And here's a cookie—on the house!" he says, voice suddenly dripping with warmth as he hands it to the customer.

The customer beams, thanking him before heading to their table, completely unaware of the menace lurking beneath that sweet façade. You, however, know better. Jimin has always been like this—blunt, sweet, and on occasion, bordering on heartless, but never without good intentions. You’ve known him since college, back when you were just another over-caffeinated lit student drowning in deadlines, and he was the pre-law major guy who somehow had everything together. He was charming in that effortless way—always quick with a teasing remark, but also the kind of friend who showed up when you needed him, no questions asked.

After graduating, while you floundered between odd jobs and your dream of becoming a writer, Jimin went ahead and made something of himself after working at a law firm. He opened this café, built a life around it, and when you were struggling, he gave you a place to stay. Rent-free, no strings attached—except for the occasional demand that you work the counter when he was understaffed, which, honestly, was often.

And now, apparently, he's renting out the basement. You roll your eyes, which Jimin catches immediately. "Y/N, stop spacing out and take out the trash," he chides, already moving on to his next order.

With an exaggerated sigh, you grab the garbage bags and push through the back door. The moment you step outside, the heat wraps around you like an oppressive blanket. Cicadas drone endlessly, their hum rising and falling in waves, amplifying the stillness of the afternoon.

As you toss the trash into the bin, your gaze drifts toward the basement windows. The glass is smudged with dust, the interior barely visible through the faint reflections of the street. The idea of someone actually living down there feels… strange. 

For the past three years, the basement has been nothing but a forgotten space, cluttered with boxes, old café equipment, and—most importantly—traces of Kim Seokjin.

It’s at this moment that Jimin’s words echo in your mind: Get rid of all your stuff.

He wants you to clean it out, but just the thought of it exhausts you. Maybe he needs the extra rent money, though it’s hard to imagine him struggling financially.

Still, why now? Why suddenly rent out a place that’s been abandoned for so long?

That space has been nothing more than a storage room—a place where things go to be forgotten, including the remnants of your past with Seokjin.

You met Seokjin when he was fresh out of college, preparing for his master’s in literature. He had this quiet confidence, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward him. Handsome, soft-spoken, kind—someone everyone admired. And somehow, for reasons you still don’t fully understand, he chose you.

Not that you were insecure. You weren’t clingy, and he was always faithful. Your relationship was easy, steady—comfortable in a way that made you believe it would last at least three years of quiet stability.

Until one day, without warning, he left.

Jimin had dismissed it as a submersible breakup—a term he coined for relationships that sink silently, without a fight or a final word. Which felt, exactly like that.

It was during that time, while you were drowning in the wreckage, that Jimin, with all the money he’d stacked up working as a top-notch lawyer, decided to buy this building.

A quiet place in a calm residential neighborhood of Seoul.

This building which ended up becoming your home.

The second floor, where you lived.

The first floor, where the ”Butterfly by Jimin” cafe was born.

And the basement, once a roasting room and a storage space—now, supposedly, someone’s future studio.

Jimin had called it financial therapy.

"A new home, a new job," he’d said. "There's nothing like financial therapy to heal the wounds of a heart broken person."

You scoff, because he wasn’t even the one who was experiencing one of the worse lows of their life.

But a new home?

A new job?

It had actually worked. Maybe that, and the book you wrote in the aftermath—Falling Moon Under the Bridge—becoming a surprise bestseller had been enough to pull you forward.

You’ve come so far, running in the opposite direction of your past. And yet, the weight of it lingers, like dust unsettled in the basement.

With a deep breath, you turn back toward the café, deciding that you’ll clean it out later. Since your shift ended, you head upstairs to get changed before you meet with your publisher later that afternoon for your audiobook’s recording session. 

But just as you step inside, the bell above the door chimes.

A waft of something mild drifts through the air.

Fabric softener?

You glance toward the entrance just as a man walks in, catching only the back of him before looking away.

"I love the fabric softener scent, but it doesn’t mix well with the humid summer heat."

You arrive at the recording studio in the late afternoon, the faint hum of music equipment and muffled voices filtering through the hallway as you find the right room. This is where you’re meeting with your publisher, Kim Taehyung. 

Taehyung, like Jimin, is an upperclassman friend from college. Since you were both in the literature department, you worked on a bunch of projects together as literary apprentices under your old mentor, Professor Jeon. He was brutal, and pushed you both hard during undergrad. But looking back, you know it was worth it. His strict guidance and high standards helped shaped your writing today.

After graduating, Taehyung started working as an intern at a publishing company, and now, well, he's one of the head publishers there. It’s crazy to think about how far he’s come, but honestly, it’s not surprising. He always had this sharp eye for detail and a way with words that made his work stand out.

After locating the room, you step inside and are immediately greeted by Taehyung, his signature easygoing smile lighting up his face as he holds out a familiar yellow carton of banana milk.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Y/N," he says, his voice warm and appreciative as he presses the cold carton into your hands. "I really needed your insight on this. You always have such a unique perspective, and I didn’t want to make any big decisions without running it by you first."

You smile, accepting the drink and taking a seat in one of the plush chairs near the recording booth. Slipping the straw through the foil, you take a sip, savoring the familiar cold, sweet taste of the banana milk. "No worries at all," you reply, leaning back comfortably. "I’m actually really glad to be here. I’ve never sat in on an audiobook recording before. When does it start?"

Taehyung glances at his watch, his expression brightening. "Just in a bit! I’m having a friend of mine handle the narration. He’s got this incredible voice, and honestly, he was highly recommended by Professor Jeon. I think he’s going to bring something really special to the project."

As Taehyung speaks, you flip through the script he handed you earlier, scanning the highlighted passages and margin notes. Your best-selling book’s first half is from the point of view of a man named Haneul, who has a near-death experience and begins seeing a specific woman, Seo Yul in his dreams every night. Determined to find her in real life, he embarks on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and illusion.

You’ve always had a vague image of Haneul in your mind—his mannerisms, his voice, the way he carries himself. But could there actually be someone out there to fit his voice. The door to the recording studio opens with a soft click, pulling you from your thoughts. The sound of footsteps shuffles into the room, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of ice in a cup. A cool breeze from the hallway briefly sweeps in before the door closes again.

"Sorry I’m late, hyung," a deep, smooth voice says, tinged with a hint of apology but also a casual ease.

"That’s okay! Did you get here alright? It’s pretty hot out there," Taehyung replies, his tone light and forgiving.

"I drove and picked up an iced Americano on the way, so it wasn’t too bad," the voice responds, and you can hear the smile in his words.

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you finally look up from the script.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s tall, with an effortlessly handsome presence that immediately draws your attention. His plain gray long sleeve shirt hugs his frame just right, paired with medium-wash jeans that look like they’ve been worn a hundred times but still fit perfectly. A silver lip ring sits on the corner of his mouth, catching the studio lights and glinting subtly as he speaks. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it on his way in, and there’s a relaxed confidence in the way he carries himself.

But what stands out the most isn’t his appearance—it’s his voice. Deep and smooth, it carries effortlessly in the room, each word deliberate and weighted with a natural lilt that makes everything he says sound intentional, almost melodic. It’s the kind of voice that could make even the most mundane sentence sound captivating.

You consider greeting him, but he’s already caught up in conversation with Taehyung and a few others in the room—people who seem to know him well.

You decide not to bother. It’s a hassle to talk to and befriend new people anyway. You’ve never been one to insert yourself into situations where you might feel out of place, and right now, it’s easier to just stay in your corner.

But then, a shadow approaches, lingering just beside you. You glance up, your pen pausing mid-scribble.

"Hello, Sunbae."

Sunbae?

The word catches you off guard. You blink at him, your mind racing. How old is he? You quickly do the math in your head, trying to figure out if he’s younger or if he’s just being overly polite. Either way, the title feels a little too formal, especially in this setting.

"Oh hi there, I’m L/N F/N, the author of this book," you say, offering a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in your tone. You’re not used to being called sunbae—it’s been a while since you graduated, and you’ve always preferred a more casual approach to these things.

"Kim Jungkook," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. His grip is firm, warm, and there’s a confidence in the way he meets your gaze. "I heard you graduated from the school I’m attending. I’m an art major there. I’m looking forward to working with you."

You shake his hand, nodding slowly as you process his words. An art major? That explains the effortless style, the subtle edge to his appearance. But more than that, it’s the way he carries himself—like he’s comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the weight of first impressions.

"Ah, it’s been a while since I graduated," you reply, your tone light. "And we weren’t in the same department, so just call me by my name." You try to brush off the formality, hoping to ease into a more relaxed dynamic. Titles always feel so distant, and you’d rather not have that kind of barrier between you, especially when you’re about to collaborate on something as personal as your book.

But Jungkook shakes his head, his lips quirking slightly into a small, almost teasing smile. "No, I can’t do that, Sunbae—" he says, his voice low but firm, leaving the sentence hanging as the audio engineer calls him over to enter the recording booth. He gives you a polite nod before heading inside, slipping on the headphones.

As Jungkook walks away, you glance down at your hand, flexing your fingers absentmindedly. The warmth of his grip still lingers, a faint echo that feels oddly significant.

Odd. That interaction felt strangely familiar, like a déjà vu you can’t quite place.

You’re certain you’ve never met Jungkook before—his looks alone aren’t easy to forget. The sharp jawline, the lip ring, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts—it’s all too distinctive to slip your memory. And yet, there’s something about him, something that tugs at the edges of your mind, like a half-remembered dream you can’t quite piece together.

Your gaze drifts toward his plastic coffee cup resting on the table. The cup sleeve catches your eye, and you lean in slightly to get a better look.

Butterfly by Jimin Café.

Jimin’s café?

Wait—hold on.

Your breath stills for a second as realization dawns. The scent of fabric softener from earlier today, the fleeting brush of someone’s shoulder against yours in the crowded café, the low murmur of a voice apologizing as they passed by. It all comes rushing back.

Your eyes widen.

You lift your head, and across the studio, Jungkook is watching you.

With a smirk.

There’s something unreadable in his expression, something knowing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to connect the dots that you do not know of. His lips curve slightly, and his eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long.

Shit.

You quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in the script. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You flip a page, your fingers trembling just slightly, hoping no one notices the way your composure has slipped.

The recording session begins, and Jungkook’s voice fills the space, steady and rich, effortlessly slipping into the role of the narrator.

["From the brief meetings we shared, I found that she was a woman who walked on eggshells, carefully maintaining her image for the public, despite the wounds buried beneath layers of fabric, skin, and deep within her heart. The dead of winter held no meaning for her—it was merely a reminder of those who had already left..."]

You sit there, struck still.

His voice is captivating. Deep, intimate, carrying the weight of every word with precise control. It’s like he’s not just reading the lines…he’s living them, breathing life into Haneul in a way that feels almost too real. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around you, pulling you into your own story all over again.

The staff murmurs amongst themselves, impressed.

"His tone fits the male lead perfectly," someone comments.

"He’s got that quiet intensity," another agrees.

Next to you, Taehyung leans in, grinning. "Isn’t he good?"

You nod slowly, but as Jungkook’s voice continues to flow through the speakers—deep, smooth, and effortlessly intense—you feel a rush of warmth creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks.

Shit.

You force yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the script in your lap as if it holds the secrets of the universe. But the heat lingers, stubborn and undeniable, prickling at your skin. You swallow, praying that no one notices—especially not him.

After the recording ends at 7:30 PM, you, Taehyung, and the studio crew spill out into the warm evening air, the city lights casting a golden glow over the streets. The group makes its way to a nearby restaurant, a cozy but lively spot with wooden tables and the comforting aroma of sizzling food. The hum of conversations mixes with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Plates of food quickly fill the table—crispy fried chicken, steaming bowls of tteokbokki, and an assortment of banchan that everyone eagerly digs into. Pitchers of beer are poured freely, and the mood is light, the kind of easy camaraderie that comes after a long but successful day of work.

Taehyung, always in his element when surrounded by people, is mid-story, waving an onion ring around as he speaks. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his gestures are more animated than usual, a sure sign that he’s had a drink or two.

“The narration was amazing, right?” he exclaims, dunking the onion ring into a pool of ketchup with enthusiasm. “I mean, Jungkook just nailed it. Didn’t he?”

Mid-sip of your beer, you hum noncommittally, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah… well.”

Taehyung squints at you, his grin turning sly. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You set your glass down, shrugging a little too casually. “I mean, it was really good,” you admit, your voice a little too even, a little too careful. You’re not sure why you’re downplaying it, but something about admitting how much Jungkook’s performance affected you feels… dangerous.

Taehyung leans back in his chair, clearly not buying it. “I’ve been working with a lot of student interns at the university, and they say he’s ridiculously multitalented. It’s crazy that he’s not just looks,” he continues, his tone teasing. 

You give a small nod, but your thoughts are already straying.

Back to the recording session.

Back to Jungkook’s voice.

It had been deep, smooth, and filled the space in a way that was almost too good. Every syllable had weight, sinking into your bones like warmth on a cold day. Soft yet sultry. Intimate in a way that felt excessive.

Hold on. Do you have some kind of… voice fetish?

Shit.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. The thought alone makes your face burn. You swore off dating—hell, you swore off men—and now here you are, sitting at a bar, spiraling over some junior you just met. This is bad.

Taehyung must notice the way your expression shifts because he suddenly grins. “So, Bookworm, what have you been up to lately?”

The nickname makes you blink. It’s been ages since he called you that. He’s definitely tipsy.

“Just writing, working at Jimin’s café, and sometimes I travel,” you say, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“You’ve clearly won at life!” Taehyung announces, lifting his glass like he’s toasting you.

“Won?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I just live a simple life, day by day. Lethargic and exhausted by passion.”

The words come out more honest than you intend, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to catch on.

But someone else does.

Jungkook.

You feel it before you see it—his gaze. When your eyes finally flick over, sure enough, he’s looking at you.

Not glancing. Not idly observing.

Looking.

Something about it makes your skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Not in a way you know how to name.

And yet, instead of breaking away, he holds it.

Your breath hitches.

You quickly turn back to Taehyung, willing your cheeks to cool, forcing your expression into something neutral. Jimin once told you that your eyes tend to wander when you’re deep in thought, but this is different. Why does Jungkook keep meeting them?

Is he curious about you? Just polite? Or worse—does he know?

Does he see how you’re reacting to him?

You shake the thought away, burying it under more beer.

It doesn’t matter.

You’ve been through enough to know that people like Jungkook—ones with easy smiles and a natural charm that makes everyone in the room lean in—are dangerous.

Because you’ve met someone like that before.

And it nearly destroyed you.

The alcohol isn’t helping now. It’s loosening your thoughts, making it harder to keep your guard up. You rub your temple, exhaling sharply, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’re relieved for a distraction, until you see the name on the screen.

Jimin.

Of course.

You quickly stand, finger nearing to answer the call. “Hey, Taehyung, I’m gonna take this call.”

Taehyung raises a brow, his grin turning mischievous. “Jimin again? Man, you guys are always together. Are you dating or something?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, it’s more like family. He’s an annoying older brother.”

Taehyung laughs, nodding. “That checks out.”

You step away from the table, the noise of the restaurant fading slightly as you press your phone to your ear. “Hey, what do you want—”

“Why didn’t you clean the basement yet?!” Jimin’s voice is sharp, cutting through the buzz in your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Your stomach drops. “Completely forgot. I’m at a work dinner.”

“The tenant’s stuff is coming in the morning,” Jimin says, his tone exasperated but laced with concern. “Where are you? I’ll drive and pick you up.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “The Tavern Grill, near the recording studio.”

“I know where that is,” Jimin replies quickly. “Just come outside so I find you more easily when I wait for you on the curb. I’m on my way.”

“Fine, fine. Let me say goodbye first,” you mutter, already heading toward the door. 

As you weave through the tables, you can’t help but glance back at the group. Taehyung is laughing at something someone said, his arm slung over the back of his chair.

When you return, Taehyung gives you an exaggerated pout. “Jimin coming to drag you home now?”

“Something like that.” You roll your eyes, already grabbing your things. “He said he’ll pick me up.”

Taehyung laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Tell him we need to grab a drink sometime. My treat.”

You grin, saying your goodbyes to the others—some casual, some playful.

Then, just as you’re about to leave, you glance over—

And Jungkook is still watching.

His fingers drum idly against his glass. He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. But his gaze lingers, like there’s something he wants to say but won’t.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t know what it means. And you don’t want to find out.

So you turn away, stepping out into the night.

Whatever it is, it’s not your problem.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Jimin walks ahead of you as you both descend the stairs to the basement. The air gets cooler with each step, but something else lingers—an acrid, stale scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

You frown. “Did you smoke before picking me up?”

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle, barely glancing back. “Wow, you really have a sharp nose, Y/N.” Then, without warning, he reaches over and fluffs your hair, like you’re some small puppy that just sniffed out the right answer.

You groan, swatting his hand away. “You know I hate the smell of cigarettes, Jimin.”

“I know, I know. Just… let it slide for today,” he mutters, tone quieter now. “Had a bad day.”

You don’t push. Not yet, at least.

The basement door groans on its hinges as you step inside. The air is heavier down here, tinged with dust and disuse. Jimin reaches for the light switch and flicks it—

Nothing.

He sighs. “Great. Power’s probably cut off for this room since we barely use it. I’ll go check the breaker.”

You pull out your phone, switching on the flashlight. “I’ll start looking through things in the meantime.”

Jimin eyes you skeptically. “You’re really gonna be able to see anything with just that?”

You give him a pointed look. “That should be the least of your worries. I just don’t want to be cleaning all night.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” With that, he heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the stillness of the basement.

The dim beam of your flashlight sweeps over the space. Piles of forgotten things are stacked haphazardly—old college notebooks, loose papers, manuscripts half-finished and never revisited.

And then—

Your stomach tightens.

That box.

It’s been shoved far away from the rest, as if even in storage, you wanted it out of sight. But it’s still here. A silent, patient thing.

You step closer. Your fingers hesitate over the worn edges of the lid.

Then, with a quiet breath, you open it. Inside, time folds in on itself.

Your fingers graze the first thing on top—a faded movie ticket stub. The edges are soft, curling, worn from being thumbed over too many times in the past. You remember this night. Your night. Seokjin had held your hand through the entire movie, whispering sarcastic commentary in your ear, making you laugh so hard the people in front turned around to glare. You’d buried your face in his shoulder, giggling, and he had just smiled like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

Your throat tightens.

Beneath it, a polaroid. The two of you at some festival, Seokjin holding up a peace sign while you kissed his cheek. The colors have faded slightly, but you can still see how bright his eyes were, how effortlessly happy you had looked. You weren’t even thinking about the camera—just him.

You swallow hard.

All of these things mean something to you, or at least, they once did. But the longer you stare at them—the trinkets, the letters, the pieces of Seokjin woven into your past—the more you wonder if they ever meant anything to him. If he could leave so easily, so cleanly, then what were these memories even worth?

Can you really throw all of this away?

Your fingers hesitate over the box when you hear footsteps behind you.

Figuring it’s Jimin, you sigh, still lost in thought. “Hey, why didn’t you turn the lights back on? Is there something wrong with the breaker—?”

Before you can finish, you’re shoved, your back colliding against the wall with a thud. A strong grip pins you in place, pressing into your shoulders.

Your pulse surges.

“What the fuck!? Who are you—”

“Why are you rummaging through someone else’s shit, you thief?”

The voice is sharp, accusatory. And absolutely not Jimin’s.

Your breath catches.

And then, the lights flick on.

Your vision adjusts, and when you see who exactly has you caged against the wall, your stomach flips.

Jungkook.

Wait. Jungkook?

His dark eyes widen the second he recognizes you, hands retreating from your shoulders like he’s been burned. “Oh, fuck.” His voice drops into sheer panic. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know it was you!”

You blink, still trying to process what just happened.

He looks mortified, hands hovering near you like he wants to check for injuries but doesn’t dare touch you again. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you okay?”

You exhale, still slightly dazed. “Ah… it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupts, eyes flickering with concern. His fingers ghost over your arms, searching for any sign that he might’ve been too rough. His hold, once bruising, is now careful. Deliberate. “I grabbed you way too hard. Are you sure you’re fine, Sunbae?”

You look at him properly now, still catching your breath. Damn.

His face is stupidly attractive up close, his brows knitted in pure remorse. His scent—clean, like fresh laundry mixed with something slightly musky—hits you all at once, making your stomach do something annoying.

He’s exactly your type.

And that realization makes this moment so much worse.

“You’re Kim Jungkook, right?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Jungkook straightens, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Wait… you don’t remember me?”

He sounds almost offended, tilting his head slightly.

You furrow your brows. “Sorry, I’m not good at remembering names or people for that matter.”

He blinks, then lets out a scoff—part amused, part incredulous. “Seriously? I recognized you the second the lights came on, but you forgot about me?”

Your lips twitch. Is he really pouting?

Whatever. You’re still processing the fact that you just got manhandled by this guy. He needs to take about five steps back.

You cross your arms, clearing your throat. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s expression shifts, his stance relaxing as he rubs the back of his neck. “This is my studio now.”

Your stomach drops.

“…What?” Your mind stutters over his words.

His studio?

Your eyes drift over the scattered boxes, the dust-lined shelves, the scent of old paper and forgotten memories lingering in the air. When Jimin had mentioned a tenant renting the basement, you’d barely paid attention, brushing it off as another small change in your life. But standing here now—with Jungkook, of all people—the reality sinks in with an unsettling twist in your gut.

This is his space now?

Before you can fully process the implications, footsteps echo from the stairwell, followed by Jimin’s familiar voice.

“All right, the power’s back on—” He stops mid-step as he takes in the scene, his gaze flicking between you and Jungkook. His brows furrow slightly, his usual easygoing expression dimming with curiosity.

“Oh, you two have met,” he says, a little slower than usual. “Y/N, this is Jungkook—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, still distracted by the realization. “We met earlier today during the recording session.”

Jimin’s brows lift. “Oh?”

“But what are you doing here, sunbae?” Jungkook asks, his tone shifting to something lighter, more casual. “Do you live nearby?”

“I’m cleaning out some of my stuff down here for… well, you, apparently.” You exhale, motioning vaguely to the clutter around you. “I live upstairs.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Jimin, however, is less surprised. He crosses his arms, fixing Jungkook with a sharp look. “But, dear tenant, what are you doing here?” His voice dips into something more pointed. “Didn’t you say you’d be here tomorrow at noon?”

Jungkook barely flinches under the scrutiny. “I had something to check on.”

Jimin eyes him for a moment before sighing and letting go of whatever was on his mind.

“Do you want any help?” Jungkook asks, turning back to you.

Your pulse spikes. Oh, God.

The last thing you need is him digging through your things—especially the one box tucked carefully behind you. The one filled with Seokjin’s remnants.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. His brows raise, but you force a casual shrug. “I’m good. I’m just going to throw it all away anyway.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at the mess. But then, his eyes catch on something.

A photograph peeks from the top of one of your boxes, slightly askew. Before you can move to block it, his gaze sharpens, lips curling into something almost unreadable.

“Then I can throw it all away for you,” he says, voice smooth but laced with something just a little too amused. He meets your eyes with a slow tilt of his head. “You don’t need it, after all. This place is mine now.”

Something about the way he says it—the lazy drawl, the faint glint in his gaze—rubs you the wrong way.

Your stomach tightens.

Just hours ago, he’d been nothing but polite, apologetic even. But now? There’s something else beneath the surface. A hint of something sharper, something laced with an unspoken edge.

Is this actually his true nature?

This doesn't sit right—yet, at the same time, you can’t shake the curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You know better than to let your guard down, but part of you is pulled in, drawn to the enigma that is Kim Jungkook.

And so, without knowing how or why, you find yourself standing at the beginning of something unexpected.

This is how your story with Jungkook begins.

– TBC?

a/n: if you decided to check out this story, thank you so much! feel free to give me your thoughts, questions, theories (yes, kim jungkook is intentional in this story and you'll know why if i continue this series hehe). jungkook is also the same age as reader but still in college (because he started college a bit late due to enlistment). also happy belated valentine's day. i meant to upload on valentine's day, but i got caught up in trying to make this more detailed.

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 188 }

wrapped around your finger.

kenji (ken) sato x fem.reader

warnings: currently unedited; alcohol mention.

dedicated tags: @luneariaa since she adores kenji sato 🥰

{ you keep me wrapped around your finger | wrapped around your finger | i was caught up in your orbit | spinnin' like a bullet | i was wrapped around your finger | wrapped around your finger | then i shot back down to earth… }

there was a boredom felt coursing through your veins, and despite how you were living in a country where superheroes and monsters existed, it wasn’t enough to spice up your lackluster life (unless you counted running for your life when these said monsters appeared, but you digress).

you were a young woman living in the heart of tokyo, working a simple 9 to 5 job as you came home to your cozy, one bedroom apartment. it was a mundane life, filled with your usual routine-

but every once in a while, when a giant kaiju was seen within your city, your life would take a turn for the worse as you had to run to avoid any collateral damage caused by ultraman and his less than savvy way of defending the country.

you had no idea what had happened to the beloved hero. one moment, he was as competent as can be, always successfully leading the kaijus safely out of the city with minimal effort-

and the next, ultraman would actively be struggling to defend the city from these attacks, more often than not causing the k.d.f. to enter the scene and clean up the mess made by the struggling ‘superhero.’

on several occasions, you considered leaving the country of japan to move to a more peaceful part of the world void of any kaiju attacks, but with how badly the current ultraman was doing, (and knowing your luck), the monsters would probably end up invading all parts of the world.

so, you decided to save yourself the hassle and simply stayed in tokyo.

currently, you were eating a simple meal of cup noodles, seeing the time read 8:16pm. while slurping up your noodles, you kept changing the channels on your t.v., the boredom felt seeping into your very soul as it made you a bit listless. a yawn escapes from your parted lips, with tears felt running down your cheeks. letting out an annoyed grunt, you slam down your half eaten cup of instant noodles, your gaze burning with a strange determination to finally get out of your apartment.

"how pathetic can i be, anyways? it's a friday night, and i'm here eating instant ramen like a loser."

you grumble while speaking to yourself, heading into your room to find a cute outfit to wear before heading out. the night seemed calm, with zero monster attacks, and with the lack of monster attacks meant that you wouldn't be witnessing the pure incompetence of ultraman.

when you were dressed cutely while wearing a light sheen of makeup, you grabbed your purse and placed the essentials within it: your keys, cellphone, and wallet. ready to have the absolute night of your life, you finally left the confines of your apartment after what felt like centuries.

the warm, spring air brought the scent of cherry blossoms as you walked with a bounce in your step across the sidewalk. you weighed your options of what you could do tonight, yet ultimately settled on getting some drinks at a bar somewhere. and who knows? maybe you'll attract some guy and have him pay for all your drinks the whole night. it's not like you had work the next day, so you were going to let loose tonight and allow yourself to enjoy whatever the night had to offer.

you enter the first bar that you saw, walking in with a smile on your face as you slide towards a free space seen on the counter. the bartender greets you with a nod while asking for what you'd like. you tell him your favorite drink, and before you could say anything else, you were aware of a tall man that stands beside you, sliding what appeared to be his sleek black credit card across the marble counter.

"put it on my tab, i'll take care of her."

you could feel your eyebrows raise up in response, meeting the man with the cocky voice as he takes a seat beside you. he was handsome, with ebony locks of hair and matching eyes coupled along with an even cockier smirk.

"what's a cutie like you doing here all alone?" his arrogant tone and manner of speaking was enough to make you want to shut him out, with you grabbing the cold glass of your drink before taking copious gulps from it.

"whoa, sweetheart, you might want to take it easy. don't want you getting sick after one drink."

"i'm sorry, but who the hell are you again?"

your question succeeds in making the gorgeous annoying man do a double take, clearly caught off guard by your question before visibly relaxing once more. a lazy sounding chuckle was heard from him as he extends a hand out to you, "my apologies for being rude, i'm ken sato, but you may also know me as the sole man that will make history in baseball."

you feign disinterest, acting like you had no idea who he was just to knock him down a peg or two. "sorry, i'm not sure who you are. i'm aware of how there are many baseball teams, but your name has never once come up."

ken ends up letting out a painful grunt while dramatically clutching at the front of his chest. "my lady, you wound me."

you hold back the urge to roll your eyes at him, managing to finish your drink as you thanked the bartender for his time before getting out of your seat and away from ken. seeing the way his gaze widens at the sight of your retreating figure, he quickly takes back his card from the bartender before chasing after you.

"oi, don't you think it's a little rude to leave without at least telling me your name?" you purse your lips upon witnessing his persistence, already hearing the smirk in his voice as he catches up to you. due to his long legs, he manages to reach you within seconds, the lazy grin still on his face as he saunters beside you. "come on, babe, don't leave me hanging."

"don't call me babe, sato."

"heh, i won't as long as you give me your name, babe."

you stopped walking, meeting his shit-eating grin as you folded your arms across your chest. letting out a gentle huff, you finally tell him the syllables that made up your name, watching as ken's smile grew even wider, happy that he was victorious.

ken steps closer to you, brushing back a few strands of your hair while repeating your name a few times, as if wishing to taste them against his lips. you felt your eyes go wide when his handsome features lean closer to you-

only to freeze completely when a beeping sound was heard coming from his watch. from your periphery, you saw it glow an almost painful shade of red, nearly blinding you from how bright it was compared to the darkness of the night.

"shit, i gotta go!"

as you were left absolutely dumbfounded in the middle of the street, the sudden roar of a kaiju's cry followed by the brightness of ultraman's suit was what finally broke you out of your reveries as you let out a string of curses while running back home to your apartment.

i should have just stayed home. you thought to yourself in an almost bitter manner, feeling angry when you couldn't seem to get the image of ken's stupidly handsome face from your mind.

{ ... }

it had been a couple of months since your first meeting with the egotistical ken sato, and you were happy to see him get some well deserved karma.

for starters, each time he was in a game with his team, the giants, ken was the one who seemed to struggle the most. (you tell yourself the reason you watched his games was because you wanted to laugh at him, not because you held the tiniest bit of concern for him.)

he still kept up his cocky personality, but you could tell that he was exhausted. the dark circles seen beneath his pale skin became more prominent as his body appeared to be a bit more gaunt than usual. it was obvious that he was losing weight, and you feared for both his physical and mental health.

but truly, regardless of how much concern you had for him, it wasn't like you could just go up to his house and check up on him. since he was technically a celebrity, you were certain that even he had some set amount of boundaries set in place.

in the end, you decided to simply mind your own business, not wishing to disrupt kenji sato's life-

at least, for now.

{ ... }

it was currently your day off, and you had kept your t.v. on to a random channel when you heard the announcement;

"don't change that channel, since after our commercial break, we will head to ms. ami wakita with her first exclusive interview with the star of the giants, kenji sato himself!"

hearing those words makes you stop wiping at your countertops, your head tilted in response to the announcement. admittedly, work and your own personal life had distracted you from keeping up with the news pertaining to ken sato. you had kept the baseball player in the back of your mind, and truly felt curious about this interview.

wiping the slight sweat from your brow with a handkerchief, you let out a sigh before grabbing a bottle of water from your fridge, uncapping it as you nearly drained half of the bottle with your fervent gulps. letting out a sigh of satisfaction, you return to your couch just as the interview between ami wakita and ken began.

to say that you were absolutely shocked upon seeing ken again would be the understatement of the century. not only did he appear better (aside from what you assumed was a broken arm), but there was a kindness seen in his gaze. he spoke softly and respectfully in reply to each and every one of wakita's questions, and you found yourself becoming mesmerized by the tranquility of his voice.

your eyes were glued to the screen of your television, watching ami as she continued along with her interview.

"you've proved the skeptics wrong, brought the team together and rallied the giants to their first championship title in years. that's got to feel good."

"haha, i can't take the credit, it was this team- these guys. i'm just happy to be a part of it."

“earlier, i spoke with shimura who said 'ken sato might be the finest player i have ever coached. he exemplifies what it means to be a giant.'

many critics, including myself, have noticed a change. what do you attribute that to?”

“i wouldn’t be here without my family, simple as that. my dad, mom, they made this possible. i just wish she could be here to see it.”

“i’m sure she’d be proud.” wakita reassures ken with a genuine smile on her face.

ken takes a moment, adjusting himself on his seat before taking out his phone.

“she used to leave these messages, little things to help me get through tough times. mind if i share?”

wakita simply nods in response, allowing ken to press play on his phone as his mother's voice was heard:

"kenji, you're probably not even up yet, but i was thinking about you and i wanted to share a little list of hopes. i hope that you'll give your father a chance. whether you believe it or not he loves you with all his heart. i hope you'll understand us better- understand that we were just trying to prepare you for all the challenges headed your way.

and as time passes, and we fade into memory, i hope that you'll pass some of those memories, some of those lessons along. because in the end, it was all done with love, kiddo. i miss you. see you soon."

your eyes began to water, feeling the tears well up from within them after hearing such a heartfelt message. wishing to pull yourself together, you wipe away at your tears and shut off the television screen. your heart was felt glowing with a strange warmth, recalling ken's kind smile during such a heartfelt interview-

was this the same ken sato you interacted with all those months ago?

no; the pompous ken you had first met was merely a mask he had made for himself. the ken that spoke to wakita- now that was his true self. you were certain of it now.

deep down, you knew that you probably would never see him again, yet still, you couldn't help but feel immensely happy for him. there was a kindness and a light seen in his gaze now, making your prior worries pertaining to him melt away in response.

{ ... }

despite how the kaiju attacks still occurred, the world surrounding you seemed much more peaceful now-

especially since it seemed like ultraman had finally gotten his shit together.

his gigantic form walked with more confidence now, as he was able to send each wandering kaiju back into the depths of the ocean and away from the city of tokyo. his popularity has spiked yet again, especially after his heroic actions seen when he shielded the city from a bomb that was meant to take out what seemed like the entirety of the country.

altogether, you felt considerably safer now while living in this city.

once you clocked out of your job, you figured you could treat yourself to a nice restaurant, searching through your phone for some places nearby. you were so focused on searching for the best restaurant to eat at that you were unaware of the tall man standing in front of you, making your form collide with his as the impact left you gasping a bit.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry!"

"heh, don't worry about it, pretty lady."

your eyes go wide, recognizing that casual voice anywhere as you looked up to see a pair of gentle, dark eyes looking down at you. his face was partially covered by a baseball cap, but the way his hair fell across his face (further accentuating his handsome features) was a dead giveaway.

"ken...!"

you had no idea what prompted you to do this, but you couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck. feeling your sudden embrace catches ken off guard as he takes a step back, steadying himself when he wraps an arm around you.

"hey, it's good to see you again, too." a rich chuckle was heard coming from him, and you found yourself trembling in response. hearing him speaking to you so gently now filled you with an inexplicable warmth. recalling his injury, you gasp and take a step back, "i'm so sorry, i forgot about your arm!"

"no worries, look." ken then holds up both of his hands in response, "see? i'm all healed. no harm no foul, really."

you felt the heat dye against your cheeks, clearly flustered now while speaking to this achingly sweet and soft version of ken sato. "t-thank you, really. uhm, so... like, i was wondering... ah..."

you found yourself struggling to get the words out, making ken look down at you while placing both hands into the pockets of his jeans. he waits for you to continue speaking, and you let out a deep breath before continuing, "i'm sorry, for being a bit cold to you when we first met-"

yet ken cuts off your apology by holding his hand up, "don't be, i was a complete and total asshole to you. you had every right to be annoyed with me, and honestly, no offense taken when the cold shoulder was well deserved."

you both end up laughing at the memory, taking a second to bask in the moment before you spoke once more, "listen, i was going to head out somewhere to eat dinner. would you like to join me?"

ken's eyes go wide as he gives you an eager nod, "would i like to join you? hell yes i would like to join you. did you have somewhere planned?"

you shake your head in response, "not exactly, but i figured we could decide together, maybe?"

a wide grin was then seen on ken's face, "are you in the mood for some amazing tonkatsu? if so, i know the perfect place."

"yes! i don't mind some tonkatsu at all!"

"perfect." ken then takes a hold of your hand, walking beside you as he remains on the side closest to traffic while striding across the sidewalk with you. by now, your heart was felt skipping its beats when you softly called out his name.

"hm?" ken faces you, and you gathered your courage before standing closer to him to press a kiss against his cheek. the kiss was a quick one, barely lasting a second before you immediately stepped away from him. you felt the heat return to your cheeks once more, catching the way ken touches at the spot where you had kissed him with his hand.

another rich chuckle was heard coming from him before he tells you, "you missed."

"eh?!" you turn around to face him again, only to see ken slowly turning his baseball cap around before leaning closer to you with a smile on his face.

"i said... you missed." finally understanding what he meant, you felt your gaze slowly narrow before closing your eyes completely, allowing ken's lips to meet with yours in a sweet kiss, setting your heart aflame with adoration for him as you gently kissed him back, completely and utterly engrossed in your own little world with him.

a.n. - so i just finished watching ultraman: rising just a mere few hours ago and had to write something for the new boyfriend material 😭 ken sato is so sweet and cute, and i get why he has tumblr in a chokehold right now. this is unedited, but i hope you readers still enjoy this!

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[sp00kymulderr]

it might be nice

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. FEELINGS. Angst. love. just...feelings. Mention of f receiving oral, reader is a not a us-citizen (visa stuff), commitment and intimacy issues all round, did I mentioned feelings? This just kinda started writing itself, i appreciate there isn't enough Dieter in it but it is what it is. Unedited, unbeta'd.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now.

"We could get married"

You look up from your book, drawn back from your far away to the sound of his voice. Dieter is looking at you expectantly.

Your eyes widen as you process the four words that just left his mouth.

"Dee, we…why would we…" You trail off, drawing your legs up and out of his lap, his thumb presses down on the arch of your foot once more before he lets it go.

The conversation had moved on hours ago. Over takeout you'd mentioned trepidation over being able to stay in the country, struggling with your visa and having no sponsorship since you couldn't seem to get a fucking job right now.

Dieter had listened, sympathised, and then eaten you out for dessert just to make you feel better about your situation.

It helped. He'd been pretty mediocre but extremely enthusiastic when you'd met, but now you'd taught him some tricks he knew just how to turn your mind off for a moment.

The conversation was finished the moment he put his mouth on you, or so you thought. He could help you pay for an extension but he wasn't influential or wealthy enough to sway the embassy into letting you stay longer.

"I'd bribe the fuck out of them if I could, you know that"

You did know that. You knew he'd do anything for you. He'd been saying it since the day he met you, once famous (more like infamous) movie star turned rehabilitated recluse with no one willing to be by his side until that day.

He'd met you in a Dennys, of all places. 3am waffles served to his lonely little corner booth because he found it hard to sleep these days, and he got hungry at random times. You took the late shifts because they paid the best, and you could be available in the day for calls from your agent that never came.

It hadn't been sexual at first. It hadn't been anything but a displaced, alone man and an exhausted, untethered waitress sitting in a booth and sharing free fries because chef made too many and they'd only go to waste. It had been whispered giggles, and sharing ridiculous Hollywood horror stories, and 'same time tomorrow' over and over again.

No one in LA had made you laugh. Not until you met him.

Dieter hadn't heard genuine laughter in years. Now he got to hear it every night.

Back in the now, you shake your head. He's being silly. He's trying to make you laugh again.

"Don't be stupid" You playfully shove his shoulder with your foot, but his face falls into a frown, and you feel a little crack in your heart at the sight. You watch as he stands, rubbing fingers across his forearm and muttering a little 'Stupid, yeah'. The tremor you feel inside you is nameless, and you will it to remain that way.

In the last six months of your knowing each other, there have been times when you've felt this same feeling. An ache at the thought that he could be anything other than happy. You'd long since left Dennys for the upward trajectory of the Cheesecake Factory but still when the late shift rolls around you feel a tug at your lips and a name on them, even when you'd seen him only hours before.

You're not an item, that's the thing. You're not a couple. Neither of you have ever said the words outright, no 'I want to be with you', 'I want to be yours'. Not to each other, at least.

It's more than enough. Having what you have with him now. It's enough, it's enough, it's enough. Enough that he will sit up all night long and read lines with you again and again and again. Enough that he tells you not to come over on his bad days but you do anyway, and hold him while he cries.

It's enough to be just this. Because more would only make it hurt more when he relapses, when you have to leave.

When you have to leave…

You close your book, set it down on the table that's strewn with pages for your latest audition. Last night he'd coached you through every single line, and then told you with passion just how perfect you were. You can hear him in the kitchen, and you know he's making himself a decaf latte with way too much caramel syrup and a dash of the kitkat sprinkles because that's what he always makes when he might be starting to crave something else.

That's how you know he wasn't making a joke. That's how you know your hurt his feelings. That and every look he's ever given you, every smile that lights up his eyes that's only been for you. That and the way his hands never stray far from you, always grounding himself with the touch of your skin to his.

"Dee…" You pad up to him slowly, watch as he tenses at your presence. Another prickle in your chest, you can't let him think you don't feel...what it is that you feel.

"Would it be so bad?" He asks without turning, the tinge of dejection in his tone making you reach out. "I'd treat you good, you know. We wouldn't even have to live together or anything…it can just be a way for you to stay. That's all. I didn't think it would be so bad for you"

God, you've had him right in your grasp this whole time. The two of you dancing around your feelings all because of fears you didn't even fully realise you had til now.

"I'd- I wouldn't even tell anyone you were my wife, if you didn't want me to. I wouldn't expect anything from it. I just…fuck,"

You turn him around with a pull to his arm, shake your head and bite back something hopeful and beautiful that inches up your throat,

"I don't want you to go"

Your arms are around his middle, a stifled sob as you bury your face against the soft, worn fabric of his favourite t-shirt - your favourite by extension because everything he loves you love too. He smells like him.

You breathe him in.

He smells like home.

You look up at him and smile. Not the pretty smile you give to casting agents - the one that makes you look perfect - but the big, happy, loving one he saw the very first night you two met in that Dennys at three in the morning on a random Tuesday. The one he gives you back is the same; he's smiled a thousand times on camera, in films and press appearances and award shows. No one else but you has ever seen this smile.

You take a deep breath. The crack in your heart starts in fusing back together.

"We could get married"

[generational-atrophy]

omgg i cant stop giggling n kicking my feet BUT can i request gn!reader 'accidentally' leaving a lipstick kiss mark on russia, america, canada, greece and japan before they leave for the day and the countries dont notice until either from a mirror or someone else points it out? AAOUGUGGH

hetalia russia, america, canada, greece, and japan when their s/os leave a kiss in lipstick

1.6k words ~ gender neutral headcanons

tw: none!

a/n: hjey guys did you know being a costume director is time consuming? i did not. send help. also enjoythis idk

Russia

It was never an easy affair to get Ivan out of the house. His clinginess combined with how admittedly boring his job was made it near impossible for him to leave without you forcing him to. Today was one of those days, and you were beginning to think you’d have to leave with him.

"But darling, can't you understand? It's so cold and miserable out there..." He whines as he holds you.

He's got you positioned so that you're standing between his legs while he sits on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you and his head resting against your chest. So... no escape available without coaxing.

"I know, I know, but you'll be late..."

"They will be ok without me, but I won't be ok without you!"

All you can do is sigh until you're suddenly struck with an idea. You can't go with him, but you can leave something with him. And looking down at his snow-white skin, you have just the idea.

"But you won't have to be without me, Vanya!" You chide, tilting his head up to look at you. His face lights up instantly.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of responding, you lean down and press a soft kiss against his forehead, leaving a pink imprint of your lips on his face.

"That one was magic, ok? It'll stay with you the whole day, so I'll always be with you!" It's childish, and you're struggling not to laugh, but his innocent expression tells you all you need to know. He'll finally let you go, none the wiser as to what you really meant.

-

"Ah- Mr. Braginsky..." Some random intern was forced to prompt later in the day, his tone fearful as to how Ivan would react.

"Yes?"

"You... you have something on- on your face..."

"Huh?" He reaches up to wipe where the intern had gestured, but only smiles when he comes away with your favourite lipstick. He decides that whatever left can stay... it's just your magic, after all.

America

Alfred was a busy man for all the effort he expended to prevent that exact reality. He'd much rather spend all day playing video games at home with you, but duty calls. Though, now, was just glad that for once, you were busy as well.

“Hey, babe!” He greets you with a bright smile, resting his hand on your shoulder before moving to sit across from you. The meeting spot he had chosen was busy, but at least it wasn't far from either places you two needed to be.

“Were you waiting long?”

“No, not really,“ You respond with a sigh, twirling the straw in your drink.

”Well, that's good because uh- bad news, I won't be able to stay l-“

”Ugh! Seriously?“

He shrinks a little, fidgeting with his hair, ”Yeah, I know, but like- I can't reall-“

”Do they know you're a person? Like, a person who needs to live?“

“Technically, I'm not, babe,” He laughs, “But I appreciate how protective you are anyway.“

He continued to talk with you for a while, about your day, his day, a weird guy he saw on the street, about how you can't keep threatening his boss because he's the president- until after only a few moments, his phone rang.

He sucked in a quick breath and accepted it, only speaking for a second. Then, he got up with a dramatic groan.

“That's my cue. I guess I'll see you later, K?”

But he wasn't about to get away that easy. You shot up, grabbing onto his tie and pulling closer so you could kiss his cheek quickly.

“For good luck,” You assure, and he grins.

-

“What are you guys laughing about?” Alfred asks as soon as he goes back to work, looking nervously at the group of co-workers pointing at him.

“Got something on your face, man!”

Instantly, he realizes what happened and hurriedly wipes it off. His face is red with embarrassment, but he can't deny the butterflies in his stomach.

Canada

No matter how long you've been together, Matthew never stopped trying to be the picture-perfect boyfriend. At least, that's what you thought as he chose to show up with roses when he came to pick you up. It might've been a fancy event, but you're sure no one else would be doing that kind of thing. But who were you this kind of attention?

“Uhm- good evening, Y/N,” He stutters out as you let him come in for a moment.

“Awww, you shouldn't have!“ You take the roses from him and set them aside.

”It- It's nothing, really-“

”Most men wouldn't even think of that anymore...“ You assure him. He looks sheepish now as if he hadn't expected you to like your gift.

”Then- then, um- they should learn how to t-treat their partners...“

How cute. You walk over to him and stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, to which he immediately stiffens and blushes.

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“Ye-Yeah, uh-huh- yeah- y-you're welcome,” He mumbles, looking down in embarrassment. The colour gracing his cheeks almost perfectly matches the mark your lipstick left behind. You begin to say something about it, but before you can, he frantically cuts you off.

“So- we should get g-going right? Right, time to go...” He blurts out, taking your hand and almost dragging you out to the car.

-

Finally, once you two arrived at the event, you gathered the courage to tell him.

While you two walked, arm in arm, up to the main entrance, you suddenly blurted out, ”You have lipstick on your cheek!“

Except by that time, more than a couple of people had seen him. causing him to instantly freeze up.

The colour drained from his face, and he weakly whimpered out, ”Um, c-could you- uh- g-get it?“

You immediately obliged, cleaning off his cheek. He was embarrassed, but it was still on his mind all night.

Greece

“But do you have to?”

“Yes.”

“But-”

“I’m not getting out of this one, ok?”

“But I don’t want you to go…” His protests were typical, but that didn’t make them any less annoying. Although, it’s hard to resist him when he’s clinging to you like a lost puppy and he smells like he just finished cooking.

“It’ll only be a few hours, ok?” You sigh, finally finishing your makeup.

All he can do now is whine softly, which makes you realize there may be only one way to stop his desperate clinginess. You turn around in his arms, take his pleading face in your hands, and press frenzied kisses all over it. Instantly, his eyes light up and his lips form a dopish smile, and you know you’re free.

“Is that better?” You ask, and he nods. But before you let go, you have to admire how silly he looks with your lips painted all over his face.

-

By the time you return home, it’s already dark. The house is quiet, and when you check the time, you realize he would’ve fallen asleep hours ago. But considering how exhausted you are already, it’s nothing but a relief.

When you enter your shared bedroom, your thoughts are confirmed. He’s already passed out, his broad body splayed haphazardly over your blankets. At first, you don’t think anything of it. But when you turn on the light to get ready for bed, you notice the red stains still sitting on his cheeks.

Somehow, throughout the entire rest of the day, he never looked in the mirror long enough to notice the lipstick covering his face. Or, maybe he did, and just decided that your tokens of affection could stay.

Japan

Kiku was never late. Not even when tired, sick, or at war, was he late to anything. So, the one day that he allowed himself to relax with you, was naturally the first day in centuries that he hadn’t been an hour early. 

“It’s gonna be alright!” You call out from the bathroom while you do your makeup, and he doesn’t even waste the time to respond. Even from all the way across the house, you can hear him desperately throwing things together.

“It is not alright!”

“You’ll still be on time!” That doesn’t seem to convince him to calm down at all, as you can hear his panicked breaths growing louder as he makes his way over to the entry door.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” You insist, and he pauses for a moment. When you meet him at the door, he looks a mess. His hair was askew, his eyes wild with panic, and his tie nearly all the way to the side.

You sigh and begin tidying him up. He relaxes under your touch, you can tell even from under his layers of stoicism; although he can’t allow himself to bask in your attention for long.

“I must go-”

“I know, I know, just…” You pull him forward, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. He blushes but doesn’t let that distract him. In a moment, he’s gone out the door.

-

After a frenzied drive into the city, he can finally breathe a sigh of relief. 10 minutes early… not great, but enough. He looks in the mirror one last time, making sure he looks his best before he finally steps out into the public when he notices it. The print of your lipstick, still on his cheek.

His touch lingers on it for a moment, his breathing stilling, before he rubs it off. You’ll just have to replace it later, he tells himself before he finally steps out of the car.

[letteredlettered]

Hello there! I recently read your thoughts about By the Grace, in which you mentioned that you've never been happy with how it turned out. (I am one of the readers who love BtG, btw, I found it transformative in the sense that i loved it so much that I felt changed afterwards. my comments trace my slow disintegration 😅). I wondered if you'd be willing to share which fics of yours you like the best - which fics came out as you wanted them to, which fics make you feel understood and known? (Totally understand if this is too personal an ask btw but just thought I'd see if it's something you'd like to share).

Well, hi. You sent this ask in August of 2022. I am apparently very very behind on a lot of things. I just had a lot to say to you and didn't have the energy to say it. I'm currently dealing with some health issues so fandom is actually now one of the only things I have energy for, so here I am.

The first thing I want to say is how glad I am that you liked By the Grace. It's hard not to love something I've written, but I think it shows so much about our humanity that something I find so deeply imperfect could be something that really worked for you. Thank you so, so much for all your kind words.

The second thing I want to say is that for me, the fics I like best are the one that came out as I wanted them to, but they are not necessarily the ones that make me feel seen and known. For instance, I wrote By the Grace because I felt upset about the world, and I also felt upset about some things in fandom that felt like an ugly reflection of the world in a place where I didn't want to have to think about such things. The fact that people love BtG, in spite of its flaws, makes me feel that people understood what I was trying to say, no matter how imperfectly I said it; they care about its message and its values, even if I couldn't deliver those messages and values in the way I hoped and worked for.

Another example is The Way Down. The Way Down is one of the first Harry/Draco fics I ever wrote. I started writing it in 2007, and I was in a very difficult place at the time. It was two years after I finished college; I still wasn't doing anything with my life; I felt like a failure. I started to want to stay inside, never leave the house, never see anyone I knew, never do anything but talk to people on the internet all day long. Incidentally I felt very lonely and left out of the fandom I wanted to be a part of, which was H/D. No one was interested in my writing and I couldn't make friends in that community. I couldn't finish the fic. I got myself out of that situation, moved across the country, got a job, made new friends, and also stopped caring as much about whether my fic was popular. I was able to finish the fic because I as a person changed, and that fic reflects both parts of that journey. I don't actually think it's a good fic; some of the characterizations are too fanon for my taste; some of the scenes are a bit too silly; a lot of the deeper parts don't go deep enough. But when someone loves that fic, when it really touches someone, it's like they're loving me as I was then, loving the fact that I got myself out of it, loving a person who can struggle in that way. And that means so much to me.

Meanwhile, Away Childish Things is a perfect fic to me. It came out exactly as I wanted and said so much about both Harry and Draco that I had been wanting to say, that I felt I hadn't been seeing in fic. I knew it was good when I was writing it. Frankly, I thought people would like it, and I was right. I'm not sure that people loving it makes me feel seen and understood. It's not like ACT isn't a personal story for me--it's terribly personal! But I don't think it's saying things that make me feel bad about myself, or that I think other people or the world are struggling with. It's a sharp story that I think many people can identify with from different directions.

In terms of fics that turned out exactly as I hoped, The Eighth Tale is another such fic. It always makes the list because I had this idea for so, so long--a fic in which the war didn't go as it was "supposed" to, but instead drags on and on and on, a fic in which the canonical ending is glimpsed, but other endings are glimpsed too, a fic in which universes collide into the idea that the ending is never set, it's always the choices we make that give us our own endings. But whenever I imagined such a fic it was half a million words long, and while such a fic sounds interesting, I am so glad that @tacktigerfic would come along so many years later to write that grand epic. Meanwhile, what I had in mind was just a little paradox timey-wimey business that should take only 15-20K to get out into the world. I just didn't know how to do it. But finally, I read a fic that really inspired me with its voice (in a completely different fandom; it's Crow on the Cradle by Refur in SPN fandom if anyone is interested) and it helped me to understand I would need a very particular narrative voice to make this fic happen. Then I sat down and wrote it in about two or three sittings. It's exactly what I meant to do.

Ginny Weasley: Dragon Slayer is a similar fic in that it did exactly what I wanted to, and I wasn't sure I would get there. I think both of these fics are things I often think of as perfect because I have a habit of having rather small ideas that quickly turn huge and unwieldy. It's why BtG is a problem, imo. I love that I was able to make these fics concisely what I wanted them to be, no more, no less.

There are fics in other fandoms that are exactly what I want them to be: Sincerely Your Pal, in Captain America fandom, Say More in The Untamed (CQL) fandom. The End Resting Only on Air is the perfect end to my series of fics in The Walking Dead fandom. I still think Or Even Rearrange You has the best Tony Stark voice I've read, and that's cool because I wrote it. The Chuck Writes Story for SPN fandom is one of the cleverest and most incisive things I've written, because it's about SPN fandom more than SPN--and I happened to write it before SPN even had the mythos that it does now. But in terms of fics that make me feel seen/understood and I'm perfectly happy with how they are written, Responsible Science in MCU is always my answer to which fic I've written is my favorite fic for a reason (although it's actually a series). That Lesson Alone in Schitt's Creek fandom is probably one of the most personal things I have ever written, and I wouldn't change a word of it.

But in H/D fandom, if you want a fic of mine that I'm happy with, that came out exactly as I envisioned, and makes me feel seen and understood, only one fits the bill: The Pure and Simple Truth. I actually don't think the writing is perfect--I would tighten it up a little, maybe. But it's exactly what I wanted to write, and it was so fun to write; I still think it's fun to read. But on top of that, this fic is also trying to say something about morality that I think is really fundamental to who I am. It's trying to say things about friendship and forgiveness that I believe with my whole soul. It's trying to say things about conversation, what that means for people, what that can build, what community is and what it isn't. I've gotten a few comments over the years from people saying they didn't really understand it. I've also gotten a lot of comments yelling at me about it because there isn't a kiss at the end. I've also seen people saying that the fic is suggesting that Neville's a bad person because he struggles to forgive folks who tortured him, which is the exact opposite of what the fic is about.

But when people do get this fic, when they comment or message me to tell me what it means to them to see folks who have hurt each other, some of whom have been actual torturers and part of hate groups, come together and grow from that, discuss that, and learn to love in spite all of that...wow, that makes me feel like the things I care about aren't just mine; other people feel that way, which is a wonderful feeling.

[bobafetts-princess]

Surprise: The Sequel

Pairings: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: PiV, we wrap shit up in this one, a little butt stuff, spit kink, biting, cursing, choking. Reader is a little subby here. This is a fic centered on the reader ovulating and being really horny. Heed warnings accordingly.

Author notes: Yes, this was written when I personally was ovulating and I needed an outlet. Please enjoy 😊

Companion piece to Surprise

“My back fucking hurts,” you grumble to yourself, not really meaning for anyone to hear. But Soap, with his fucking bat ears, does.

“Wan’ me to massage it for yah?” He drawls in his thick Scottish accent. He’s been eying you all day and you can’t figure out why. You’re not dressed any different, you didn’t do your hair any different. You didn’t flirt with him, at least anymore than normal. Soap is the type of guy you can flirt with without realizing it. He’s soft and easy-going with a big personality and the ability to make anyone feel special.

“Mind your business, Soap,” snaps Simon-Ghost-Lieutenant (you’re not really sure what to call him anymore) as he comes in the door. You’re sitting at a desk, writing reports on your latest mission and Soap is at his desk on the left of yours, writing his own.

“Aye L.T. But I do feel like her business is my business,” he chuckles and Ghost flicks him a look as he gets up.

“Why’s your back hurt, Blue?” Ghost asks, hand gripping the back of your chair.

“Not sure, L.T.,” you say but then a cramp hits your lower belly. It’s not your period, definitely not your period, that was two weeks ago. So this means- “Damnit,” you curse under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Both men ask at the same time, Soap moving to stand by Ghost. Another cramp hits your stomach and you have to stifle a groan.

“Nothing important,” you tell them both but they don’t believe you. But Price walks in, looking for an update on the reports and the subject is dropped. He’s standing over your shoulder and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at you, the easy way he smiles at you.

“Looking good today, Blue. Did you do something different with your hair?” Price mentions and you know he doesn’t mean it to be creepy. He’s genuinely trying to be nice and give you a compliment, you don’t get many when your literal job is to commit crimes for the sake of queen and country. But you know the real reason he’s looking at you different.

Your ovulation cycle hits harder than your menstruation cycle, the older you get. Your cramps are worse and men tend to notice you more. They flirt with you easier, they check you out with more purpose. Your skin clears and has this tone to that makes you look perpetually flustered. It’s all very flattering but also, quite annoying. Biology is doing its work, but you don’t want it to. The thing that drives you most insane is that you preen under the attention. You like being noticed when you’re ovulating. You like the way Ghosts eyes are dragging across your hips. You like the easy smile Johnny gives you when he’s flirting. You like the way Price’s eyes struggle to stay in their rightful place.

“Nah, just brushed it this morning, that’s all Captain,” there’s a flash of something in his eyes when you call him by his rank but you can’t unpack it right now. You stand, surprising Price and mumble “I’ll be back,” before you bolt.

Ghost waits an appropriate amount of time before he follows, shoving back his chair with some lame excuse so he can follow you.

He finds you in seconds, heading down the hallway in the general direction of his quarters. As a lieutenant, he gets his own space and as he watches your hips sway he’s thankful for it.

“Blue,” he calls out and you still.

“Not now, Ghost,” you say but you don’t move. His long strides catch up to you in no time and his hand presses into your back.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, and you sigh.

“I’m ovulating,” you tell him, pressing into his hand and relishing the feel of his warmth.

“What’s that mean?” He knows that’s your fertile period and you can get pregnant but he’s not sure on the specifics.

“I’m so horny,” you whine, twisting your neck to look up at him and he wants to dip down and run his nose alone the soft skin there. It takes your words a second to click but when they do, he’s shoving you down the hallway and into his room, locking the door behind him.

———————————

Ghost has you on your knees and you’re taking him. Your pussy is slick with your orgasms and your back is slick with sweat. You’re dropped down to your chest on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as you cry out. It’s not helping though, because every one of Simon’s powerful thrusts pushes you up the bed.

“This fuckin’ pussy,” he snarls from under his mask. Since that day in the shower you’ve had this tryst going on regularly and it’s been satisfying for the both of you. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he grunts as his hand presses into your shoulders to hold you down. “Love when you submit to me,” he says but you think you can take it a step further. You move your hands from the sheets to behind your back, gripping your forearms as your face presses into the bed. Simon groans deeply as he slides his hand down your back to press down on your forearms. “Look so pretty takin’ my cock like this, Blue,” he snarls and you know he’s getting close. You’ve already cum several times, so you’re not concerned about finishing when he does, but Simon is. His hips ratchet up a notch and you hear the distinctive sound of something in Simon’s mouth. You’re about to peek over your shoulder to see what he’s doing when his thick thumb presses up against your asshole. You gasp and still underneath him as he presses circles into the tight ring.

“I’d love to watch you take me here,” he grunts before he pushes his thumb in. Your whole body tenses but you’re pinned. His hands are still pressing your own into your lower back and his finger in your ass is up to the first knuckle. You’re going to lose your mind, you can’t even scream because your face is pressed into the mattress. He continues pressing until he’s got his whole thumb in your ass and you’re gone. You’re so full, so thoroughly worked over that you when Ghost-Simon-whatever you’re calling each other these days, picks up his thrusts you’re blind with pleasure.

He’s putting you through the mattress, his hulking body pressing yours down. You break first, your body clamping down as you cum. He’s so heavy, so thick, and you’re so overwhelmed but Ghost isn’t done yet. He’s growling deep in his throat, snarling something about what a good little slut you are for him and you know he’s right at the edge of breaking. You feel something sharp against your shoulder and it takes you a few seconds to realize he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. He’d apparently never pulled his mask down after he’d wet his thumb and you feel his tongue soothe the sharp sting his bite left. You lay like that for a second, Ghost’s body laying across yours as you both pant with the exertion. Simon’s tongue licks a hot trail across your shoulder and up your neck, stopping at your ear.

“You’re a good fuck, Blue. Y’know that?” You laugh aloud because any kind of compliment coming from Simon Riley is noteworthy.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” you flash a grin at him as he peels off of you, moving to dispose the condom. He comes back and his mask is still pushed up to his nose and his grin would’ve knocked you over if you weren’t already laying down.

“Not so bad, eh? Do I need to split you apart on my cock again so you know how good I can be?” He chuckles, dark and dangerous as he crawls on the bed and stares down at you. His huge hand finds your throat, squeezing and reminding you just how dangerous he can be. But the only thing you feel right now is another how streak of lust through your nerve endings. Your nipples are tight and when he flicks them, a sharp gasp escapes your mouth. Ghost takes the opportunity at hand and pulls you up to him by the throat, shoving his tongue in your mouth. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed but it’s one of the only. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and you can feel how slick you are. His fingers squeeze as he trails his lips down your neck, over where his thumb is digging into the soft flesh.

You’re aching, ready to be filled again, when Ghost speaks in your ear.

“I want to taste you, Blue,” he grunts but you shake your head as best you can with his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Later. Want your cock,” you tell him and he nods, releasing you to get another condom. You desperately want to tell him not to use one, but you are smack in the middle of ovulating and the risk of pregnancy is much higher than if you weren’t. You’re not in a place where you can have a baby and you don’t think Simon is ready to be a father, he may not ever be. But god, the idea of dripping with his cum all day? It’s got you clenching between your legs.

Simon has the condom on, cock swinging between his thick thighs. He’d only managed to get his pants down to his knees the first time and the second time won’t be any different. He’s got a long sleeve shirt on bearing the British Army flag on it and even without all his tac gear he’s huge. Tall and bulky, with a menacing edge to him, you can see why people are terrified. But right now, all you are is horny. He slides between your thighs, lifting your hips and placing a pillow underneath them.

“Gonna take me?” He asks, circling a finger over your clit. You nod but he’s not content with that. “I asked you if you were going to take me, I expect an answer,” he growls from under his mask, pulled back down now.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” you breathe as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what?” He snaps, one hand on your tit, the other on the base of his cock.

“Yes, Lieutenant,-“ you gasp as he pushes into you.

“Go on,” he prompts, almost all the way in now. “Or I won’t fuck you. You can lay here and be my pretty little cock sleeve,” you clench around him, wishing he’d wrap one of those big hands around your throat again.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m gonna take all of your cock. Please, I want to take all of your cock.”

“Good girl,” he growls, low in your ear as his hand wraps back around your throat. His thrusts start slow but it doesn’t take long before he’s hitching one thigh up his back, the other pressing you down and pushing you to your limits. He’s more vocal this time, grunts and growls as he sits back on his heels to give himself more leverage. He’s got to be sensitive, it’s the second time in less than 30 minutes, and it shows. His fingers tighten every couple thrusts until you nearly can’t breathe but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. The other hand finds your tits, groping them and pulling at your nipples. He presses the thumb of the hand around your neck into your jaw until your mouth pops open. He pulls the mask above his mouth, leaning down, his eyes wide with question and you nod at him, sticking your tongue out in invitation. He gathers in his mouth before he leans down, spitting directly into your mouth before he closes your jaw and speaks.

“Swallow it.” You do as he asks, opening your mouth again and sticking out your tongue to show him. He groans deeply, gathering his spit again and spitting on your tongue. This time though, he keeps his thumb pressed into the hinge of your jaw so you don’t close it. “That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, his accent thicker as he pounds into you, “take everythin’ I fuckin’ give ya, don’t ya?” You nod desperately at him, mouth still open, tongue still covered in his spit. “Fuck yeah, ya do. I’m goin’ to cum, I know you’re close.” You nod at him again, pussy tightening as he spits into your mouth again, closing your jaw and telling you to swallow.

“Next time you’re gonna swallow my cum jus’ like that,” he tells you before he leans back, pressing a thumb against your clit. It only takes one, two, three swipes of his thumb before you’re over the edge, crying out his name and clinging to the hand still wrapped around your throat. He follows right along with you, slumping his heavy body against yours. “This will never get old,” he says as he rolls to the side slightly, still laying on you but not quite with his full weight.

“Yeah,” you agree, out of breath and worn down. Finally sated.

“Is it always like this when you ovulate?” He asks, picking himself up and disposing of the condom, for the second time. You nod as he comes back and picks up your underwear off the floor.

“It gets worse as I get older, like evolution is telling me to get a move on.” You stand as Simon holds your hand and helps you into your panties. “My cramps get worse and I get almost unbearably horny,” you tell him as he hunts down your tac pants and helps you into those too. He chuckles as he finds your sports bra, slipping it over your head.

“Maybe you should pop out a kid or two,” and your jaw drops.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll drop my whole life and have babies! Ruin my career, my tits, everything I’ve worked for just to give evolution the middle finger!” You exclaim, annoyed he’d even suggest it. But he’s fully laughing, searching for your shirt under the bed.

“I’s a joke, love. You don’t take those as well as you take my cock,” he husks, finding the army green tank and slipping it over your head. “Besides, it would be a shame to ruin these perfect tits,” he tells you, standing behind you and cupping said perfect tits. Fuck, you didn’t think you could go again but the way his thumbs are brushing over your nipples right now is making you question that. “Well, we better get back to writin’ our reports. Price’ll wonder why we’ve been gone so long,” he says, slapping you on the ass and striding out the door. You’re left panting and annoyed, but you follow after a reasonable amount of time and when you make it back to your desk, Soap is standing next to it looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Aye, lass. Y’look good today. Exceptional even,” he drawls, and if you weren’t rolling your eyes you’d have noticed his own flick over to Ghost to gauge his reaction.

“Get off my desk, Johnny.”

“Will do, but would ya like t’have a drink with me tonight?” He’s leaned down, in your space, his bright eyes full of mischief.

“No.” You tell him, you’re not really annoyed with him but you are frustrated because Ghost left you horny and every bit as distracted as you were before he fucked you stupid. Your hand flashes out and connects with the inside of Soaps elbow, knocking him off his balance. Ghost chuckles from behind you at his own desk.

“Might wanna leave the girl alone, Johnny. I think she could kick your ass,”

“Ooh I might like that,” Johnny says, not fazed at all that you hit him. Ghost has to suppress a groan at the idea of watching you and Johnny wrestling for dominance. He’s pretty sure you would win and the idea of you fucking Johnny stupid the way he fucks you stupid has him hardening in his pants.

“Johnny,” you start, your voice all sugar sweet and sticky. “Can you do something for me?” Your tone is full of promise and Johnny’s eyes droop as he mutters a gentle ‘of course, lass’

“Go get me some Tylenol and coffee, Johnny,” you say, smacking him upside the head. Simon barks a laugh from behind you, and Johnny looks graciously indignant.

“Aye, lass. Whatever you want,” he’s no actually offended, but he played the part well. Off he slinks, to retrieve the items you’ve asked for and Ghost feels a rush of relief that he’s not the only person in this compound that cares for you.

[im-not-batman]

In the middle of the night

Summary: When Bradley gets a text in the middle of the night from someone he hasn't heard from in a long time, he's forced into a spiral of reliving memories, heartbreak, and longing.

Word count: 5,308

Tags: Character Study, Pining, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Canon Compliant, If you ignore some stuff, Don't Ask Don't Tell, it's a looming spectre but i don't really go into it, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Rivals to Almost Lovers to Enemies to Lovers kinda vibes, Missed Opportunities, I genuinely can't believe that's not a tag?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Screen Reader Friendly

~~~~

Over time, Rooster stopped trying to pathologise it and instead just let their odd connection lead him. He didn’t question it when Hangman started to text him on the rare occasions that the squad parted on leave, or when he found himself anticipating a good night message, or when he sent good morning ones in return, or when Jake called him after his Chevy broke down forty miles from base.

Bradley had dropped everything to go to him. If anyone asked, he’d say that he just wanted the opportunity to rag on Jake for almost an hour uninterrupted. The truth, though, was in the way his stomach swooped when he’d arrived at the address he’d been sent and Jake smiled at him. The Chevy was still hooked to the tow truck just outside, and Bradley pulled up alongside it as he watched Jake walk over.

“My knight in horrible Hawaiian print,” he’d teased. The glint in his eye stayed fond despite the complaint that Rooster had gotten oh-so used to hearing by now.

“Shut up and get in the car, Hangman,” Bradley couldn’t keep the affection out of his words as he watched a little too intently as the man climbed into the Bronco.

The whole journey to their housing was oddly peaceful. They managed to talk with relative civility; Jake talked about his old truck back on his family’s ranch in Texas which devolved into Bradley talking about his mother’s southern upbringing. Jake talked about his sisters, whose jobs had them scattered across the country – it led them into a conversation about what they’d be doing if they weren’t in the Navy.

Bradley laughed until his cheeks hurt when Jake confided that he’d probably be working in the rodeo circuit, and he struggled to tamp down his blush when he imagined Hangman wrangling a bull on horseback with nothing but a lasso and a cowboy hat.

They spent some time talking about their job, about their squadron, about flying. Jake asked Bradley why he didn’t go to the Academy and backed off without being asked when Bradley clammed up. Instead, he changed the subject, pointing out the shapes the clouds made in the setting sun, trying to make Bradley laugh.

By the time Bradley parked the Bronco, it was dark. 

They sat in silence for a beat too long. Neither of them moved to get out. It was still strange to Bradley that he felt comfortable in Jake’s company without the need for witty remarks and thinly veiled compliments dressed as insults.

Not that he didn’t enjoy those things, but the quiet allowed him to bask in Jake’s presence a little. It was indulgent and definitely didn’t help to quell the racing of his heartbeat or the tightness in his lungs, but he couldn’t help luxuriating in the comfort it afforded.

“Thank you,” Jake had been the one to break the silence. “You didn't have to come get me.”

“You knew I would though,” Bradley replied, maybe a little too earnestly. It charged the air between them with something electric.

Because of course Rooster came, of course he did.

Another long moment passed and still they sat. Bradley hadn’t risked moving his eyes from where they’d fallen on the steering wheel at the end of their journey. He hadn’t risked taking a deep breath for fear of inhaling Jake’s fading cologne and losing his goddamn mind. All of which turned out to be an entirely futile exercise, because the moment Jake took a breath to speak again Bradley’s resolve broke.

He’d leaned over into Jake’s space and pulled him into a mind-melting, lip-blistering kiss.

~~~~

Inspired by this song 💚

[tellmegoodbye]

Thank you! I’ve seen a lot of people say TK is being unreasonable or kind of a dick, and I guess????? But I don’t really see it. He’s protecting his vulnerable 3 year old brother from losing even more than he already has. I think that merits a bit of stubbornness.

I saw someone say earlier (idk who, it was my for you page) that there was no fundamental difference between Jonah growing up in NY and not seeing TK (meaning living with his FATHER in his home, and being within a few hours plane ride and long but drivable distance for emergencies) and Jonah being shipped off to a foreign country with no family or friends, separated from TK by a days plane ride at least at 3 YEARS OLD. How are those “fundamentally” not any different?

It’s a shit situation but I don’t think TK is being an asshole here. He’s being realistic. Nothing about how he’s reacted makes me think he’s taking this lightly or just ready and willing to abandon Carlos without a thought. He’s angry! He’s frustrated! These are not the words and actions of someone whose happy with what they’re doing, it’s someone whose backed into a corner and is moving forward in the only way he can.

He’s not forcing Carlos into anything anymore than Carlos is forcing TK to dump his brother and stay with him by saying he’s not ready. They’re just adults faced with an adult situation and they’re waiting to see how it works out.

CARLOS is also not being an asshole mind you. And maybe the fact that he’s being he’s more level headed is making people be mad at TK? But of course he’s calmer, tbh it’s not his brother. I’ve loved his arc this season and think Rafa did a flipping AMAZING job. I’m glad he got his closure. Even more glad we got to see Rafa more and he got his flowers for the work he’s done.

Obviously I think we should have seen more conversations or had more scenes addressing this. IMO it wasn’t super well done, but I just don’t read it the way some do I guess. Nobody is being a dick here.

I really think the disconnect is some in fandom just don’t like to consider children as more vulnerable parties that deserve and even REQUIRE more protection and consideration from the adults around them - even to those adults detriment. That’s just the reality of life. I think this is a blind spot fandom has, my guess is the GA isn’t thinking either party is being unreasonable.

Thank you for your insight anon!

I agree, that "no difference" take is very wrong. Firstly, Enzo was still in the picture and raising him in New York. Secondly, it is a LOT easier to travel between New York and Austin than it is to fly across the ocean. You can do the former on a much more regular basis, and I suspect the only reason TK didn't was because he wasn't as close with Enzo as he used to be. I think if Gwyn had still been alive he would have visted more, but I digrees.

I have also noticed a lot of the inital knee jerk reaction to what TK said being that he was being unreasonable, but he really isn't. Neither him or Carlos are the asshole here. TK is protecting his brother first and foremost. Carlos is struggling and he's allowed to do that! If you take a step back and look at the circumstances without a Tarlos Lens, then this is a very frustrating and unfair situation for everyone involved and tough choices have to be made on all sides.

You're right, Rafa did an incredible job with this episode! I also understand how the seasons can feel rushed, but I still genuinely love every second of it so far. I can't sit here and say that I could have allocated the storylines better, because I couldn't. I've really enjoyed what we've gotten and I think given the circumstances season 5 is as amazing as it could have been!

[tiny-1karus]

Pairing: Yandere Batfam (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) x Reader

TW: GRAPHIC domestic and verbal abuse (but not by the batboys) so please take this warning seriously, stealing, feels, background manipulative behavior, obsession

This is a hurt-comfort fic about a fem Cinderella-esque Reader who wants to move away and yandere!batfam's reaction and response to that. Btw, Damian is around the same age as the Reader here and they are both in university.

There are some dark themes but the hurt-comfort is the main focus. This is technically part 2 but can be read as a standalone. Enjoy!

Just a warning though, this is a 6k+ fic that almost got to 7k. I got carried away lol.

…

"It would be nice to get out of the city."

You were looking out the window with a pensive expression as you said this. You were currently in the Wayne manor's dining room eating lunch with all the Wayne men. You had just finished your lunch (after fighting off numerous attempts to add more food onto your plate with your fork) and was quietly sitting in the large dining table sandwiched between Damian and Tim as you waited for the others to finish eating. You hadn't meant to say it aloud, you were just musing to yourself as you daydreamed, but everyone in the room heard it regardless.

All of the men immediately perked up, albeit in varying degrees.

"You mean, like a vacation?" Dick asked across from you with a smile. You certainly deserved it, after all.

You shook your head with a chuckle as you leaned into your palm with a wistful smile. "Maybe something more permanent than that. Anywhere would do. Maybe out of the country too, who knows?"

Everyone frowned as they immediately picked up on your phrasing. They couldn't help the growing feeling of dread in the pit of their stomach as they began to fear the worst.

Tim cleared his throat with a strained smile. "Permanent?"

You turned to him with a bright and eager grin. "Yeah! Can you just imagine it? I finally get to build the life I've always wanted. Away from—" your smile faltered as your mind drifted to your family but you immediately picked up your smile, you didn't want to worry them after all. "—… From the city and all that. I could get an apartment, get a better job, the whole shebang!" You wiggled a bit in excitement, totally oblivious to the darkening moods of the people around you. You were too caught up in the prospect of a better life away from your miserable family to notice the downright frightening expressions of the men around you.

Of course, it was a few years away but 3 years compared to the hell you've endured your whole life? It wasn't even a competition.

You beamed at everyone even when they stayed uncharacteristically silent, you got the feeling that something felt a bit off with them but their faces gave nothing away so you wrote it off. "Don't worry guys! I'll be sure to get you all nice gifts once I'm rich and famous. The best on this side of the continent and what money can afford, of course!" You tried to flip your hair but immediately laughed at that. The very idea of you gifting one of the richest man alive and his family the best of anything with practically nothing was so laughable that it was silly. You covered your mouth as you giggled uncontrollably. Even if you saved up for the rest of your life, you doubted that you could ever gift them anything worth of value or that could match their status and taste. Maybe it was just as funny to them as it was to you.

But the entire room was dead silent.

You missed the alarmed looks and rapid silent communication that occurred between all the men in the room while you snickered to yourself.

Damian had a fierce glare as he clenched his fork so tightly his knuckles turned white, he had to fight the urge to stab something. Dick immediately reached out discreetly to Jason, who sat next to him, and gripped his arm in warning even as he struggled to remain calm himself. Jason shoved his shaking hands under the table and balled them into tight fists as he grappled with a sudden surge of anger, fear, love, confusion. It was a struggle to keep his rationality at the moment if not for Dick's steadying grip on his arm. Tim wasn't faring any better as he sat there with a growing sense of anxiety as he looked stricken, as if you had just killed a puppy in front of him.

Deep inside, they could all feel a gnawing sense of nausea and panic clawing up from their stomach up to their head as they fought to control it. They never would have expected this of you.

Why didn't you want to stay?

Bruce was the only one who seemed unaffected by the sudden revelation of your plans. If you had known him better, you would have noticed the subtle tenseness of his body and the slight furrow on his brows that betrayed his emotions. He knew his sons wouldn't be able to speak right now so he spoke for them instead. "What do you mean by that?"

Everyone already knew the answer to that but Bruce had to ask just to make it a 100% clear that you meant what they all feared you meant.

You smiled as you propped your chin into your hand, oblivious to the intensity of the question and the glares. There was an excited and hopeful gleam in your eyes as you told them the greatest wish you've held so dearly to your heart for years. "I want to move out once I've finished with college. Anywhere would do as long as it's out of Gotham. I think I could save up enough for that by the time I graduate." You leaned in with an excited grin as if you were sharing a secret, "I've been saving up for years, actually."

Your declaration was met with silence, again. This time, you finally took notice of it and the glaringly dark moods of the people around you. The smile dropped off your face as you looked around. Was it something you said?

"Is everyone alright? Did I—" but you were interrupted as your phone rang. You fished it out of your pocket and looked at the caller ID, it was your stepmom.

You grimaced as you excused yourself from the table and hurriedly went to the hallway to answer it.

The second you were gone, a heated argument broke out on the table as everyone started speaking in furious but hushed tones.

"She's leaving?"

"She never mentioned this before." Tim anxiously ran his hand through his hair, mussing up his neat do.

"Goddammit! The fuck is this shit?"

"We can't allow that to happen." Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I won't allow it."

"Calm down." Bruce's commanding voice cut through the frantic chatter. There was a familiar calculating gleam in his eyes. It was a silent command to follow his lead.

Slowly, the men all settled down. They were the Waynes, and most importantly, a renowned team of the world's greatest detectives and vigilantes. They couldn't lose their composure over this.

They'd have to find a solution for this, simple as that. They would have to dissuade you of this ludicrous notion of yours. The world was far too dangerous for you to be out of their sight and beyond their protection. They knew the darkness of the world all too well; they lived, fought and breathed in it's cover every day and every night of their lives.

Tim clasped his hands on the table and frowned. Now that he was thinking clearly, he immediately pinpointed the reason why you'd want to leave Gotham (leave them). Or, one of the main reasons at least, you've never really talked about this before now.

"I'm sure we're all aware what made her want to go."

In unison, all of the men in the table scowled and shared dark looks. They had researched your background extensively in the beginning, it was a provision for any person they had any form of contact with. It had simply started as any other security procedure, simple and necessary. But when their obsession started and steadily grew, they began digging further and further until the nature of your family was brought to light.

The Waynes were left severely disgusted and frighteningly outraged at the abuse you had to endure everyday from those utter scum infesting your house. It was inconceivable, that you—an angel and Paragon of light in their life—would ever be treated so terribly by the vile vermin posing as your family. Family was sacred to them, and for these churls to desecrate that by hurting you, of all people, to the point that you'd rather leave this city (and leave them) was beyond criminal.

They were the reason you wanted to leave (leave them, leave them, leave them). Of course, it would always go back to that pathetic, disgusting excuse of a family you have.

They'd have to rectify this.

For your sake.

No matter what.

…

You returned with a frown, the earlier light and gleam in your eyes had dimmed as you stood in front of the table fiddling with your phone. You noticed that everyone hasn't seemed to touch their food since you left, but other than that, they seemed normal enough. There wasn't a single trace of their dark mood from earlier. Had you imagined that?

"Sorry it's so sudden but I have to go home. Thank you so much for lunch! Bye Mr. Wayne, bye everyone!" You reached out to give a quick hug to Tim since he was closest to you.

Everyone stood up and crowded against you all of a sudden.

Dick pouted as he held his arms open. "You already forgot about me, baby?"

You laughed and quickly hugged him, his arms held on to you a bit tighter than he usually does but you didn't mind. His hugs always felt so warm and nice.

Jason ruffled your hair roughly as he pulled you into his arms the minute Dick let you go. "C'mon squirt, I'm taking you back."

You raised your head to look up at him even as you were pressed to his chest. "You don't have to, Jay. I don't want to impose on you." You protested with a chuckle as he squeezed you one more time before letting go.

Damian scoffed, even as you leaned closer to him and his arms automatically opened to give you a hug. A feat that none of his family thought him possible of. "Tt. Todd's driving skills are incompetent. You'd sooner put her in an accident before you get her home." He skillfully maneuvered the both of you away from Jason's irritated swipe. His green eyes looked down on you thoughtfully, "let me take you—" his mouth curled distastefully at the next word, "—home."

Your mind reeled as the boys began squabbling amongst themselves on who would take you home. You felt immensely flattered and grateful that your friends were so willing and generous to take you back back home but you were anxious about imposing on them and how you were running out of time to get home. Your stepmom could get… Nasty if you didn't follow her rules to the letter and you were supposed to start on your chores half an hour ago.

You held up your hands placatingly, "I'm really, really grateful for the offer, everyone, I really am, but I have to go. I'll just catch a bus, I don't want to bother any of you."

Tim snorted, as if the very thought was absurd, "how could you ever be a bother? That's just ridiculous. And a bus is just dangerous and unreliable at this time. C'mon, I'll take you—"

Bruce, who had been a silent, watching figure behind the boys, layed his hand on Tim's shoulder, immediately shutting him up.

"Tim, I'll take her home. Why don't you and the others rest for now?" His voice was calm but his eyes were a different story. "We'll figure out that… Issue with the competitors when I get back."

It was like a switch went off in the men in front of you. They suddenly looked so serious and grave that you were afraid to ask about it. It probably isn't even your place to know about whatever business the Waynes had anyways.

You withheld an exasperated sigh but couldn't help smiling a little as Mr. Wayne led you to the garage with his hand resting against your upper back. You knew it was futile to argue with the Wayne patriarch so you just went along with it. Secretly, you were touched and grateful that the family cared so much for your safety that they'd go out of their way to drive you home. It wasn't the first time they did this, but you couldn't help feeling shy about it still. You didn't want to bother or inconvenience them from how wonderful they've been with you, after all.

Gosh, you were going to miss this once you move.

!!! CW: GRAPHIC Domestic and verbal abuse, proceed with caution !!!

Days passed with relative ease, your stepmom still worked you to the bone like a slave as your two stepsisters piled on your already busy duties with inane, miscellaneous tasks that they were more than capable of doing themselves. This was hard enough to do on top of your college workload and your half-time job but you bit your tongue and silently shouldered it all. You had learned early on that fighting and standing up for yourself was pointless and only served to make your life harder than it already was.

And you couldn't afford to anger your stepmom, lest you lose the roof above your head (it was one of her favorite and reoccuring threats against you). You needed a place to stay that was close enough to your university that the commute wouldn't kill you and one that wouldn't be a drain on your already strained finances to maintain. You had already checked for every other alternative there was, everything was frustratingly just out of your budget and means.

On top of being a working student, you only got into the University of Gotham through a full-ride scholarship. You couldn't afford to slack off on any front. Everything would be worth it once you finally graduate. You'd leave this miserable house and find a place you can actually call your home.

You leaned against the kitchen counter with a cup of cheap instant coffee, the only thing that your step-family never seemed to touch. It was the main reason why you kept on buying the brand in the first place even if it tasted awful. You had just finished cleaning the whole house, ending with the kitchen. You were resting for a bit before you'd start on dinner. You preferred to do all the chores early so that you had enough time to dedicate to your school work before you had to leave for your shift.

As you sipped your crappy coffee, your stepsisters entered the house loudly as multiple shopping bags hung from their arms. They ignored you and completely blew past you as they went up the stairs with obnoxiously heavy steps. You glimpsed the brand on the bags as they went by and you couldn't help feeling confused. How on earth were they able to buy from Chanel? You never bought from there, never even entered the store in your lifetime, but you were at least aware that it was a designer brand and what they sold wasn't cheap.

You pursed your lips as you parsed through the memory of the past few days. You noted how weird it was that your step-family seemed to increase their spending habits from seemingly nowhere. Unless they secretly won the lottery and failed to mention it to you (doubtful, your two stepsisters were a pair of braggards), there was just no possible reason on how they could've gained so much money from thin air.

Your stomach dropped as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, they couldn't have.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed up the stairs towards your room. You hurriedly opened the door and locked it behind you before you all but dove under your bed. Your eyes widened in horror as you saw a corner of the perfectly cut piece of carpet flipped upward. You never left it like that, you always made sure to bring it back to how it was, inconspicuous and safe. Even if someone looked, you made sure to cut the carpet in a way that no one would easily notice.

The sinking feeling in your stomach opened up into a nauseating pit as you shakily flipped the carpet all the way and picked up the loose floorboard you had painstakingly pried open all those years ago. All to hide the ticket to your brighter future.

The small space under the floorboard was empty. The metal box that held all your savings was gone.

Just then, the loud, obnoxious laughter of your step-sisters rang out from the room adjacent to yours and startled you badly enough that you hit your head on your metal bed frame.

You felt so sick that you were a second away from throwing up that cheap coffee. You crawled out of the bed and sat on your haunches with a stricken expression. You felt far away as your mind replayed all the times you caught your step-family parading through the house with brand new, luxurious items.

It was your money the whole time.

After your first few, miserable attempts at gaining financial literacy ending horribly for you, you had decided to personally hide away your money so that your stepmother could keep her and her daughters grubby paws off of it. You had been meaning to transfer your money into a secure credit for years but with how hectic your life had been you had pushed it off until the last minute.

Now it was too late.

You were ripped out of your revery as your stepmother's voice boomed from downstairs, irritatedly calling your name. Without even realizing it, you were suddenly walking down the stairs on autopilot to be greeted with the sight of your stepmother standing in the small foyer with her arms crossed imperiously.

She eyed you coldly and her lips curled in a sneer as she gestured dismissively towards the kitchen. "Have you been slacking off? It's almost dinner and you haven't even started on anything. What do I even work for—"

"Did you take my money?" You cut through her incessant nagging. Your eyes bored into hers with an intensity that she had never seen from you. She seemed too shocked by your sudden gall that she forgot to be angry.

You stopped at the last step and gripped the handrail. You were quivering from nerves and a steadily mounting anger as you stared right at her, as if silently pleading that it wasn't the case. That, by some miraculous force, your stepmother wouldn't do something that was ingrained in her twisted nature.

Her expression schooled into one of casual indifference. The woman seemed to raise her chin higher as she sent you a challenging look, "what money?"

You curled your hands into fists and pressed them tightly against your chest. It did nothing to alleviate the pressure, pressure, pressure—that suddenly burst from the very core of your being into an enraged scream. "DID YOU TAKE MY FUCKING MONEY—"

A harsh, violent slap cut you off mid-scream as you were sent careening into the wall. Your head hit the wall harshly and you crumpled against the landing of the stairs, dazed out of your anger. Before you could even get your bearings, the same cheek was struck, but this time with a sharper, stinging pain that seemed to break skin. You cried out and curled up into a ball to hide your face.

There was a moment of tense silence as the all-consuming anger that had seemed to engulf you was effectively replaced by a familiar fear.

"How dare you." Her voice quivered with malice and sheer, utter wrath.

Sharp nails dug into your scalp and grabbed a fistful of hair before violently yanking your frightened face to face hers. Her eyes spoke of malevolence as she brought your head closer to hers.

"How fucking dare you!" She screamed right into your face, spittle flying from her mouth, "I decided to take in your worthless ass out of the goodness of my heart once your fucking daddy dies. I provided a roof over your head, food to eat, and the clothes on your back and this is how you repay me? You worthless bitch!" She slammed your head against the wall and you clenched your jaw just so that you wouldn't cry out.

If you hadn't been overcome with fear, you would have laughed right in her face. You barely had food to eat, all the clothes on your back you had to thrift on your own with your own money and this house? She stole it from you. You wanted to throw it all back in her face but it was getting harder to think through all the pain.

"That fucking money you have? You owe that to me for every single goddamn thing I've ever done for you. You could've been some worthless street rat or a fucking low-life prostitute but I kept you here, because I'm such a good person and I deserve nice things!" For the third time, she slammed your head into the wall, you didn't even have the energy to cry out. Her chest was heaving as her deranged eyes glared at your dazed eyes. After a moment more, she released her iron-grip on your hair and let you crumple into the floor in a heap. As if to add insult to injury, she delivered a swift but punishing kick to your side.

"Clean this up, then go to your room. You're not going to eat dinner and I don't want to see you until tomorrow." She clicked her tongue in annoyance, "selfish bitch."

Your stepmom stepped over your prone form and went up the stairs as if nothing happened. You pressed your forehead against the cool tiles and counted in your head until the spinning stopped and you could breathe easily.

Once you were absolutely sure that no one would be coming down, you shakily picked yourself up. You glanced at the blood on the ground that had dripped from the wound on your face. It was probably from the large, gaudy ring your stepmom insisted on wearing. You gently poked at the side of your head that had been brutally smashed against the wall repeatedly, it was really sore and you felt lightheaded. Your vision was swimming a little and you didn't know if that was a good sign. You desperately hoped that you didn't have a concussion.

You glanced back up the stairs, heard nothing, then began creeping towards the front door. You held your tender side and ignored the pounding of your head as you reached for the door knob with a shaking hand. You hesitated before opening it, afraid that the sound of the door opening would summon your demonic stepmom to give you a round two.

But the thought of staying even a minute in this house pushed you to open the door. You opened it as quietly as you could but didn't bother closing it once you've slipped past. You secretly hoped that they'd get mugged.

…

Once both your feet were on the pavement, you ran. It was raining heavily and you wore nothing but a thin shirt and threadbare pants so the cold easily pierced you, but it only pushed you to run faster. The sidewalk was fairly deserted so it made running like an idiotic madman very convenient. You barely had the presence of mind to watch where you were going as you frantically weaved through corners and streets until your lungs felt like it was going to burst. You didn't stop until you felt like you've gone far enough. Until you were as far as you could go from that house and the awful people inside it.

The rain pelted you mercilessly as you stood there on an empty sidewalk, chest heaving, head pounding, and body trembling from a mixture of the cold and the storm of emotions that whirled and ravaged you from the inside. You felt so angry, bitter, hopeless, and so damn helpless that you felt like it was going to tear you apart.

That was years of hard-work, of fervent dreams and hopes, of everything that you had been working so hard for, gone. And worse, you had been helpless to stop it. The vision of a bright future away from your awful family was cruelly ripped away from you just when it felt like it was within your grasp.

If you didn't feel so utterly hopeless and bitter, you probably would've laughed.

Someone called your name and you blinked up hazy eyes to stare at a man who stood a couple of feet away from you. He was similarly drenched in the rain as a white streak of hair hung over his blue eyes. His chest was heaving as if he had been running this whole time. It clicked and you recognized him as Jason Todd, your friend. You were suddenly hyper-aware of the very visible wound on your face and you quickly turned your head to the side and let your wet hair curtain that side.

"Doll," Jason called out to you as he slowly approached you, as if approaching a wounded animal. Once he was in front of you, his hand reached up to cup your uninjured cheek as he took in your drenched and rumpled clothes and your bloodshot eyes.

"Are you alright?" You had never heard him sound so soft before and the tender way he held your face seemed to break you down further. You sobbed loudly as you flung yourself into his chest and clung to him desperately like a lifeline. His arms came around you in a protective hold and you felt his hand on the back of your head as he stroked your wet hair comfortingly. You ignored the way it made your head pound.

"I can't take it anymore! How—" you choked on a sob as you buried your face further into his chest, "how can they…?" You couldn't even finish it as a surge of deep-rooted bitterness swelled and clogged up your throat.

Jason let you sob openly into his chest as he held you closely. He didn't seem to mind the rain as he just… Held you, out there on the sidewalk of the seedy part of Gotham. He felt like the only thing keeping you from tearing at the seams until there was nothing left of you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's get you home." Jason murmured into your hair as he half-carried and half-led you to a sleek, black car parked next to the road. He opened the rear door for you as you all but stumbled in and he quickly followed from behind.

"Hey, sweetheart." You didn't look up but you could recognize Dick's voice anywhere. "Don't worry, we're gonna take you home."

Home, there's that word again. It grated on your fragile nerves and made even more tears spill from your eyes. "Please, I can't go back there. I can't—please."

Jason gently laid a hand on your shoulder as you shook so violently it felt like you were falling apart.

"You're not going back there, doll. We're taking you back to ours."

Distantly, you felt like you should protest (you couldn't be a burden, you couldn't be a burden, you couldn't—), but presently you just didn't have the energy to. Numbly, you nodded as your shaking lessened but didn't dissapear. You felt so cold in your drenched clothes.

Wordlessly, Jason took off his maroon leather jacket and draped it over your shivering form. It was a little wet on the outside from the rain but the inside felt so warm since he had just worn it; it smelled of cigarettes, libraries, and something vaguely metallic. It brought a modicum of comfort to you. But you felt so numb that you didn't even notice that Dick had been driving for a while now until the car stopped.

The passenger door on your side opened and a big, warm hand settled on your shoulder. Dick's worried blue eyes looked down on you. You shakily stepped out with his hand on your back, silently supporting you. You gripped Jason's jacket closer to you as the two Wayne brothers flanked you on both sides as they led you into the house.

You had your head bowed as you were gently shephered into the living room where the rest of the Wayne men were anxiously waiting for you.

Dick led you to the cozy arm chair near the fireplace as Damian and Tim immediately stood near your chair like sentries. You couldn't bear to look at them so you let your wet hair to hang limply in front of your face in a weak attempt to hide your face and the bruise on your cheek.

God, you felt so pathetic. How do they see you now?

Suddenly, Mr. Wayne was kneeling in front of your chair peering through the hair that covered and stuck to your wet face. He gently clasped your hands as his steel-grey eyes brimmed with compassion. "What happened? You can talk to us." His voice softened as he said in a reassuring tone, "You're safe here."

You raised your head an inch to meet his eyes as you finally found your voice. "Where do I even start?" Your voice sounded so weak that you doubted he heard you.

It was more of a rhetorical question but Mr. Wayne just squeezed your hands before he answered.

"Start from the beginning."

He let go of your hands but stayed close as the rest of the Waynes seemed to huddle around you in a protective bubble. Your head was still bowed as you reached up to wipe the tears from your face as you slowly gathered your thoughts. It felt like you were majorly overstepping by even contemplating unloading your problems on them but you just felt too empty to care.

All of a sudden, a warm, steaming cup of what smelled like hot chocolate was pushed into your hands. You gave a brief glance at who gave you the cup to see Tim smiling down on you with a tender and inviting smile. You looked around and saw a similar expression of warmth and acceptance mirrored on every Wayne's face. Somehow, it gave you the push to finally talk.

Slowly, in a stilted and hesitant speech, you opened up to them about your problems at home. Like a dam bursting once the flood gates were opened, it felt like the truth spilled endlessly out of you as you shared your pain without divulging the more graphic and horrible details. You didn't feel like you had the right to say it aloud, not yet. You were half-afraid that they'd judge you for blowing up at your stepmom but they only seemed outraged on your behalf and so endlessly considerate and compassionate for your pain.

"I don't have anything more to give." You admitted quietly. Your voice sounded so hollow, even to your own ears. You stared emptily at the warm cup in your hands. It helped chase away the chill a little but you felt so empty and drained that you could do nothing but hold it. "Everything I had, they took, even when there was nothing left to take."

You sank a little lower on the comfortable armchair as you whispered in a broken voice, "It was my only hope. I thought I could get away from them if I worked hard enough. It's the only thing that kept me going." You chuckled bitterly and bowed your head lower. "Guess not."

Gently, as if you'd break otherwise, Dick pulled you into his side from where he was perched on the armrest to your right. His large, calloused hands slowly carded through your hair and you leaned into the tender touch immediately. His touch was so soft that it didn't seem to worsen the pain on your head. You felt pathetic, drained, and desperate for comfort. And these men have always been a haven of warmth and comfort that you had been deprived of your whole life. You secretly craved this but felt too ashamed to ever ask for it from anyone.

God, what were you doing? Now that they knew how fucked up your life is, how lower could you possibly sink in their eyes? You're better than this, you had to get a grip.

You straightened up as you finally met the worried gazes of the family around you. You tried to smile but you just felt so tired. "Don't worry about me, I'll… Be fine. I'd probably be able to save up again, I still have some time before I graduate anyways." You desperately wanted to believe in those words but they sounded like empty consolations, even for you. You had exhausted every other option, what was there left for you?

Their eyes mirrored your sentiment and you couldn't bear the suffocating sense of pity that seemed to emanate from them so you turned your head to the side in shame.

The action moved your hair and you felt a light touch as the limp strands of your hair was brushed away from your face. There was a sharp intake of breath to your left as Damian, who was standing next to the armchair to your left, gently ran the back of his fingers against your cheek, you winced as you felt a slight pain there from where your stepmom had struck you. His green eyes were a storm of emotions that promised danger (but not to you, never you) as he asked you in a low, chilling voice, "who hurt you?"

Immediately, the rest of the Waynes zeroed in on your cheek as you tried to hide it behind your hair again. Too late, Mr. Wayne gently grasped your chin, turned your head forward, and brushed your hair away from your face. Illuminated by the fire, the giant bruise that colored your cheek was stark against your skin. There was a thin line of red that ran horizontally from one corner of the bruise to the other, the wound had already crusted over but the whole injury looked painful and displaced on your face. As if it didn't belong on a person as precious as you.

You felt yourself warm up for the first time since arriving here, but it was from shame. Here was the evidence of a lifetime of pain and suffering and the Waynes, the most wonderful and kindest family that you had the fortune of meeting, were finally privy to it.

Tim was suddenly kneeling in front of you, replacing his father. He didn't touch you but his hands hovered over yours for a second before he settled it on the cushions on either side of your legs, his blue eyes seemed to swim with overwhelming emotions as he took in the shame and defeat writ across your face.

"I know how it feels, I've been there." Your eyes snapped to his, surprised. Him? You would never have thought…

He smiled wryly, as if guessing your thoughts. "Trust me, I know. My life from before wasn't easy." A shadow cast over his eyes but the kindness still shine through as he regarded you with an understanding that spoke bone-deep. "So please, believe me when I say that it isn't hopeless. I'm here for you, we're here for you. You're safe here, with us."

Tears slid down your battered face unbidden. You thought you had already cried enough tears to last a lifetime but the tears felt warm as you bowed your head and let them flow. For once, you felt safe enough to let yourself cry in front of people and it felt good that you wouldn't be punished for it.

Your tears dripped into the cool drink that you still clutched on your lap. Someone plucked it from your trembling hands and you heard hushed voices as they began talking to each other in soft murmurs. You let the soft sounds wash over you as you felt a wave of tiredness sweep you over. Suddenly the pain from all your sounds came back with a vengeance, it seemed that adrenaline had protected you from feeling the worst of it.

You suddenly felt woozy as darkness creeped on the edge of your vision for a second and you tilted forward. Strong arms caught you before you were even aware of it. Dick was staring down at you with worried but alarmed blue eyes.

You tried to smile as your vision swam for a bit. "I think I also have a concussion." You murmured but the words sounded slurred. It was getting harder to think from the heavy pounding pain in your head, it felt like someone was hammering away at your skull. Everything just hurt.

Someone cursed as Dick picked you up as gently as he could. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into Dick's strong, warm arms that cradled you so tenderly. The others hovered around you and their concern and worry was palpable.

Mr. Wayne's voice was a low, rumble that followed you as Dick began carrying you out of the living room, the others following closely as if gravitated to your side. "Stay here for tonight, we'll fix this in the morning."

You felt soft lips press against your temple and someone murmured against your head the words you've desperately wanted to hear your whole life, "You're safe."

As you slowly lost consciousness; you truly, from the bottom of your weary heart, wanted to believe that.

…

After Alfred had tended to you and you slept soundly in the medical bay, the Wayne men were finally able to leave your side before reconvening in the Batcave. You had suffered a concussion with bruises on your side and face, there was a laceration on the bruice on your face as well. The worst of it were the numerous scars that littered your body—some old, some new—which were usually hidden by your clothes. It was obvious that none of it were self-inflicted.

They were all suited up and standing silently around the batcomputer, as if readying for a mission. The air seemed to buzz from the dangerous aura that emanated from the vigilantes and they had a restless energy as they watched Tim work furiously on the computer. They already made a plan on what they were going to do to the utter scum that had dared to hurt what was theirs. They were just making sure that you'd get out of this situation scot-free.

Once Tim was finally done on the computer, he rose and gave the others a nod. Without a word, they all boarded their vehicles and shot off into the tunnel and into the night. They didn't need to open the tracking device on their equipment, they all knew your address by heart.

The darkness seemed to cling to them as they drove with a single-minded determination.

They knew indeed what evil they intended to do, but stronger than every afterthought was their fury, a fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evil.*

And oh, how they'd let this pathetic family of vermin feel their wrath.

It was their job to rid the world of their kind after all.

…

Aaaand that's part 2! I wrote this out of order and started with the second part before starting on the first but I got carried away with this so y'all can have this as a treat. This was a neat little experiment to test out posting, this is the first time I posted a written work since middle school and that was like a decade ago lmaooo.

This was heavily inspired from @blughxreader their platonic yandere!batfam content and all things batfam related is just top-tier. I lost so much sleep over their blog and I don't regret it. Check out their work if you haven't already!

*and the original quote goes like this btw, "I know indeed what evil I intend to do, but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury, fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils." -Euripides. I felt like it just fit the story hahaha.

Lemme know your thoughts! I didn't really edit this since I got lazy lol. This is officially my offering to the Tumblr overlords as my first post. I'm kinda new to this site and I'm gonna need their blessing and counsel. Wish me luck, babes.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: Perry and Rebecca are fighting again, so Rhett takes Amy out for ice cream. But lo and behold, who else shows up with a few of the boys from her work in tow? (wc: 5642)

Warnings: allusions to fighting/arguing, another shameless 90s country music name drop, a little bit of romantic tension goodness, background ocs

✎……PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || NEXT CHAPTER

For the most part, Rhett didn’t mind grinding cattle feed. It was a long process, usually taking all of the working hours, and the grinder was so loud he didn’t have to talk to whoever was working with him. His father, with quiet but stern questions about what he was doing with his life. Or Perry, encouraging him to keep up with bull riding with that sad look in his eyes like he had lost something.

Rhett knew what his brother thought was gone but he would never bring it up. He would rather save himself the punch in the face it would grant him.

But today, he didn’t have to deal with either of them. His father was out in the fields counting heads of cattle. And Perry had the day off to spend with his family while the weather was still nice. Which left Rhett all alone amongst the store barns out in the east pasture, grinding feed all by himself. 

It was more work for just one person, driving tractors and pulling wagons and making sure the corn was being fed into the grinder, but he really didn’t mind. Beat having to discuss his life everyone thought was going nowhere fast — including himself most days.

There were some days, however, all by himself on his family’s expansive land, when he could see the beauty in Wabang. See past the dust and the grime and the lingering smell of decay. That Saturday in September was one of them. The morning was bright and clear as he rode his horse, Ace, out at dawn. The air cool and crisp, the grass frosted underfoot. By midmorning, he needed to take his jacket off, the sun shining bright amongst great puffy clouds. The mountains seemed to glitter off in the distance, sway in the rising heat of day. Their snow covered peaks like a promise of the winter that was to come.

It was beautiful, but it was just his life. Green fields, far off mountains, infinite blue sky. A postcard existence — but he knew what it was really like. It was being born and living and dying all in one town and never seeing anything else. It was hard work and back breaking labor. It was stiff joints at twenty-three but no right to complain. It was struggling to make ends meet, eating six to a table crammed in a small kitchen. It was dirt under fingernails and sun damaged skin. It was grinding cattle feed alone with a sprained wrist that ached every time he picked up a supplement bag. 

The trailer filled up at about two and a half tank loads of feed. There was still half a tank left in the mixer, but he could come back for it later. It was past noon, the sun was beating down on his back, and he had been working for seven hours straight. Without so much as a water or a snack to munch on as he watched the supplement and ground corn mix together. Once the feed trailer was stowed safely in the dry barn, Rhett untied Ace from the post and rode back to the house.

Hoping to find a quick bite and not get yelled at for not finishing his job.

Pushing a thing of dip tobacco between his cheek and gums with his tongue, he walked towards the front door. His stomach rumbling as he watched his boots move across the dirt path and through the grass. But when he looked up, he noticed Amy sitting out in the yard. 

She was the spitting image of her mother, Rebecca. Eyes bright and blue with thin, pale blonde hair — cheeks dusted in freckles and teeth crooked, just a little too big for her mouth. Everyone expected Perry’s genes to be stronger, but there didn’t seem to be an ounce of Abbott in her. And for that, Rhett was almost grateful. 

Would have been a real goofy looking kid if she ended up anything like his brother. Or him even. 

Amy was braiding clovers together into a crown, weaving the stems slowly with big eyes downcast. Her little mouth downcurved in a frown. 

Rhett spit out his dip as he approached her. 

“Hey, ladybug, watchya doin’ ou’here?” he asked, tugging his gloves from his hands. 

She set the messily braided clovers down with a sigh then looked back over her shoulder at the house. When she met his eyes, she looked like she wasn’t supposed to tell him. 

But she did it anyway: “Mom and Dad’re fightin’ again.” 

Now that he was listening, he could hear the yelling coming from inside the house. Something about space and how this wouldn’t have happened and needing to get over it. Fragments and sound bites. Another of those things about living in an old ranch house. The walls weren’t good at keeping secrets. 

He grunted, put his hands on his hips. For a second, anger flared up in Rhett’s chest. So this was what Perry was doing instead of helping him with the feed? Arguing with his wife about the same old shit and not making any progress because he was too stubborn to actually listen to her? Then a sort of sadness trickled in with it. 

Amy shouldn’t have to hear that shit, either. 

She was only nine, and already she understood too much about her parents’ feelings towards the Abbotts, the ranch, Wabang, and each other. Already saw and heard too much. There was already something too grown up behind those blue eyes and Rhett didn’t like it. He could remember holding her for the first time when he was just fourteen. Everyone made him sit down to do it because they didn’t trust him and he didn’t know why. Not until Perry placed that little baby in his arms, telling him to support her head. He had never held something so delicate before in all his life, and hadn’t since. Fragile, precious, terrifying. New life — only one week in this world. It made him tear up and he didn’t even know why. 

Eventually, he could hold her while standing, while walking, sometimes even while running. Eventually, he scared the shit out of Rebecca by tossing her in the air, her shrieking giggles making him laugh. Eventually, she could talk and he liked to listen, about bugs and horses and sparkling shoes and pretend princesses saving knights from dragons. Eventually, she was mostly grown up and so was he. 

But Rhett didn’t want her to grow up, not yet. She deserved to stay little, just for a little longer. Making crowns out of clovers and giggling and not knowing what secrets the walls refused to keep. 

“Whaddaya say we go ge’ice cream?” 

“Really?” she questioned, popped up onto her knees with a small toothy smile. 

Rhett chuckled. “Yeah, really. Lemme go change.” 

He tapped her on the head lightly with his gloves as he passed her, making her laugh. And it made him smile despite the anger still bubbling in his chest and the hunger gnawing at his gut. 

When he pulled open the screen door, its loud screech and bang as the old hinges smacked it back against the exterior wall announced his presence before he even walked inside. The yelling suddenly came to a halt. He rolled his eyes as he crossed the entry and climbed the stairs, distantly hearing the argument pick back up in harsh whispers. 

Once in a fresh pair of jeans and an old rodeo t-shirt, beat up trucker hat hiding the sweat slicking his hair, he called out that he was taking Amy into town. No one answered him and he didn’t repeat himself. He just strode right back out into the shadeless yard where Amy stood waiting for him with her hands in her pockets. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he took her under his arm and led her over to his truck.

“Ya missed lunch,” she pointed out as they climbed inside. 

“Might ge’more th’n ice cream then,” he said, starting the engine. 

“So Jiffy Treat?”

“Course.”

The local ice cream shop, in business since 1973. It was nothing special. Just a squat building on the side of the road with a walk-up window and a few covered tables out front screwed into the concrete. It was the place to go in the Wabang heat to cool off. Mostly just sad dads bringing their kids to try and make them feel better about whatever was going on at home.

Rhett never thought he would be one of those sad dads — sad uncle really. 

As the truck shook and rumbled down the gravel drive towards the main road and off Abbott land, Amy quickly snatched up the cardboard box at her feet and set it in her lap. The box had water damage healed over one too many times and a missing corner, but it still did the job alright. Holding an unorganized and haphazardly placed collection of cassettes.

“Which one has the Georgia song on it?” Amy rifled through the tapes, plastic clacking together as she threw them around.

Rhett knew which song she was talking about instantly. “Reba McEntire — uh, lady wi’curly hair — black’n white.” 

It took her a minute to find it, but once she did, she held it up and giggled triumphantly. Rhett told her to put it in as he turned left onto the paved road that led into town, cranking open his window to let in a breeze. He still felt like he smelled like ground corn and yeast. But he wasn’t about to make her wait any longer by taking a shower — or let his stomach continue to eat itself any more than he had to.

With a whir of tape and a few skipped tracks, the opening guitar and piano of The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia started to play.

Amy sang along loudly, bobbing her head to the beat and missing a few of the words. While Rhett muttered them all quietly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Asking once the song was over for her to rewind the tape and let him listen to the album in full.

“You need t’get a new radio, Uncle Rhett,” she said as she pressed the right buttons. “One y’can plug y’r phone into.” 

He chuckled softly. “I like m’tapes jus’fine.” 

“Y’sound like Gran’pa.”

Amy said it with a laugh, and Rhett rolled his eyes for her to see. But she didn’t need to know that stabbed at something inside him he didn’t like. A beast, locked in a cage. Pacing, waiting to be angered enough to set itself free. 

He didn’t want to be like his dad. 

But apples didn’t fall far from trees in Wabang — inevitable and constant. 

There were a few other cars parked in the small Jiffy Treat lot. Kids in swimsuits either just coming back or going to the swimming hole over in Hayden running around the umbrella shaded tables. The parents chatting with cones in hand. 

Amy jumped out of the truck first as soon as Rhett threw it in park. He was quick to follow after her, already fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. The teenager working the window slid it open with a smile as they walked up. 

“What can I ge’for ya?” she asked, finely manicured nails poised with a pen and notepad.

Rhett ruffled Amy’s hair as he looked over the menu. “Go’head, ladybug.” 

“Can I have a scoop’ve bubblegum with sprinkles, please?”

“In a cone or a cup?”

“Cone, please,” Amy said, then backed away from the window so Rhett could step up. 

“N’ll take two hotdogs n’a thing’a onion rings, please,” he said, thumbing the few bills in his wallet. “N’can I get a cup’a water?”

It did not go out of his notice how the young girl looked him up and down, teeth biting into her lip as she wrote down his order. It made him shift his weight to his other foot, hoping to just get away soon. But her pink blush did remind him of someone — and it made the corner of his mouth raise.

“That it?” she asked. 

“Yep.”

She gave the total with his cup of water and he paid, Amy’s ice cream quickly being called from the other window. Bright pink and covered in rainbow sprinkles. Her smile was ear to ear as she took it with both hands and sat down at one of the tables. Rhett plopped down on the bench across from her and tried not to focus on just how hungry he really was. It was nice under the shade of the umbrella, sun no longer beating down on his back. Birds chirped in the yards on either side and cars rumbled past on the road behind him. He could feel the wind they created whipping at his shirt. It would have felt good if he didn’t worry that if they swerved even a little he was done for.

“R’Mom n’dad gonna get a divorce?” Amy asked as she licked at her ice cream. 

Rhett coughed around his drink of water. “Wha’makes ya say that?”

“Lily Stockton n’my class — her parents’re gettin’ divorced.” She shrugged. “She said they fought a lot. Now she goes t’her dad’s house on the weekends.” 

She didn’t seem sad. But she wouldn’t look at Rhett directly either. Watching the swimsuit kids as they got rounded up by their parents or cars as they drove by.

“Shit, I don’know,” Rhett said after a moment to think, pushing his tongue into his cheek despite having no dip to fiddle with.

That seemed to appease her for the minute, and he was thankful. Because there was always the possibility. He couldn’t rule it out and he always had been terrible at lying to his niece. If they did get divorced everyone would probably be happier save his mother, who would just be heartbroken at her son’s broken marriage. His broken family. They would become a constant prayer request to her church group. Though he doubted she brought up their struggles to them now. Keep things in the family until it bursts at the seams for everyone to see. 

His food got called and he muttered a thank God under his breath as he got up to get it. He didn’t even care to put ketchup or mustard on his hotdogs, he just sat down and started eating. It was hot and fried and delicious. 

As they ate, Amy trying to keep up with her ice cream before it melted onto her hand, an old white Jeep with wood paneling on the sides pulled into the lot. Rhett watched it as he finished off his second hot dog, Amy making some comment about how he always ate too fast. It was a nineties model at the least, though it was hard to say without asking. Minimal rust around the bottom and the paint needed to be redone but that didn’t matter much. Every car looked like a junker in Wabang. Old model trucks with longer beds than any of those 21st century Ford monstrosities could offer. Rhett was surprised at how good the engine sounded though, a nice rumble as it slowed to a stop and cut off completely. A rarity for a car that age in a town like this. 

The back doors swung open first, three boys clambering out and into the sun. They waited patiently by the bumper as the driver stepped out. 

Rhett nearly choked on one of his onion rings.

She looked beautiful. Light brown hair falling around her shoulders and the golden chain of her locket peeking out from a quarter zip with the sleeves rolled up. Her wide smile was like its own sun as she slammed the creaking driver’s door shut and gestured for the boys that poured out of her car to get in line. The smallest of them running ahead to go first. She followed behind. Her eyes big and blue as July squinted in the sun, turning them to slits crinkled at the edges, and Rhett smiled.

He really hoped he would see Tessa Abernathy again. It had been nearly a week since he got to apologize in the fluorescent light of the general store. He just thought, and maybe hoped, he would have more control over his heart rate than he did right then; pounding against his ribcage as he watched her walk and dig through her purse at the same time. Would she notice him? Would she talk to him? He nearly wanted to slap himself. He was never like this around women. Especially women he wanted. He knew all the tricks and he knew all the lines — just to feel something, just to get loved for a night. But this was different. She was different. 

Then Amy suddenly gasped. “That’s Jace!”

Rhett blinked rapidly as he looked back at his niece, feeling like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh — w-who?”

“He’s in m’class — we sit at the same table,” she said, pointing at the smallest boy bouncing up and down in front of the order window. “C’n I go say hi?”

“Sure, ladybug,” he replied.

She didn’t waste a second. Pink ice cream dribbled down onto her knuckles as she raced over to talk to the little boy. He looked just as excited to see her as she was him. Gasping and jumping and pointing to the order window — which was handing down to him a bowl of multicolored ice cream covered in gummy worms. Rhett finished off his onion rings and wiped his hands off on his jeans as he watched them. Happy that Amy was distracted — at least for a little while. That she wasn’t thinking about her parents yelling at each other through thin walls or Lily Stockton or having to spend weekends at her dad’s. That she wasn’t asking him questions he didn’t know the answers to. Instead, she was just being a kid. Talking excitedly with a friend, getting sticky fingers, and eating bright pink ice cream covered in sprinkles. That was what she deserved. To just stay little, just a little longer.

But Rhett stiffened, hot dogs and onion rings sitting like led in his stomach, as he watched Tessa come up to the order window, paying for the three boys’ ice cream. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but her and Amy were clearly talking to one another. Tessa smiling at the two little kids fondly and making big facial expressions that made him smile. 

Then Amy was pointing at him. Tessa turned her head to look with raised brows. She smiled, wide and stunning and full of a kindness he could nearly see and felt undeserving of receiving. Raising his hand, he waved with a small smile — 

And he had to stop himself from cringing.

He was definitely regretting those hot dogs, and not showering, now as Amy and Jace rushed over to sit on the bench opposite him. Amy saying something about him being her uncle and riding bulls. Jace didn’t seem that interested. Rhett hadn’t even noticed the group of teens that had taken over the table next to them until the two older boys came over and joined them. That just left Tessa, carrying a waffle cone filled with some yellow ice cream, to sit with him at his table. Unable to stop himself, he started fiddling with the paper boat his food came in. Why did talking to her now feel like he was sitting on the back of a bull, the gate about to open and his career on the line?

“Hey, Rhett, how’s it goin’?” she asked as she sat down on the bench at his right.

“G-Good, yeah,” he answered, glancing up at her and looking away. “You? How’s it goin’ with you?”

“M’good too,” she laughed, hiding her smile with her ice cream, then she looked over at Amy and Jace, lost in their own world. “Y’r niece’s cute. Her’n Jace seem t’get along.”

Rhett swallowed thickly. Some part of him wanted to smack himself because he knew talking with her was so damn easy. Even though all his life talking to anyone was a struggle he preferred to avoid. Truth and stories and some secret part of him bubbling to the surface because, somehow, he wanted her to see it and know. But he didn’t want to mess this up. Not again. 

“He — uh — he livin’ in the Home? W-With you?”

“Yeah. He’s’re youngest righ’now.”

“Wha’is he? Nine?” he asked, brows furrowed, finally looking her in the face.

She wasn’t looking at him, and that made it easier. Too focused on Amy and Jace as they talked about school and sports and shows they liked. How she was obviously Spider-Man and he was Hulk. There was a kind of sadness in her eyes though that he had never seen before. One he wanted to fix.

Eventually, she nodded, hand raising to cover her tongue peaking out, licking ice cream from her lip. “He’s a foster. Couldn’even get’im t’say a word when he first showed up. Now look at’im.”

Rhett didn’t fully understand what that meant, but he knew enough. A foster kid. Either his parents were out of the picture or he got taken away from them by the state. Rhett hadn’t even realized he was ripping a fringe into the edge of his paper boat until he had finished an entire side.

“He’s go’somebody good takin’ care’a him now,” he mumbled, watching the side of her face as she ate her sweet treat. “Makes’a difference.”

There was that pretty pink blush that made the freckles on her cheeks stand out. Her eyes sliding over to look at him as she licked her lips again. It made him laugh softly.

She chose not to comment as she glanced down at his unbraced hand. “Wrist feel better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as he flexed his fingers. “S’alright.”

“Takin’ it easy?”

“Nope.”

Tessa leveled him with a look and it filled up something warm in his chest. She barely knew him, but she cared. Enough to get mad at him for not resting his injury and rolling her eyes when he laughed and said what? No one in his family had yet to mention it. Even when he took off the brace before he really should have. Even when he winced and clenched his jaw doing certain tasks. It was like it wasn’t even there. That something warm was still there, but beside it was something sour. Tart and bitter to the taste.

One of the boys that came with her walked up to their table. He appeared to be the oldest. Long curly black hair and headphones around his neck — skateboard tucked under his arm. Tall and unaware of the fact. Skin cratered like the moon. His face looked permanently pinched up in anger, bushy eyebrows furrowed low over dark eyes. But when he spoke, he didn’t sound grumpy at all. 

“We’re gonna go’cross the street. That alright?” he asked, pointing to where he and his friends wanted to go. 

Rhett looked over his shoulder. It was just an alley between downtown brick buildings. Someone tried to decorate it once with creeping ivy and string lights and metal benches. But the ivy was now brown, the string lights were gone, and the benches were uninviting — save for a kid with a skateboard. 

Tessa nodded easily with a smile. “Yeah, s’fine. Wyatt with you?”

The teen nodded.

“Alright, go’on. We’re gon’leave n’bout thirty minutes.”

A smile broke out across his face. An unexpected expression for him, but it suited him well. Then he jogged off, back to his friends. Rhett couldn’t help but notice Tessa watching them with her brows pinched together. 

“Wha’s that look for?” he questioned as she turned back to her nearly finished ice cream.

“S’just…” She seemed to wrestle with her words for a second, tongue pushed into the roof of her mouth as she thought. Then she sighed as she looked at him with her head leaning towards her shoulder. “Wyatt’s younger than Colton n’all his friends n’I…I don’wan’im gettin’ made fun of.” 

“That’s jus’life. He’ll be fine.” 

“Still hurts,” Tessa said.

There was something in those eyes like July that Rhett couldn’t really read. Something like too much understanding. Something like experience. Something like Amy too grown up. Again, he suddenly was filled with the urge to fix. To make that look in her eyes go away. To make whoever made fun of her pay for it because she didn’t deserve that. To take her out for ice cream to help her forget. Bring back that kindness in her eyes, at least for a little while.

“Uncle Rhett!” Amy suddenly called, “Should I be Mikey or Donnie?”

Rhett stared at her for a second, brows furrowed — then it clicked. “Oh, like the ninja turtles?”

“Yeah!”

Tessa placed her hand on his arm to get his attention. “We’ve got the ole’eighties show on VHS. Jace’s obsessed righ’now.”

“We, uh —” He swallowed thickly as she retracted her hand, watching her soft as silk hands retreat almost sadly. “We watched the nineties movie together —  few weeks back.” 

“Oh, that’s so fun.” 

“Rhett!” Amy cried, exasperated. “Should I be Donnie or Mikey?”

“Mikey,” he answered simply, not even having to think.

Amy immediately hopped up and struck a pose with her fists posed for a fight. “I’m Michelangelo!”

“And I’m Leonardo!” Jace yelled as he sprang from the bench as well, pulling pretend swords from his back. 

Then they were off. Amy twirling imaginary nun-chucks around as they play fought one another. Weaving around the other empty tables and jumping up onto benches. Rhett and Tessa watched them with laughs on their lips.

“Y’ever — uh — y’ever pretend t’be somethin’ when y’were a kid?” Rhett asked as he looked at the back of her head.

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes still focused on the kids, as she said, “Used t’pretend I was a fairy. Had a pair’a wings from Halloween I’wore f’r nearly a year.”

Rhett chuckled as he looked down into his lap. He could picture it perfectly. Little girl refusing to take the wings off even if they were bent up and dirty, because she was a fairy. Her parents just giving up and letting it happen. He thought it was adorable — nearly said so but he bit his tongue at the last second.

“I’d wander’round the yard wi’those, uh toy guns? Thinkin’ I’s a cowboy.”

“That’s sweet,” she said as she turned back to look at him with a smile, small and kind.

Her ice cream cone was finished, but there was a glob of yellow on her chin — just beneath her lip. She just looked so pretty. Rhett knew he shouldn’t. After coming so close to ruining whatever was blossoming between them. But before he could really think it through, before he could rationalize, before he could nail down what he should do instead of what he wanted to do — his hand was reaching for her. 

“Oh, you — ya got somethin’...” Rhett said, tucking his forefinger beneath her chin and wiping at the rogue ice cream drip with his thumb. 

Her cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, the color going down, down into the collar of her quarter-zip as he made a second pass on her soft skin to make sure he got it all. Eyes downcast as she took a deep, steadying breath. When he finally pulled away, the ice cream was gone, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes with her lip caught between her teeth.

That same look from that night at the bonfire. Before she practically ran away from him and he was left with a different kind of ache. A different kind of itch. That only she could fill. With her kindness and just right smiles and heart too big for her chest. Regret pooled in his stomach like concrete along with those hotdogs and onion rings. His mouth opened and closed as he wrestled with an apology. But then…

“D’you get it?” she asked quietly. 

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, relief flooding him now, as he licked his thumb clean. “Tastes good.” 

Tessa stared at him for a moment. Thoughts churning behind those big blue eyes and her mouth popped open. Made him smirk as he watched her. She wasn’t running for the hills yet, and for that he was thankful. He no longer felt like he was in the chute, on top of a bull, his career on the line. Instead, he felt like Rhett Abbott talking to Tessa Abernathy. Siphoning off that kindness and maybe giving some out in return.

“It’s, uh — it’s lemon poppyseed,” she finally decided to say and it only made his grin grow. 

“‘Ll have t’try it sometime.”

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from his mother.

Your dad’s wondering why the rest of that feed hasn’t been stored.

“Ah, shit. We gotta go,” he said, collecting his trash as he rose from his seat.

“R-Really?”

“Yeah, got work t’do.” He fished his keys out of his pocket. “Ladybug! C’mon, we gotta get on home!” 

Amy sighed, but said goodbye to Jace. Once his trash was disposed of, he put Amy under his arm and started the walk back to his truck. Telling Tessa it was nice seeing her and trading reluctant farewells.

Once inside the truck, Amy grinned at him like she knew a secret. 

“What?” he laughed. 

“You like her.”

Rhett felt his face flush. “I — you don’t — I don’t —”

“S’alright. I won’t tell,” she said as she settled back into her seat with a pleased smile.

He started the truck with a huff. “Little shit.”

The ride back to the ranch was easy and quiet. Amy leaning back in her seat with her head tilted towards the window — watching endless green fields roll by. And Rhett caught up in thoughts of Tessa Abernathy with ice cream on her chin and looking up at him through thick lashes.

He supposed he couldn’t deny that he liked her. As childish as the term sounded. At the very least, he wanted to be with her. Get to know her. Talk with her. Pulling from her with such ease that kindness the world didn’t deserve and maybe show her some in return — even if he wasn’t very good at it. It was a foreign sort of urge and an alien kind of weight in his chest. Rhett didn’t like his partners, no matter how long or short they were together, getting too close to him. Seeing all that he was and all that it meant, all the dust and grime and that he was just like everyone else in Wabang. A horse sent out to pasture, waiting to die. Knowing there was better but being too afraid and too caught up in it all to leave. He thought he could leave it all behind once. But then he didn’t, and it brought a shame he still didn’t understand and didn’t want to deal with. He couldn’t get out. And maybe that was why he was the guy that made them realize they wanted to be married, just not to him. 

But then again, Tessa didn’t get out either. And she seemed like one of the only things in this life that hadn’t been touched by the Wabang grime. Shiny and bright and loving this life in a small town.

He might not have deserved a girl like that, but he was willing to try. 

When he parked in front of the house, Amy leaping from the passenger seat and running inside, his dad was waiting on the porch for him. Sitting on the old bench his grandmother thrifted from an antique store. A relic from one of the ancient country churches that closed its doors long ago. His ankles crossed and fingers threaded together in his lap as he watched Amy head inside. Rhett sighed as he cut the engine and opened his door — knowing what was waiting for him once he went up those steps.

He didn’t even make it up one of them before his dad started talking gruffly, “Wen’out t’check on ya ‘while ago…Left all the equipmen’out.” 

“Yeah, yeah — Goin’ back to finish grindin’ now,” Rhett replied, taking one booted foot off the step and putting it back on the ground.

“Where’d y’take Amy?”

“Ice cream.”

“Y’had work t’do.”

Rhett clenched his jaw, ticked it to one side. Adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. Itching to get away so he wouldn’t get in more trouble than he was. But he never had been good at not putting his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, somebody had t’make sure she wasn’t hearin’ her parents’ screamin’ match,” he said, finally looking his father in the face with his jaw set and eyes ablaze. 

His dad stared at him for a moment. Chin jutted out and small brown eyes narrowed. Then he rose from his seat and Rhett straightened, prepared to defend himself. His own fight the walls wouldn’t keep to themselves.

“Just get the feed done.”

Then he turned and walked inside. 

Rhett looked at that old empty church pew for a minute. Mind reeling through everything else he wanted to say. Why does Perry get a day off to have a fight with his wife? Did you even bring any food or water when you came to check on me? If the work wasn’t done would you have even noticed I was gone? 

Prayers to an absent god.

Then he pushed off from the porch step and walked back to the barn.

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[armenianwriterman]

So I've started watching Cobra Kai and it's the coolest shit ever (almost done with season 5 at the time of posting), so naturally, I've decided to make a RWBY AU about it. Now right now this is just a half baked idea, but hopefully I'll refine it and make it an actual story sometime. Here's a list of all the roles certain characters could occupy:

Summer Rose -> Daniel LaRusso: Once a poor kid who moved across the country and dealt with bullies until she learned karate and beat her rival in a big tournament. Now wealthy and successful, Summer learns the dojo that tormented her in her youth has reopened and seeks to do whatever she can to stop their influence. I chose Summer for Daniel because of her status as the previous generations' hero, and about how they both try to do what they think is the right thing, even if they don't always succeed

Raven Branwen -> Johnny Lawrence: Summer's chief bully until she was defeated at the tournament and ended up becoming a drunken moronic loser. Until she meets a student who needs her help and she develops into drunken moronic karate sensei. Raven's girlfailure energy and hidden heart of gold fits the present day Johnny very well, and plus having her as Johnny lets us have...

Yang Xiao Long -> Robby Keane: Raven's estranged and troubled daughter, who takes a job working for her mom's nemesis out of spite. However, when Summer proves to be a much better mother figure then her bio-mom, Yang joins her dojo and quickly becomes its top fighter. Yang and Raven as Robby and Johnny was such a perfect combination that I couldn't resist, it had to be them.

Emerald Sustrai -> Miguel Diaz: A high schooler who moves next to Raven and learns her neighbor is a karate master after running afoul of bullies. After convincing her to train her, Emerald becomes the first and star student of Raven's newly opened dojo. I'm gonna be honest, I'm really not sure who would best fit Miguel's role, if you have any better ideas comment in the notes.

Ruby Rose -> Sam LaRusso: Summer's daughter who trained in martial arts as a child and lived a sheltered life, until her new "friends" start a smear campaign against her. Angered by this, Ruby starts doing karate once again and ends up falling in love with Emerald. There isn't much to say for this one other then I chose Ruby for Sam because she's Summer's daughter.

Cinder Fall -> Tory Nichols: A deeply troubled but highly confident teenager who joins Raven's dojo. She very quickly becomes deeply personally offended by Ruby's existence and does whatever she can to crush her rival's dojo. Cinder definitely fits some of Tory's more unhinged moments and I think she'd be a good threat to the heroes.

Lie Ren -> Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz: A quiet teenager who gets bullied along with his long time best friend Jaune. He joins Raven's dojo and develops a hyper confident persona as he learns karate, only to become a bully due to the influence of Ironwood. I chose Ren for Hawk because they both start out as very quiet kids who don't say much and because they both have arcs about having a downward spiral in part due to the influence of a military man.

Jaune Arc -> Demetri Alexopoulos: A sarcastic nerd who gets bullied along with his best friend Ren. Initially staying out of karate due to Raven's harsh teaching styles, he ends up joining Summer's dojo due to a lot of his former friends becoming bullies under Ironwood's influence. This one was a no-brainer, Jaune had to be Demetri.

James Ironwood -> John Kreese: The main antagonist, a karate sensei and war veteran whose PTSD and No Honor, No Mercy philosophy poisons a lot of his students into becoming bullies, including Raven in the past. When Raven's revived dojo becomes a success, he returns to pass on his corruptive teachings to the next generation. Ironwood as Kreese was another obvious for me, given Kreese's past as a war veteran and both of their struggles with PTSD.

Arthur Watts -> Terry Silver: The other main antagonist, Ironwood's wealthy longtime business partner who has ambitions to spread the No Honor, No Mercy philosophy worldwide. Although he's initially a close friend of Ironwood's, Watts ends up becoming disillusioned and starts forming plans of his own. I decided to have Watts be Silver because of their past histories of being allies with Ironwood and Kreese (and also because RWBY's resident corrupt ultra rich CEO Jacques is nowhere near cool enough to be Terry Silver).

And that's all the main cast. Feel free to leave suggestions for other rolls or characters that you think are fitting.

[0ccvltism]

Long Story

((This can be read separately of Rocks and Rom Coms, but does follow the same reader insert, so they can definitely be read together! More coming soon! I swear to God, if this turns into an actual series... TW for mild mentions of injuries/blood.))

He had a key to your house.

Dean Winchester was one of three people (besides yourself, of course) that had a key: your mother, who lived across the country, over a day’s drive away in sunny, humid Florida; your best friend, who only really came over to your place for your once-monthly girls’ night; and Dean Winchester, who never, ever actually used the thing, preferring, god only knew why (he claimed it was more “romantic, or somethin’”, his exact words, not yours), to come in your bedroom window.

It was stupid, and maybe even a little dangerous – the half-dead tree he used to actually get up to the second story was one good thunderstorm away from falling, and the house itself was so old that you swore it was held together with duct tape and way too many instances of you calling your grandfather, who had built the house before your mother was even born, for advice and willing the house to stay in one piece.

With that in mind, you were thoroughly confused when, in the middle of the night, as you were making yourself a snack in the kitchen, you heard a key in the lock – or, well, the key missing the lock and hitting the door several times, and then finally making its way into the lock properly.

Even drunk, your best friend would have called first, even though, with how much of a struggle it had clearly been to get the key into the lock, she was your first thought. Your mother had just sent you vacation photos from her trip to California, which was even further from you than Florida. That left Dean – and the fact that he was using the front door at all left an uneasy feeling in your stomach. It was a clear break from a routine you’d established and held to for almost a year now, no matter what the weather was when he showed up at your window.

You turned, let your weight rest against the kitchen counter for a moment as you gathered your thoughts, and then pushed off of it, moving for the entryway. 

“Y/N? You home?” Dean sounded decidedly not good, and you picked up your pace just slightly, rounding the side of the staircase, and – oh. Dean looked decidedly not good too, though as he saw you he stubbornly straightened up, tried to smile (it looked far more like a grimace) and kicked the door closed behind him. He wasn’t entirely able to hide the way his weight pressed back against it.

“What happened to you?” You breathed out as you drew closer. You didn’t know much about what Dean did when he wasn’t with you – you assumed he had some kind of job, even if it seemed like a pretty shitty one – he showed up bruised and sore and stiff more often than not, but this was far worse than that. There was a bruise already turning a deep shade of purple above his eyebrow, and there was a slightly distant, foggy look on his face. You were willing to bet money he was concussed.

“Long story.” Was all he offered in response, slowly pushing himself off of the door. You didn’t pry – you never did – just reaching out to steady him. There was a mild limp in his gait, one that favored his left side, and you offered a grimace of your own. You weren’t sure he’d make it up the stairs, so you half-dragged him to the couch instead. He dropped down to the cushions with a groan, green eyes closing – if you couldn't see the pain he was in, it might have almost seemed cute, like he was just sinking down into a particularly comfortable seat. You knew better, in any case – the couch was easily the least comfortable piece of furniture you'd had the misfortune of owning. The couch wasn’t comfortable – he was just hurting. You knew that feeling well enough – the point where anything mostly horizontal and not entirely covered in bees was comfortable enough.

He didn’t stay down for long though – in fact, he was only sitting for the span of time it took you to return to the kitchen for the glass of wine you’d poured yourself and to pour him one as well – before you could hear him moving around again, and his voice was still distinctly not okay as he called out, from the general direction of the half-bath under the staircase, “You don’t happen to have any floss lyin’ around, do you?”

Floss?

“What?” Is the only answer you could think to reply with as you rounded the staircase again, glasses of wine still in hand, the bottle carefully tucked into your elbow. He peeked around the doorframe at you, somehow managing to look oh-so-charming, even now. 

“Y’know. Floss.” He motioned to his mouth, but you caught a glimpse of just a bit of exhausted exasperation, like he was explaining something incredibly obvious. 

“In the – in the hall closet, I think; why do you need floss?” 

He was looking at you like you were a little slow on the uptake, and you were staring at him like he’d gone insane, and it took a few heartbeats for him to seemingly process that his request was decidedly not normal. He made those, now and then, or said things, or asked things, that just didn’t quite make sense – this was one of them. You couldn’t tell if he was planning on actually answering your question – it didn’t seem like he was, at least not yet, because he moved for the hall closet, continuing his search.

“Dean,” You started, “you want to tell me why you need –...” Your eyes landed on his hip. The gray material of his tee-shirt and the upper portion of his jeans were soaked through in a dark, dark red, and for a moment, you felt a little queasy. “You don’t need dental floss, Dean, you need a hospital.” You informed him.

“Nah.” God, you hated it when he said that, because it was almost always followed up by something completely stupid. “I got you.” Yep. It all processed rather quickly after that. He needed dental floss for stitches. He couldn’t reach it himself – he had you. He had you, the nursing student, and he wanted you to stitch him up with dental floss. You set the glasses of wine and the bottle down on the side table before you could drop them. 

“You want me to stitch you up.” You clarified. “With dental floss.” He finally found what he was looking for - the unopened multi-pack of little travel-sized flosses - and waved it triumphantly next to his head, finally turning around to look at you. You were struck again by how tired he looked – you could practically see the headache pulsing behind his eyes, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that the cheerful, charismatic smile he was putting on was incredibly forced.

“It’s easy!” He promised quickly, with the tone of someone who knew what he was asking was most certainly not easy. “I’ve been doin’ it since I was a kid. Had to stitch my Dad up all the time.” He caught your eye, giving a sheepish grin as he saw the horror on your face. “Long story.”

That was quickly becoming one of your least favorite phrases.

[kabillieu]

We spent the weekend at our bay house. Dominic took the boys back home today, but I'm staying until Tuesday morning so I can finish (for once and hopefully all) my comps portfolios. I also have to evaluate a couple hundred mentorship applications, as well as a handful of full-length manuscripts for my freelance jobs. This is all work that has to be completed by the end of the month, and the way it's all converging at once is miserable, especially since I'm going to "lose" a week's worth of work time because my big conference is in two weeks.

In addition to the above, I also need to book plane tickets and make dinner reservations for myself and the friends I'm meeting up with at the conference. I need to start making edits on the poetry manuscript I'm editing for TRP. And I need to write a revision plan and back copy description for my own manuscript (soon book!) of poems. I also have some minor grading to catch up on for the classes I'm teaching.

All this business is temporary, though. I'll hopefully be on the road to scheduling my defense soon. This particular portion of my mentorship job will pass. I'll have more time for everything in the near future! But the present is a tough slog of deadlines and a brutal glut of work.

This weekend was nice, though. I spent a lot of quality time with my toddler. At home in P-ville, our front yard is a big hill that slopes straight into the street and our backyard has a pool, so it's difficult to take Riv outside without experiencing extreme anxiety pretty much the entire time. But here--while we do have the bay out back--we live at the intersection of a quiet, flat street, so Riv spent a lot of time on his balance bike (he always calls it a "bicycle race;" so cute). He also did a lot of coloring and painting, drawing with sidewalk chalk, and bouncing and kicking a kickball with me. His imagination is taking off, which is fun to witness too. I don't love playing with little children, but I did enjoy all this quality time with him, especially since the weather was so mild and pleasant.

Now the boys are gone, and it's just Scout and me in this quiet house. I love quiet and solitude, but I do struggle at first when I'm here and my family is not. It feels wrong, and I feel sad and lonely. I've learned, however, that that feeling fades after a while, and then I can focus on my work and enjoy some alone time, which I never, ever get anymore, unless I'm here.

I don't know how I would have accomplished my PhD work this school year if I didn't regularly take these little mini work retreats. This push at the end has been so difficult and laborious, so I'm lucky I've been able to duck out of family life for a day or two occasionally to try to finish the work for this degree. My comps process has taken three years! I had two babies in the middle of it, and I moved across the country, and I take care of a toddler and homeschool my oldest son (and there's the matter of beginning in a pandemic), so there's plenty of reasons for why it's taken me so long. I will be so grateful to be on the other side of this when I can celebrate what a huge accomplishment this will be--at least from the perspective of the pure doggedness and tenacity I've demonstrated by continuing to plug along despite it all.