no idea what im doing

"Logan... I'm cold," your voice was barely a whisper, cutting out amongst the snowy landscape.

He turned to look at you, his arm heavy on your shoulder as you held your own arms in a desperate attempt to keep hold of some body heat. The sigh he let out was visible in the frozen cold air.

Your powers had gotten erratic as of late; it had been a real pain in your ass. Today you teleported to seven random places before you ran out of energy. First was the Golden Gate Bridge, where you nearly got run over; the middle of a military camp, where you nearly got shot; a random person's house; in the air over a field; Professor Xavier's school; the middle of a lake; then back here in the middle of freezing fucking cold Canada with Logan.

Now you were soaked to the bone, your winter coat and boots waterlogged. Logan had said that going out in nature always helped his mind be more quiet, something you desperately needed at the moment. That plan seemed stupid now in hindsight.

Logan had lost Scott's motorcycle in the chaos of trying to figure out where you were. Unlucky for the both of you, your powers had decided to teleport you to him instead of the motorcycle. Not that you would've left him in this snowstorm even if you had.

The two of you had been trying to find it for hours now, and with your soaked clothes and the snowstorm going on, things weren't looking great.

Despite not being very good at it, he tried his best to comfort you: "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna find my ride, and we'll be out of here. There's a town that's a thirty-minute drive from where I parked; I'll get us there." You couldn't help the half laugh, half breath that escaped you when Logan referred to Scott's motorcycle as his.

Your teeth had long since started chattering; it was the only thing you could hear besides the sound of wind howling and breathing. It was getting harder to keep your eyes open; every part of your body was exhausted, and every step felt like walking through drying concrete. Once you nearly stumbled, it was the breaking point; you couldn't walk like this any longer.

"Can we take a break?" Though he stopped walking, Logan grunted and stared at you with worry.

"If we stop now we might not make it." The worry in his voice was palpable; you could tell he was getting anxious about your health and how you'd make it out of this.

Logan sighed before picking you up bridal style, holding you close to his chest. You laid your head onto him, letting your eyes drift closed for a few minutes.

"Don't close your eyes." Logan's gruff voice slightly started you awake, only bothering to open your eyes a crack.

"bu' 'm s'tired..." Your speech was melding together, creating a barely intelligible sentence you hoped Logan could understand.

"Yeah, well, you can get some sleep once we're in a warm hotel room and not in the middle of a snowstorm, kid." He continued trudging through the snow, seemingly unbothered by your still damp clothes seeping water into his jacket. You groaned loudly, showing your displeasure by throwing your head back. It had Logan huffing a laugh out of his nose; it would be more entertaining if the possibility of you dying wasn't looming over his head.

Finally he caught a glimpse of silver amongst the white snow. Carefully he started sprinting, trying not to jostle you too much on the way over. There was the bike, sitting exactly where he had stopped on the side of the nearly completely snowed-over road. Shit. More snow had fallen since the two of you used the bike.

You blearily noticed this, processing it slowly while Logan tried to figure out a plan. "Mor' snow..."

With a huff he set you on the bike, sitting down in front of you and instructing you to hold on. You barely had the energy to do so, not to mention your hands starting to become numb, but you tried your best anyway. The hunch in his back as he tried to start the motorcycle told you everything. It sputtered and roared, but the engine didn't fully turn on. A few curses fell from Logan's lips as he hit the poor thing. It was too cold; the battery was probably frozen, and the oil was too thick. That meant you were shit out of luck for using the motorcycle to get to the next town over. Which meant the two of you had just spent over an hour trying to find it when you could've been trying to get to the town closest to you.

Logan groaned loudly. "Change of plans. I'm gonna carry you to town." He pulled the keys out of the motorcycle and stuffed them back into his pocket. In his words he left no room for arguing against this, frankly terrible idea, not that you really had the energy to say or do much.

"Mmmmkay." You let your head fall onto his arm as he tried to lift you up again.

"Could you at least try to help me out here?" He grunted, your dead weight causing him to nearly drop you.

"S'rry..." You try to get a hold of your limbs, but everything feels so numb. It hit you then that you couldn't feel past your knees and past your shoulders, and a violent shiver ripped through your body. "Can't feel m'arms n'legs..."

Logan stopped when you said this, staring down at you as some form of horror glanced across his face like he had realized something. In the back of your mind you knew that he knew that this wasn't a good sign. The cold seemed to reach your bones, where you could still feel; your nose was running, but you didn't have the energy to sniffle anymore.

"Everything's gonna be okay, bub; I'm gonna get you out of this storm." At this point Logan's words sounded less like they were for you and more for him, even as he continued the random mumbled sentences. Finally he got you lifted into his arms like you had been before and started trudging down the road again.

Snow was sticking to his boots, being pulled up by every step as the thick layer was being disturbed. With the snow on the ground and the freezing cold wind, each footfall was slow. You both knew this would take a long time, longer than you had, yet Logan kept going.

You think it has been over thirty minutes now of the older man walking, the lack of clear vision making you feel uneasy. Once drowsiness and lack of energy turned into full-on sleepiness, your head lolled back and forth with each movement. The places that had been numb before felt like they were burning, like there was lava underneath your skin boiling you from the inside out.

Logan had tried to give you skin-to-skin contact in an attempt to give you a little more warmth, but it hadn't helped much in the end. Time felt slower than usual; you could hear the other mutant heavily breathing close to your ear.

While your eyes were shut, the man carrying you spotted lights up ahead, thinned out in the haze of the snowy landscape. He hoped and prayed that there was some place open, some place that would let you two in, maybe even a hotel with a vacant room if you were lucky.

"Hurts..." You mumbled out with your croaky voice, eyes still not open.

"We're almost to town. I see lights up ahead; you just gotta stay awake for me. Think you can do that?" He looked down at you, even though you couldn't see it, studying your facial expression. Your entire face was lax; not even your lips pulled into a frown or your eyebrows knit like they had been before.

The only reaction you gave to Logan's words was a barely audible groan; he let out a sigh of relief when you did, more than glad you were still somewhat conscious.

The next moment was a blur of Logan rushing to the one building that had its lights on in this small middle-of-nowhere town. When warmth brushed against your face from the heated building, you sighed. You were still freezing, shivering every so often, and your teeth chattering a little, but whoever had cranked the heat up wherever you were must have been an angel sent from heaven.

Distantly you heard Logan talking to someone as he sat you down on a chair, the sound of his wallet opening, the stranger concerned for your health and saying the closest hospital was an hour's drive away, and Logan saying the two of you had no way of getting there besides on foot. Gently he took you into your arms again with a sigh, starting to speak to you again even though you looked completely out of it, you were sure.

"Got us a room for the night, kid; it'll be warm, and then we can get you to somewhere that'll help you out." You groaned as the cold air hit your face again.

Logan fumbled with the door key while still holding you, only just opening it before he got to full-on rage mode. He laid you down on one of the beds, moving to turn the heating up and lock the door.

"The guy at the front said there's a kettle for coffee and hot chocolate..." He shuffled around the room, finally finding it inside one of the cabinets. Grumbling about how it should've just been on a counter, he filled it up with sink water and turned it on. In the back of your mind you were grossed out by the use of tap water, but you reminded yourself that you nearly froze to death and Logan was making you hot chocolate without even being asked.

After he turned the kettle on, he walked back over to you and started pulling your coat and waterlogged boots off. If it wasn't for the fact that you couldn't feel your legs or arms and your nose was running and you felt frozen to your core, this would be like a domestic dream. You could never imagine the Wolverine shucking off your coat and hanging it up while he made you a warm drink.

"What're you laughing about, kid?" You hadn't even realized you let a few chuckles leave you. Logan didn't sound angry; in fact, this was probably the softest you've ever heard him.

"You trea'ing m'like m'your husband," your words were still mushing together in your mouth, causing the letters to get a bit jumbled. Still, your friend seemed to understand you.

The other mutant stopped for a second, like time had frozen over, similar to your fingers.

As he started moving again, he sighed loudly, hanging your coat up on the rack and turning back around to shimmy off more of your soaked clothes.

"I'm treating you like you nearly died, bub." His voice was echoey in the tile-lined bathroom as he hung up your clothes on the shower curtain rod to hopefully dry.

When the kettle finally clicked, telling that it was done boiling, Logan came out of the bathroom.

"Yknow if y'just wante' me in m' underwear y'could've said, Wolverine." You sat up with the help of the headboard on the bed, left in just your undershirt and boxers. The other mutant grumbled as he stirred the instant hot chocolate into the warm water, handing it to you.

A content silence fell over the hotel room, you pulling the warm covers over your legs. You still felt cold, shivering slightly, but this was leagues better than it was outside.

You hadn't even realized your eyes had closed, only noticing when you opened them from Logan setting his hand on your forehead. "Wha's the prognosis doct'r?"

"You're still really cold. We're gonna see an actual doctor tomorrow to make sure you didn't sustain any health problems from this. Drink your hot chocolate, kid." He sat down next to you on the bed after taking his own coat and shoes off.

Scott Summers; family man. The kind of guy you can happily bring to meet your family; the type of guy who’d stare your father's gun down with a smile and still shake his hand with a firm grip. 

Cyclops; the leader. The kind of guy who commands a room without entering it; the type of guy who’s fought his whole life and will continue to do so. 

Scotty; your love. He’s Scott Summers and he’s Cyclops. He’s a man with an incredibly complex upbringing with too many feelings to unravel in one lifetime. 

You know him inside and out, boring his soul into yours like a warm hug. So it’s to no one's surprise when you’re put in charge of the extraction team to get him and other mutants out of wherever they’ve been held captive for a week now.

The large metal keys clank to the ground as the door swings open. Breathing a sigh of relief when you see Scott is there, you take a moment to compose yourself and look around the room. It’s just an empty room with a tiny window at the top and Scott in the middle. You frown, seeing that he is tied up in some weird dungeon in the middle of the ocean. 

But he’s otherwise unharmed. 

He looks up at you, a ghost of a smile resting nicely on his face. 

“That pose looks good on you,” You grinned, running your fingers along his arms flexed behind his back, pinning him to sit on his knees. 

“Just help me,” He groaned, tugging at the metal cuffs but they didn't budge. Snapping the chain with a tug, you carefully grab his wrists and break the metal connecting them together. He shudders and rubs his wrists; sure they’re going to be sore for a while. “Thank you,” He says as he stands up.

“You can kiss me later, this place is about to blow up— can you open the wall?” He blinks but grabs onto you and blasts the cement wall. It explodes and you cover the two of you with your wing, the thick white feathers blocking the rubble and dust. It oddly sounds like rain hitting an umbrella. When it stops, you shake the wing off and grab him before diving out. 

Scott smells the salty sea air as you’re barreling towards the water before you spread your wings and shoot into the sky. He tucks his head in, fearing the air will blow off his shades until you land inside the jet. His feet touch the metal and he unwraps himself from you but still holds onto you for support as you guide him up to the cockpit. 

“That’s everyone,” You huff. “Took me a minute to find Scotty.” Rubbing his head, he clears his throat- a silent plea that he needs to look professional right now - and thanks everyone on your temporary team. Not a moment later several explosions can be heard in close succession and then the sound of heavy stones hitting the water. 

He settles onto his normal seat on the jet while you check over everyone; providing snack boxes to all of them because you’re sure they were starved in that place. 

Once you’re back at the mansion, you drag Scott into the infirmary. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea but there’s not much he can do to convince you to let him go. 

“I’m fine,” He insists while Hank checks his vitals for the third time. It’s been an hour of him sitting there in the uncomfortable hospital gown. 

“You have a greenstick fracture on both of your arms,” You correct, flipping through his chart. “Your blood pressure is dangerously low, you’ve lost seventeen pounds in two weeks, and your hips and knees were dislocated— they’re still dislocated.”

“Then heal me, angel,” He grins but winces when the pressure band expands on his arm. You chuckle, shaking your head. 

“Charming, but you need your fluids first. Hank will start an IV drip once he’s done with that and then I’ll transfer you up to our room, ‘kay?” He sighs but nods. 

“Can I at least help you?” He asks just before you leave. “You still have bits of concrete in your wings.” Thinking about it, you see Hank give a noncommittal shrug. 

Sitting on the bed between his legs, Scott helps pick out the rubble from your feathers. His careful fingers preane and pry, dusting and gentle fixing. It doesn’t bother you, your wings and feathers are strong. You hardly feel it when someone touches them. But he still takes such good care of them when you can’t. 

After he’s done, Hank cleans up his arm and you watch as he starts the IV drip. He doesn’t need to tell you the instructions for Scott; you’ve done this enough times and gotten through half of your residency to know how to handle an injured Scott. 

Scooping him up, he looks away but holds onto your shoulder with this non-IV arm. He’s ever aware you’re carrying him with one arm, the other holding the monitor and drip bags the whole way up from the basement to the second floor. 

Oh, how he envies Kurt for having blue fur.

—

When Scott fully heals, which takes longer than he likes because you refuse to heal his hip until he’s put back on the weight from before, he goes back to normal. Almost immediately he begs for a fight; a training exercise— anything. He literally gets on his knees begging because you’d rather spend your afternoon outside than in the stuffy training room. But how can you deny your Scotty? Especially when he’d taken your orders while injured like a champ.

“C’mon Scotty,” You coo, trailing your finger along the length of his jaw, stopping just before your finger left the tip of his chin. “I know you can do it, just a little more.” He grins, his lips wobbling as he struggles against your wings. He grunts, feeling you put more pressure down on him. 

“That’s my boy,” You tease, watching him squirm and huff under you. You’re not even touching him, hovering above his stomach with just your wings pinning his chest to the ground. “You can last longer, right?” 

“I can,” He nods rapidly, breathless. “I can take it.” His eyes dart from the white feathers to your teasing face and he blows air from his mouth. You lessen the grip, causing a soft whine to escape him, his hands clawing at your pants. 

Originally, he wanted to prove that he could escape from under you without his beams. You disagreed, naturally. Because he benches maybe three hundred while you bench four times that, but he was incredibly insistent. A part of you knows he’s getting off to this, though. 

“Good boy,” He moans, closing his eyes and biting his bottom lip before he gives up, chest heaving as he relaxes against your grip. Giving up, he rests on his elbows before staring up at you as you scoot up, sitting on his chest. Like putty underneath you, he stares up, resting his head on your leg. You run your fingers through his hair, the sweat from the edge of his hairline makes his hair awfully messy. 

“Can you two stop train-fucking already?” Emma scoffs as she walks into the training room with some students. You roll your eyes and lift yourself up, hovering in the air while Scott quickly stands up and gives the students a quick acknowledgment. 

“We’re preparing for tomorrow’s lesson,” He tells her but he’s unable to deny the red that’s spread across his face. 

“Hopefully it’s less sexually charged.” She teases and you laugh, knocking her with your wing before you drag Scott out. There are other rooms where you practice— actually practice this time. Scouts honor. But Scott just wants to finish up his workout so you join him. He’s on the Stairmaster while you’re using the leg press. 

The height advantage he has allows for him to watch you as he tries to beat his record on that horrible machine. He watches as your legs tense under the heavy plates, how you’re not holding onto the bars but rather on your phone. It’s crazy but the lack of acknowledgement of the weight makes his legs wobbly and he holds onto the handles for balance. 

“You okay, Scotty?” You ask, hearing the sloppy foot placement and the near slip. “Need a break?” Immediately the idea of beating his record is thrown out the window and he shuts down the machine. 

“Mhmm,” He nods and climbs down, making his way over to you. He goes to sit on the floor but you place him over your lap, smiling up at him. Your phone is tossed to the floor, and all of your focus is on him. 

“Do your legs hurt?” You ask, feigning being oblivious to the real issue as you work on massaging his calves. “I wasn’t too harsh earlier, was I?” 

“No,” He holds your wrists, keeping your hands there. “You weren’t. Yes, they hurt a little.” You hum while you shift a little and watch as his eyes close before he looks down at you. 

“What? I have to be in the right position.” You defend yourself as the door to the gym opens. He looks up while you continue your reps, using your wing to wave at whoever walked inside. 

“Must you two always be touching each other?” Storm chides as she walks past the two of you. Scott grins, resting his arms on the plate behind your head so he can watch her head over to the treadmills. 

“I need a spotter for the leg press, Ro!” You laugh at the poor excuse, looking up from Scott's chest and at his neck where you press a soft kiss. He hums, closing his legs further on your thighs. 

Irritations and Delights

summary: Your temper is well known amongst the others but they have a trick up their sleeves that works every single time.

word count: 4.7k

tags: 2 (two) punches, Charles Xavier slander, Boyfs who help each other, established relationships, no mention of Jean/Scott, reader does NOT like Logan for some reason idk

Get a room

Summary: After recovering from being held hostage, Scott uses training as an excuse to get under you. Wc: 1.6k Tags: no smut, sexual though, some medical talk because Scotty is injured, Scott is a loser when it comes to displays of strength

Comfort for the empath

Summary: There’s been an incident and Scott knows exactly how to handle it.

Word count: 600+

Another grueling mission had come to an end, leaving you drained in a way that felt bone-deep. You knew the logic behind the assignment; Charles usually insisted it was you who took point on these long-distance ops. Jean was still grappling with the volatile edges of her own psyche, and Charles was simply getting too old for the physical demands of field work. Your dual mastery over telepathy and telekinesis made you the X-Men’s most versatile asset, but that utility came at a steep price.

​It wasn't the first time you had returned feeling like a hollowed-out shell, and it wouldn't be the last. You had a habit of pushing past your limits—a trait that caused Scott endless dismay. He hated seeing you return to the mansion looking absolutely miserable, yet still too stubborn to admit you needed to collapse.

​This time was no different. Scott was waiting, his silhouette sharp against the clinical lights of the Blackbird’s hangar. He could see the burnout in the way you carried your shoulders the second you stepped off the ramp. You looked lost, your eyes unfocused and a permanent grimace etched onto your face, as if the very air in the room was too loud for your overstimulated mind.

​He met you halfway, his pace hurried but his touch cautious. His hands came up instinctively, resting firmly on your hips to steady you. Through the red lenses of his sunglasses, you could feel the weight of his concern.

​“You don’t look so good,” Scott murmured, his voice dropping into that low, private register he reserved only for you.

​“I’m fine,” you sighed, the lie feeling heavy on your tongue. You leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder for a fleeting second. “Just a headache, Scott. Nothing too bad.”

​He didn't buy it for a second. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, a tell-tale sign that you’d been over-extending your powers. “Your ‘headaches’ usually involve the whole floor vibrating,” he countered gently, sliding an arm around your waist to take your weight. “Let’s get you upstairs before you pass out in front of the recruits.”

​You tried to sidestep him, but your boots felt like they were made of lead, catching on the metal grating of the hangar floor. The sudden jolt sent a spike of white-hot pain through your temples, making the world tilt dangerously to the left.

​“I told you, Scott, I’ve got it,” you gritted out, though the words felt sluggish in your mouth. You shoved weakly at his chest, trying to put distance between you, but he didn't budge. He was a solid, unmoving weight in the center of your collapsing world. “I’m just... I’m hungry. A shower, a sandwich, and I’ll be back for the debrief in twenty minutes.”

​“You aren't going to a debrief; you're barely going to make it to the elevator,” Scott replied. He stepped back just enough to let you try to walk on your own, his arms crossing over his chest. He stood there, one eyebrow quirked above the rim of his sunglasses, watching you with a look of practiced patience.

​You took two steps, fueled by pure spite and the stubborn refusal to be the "vulnerable" one. But then, the fog rolled in.

​It started as a dull hum at the base of your skull that suddenly flared into a roar of static. The hangar lights didn’t just look bright anymore; they began to bleed into one another, stretching into long, shimmering ribbons of silver. You reached out to steady yourself against a nearby equipment rack, but your hand passed through empty air—your depth perception had simply checked out.

​The sounds of the mansion—the distant hum of the sub-basement generators, the muffled footsteps of students three floors up—all came rushing into your mind at once, unfiltered and violent. It wasn't just noise; it was a physical weight. You felt the telekinetic hum in your fingertips begin to buzz uncontrollably, a stray wrench on a nearby table rattling as it responded to your fractured focus.

​For a few terrifying seconds, you forgot where you were. You weren't in the hangar; you were back in the mission zone, then in the jet, then nowhere at all. The floor felt like it was liquid. You stumbled, your knees buckling as the "brain fog" turned into a total sensory blackout.

​Before your knees could hit the cold metal, Scott was there. He caught you under the arms, pulling you flush against his chest. The smell of his leather jacket and the faint scent of ozone acted like a lightning rod, pulling you back to reality.

​“Yeah,” Scott’s voice rumbled against your ear, dry and knowing. “You look real ‘fine’ from down here.”

​You blinked, the silver ribbons slowly retreating. You were panting, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead. “I just... the floor moved.”

​“The floor didn’t move, babe. You did,” Scott murmured, his tone softening as he realized the bravado had finally snapped. He didn't let go this time, his grip tightening protectively. “The shower can wait ten minutes. The bed can't.”

Scott didn’t let go, even as you regained a shaky sense of balance. He let out a long, weary sigh. He looked over your shoulder at the workbench behind you, where a handful of heavy-duty wrenches and a blowtorch were still hovering inches off the table, vibrating in sympathy with your frayed nerves.

​“You can drop the tools, honey,” he chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Unless you’re planning on fixing the Blackbird with your mind while you’re half-conscious.”

​You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. The realization hit you like a splash of cold water. With a sharp exhale, you severed the telekinetic tether. The heavy thud-clank of the tools falling back into their slots echoed through the quiet hangar, the sound momentarily bringing you back down to earth. The sudden absence of that mental weight made your head swim again, and you slumped more heavily into his side.

​“I wasn't... I didn't mean to,” you muttered, your voice thick with exhaustion.

​“I know,” Scott said, already steering you toward the elevator.

​As he led you through the winding hallways of the sub-basement toward the living quarters, the "whinging" began in earnest. Now that the adrenaline was gone, you felt every bruise, every mental scrape, and the indignity of being coddled.

​“I can walk, Scott, seriously. You’re holding me like I’m made of glass,” you complained, even as your feet dragged pathetically against the carpet. “And I’m starving. If I go to sleep now, I’m going to wake up in two hours and eat the entire contents of the pantry. You’ll have to explain to Logan why his beer and jerky are gone.”

​“I’ll buy him more,” Scott countered, his grip on your waist iron-clad. He didn't even look at you, his focus entirely on navigating the turns.

​“It’s not efficient,” you persisted, leaning your head back against his shoulder as the elevator doors hissed open. “I need a shower. I smell like jet fuel and sweat. I’m going to ruin the sheets. Scott, are you listening? The sheets are high-thread count, it’s a tragedy.”

​“The sheets are washable. Your brain is not,” he replied dryly. He used his free hand to swipe his keycard at the door to your shared suite.

​The door slid open, revealing the dim, cool sanctuary of your room. The silence here was a physical relief; Scott had clearly soundproofed the walls specifically to help with your telepathic sensitivity. You let out one last, weak protest as he guided you toward the edge of the bed. “I’m perfectly capable of standing in a stream of hot water for ten minutes...”

​“You’re perfectly capable of falling asleep standing up and cracking your head on the tiles,” Scott corrected. He sat you down on the edge of the mattress and immediately knelt to unlace your boots. He looked up at you, the red of his sunglasses softened by the bedside lamp. “Food is coming. I’ll go to the kitchen once you’re under the covers. But right now? Boots off. Mouth shut.”

​You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it, the cool air of the room finally winning over your stubbornness. You flopped back onto the pillows with a dramatic groan. “Fine. But I’m being mistreated. This is a kidnapping.”

​“Worst kidnapping ever,” Scott muttered, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he set your boots aside.

By the time the soft hiss of the door announced Scott’s return, you had managed the Herculean task of shedding your suit. It lay in a discarded, crumpled heap by the chair, replaced by the sheer comfort of your boxer briefs and one of Scott’s oversized grey t-shirts. The cotton was soft, washed thin from years of use, and carried the faint, lingering scent of him—sandalwood and a trace of the engine oil he always seemed to pick up in the hangar. It was the first thing all day that didn't feel like a burden on your skin.

​Scott entered carrying a tray with the steady precision of a man who had spent his life honing his balance. He set the plate of food—a massive, hastily assembled sandwich and some fruit—on the bedside table, followed by a tall glass of water and a bottle of electrolytes.

​"You raid the kitchen?" you asked, your voice barely a croak.

​"Let's just say Logan is going to be looking for his expensive ham tomorrow morning," Scott replied with a faint smirk.

​He didn't immediately hover. Instead, he moved to his side of the bed, beginning his own nightly ritual. You watched through heavy lids as he stripped down to his boxers and a plain white tee. He moved with a practiced caution, his fingers grazing the temples of his dark-tinted sunglasses to ensure they remained firmly in place. Even in the privacy of their room, the safety of his partner was his first priority; he never took risks with his eyes, not even when he was bone-tired.

​The bed groaned pleasantly as he finally climbed in beside you, propping himself up against the headboard. The shift in the mattress rolled you slightly toward him, a movement you didn't fight.

​“Smells good,” you whispered, sitting up against the pillows. Your hands felt a little shaky as you reached for the plate, but the fog in your mind was finally starting to thin, replaced by the sharp, primal demand of hunger.

​Scott watched you take the first bite, his expression unreadable behind the glasses, though the tension in his jaw had finally begun to melt. He reached out, his hand finding the nape of your neck, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles against your skin. It was a grounding touch, a silent promise that the world outside—with its Sentinels, its politics, and its endless noise—was locked firmly behind the door.

​“Slow down,” he cautioned gently, though there was a teased undertone to his voice. “The ham isn't going anywhere. Neither am I.”

​You finished the meal in a comfortable silence, the heavy fog that had clouded your brain finally replaced by a sleepy, contented warmth. When the plate was cleared and the lights were dimmed to a soft, amber glow, you finally slid down under the heavy duvet. Scott followed suit, opening his arm in a silent invitation. You didn't hesitate, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and draping an arm across his chest.

​For the first time in forty-eight hours, the "noise" stopped. Scott’s mind was always a sanctuary for you—it wasn't the chaotic, buzzing hive of thoughts you encountered in the outside world. His mind felt like the steady hum of a well-tuned engine, or the quiet focus of a laser; it was rhythmic, calm, and utterly safe. You let your telepathy go dormant, tethering your consciousness to his steady heartbeat until you finally drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

​The next morning, you didn't wake up to a klaxon or a telepathic summons. You woke up to the smell of actual coffee and the soft light of the sun filtering through the curtains.

​You stretched, feeling a few satisfying pops in your spine. The crushing weight behind your eyes was gone, replaced by a light, airy clarity. Your telekinesis felt sharp and responsive again—you tested it by reflexively hovering your coffee mug from the nightstand toward your hand, catching it with a grin.

​Scott was sitting by the window, already dressed in a casual polo and jeans, looking through a mission report. He looked up as you sat up, his smile visible even if his eyes were hidden.

​“There he is,” Scott said, his voice bright. “You look… significantly less like a zombie today.”

​“I feel human again,” you admitted, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You walked over to him, and this time, there was no stumbling. Your steps were sure, your mind was quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there was nowhere else you needed to be.

​You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. Scott reached up, squeezing your forearm. The mission was over, the danger had passed, and you were home.

​“Thank you,” you whispered into his hair. “For not letting me fall in the hangar.”

​“Always,” Scott promised, leaning his head back against you. “But next time? Just listen before you start hallucinating again, okay?”

Remy was bent over -- which was a lovely sight -- he was wearing one of his band t-shirts that he chopped into a crop top, Which gave you a mouth-watering view of his happy trail. You couldn't see that sight at this exact moment, But you were still getting a good view, His ass wasnt that bad either.

He brought out a muffin tray from the oven, Your brows raised when you saw that he had filled all twelve holes with the batter. There was no way you three could eat a dozen muffins.

"Cher," His southern accent pulled you out of your stare, You watched him stalk towards you. He slipped the oven mitt off his hand and threw it behind him without even glancing at it. "You're droolin'."

He stopped in front of you, You had to pry your eyes away from his happy trail. Which was barely five inches away from your chin, You swallowed and looked up at the ginger. His scarlet eyes met yours and you felt your stomach tighten at the stare, Your thighs subcousianlly squeezed together to apply some pressure to your cunt.

His right hand found its place on your jaw, It was warm from the oven. Your eyes fluttered shut and you nuzzled against his palm, You heard him laugh. "Miss gambit that much?" His thumb prodded against your lips, "Ya just had him last nigh'."

A throat cleared behind Remy, Your eyes fluttered open when the warm feeling left your skin. You wanted that hand to stay on you, you looked around the tall man to see Anna Marie with two plates in her hand, She smiled at you when your eyes met, and you gave one back.

"Not too sore, sugah?" She placed a plate in front of you, She laid the other across from you. "Get the last one won't ya, Remy?" She pulled the seat out and sat down across from you.

Remy scrambled off the get the last plate, he sat beside her across from you.

You glanced between the two before nodding, "I feel fine, Marie." You grabbed the metal fork and stabbed the eggs. You shovelled some into your mouth. You chewed the eggs, Your brows furrowed as you watched the other two not even touch anything. Their hands were clasped together on the table, the bright yellow gloves clashed against the black tablecloth you had.

"What?" You swallowed down the last bit of eggs, You laughed awkwardly to try and lift their spirits, They looked so nervous. "Did you drop rat poison in the eggs?"

No reaction. Not even a little pity chuckle from Remy!

You laid the fork down, You pushed the plate away and put your elbows on the table. You leaned forward on them, "What's wrong?" You asked, You darted between the two, Rogue's eyes dart down to her plate, Remy looked at you with those scarlet eyes and his teeth sucked on his bottom lip. "Come on," You felt stupid. "Spill."

"Sugah," her southern drawl made you want to melt into her arms, "It ain't nothin' bad." She reassured, "It" 's good, but.." She drew off and reached for your arm. Her yellow glove grazed against your flesh, You moved your arm out of her reach. She was making you nervous, "We just need to ask ya somethin'" She sighed and pulled back.

"Then why don't you just come out with it?" You didn't mean to sound so snappy, But the silence and knocking around the bush made you want to run into your room and hide in your closet. But you are an adult and you had to face things that made you uncomfortable.

"It's a big step, mon cher," Remy watched you, His eyes flickered done your body, sadly not in a good way but in a worried way. "Lifechangin', but cher and gambit are ready to do that jump."

You snorted, Your fingers dug into your shoulders, You were hugging yourself now. Your skin crawled as you responded, "You sound like you're about to ask for my hand or something." That was silly though, right? It was just a joke that fell from your lips because the idea of Remy settling down was exactly that.

"Well..."

Your face dropped and your hands fell to lay flat on the table, Your eyes widened. Marriage? That was never in your cards, You had never thought about it. You never wanted it! You were okay with dating, You were okay with being friends with benefits but getting married, no, that felt too permanent for you. Dating was a full job and yes that was meant to be a solid thing, But it was nothing like marriage!

You didn't want people to move in, where were you supposed to run when things were getting too much and you were overwhelmed by people? You couldn't come home, they would be here.

Oh and kids! You knew Remy wanted kids one day and you had never actually answered if you wanted them, You'd just laugh him off. You were in your twenties! Why would you be thinking about offsprings??

"Cher?" fingers grazed you and you jumped backwards in the chair, Your hands found their place in your lap.

"What do you mean?" You whispered, You looked down at the wooden table, "Why would you want that?"

They were both confused, "Why not?" Rogue spoke, "We love each other, right?"

"I-" You looked at her, You swallowed, "I don't feel-"

"You don't love us?" Remy's face was slack, His jaw open and his brows shot up.

"No!" You stood up, "I mean yes- God! I love you, okay, yes to that." You turned your back on them, You didn't want to hurt their feelings, You knew the relationship was trashed. You were going down a different path than them. "I don't feel the need to do all of that."

"All of what?" She whispered, You knew she was getting annoyed, you could tell by her tone that you were on thin ice and you were never that good at ice skating.

Your head dipped, You closed your eyes. You know you should use your words more and you had sworn to yourself that you would get better at having conversations with them but you failed and words were hard, "Marriage is not.." You chase after the words in your head, "I don't see that in my future, I have never felt the need to do that."

"Ever?" Remy's brows were furrowed and his accent was thick like his confusion. "why date den?"

Your skin was crawling, your hands grabbed at that flesh above your elbows. "I love you- both of you, of course." You never knew how to explain this preference of yours, Everyone says marriage is the next step in love. "I don't need a piece of paper to prove that I'm loyal and won't go running off with the lady down the street."

"That's not all it is," Rogue stood up now, She walked around the table, "It's more than just some piece of paper, sugah, It's an act of love."

"For you, sure," You looked over at her, You felt your chest tighten at her face. You really did love her, "But for me, it's just some words said in front of people and then signing some paperwork, It means nothing to me."

You looked away from the woman, "I feel like I can show I'm yours in some other way but.." This was gonna be hard, you felt the tears brim your eyes and your fingers shook against your flesh. "I see and I-" You didn't want to do this, You didn't want to say goodbye but you knew that it was over. You didn't want to keep them away from what they wanted, "Go get married, It's what you want."

"Not without you." She sighed.

"We're going down different roads, Marie," You moved away from the table.

"That's stupid," She scoffed, "We'll just put it off till ya get on the same damn one!"

You put your head in your hands, Your head felt heavy. You wanted to curl into your bed and never get out.

"Cher," Remy cleared his throat, your heart broke at the idea of making him hurt, "Ain't it obvious? He won't ever get on it."

You heard his chair scoot back against the tiles, "He's saying no, Aint ya, mon cher?"

"I-" You hated how he wasn't yelling, You hated how he always shut down instead of letting his emotions go wild as you and Rogue did. "Yes." You whispered.

It'd been a cold evening in Laughlin City and most of the bar's patrons had shuffled into the establishment with their faces nearly hidden behind hoods and scarves as they scrambled to get out of the snow and chilling winds.

The occasional gust of wind blowing in whenever the door opened left patrons simultaneously groaning in complaint but the heater emitting warm air kept their grumbling and huffing to a minimum.

The nipping cold had soured many moods, and Logan could see many men itching to forget about the cold with an adrenaline-pumping fight.

He was just eager to make an easy buck.

"Does anyone else dare-" 

He braced an arm against one of the cage's support beams and watched with a hint of a smirk as his latest opponent staggered out of the cage, his buddies narrowly catching him before he could plummet onto the hardwood floor and further batter his face.

The locals eyed him with a certain disdain, certain suspicion, but he put up good enough entertainment for them to tolerate him. He sniffed, hardly phased by the punches he'd taken during the fight, and nodded to the referee. 

"I'll have a go." 

Logan immediately craned his head to eye the voice's owner, foreign and new to Laughlin City. He'd been participating in cage fights long enough to begin memorizing the locals, and the fresh face staring back at him was an utter stranger.

Passing by Laughlin City, Logan assumed, but he lacked the particular smell of gas, car air freshener, and look of exhaustion to be a trucker like most of the patrons taking up seats around them.

He observed him, taking in every inch of his new opponent as he rounded the cage. He seemed young, but then again, so did Logan. 

"Name's (Y/N)." He said, staring Logan in the eyes as he shed his jacket and shirt.

Someone nearby took both articles of clothing for him, likely eager to see what he'd do, or how he'd go down. Logan had managed to break two noses and chip a few teeth already, one could only wonder what he'd do next.

"Nice to meet you, Wolverine."

Logan simply grunted and pushed himself off the support beam, rolling his neck and curling his fingers into tight fists. (Y/N) grinned at him, almost arrogantly, but not with the usual cockiness of a man who thought himself the toughest guy in Alberta.

He appeared... too calm for Logan's liking, but once the referee stepped out of the cage and closed the door, he decided to focus on beating his face in instead. 

They circled each other first, eyes raking over the other from head to toe in search of a weakness to exploit, of a twitch that'd give away their next move. Logan could hear the muttering of the crowd, the impatient tap of fingers and boots, and the intensity in their stares.

His eyes flickered away briefly, and he immediately cursed his mistake when (Y/N) lunged. Despite a part of him urging him to dodge or block, he remained still, expecting (Y/N)'s knuckles to break upon impact but instead, his fist connected effectively with Logan's jaw and he nearly stumbled onto the floor.

Managing to catch himself as scattered gasps echoed from the crowd, Logan grazed his fingers over his aching jaw and raised his head to look at the man.

Mutant.

No human had ever taken a swing at him without immediately spraining or breaking something, let alone been able to make his head turn with a punch. The corner of his lips twitched up into a smirk and the crowd erupted into cheers, primarily egging (Y/N) on to beat him to a pulp; Logan wanted to see him try.

A professionally trained mutant, Logan deduced when he got to his feet, intriguing. And worrisome. He hardly needed a group of mutants on his ass begging him to join them. 

The ache in his jaw faded swiftly, just in time for Logan to take a swing at (Y/N) and see how much he could tank. (Y/N) dodged his quick swings efficiently, taking steps back each time before he caught Logan's forearm and swiftly spun, his back pressing to Logan's chest before Logan was promptly hauled over his body.

He collided with the floor, the cage trembling as if an earthquake had struck, and Logan doubted it'd be able to take the weight of his body a second time without damage.

(Y/N) flashed another little grin down at him but instead of taking advantage of his momentary shock, he took a step back and allowed him to get up. 

"We're just gettin' started, bud."

"You ready to give up your title of champion, big guy?" (Y/N) questioned with a hint of a mocking coo, his words rowdying up the same crowd who'd turn on him if they learned of his mutant abilities, although Logan guessed they likely already suspected and merely wanted to see him hurt for a change.

Challenging in his tone but his eyes studied Logan with a degree of curiosity he typically never saw in others.

"Even better."

"Anything goes, right?" (Y/N) wheezed, his palm pressing against Logan's arm, a chill shooting down Logan's spine when it slowly moved on its own and gave him enough space to catch his breath without the pressure on his throat. 

Everything afterward felt like a whirlwind of punching, kicking, dodging, and blocking; Logan's favorite sort of dance, and one that'd hopefully end with some cash in his pocket and a well-deserved cigar.

He managed to maneuver (Y/N) around, his arm coiling around his neck to put him in a headlock most wouldn't survive. (Y/N) pressed back against him, forcing them to stumble backward until Logan's back collided with the cage's wall that miraculously managed to stay put without giving out on them both.

Logan released a guttural groan when (Y/N)'s short blunt nails dug into his skin, leaving bright red marks behind with specks of blood that only made him tighten his hold.

"The hell-"

"Giving up yet, big guy?" (Y/N) asked with a tilt of his head, eyes glinting with newfound warning. "We'll be here all night at this rate."

Straightening his knees and tossing his head back into Logan's face, Logan cursed and released him fully to bring a hand to his nose. He covered it, waiting for it to heal without catching the eye of the people around but (Y/N) gave him no time to recover.

He spun on his heel and took another swing at him, bringing his knee up into Logan's stomach when he doubled over and then slamming the bottom of his boot into the side of his face.

His head slammed against a support beam and he groaned, the aches and pains healing rapidly but before he could stand up, he realized his body refused to follow his wishes. 

Logan swallowed, a hint of panic surging forward at his inability to move and the mystery surrounding the powers being used against him. Some sort of mental ability, he guessed, but whatever it was he disliked it tenfold.

Logan grinded his teeth in frustration and begrudgingly nodded. "Fine," He grunted and sighed in relief when (Y/N) released whatever hold he had on him, allowing his body to relax and slump.

"How'd you do it?" Logan questioned quietly, chugging back some beer and smacking his lips as it flowed down his throat. (Y/N) fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, sparing him an amused glance and an arched brow. "The whole- the whole body thing. What is it? Some sort of telekinesis?"

While, yes, losing a fight was a bruise to his pride, Logan found himself more intrigued by the fellow mutant, if not more cautious. With the sky darkening outside, Logan retreated from the cage to collect his belongings and ordered some beer while he watched (Y/N) at the other end of the bar.

Once the bartender placed the beer down, he scooped it up in his hand and rounded the bar toward him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the men who clapped (Y/N) on the shoulder as if he'd done everyone a service. He waited, though, for everyone to be out of earshot. 

"How about you walk me to my motel and I'll tell you all about it?" (Y/N) grinned again, eyes crinkling despite the way they'd been going at each other moments prior, and he turned toward the exit with a beckoning nod.

Reaching into his pocket, Logan jingled the keys to his old, busted RV and watched his grin widen.

"It's not telekinesis." (Y/N) muttered, reaching out and fiddling with the radio dials until he found a decent station. "I.. I controlled your blood. It's not as, uh, clean and pretty as telepathy or telekinesis but it's pretty useful in most cases. I can sense when someone's sick, too, or even help with cuts and infections. I'd make a pretty decent surgeon, honestly." He gave a small chuckle.

Out in the cold night, semi-trucks passed them by on the icy roads beside the snow-tipped bar. (Y/N) tugged his hoodie over his head, keeping it on when he sat in the passenger seat and relished the light heat that filled the RV once Logan turned it on.

Logan glanced at him, eyeing his light attire once more but keeping his questions to himself despite curiosity knawing at him insistently. He kept his eyes on the road, careful to avoid going at a speed that'd have them sliding into the forest around them. 

Logan snorted, though some unease settled in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah? How'd you figure out you had it?" Logan glanced at him again and immediately noticed the way his features fell. 

"It's not a pretty story." He sighed softly, his head tilting to watch the trees and snow pass them by in a mixed blur. "Let's just say, some of my blood got out of my body and I panicked.. and it started levitating... anyways, enough about me, big guy. What's your thing? It can't just be that super-healing thing, right?" 

"My name's Logan." He grunted softly, the typical tension he always carried fading with each delicate caress.

Pursing his lips, Logan clutched the wheel with one hand and curled the other one into a fist. From the corner of his eye, he watched his claws slide out and then swallowed when (Y/N)'s features brightened.

Gentle fingers wrapped around his hand and Logan retracted the claws, an unfamiliar feeling swirling in his stomach as he felt (Y/N) run his fingertips over his skin, tracing his knuckles and then the veins along the back of his hand.

It'd been a while since he last left a gentle touch, and a quiet part in the back of his mind almost considered him unworthy of it. 

"Well, Logan," (Y/N) lifted his head with a cheeky smile on his face, his thumb pressing into one of the veins and drawing Logan's eyes toward him. "You mind keeping me company tonight? Or do you have someone you have to get back to?"

"No," Logan's lips tugged upward. "I've got time." 

The motel was as rundown as Logan expected, dimly lit hallways occasionally plunging into darkness when the light flickered above them, and the curiosity surged forward again, prodding him to question where the mutant had come from or why he'd chosen Laughlin City of all places to stay in.

But (Y/N) gave him no time to dwell further on it, the back of his foot kicking the door shut behind them before his hands grasped the collar of Logan's coat and pulled him in. 

There was a dangerous addictiveness and allure to (Y/N), from the way he effortlessly danced the line between sweet and rough: a kiss full of tongues and teeth and nips but smoothed over by gentle fingers massaging the muscle of his biceps when Logan slid his coat off, only for those same fingers to slip through his brown strands and tug.

It triggered something within Logan, a growl emitting from his throat as broad hands grasped at the other's hips and drew a breathless laugh from (Y/N). 

His arms tightened around (Y/N), pressing him close to his chest, and captured his lips to swallow another whine. For the first time in who knows how long, he found himself hoping he'd see more of (Y/N) around. 

As much as he enjoyed considering himself a lone wolf, the brief connection with others during one-night stands always reminded him he was still partly human, even when others considered him a savage brute.

He savored it, savored when he had (Y/N) on his lap, his chest rising and falling with heaves and lips parted to release low grunts and groans. He savored the feeling of (Y/N)'s arms wrapped around his shoulders loosely, his breath fanning against his ear and allowing Logan to hear every noise he exhaled.

He savored the ability to dig his fingers into soft flesh without worry, or sink his teeth into (Y/N)'s collarbone and feel the mark heal beneath his lips. He mostly savored the addictive warmth encircling him and the pleasure that made his thighs tremble. 

But after a few days, the mutant disappeared from Alberta, and a week later Logan took a girl by the name of Rogue under his wing. 

"You may see another familiar face here." 

Logan turned his attention away from the mutant children, trying to ignore the way his heart warmed at the sight of them living happy lives without the threat of danger from those who despised them for simply existing.

He searched the outer yard for any sign of Marie, but he assumed she was likely still getting acclimated to her new home at the school, and finally peered down at Charles questioningly. Charles smiled knowingly and motioned off to the side. 

"While I prefer having (Y/N) here for his safety, he enjoys venturing out to help others. I hear you two became acquainted while he was away." Charles spoke.

Without thinking twice, Logan's head snapped in the direction he'd pointed in, his heart leaping into his throat at the sight of (Y/N) walking toward him with that godforsaken grin that'd plagued Logan's thoughts and dreams for weeks.

"(Y/N) has called this school home for many years, and he often helps with the more severe injuries. I'll allow you two a moment to... catch up." 

(Y/N) nodded to Charles as they walked past each other before stopping in front of Logan and crossing his arms over his chest, his head tilting playfully to the side and eyes drinking him in.

"It's nice seeing you again, Logan." He stepped closer, eyes lifting to meet his once more. "Here I was thinking about taking a drive back to Alberta. Guess you must've read my mind." 

"Pretty sure that's Charles's thing," Logan replied, pressing this thumb into (Y/N)'s chin and curling the rest of his fingers under it.

He had to, otherwise he would've convinced himself he was imagining things, that the mutant who'd managed to make him laugh and smile was still miles away someplace else.

"What were you doin' in Alberta?"

"I don't-"

"I heard rumors and whispers about a man down in Laughlin City and thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. I would've asked you to come back with me but.. that didn't seem like the type of pillow talk you'd appreciate." He explained softly, leaning into Logan's touch and closing his eyes briefly when Logan pressed his palm fully against his cheek, still caught in the fleeting worry he'd wake up and find himself on the side of the icy road with Marie nowhere in sight.

"You're here now, though." His eyes opened. "Are you staying?" 

"Oh, come on," (Y/N) scoffed lightly, warmly, and moved in even closer. "It's nice here, Logan. I can finish showing you around and we'll find something for you to do. The food's good, the rooms are nice, and it's... freshening to hear the laughter of kids finally being happy. You'd make a helluva teacher, I bet. Everyone's favorite." His genuine tone shifted into a teasing one, laughing softly when Logan rolled his eyes. 

Lifting his brows, Logan smirked and brought him close, itching to close the distance despite a heated voice in his head telling him he didn't deserve the warmth and acceptance. "We can start and end the tour in the dorms-"

"Only if you promise to stay." (Y/N) cooed, tilting his head away to dodge a kiss but he allowed himself to be tugged into an embrace.

His arms curled around Logan's shoulders, lips drawing back into a wide smile before he planted a kiss on the corner of Logan's lips. "If you stay, we can finish what we started... and see where it goes." 

Logan leaned back, his brows twitching down into a furrow but (Y/N)'s grip around his shoulders tightened, forcing him to stay and not flee from his words.

He swallowed, conflicted in the way his brain and heart battled. Half of him screamed at him to leave, to go before he could mess everything up but another part desperately clung to the idea of staying and finally having a place to call home, finally having a person to call home. 

He noted the flicker of uncertainty in (Y/N)'s features following his silence, felt him beginning to draw back from the embrace. Logan secured his arms around him and allowed a ghost of a smile to slip.

"Yeah," He murmured, weakly at first. "I'd like that."

"Good luck, Lo." (Y/N) whispered to him, planting a kiss on his cheek and dragging his fingers over Logan's beard with a mischievous glint in his pretty (E/C) eyes.

Truthfully, Logan hadn't been fully listening to what Scott- or well, what Cyclops had spoken about in the briefing about their latest mission.

He'd heard the usual 'group of anti-mutants' and promptly tuned out afterward in favor of soaking in how (Y/N) looked in the dark suit, though noted somewhat glumly how it didn't allow him to wear the engagement ring.

His staring hadn't gone unnoticed given the amused glances Jean stole and the exasperated exhale from Cyclops before they were dropped near the location of the warehouse. 

"(Y/N)!" 

They'd separated pretty soon after, splitting up to cover more ground given the amount of people working with the group. It hadn't taken long at all for the fighting to begin, and despite Cyclops pushing for them to use as little force as possible, Logan couldn't help bruising and cutting a few people up.

He managed to knock out a gunman when he heard the distinctive clap of thunder. Amusement had him cracking a grin followed by pity toward whichever fool dared face against Storm, but then he heard her shriek:

"They-" Storm swallowed thickly, her chest rising and falling with panic. "They shot him. He- He can't heal with the bullet-" 

Too high-pitched, loud, and full of horror for Logan to brush aside as a warning call. His footsteps thundered throughout the halls as he moved, shoving and swinging his claws at anyone who stood in his way until he stumbled upon the sight, eyes immediately finding (Y/N) on his knees with Storm beside him.

Logan beelined toward them, dropping into a crouch and promptly feeling a wave of nausea pass over him at the sight of (Y/N) blood-stained hands grasping desperately at his throat. 

"Darlin'," Logan exhaled shakily, pulling him swiftly into his arms and attempting to keep his composure despite the wheezy exhales and gurgles filling his ears.

Blood spread across his throat, blobs of it levitating only to lose their perfectly round form and fall onto the floor with splatters each time (Y/N) grimaced.

"I know it hurts but you have to focus on gettin' the bullet out. Baby, hey, focus."

Storm fiddled with her earpiece, stuttering out explanations to Jean and Cyclops and urging them to move quicker. Logan thumbed away the tears that slipped down his (S/C) skin, forcing himself to give encouraging nods and smiles despite the hurricane threatening to break within his chest.

(Y/N) stared up at him, wide eyes filling with tears and shoulders shaking with his hiccups and trembles. The red tint of blood on his lips filled Logan with a familiar sense of dread, his arms holding him tighter so (Y/N) wouldn't feel him trembling as well.

He watched the blood oozing out of the wound rise, oddly shaped and raised while he worked on shoving the lodged bullet out of his throat before he choked to death on the very thing he could control.

He wheezed and coughed occasionally, droplets of blood flinging onto Logan's cheek and coloring his beard but he paid it no mind.

(Y/N) tilted his chin up toward him and Logan swooped in eagerly, kissing him despite the blood that danced on his tongue afterward. He heard the familiar clatter of metal falling onto the floor and leaned back, eyes flickering around frantically until he spotted the bloody bullet rolling around beside them. 

"Hey, hey, you did it. You-"

Storm exhaled shakily. "Logan."

Logan's head snapped back toward (Y/N)'s face, first noticing the dullness in his eyes and then the way blood continued freely oozing from the wound.

He stared at him, his mind struggling to comprehend the limpness in (Y/N)'s body and the stillness of his chest, the world around him slowly coming to a standstill. Storm's sniffling cries and the frantic questions from Jean and Cyclops as they finally arrived became distant, unable to focus on anything but (Y/N). 

"You can't do this to me. You promised you'd never leave."

"Hey..." Logan exhaled, cupping his cheek as his brows furrowed into a tight-knit. "Hey, hey, hey, you- you can't do this."

He furiously blinked away the tears that glazed over his vision, rubbing his thumb into (Y/N)'s cheek and waiting for him to nuzzle into his touch as he always did, but it never came.

You cried for a minute, and then you called 911. They were swift, collecting the body and walking you through the next steps. And then they wanted to set you up in a foster home while they located your next of kin. But you knew exactly where your next of kin was, and you were not staying in some random home. So, you went to a friend, if he could even be called that, and he let you stay with him until your mom was buried six feet under and your dad had taken you hundreds of miles away.

Your mom took her life due to grief, having fallen into a deep depression ever since the loss of Sara. She never got over it, never found anything to tether her to the present, to you, and you hated her for it. You loved her because she was your mom, but she had spent the past five years with nothing but her late daughter on her mind and not her son that was still alive and breathing, no matter how many times you had come within a breath of joining her.

Your dad didn’t understand your life anymore, not around all that much after the divorce. You got a birthday and Christmas card every year, saw him sparsely for visits early on. What he did understand, though, were all the problems that your mom had constantly turned a blind eye to.

You had been born with a hole in your heart that caused you to suffer from high blood pressure. And then you went and developed type one diabetes while Sara was in the hospital, just adding to the strain. It was that which your mom always ignored, always paying for your insulin, but never bothering to learn what it even did, and you suffered a number of seizures because of it. But your dad understood it, he knew every intimate detail and was prepared for every worst case scenario. His military and police training coming in handy for something.

But your dad still didn’t understand. He didn’t know how you lived your life the past five years. He didn’t know about the week long absences from home or the non-conventional—illegal—ways you made money. And he definitely didn’t know that you wore a concealed carry through every step of every day. A Smith & Wesson model 37 airweight 38 special that you had bought illegally and had strapped to your calf. Your dad just didn’t know.

You did have one thing in common with your dad; your love for Sara. He had worn her blue hair tie ever since they cut her hair, and he gave you the other one, never once even considering to give it to your mom. And you wore it everywhere, always, all the time. It never left you, and you would kill anyone who tried to take it away.

~~~~~

You strapped your holster to your calf and slid the gun into place, all of it just being muscle memory at this point as you made sure to keep it hidden under your jeans. Your dad was out in the living room, his trailer way too small for two people to live comfortably.

You hadn’t unpacked anything yet, only throwing sheets and a blanket on your bed that wasn’t even yours until two days ago. You burned the ones your mom had bled on, and then you lit a cigarette on the flames and poured one out for her.

You grabbed your insulin kit and shoved it into your torn and stained backpack. You made sure to never go anywhere without it, having learned that lesson the hard way one too many times. You had learned a lot of things the hard way, and had taught those lessons in the same tough manner.

When you exited your room you were surprised to see your dad already awake and cooking a real breakfast. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips and a beer can clenched in one fist, but he was still cooking up an actual breakfast.

“Good morning.” Your dad called out gruffly. “I made eggs and toast. Don’t leave till you eat.”

You didn’t say anything as you accepted the plate of food from him, and he offered no more of his own words either. You didn’t totally mind it as this was the first time the two of you had lived together in five years. It was awkward, silent, and overall filled with two different points of grief that presented themselves as nothing at all.

You ate the runny eggs and burnt toast swiftly, just like you did with every meal. You learned very quickly after your first stint from home that if you didn’t eat your food fast enough then someone else was going to just run up and steal it. Your food had been stolen several times before you finally learned that lesson. And then you taught the same to others, snatching whatever cheap meal was held in their hands and scarfing it down before you were even out of sight.

Your dad made up his own plate and ate it slowly, the humming of the coffee maker and the weak, spluttering stream of the brown liquid filling the silence as he just watched you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and he couldn’t tell what you were thinking. That was something you had learned from watching him as a kid, how to hide your emotions, and how to express them for your own gain. Right now, though, you were hiding.

“You should get going.” Your dad said. “I’m sure they’ll have you wasting away in the office all morning. You remember the way?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, remembering the exact route down to the last tree, another useful trick you learned from your friends.

Your dad took your finished plate from you, stacking it onto the pile of other dirty dishes sitting in the sink. You took one last look at him, his shining badge striking unease into you instead of the pride that it used to as a kid. Cops couldn’t be trusted, not any of them. And, yeah, that sentiment included your dad. When he was in his uniform, at least.

~~~~~

You stood in the office, eyes raking over every face and surface as you waited for them to finish up their paperwork and give you your schedule. You just wanted to get a move on, get going and focus on anything that wasn’t your boredom. You had only been in town two days and you were already starting to lose your mind with nothing to do.

The worst part about this was getting thrown back a year, your grades and mountain of absences being viewed as stupidity instead of the blatant disregard for structured education that it really was. Back in the city you showed your face in class only just enough to not get into trouble. You barely handed in any work, too busy with other things to ever get any homework done. But they had never held you back, never caring enough to do the paperwork, and your test scores good enough to overlook your sparse attendance and overall lacking grades. You were supposed to be a senior, you were supposed to be finally finishing school. But now you were stuck retaking a year that you had no business being in.

“Here you are, Mr. Hopper.” The secretary said as she handed your schedule over.

“Thank you.” You gave her a kind smile and looked down at the paper, reading it over when the door behind you opened.

“Mr. Harrington.” The secretary said pointedly and you looked up to see her fixing the person behind you with a stern look. “Late again, I see.”

“I’m so sorry, Linda.” The guy, Harrington, said nicely, a fake nice so palpable that you turned around to see who had said it. Harrington was exactly what you expected, dressed in a long sleeve polo with perfectly styled hair. A rich kid who never faced discipline if you ever saw one.

“Just take the pass.” The secretary, Linda, said with a dismissive wave of her hand and Harrington flashed her a smile as he snatched it up and turned to leave. “Hold on.” She called out.

“Yeah?” Harrington said as he turned back around.

“Well, since you’re already late.” Linda said with a hint of snark, and you realized that this interaction was an extremely common occurrence. “You can show our new student here to his class.” She turned her attention to you. “This is Y/N Hopper.”

“Hopper?” Harrington echoed with a scrunch of his brows.

“The chief’s son.” Linda explained. “Just moved to town. Now, get out before I’m forced to write you up.”

Harrington flashed her another smile and motioned for you to follow him. You did, warily, eyes trailing from his head to his feet and back again as you searched for something out of place. But the only thing out of place was his personality.

“It’s Steve, by the way.” Harrington, Steve, said, and you just nodded. “I didn’t know the chief had a son. Where’d you move from?”

“New York.” You stated plainly.

“The city?” Steve asked. “Or somewhere else?”

“The city.” You confirmed with a nod and he nodded back, and you quickly figured that whatever that display back in the office was, there was something else to him. “I’m guessing you’ve lived here your whole life.”

“Oh, I hear it now.” Steve smiled.

“Hear what?” You bit at him.

“The accent.” Steve said, like it was obvious.

“I don’t got an accent.” You deflected, but then you heard it, the inflection that didn’t seem to exist in Steve’s speech.

“Is the city cool?” Steve asked, completely ignoring your last comment. “I mean, to live in?”

“It’s life.” You stated.

“It’s life.” Steve echoed in a mocking tone. “Geez, no need to be so cynical.”

“I’m just bored.” You shrugged. “You don’t got anything to do here except watch paint dry.”

Steve laughed, and it sounded like a genuine one. “That is definitely true. But, you know, we find things to do. You like parties?”

“Depends.” You hiked your bag higher onto your shoulder and stopped, forcing Steve to stop as well. “You do realize you don’t know where you’re supposed to take me, right?”

Steve’s eyes drifted to the side, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Oh. Yeah.” He sniffled a bit. “Guess I forgot that part.”

“I’ve got science with… whatever.” You huffed and shoved your schedule at him, and he smiled again.

“Looks like I do know where I’m going.” Steve gave the paper a light slap before handing it back to you. “Same class as me.”

“Oh, great.” You said sarcastically. “I get to hear your mouth going off all morning.”

“God.” Steve drawled out. “You’re so cynical.”

You fixed him with a cynical smile, just because he said it. “Nice observation.” You dropped the smile and motioned him forward. “Well, let’s go, Harrington.”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned back around, going silent the rest of the way to class and, surprisingly, staying silent through that as well.

~~~~~

You grabbed your food and scarfed it all down before you even stepped foot in the cafeteria. You raked your eyes across the room, taking in the groups of friends and the cliques that sat at each table. You saw Steve all the way on the other end and sitting with some freckled faced guy and redheaded girl. The freckled guy seemed to be telling some animated story and you could only see the side of Steve’s face from this angle, but years of seeing this up close made it clear in a second that Steve’s interest was only an act.

You decided you had enough of the cafeteria and headed for the exit, heading out into the cool November air. There weren’t that many people sitting outside and you easily found an empty bench for yourself.

You took out your cigarettes and slipped one between your lips before lighting up. You took a long drag, letting the smoke sit in your lungs for a long moment before slowly letting it escape, watching as it rose and grew in the cold air before eventually disappearing. You did that again and again, your boredom knowing no end and the smoke providing your only entertainment. Not even the students were interesting to watch. You determined quickly that they posed no threat, and that just made your boredom grow in size. How were you supposed to survive in this town without anything to survive against? You spent five years always looking over your shoulder, it felt wrong not having to do that anymore.

You couldn’t even tell your dad about any of these problems. Just one word from you would give him grounds for an arrest. You just wanted something to keep yourself busy, something that would make living more than just routine. You couldn’t stand the silence of normalcy.

You let your eyes drift to the woods. You had never actually been in the woods before, only ever spending your time in the great outdoors surrounded by skyscrapers and perfectly manicured parks. Central Park had some woods, sure, but you were too busy to ever enjoy them for what they were supposed to be and not what you and your friends turned it into.

You started bouncing your knee, just trying to feel the familiar weight of the gun that had all but disappeared over the years. Your fingers grabbed at Sara’s hair tie, mindlessly pulling it back and letting it snap against your wrist. After five years you still missed her more than you missed your mom after only a month. But you didn’t let your grief linger like she did, you followed after your dad, finding the good in the present. But what was good about this? You were trapped in some bumfuck town with nothing to do except smoke and watch the goddamn trees. You needed something else. You needed something more.

Maybe you should just skip the rest of the day and ride around the town. Sure, your dad might yell at you when he found out, but you had dealt with worse things than angry words from a parent. You had the scars to prove it, even if you couldn’t talk about it.

Screw it, you thought, you were too bored for this shit. You flicked your cigarette onto the ground in front of you and stomped it out as you stood up, the ringing of the bell calling in all of the other students outside and leaving you alone. An even better opportunity to skip.

You rounded to the front of the school and grabbed your bike from the rack, taking off up the small hill. But you hadn’t even made it onto the road before your dad’s cruiser was grinding to a halt in front of you, sending you slamming on your brakes and nearly flying over the handlebars.

The window slowly rolled down and your dad eyed you from the driver’s seat, two deputies dressed in blue joining in, but they just looked between you and your dad with growing interest.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your dad demanded.

“I was bored.” You shrugged defensively.

“You were bored?” Your dad repeated slowly. “And you think it’s okay to skip school when you’re bored?”

“I do it all the time.” You argued harshly. “Mom never said a goddamn word about.”

“Well, your mom isn’t here anymore is she?!” Your dad yelled, a hint of grief lacing his words. “So, you can’t go screwing off whenever you want.”

“Like you give a shit!” You shouted back. “It’s been two years since I’ve actually seen you!”

The two deputies’s faces went wide with shock, trying and failing to hide their amusement at the situation, heads on a swivel as they looked between you and your dad, waiting to see which one of you would relent or explode first.

“I guess he really is your son, Chief.” The deputy in the front, Powell, chuckled lightly.

“Like a little Hopper Junior.” The other deputy, Callahan, full on laughed.

“Shut up!” You and your dad both yelled at them.

“Whatever you say, Lil’ Hop.” Callahan tipped his hat in your direction and the two of them quieted down.

“Go.” Your dad said sternly, ordering, demanding you to listen.

You glared at him, hands gripping tightly to the handlebars of your bike that your knuckles were turning white. You could feel your rage simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode at any second. But you kept it just below its boiling point, years of practice aiding you once again, and you stomped off back towards the school.

~~~~~

By the time you finally stalked your way to class the period was already half way over. The teacher was a bit mad at the extra late absence, but let the subject go once you fed her some lie about needing something from the office. But it was someone else who clearly didn’t believe you, his brown eyes watching you worriedly as you trailed your way to the only available seat.

Steve’s eyes flickered over to you every few minutes, his hand absently worrying at the thick brown watch on his wrist. He wasn’t paying attention to the teacher at all, his eyes facing her but showing no sign of understanding, but filled with unspoken thoughts.

Normally, you would just turn and yell at him for looking at you so much, for watching you, analyzing you. But, for some reason, you were curious. You wanted to know what was going on inside his mind. You wanted to know what he thought of you, and you wanted to know why he thought that. You wanted to know why he worried at his watch so fervently that it was starting to fray. He intrigued you like nothing else.

You started worrying at Sara’s hair tie, Steve’s actions almost palpable and making it near impossible not to mirror him. But it calmed you to feel the blue braid slide across your fingertips, reminding you that there were worse things in the world than your own boredom. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first until your nail picked lightly at the band. It was like you were moving on autopilot.

You pushed your curiosity aside when the bell rang and lagged behind as you waited for everyone else to leave the room first. You decided to try and waste even more time by searching for your locker. You didn’t even have books yet, but maybe you could claim to the next teacher that you got lost. Even though you already had the layout of the school mapped out in your mind.

You found your locker after a minute of prolonged searching and took your schedule out of your pocket to find the combination. You spun it in and opened your, what should’ve been empty, locker and found a slip on paper sitting there. You grabbed it and unfolded it, two simple words staring back at you: I’m sorry

I’m sorry? Who was sorry? Was this even meant for you? Maybe it was meant to go to whoever had owned the locker before you, or to one of the adjacent ones and someone got confused. You slipped the note into your pocket anyway, not sure why you were keeping it, but intrigued by its message nonetheless.

You had been slipped many notes back at your old school, some from girls trying their luck, some from friends that threw lighthearted jabs your way, and some anonymous ones that led down shadowed paths you would willingly tread again and again. Every note had gotten an answer, and not being able to give one to this note bothered you right down to your bones. Even if it wasn’t meant for you, you were all too curious as to why this person was sorry.

You heard voices approaching you and turned to see two girls making their way over, one with short red hair that was reading off of a stack of flashcards while the other one answered the questions correctly on every first try. They came right up to the next to you and the girl answering the questions unlocked the locker. You wondered if the note was meant for her, she looked pretty enough to have some guy apologizing to her, long brown hair and precisely placed clothes that seemed slightly off on her.

“I’m just gonna tell my mom that I’m going to yours to study tonight.” The girl with brown hair said.

“You’re seriously gonna sneak out the see him?” The redhead questioned, brows raised incredulously.

“Yes.” The brown haired girl smiled shyly as she picked up a book. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Nancy, come on.” The redhead said quietly, eyes flickering to you quickly before landing back on the other girl, Nancy.

“Barb, it’s fine.” Nancy reassured with a giggle. “I’m getting plenty of studying in with you right now.”

Barb sighed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Nancy just giggled again before closing her locker and following Barb off back down the hallway. Yeah, that note was probably definitely meant for her, this guy definitely sounding like he had something to apologize about if Barb’s words were any indication. But you didn’t slip the note into her locker, you kept it tucked safely away in your back pocket, feeling physically unable to hand it over to its presumably rightful owner.

~~~~~

Your dad had never come home that night, not even leaving you a message on the machine to let you know when or if he would be returning. But that was just typical of him, going silent on you as he basically forgot you even existed.

You rifled through the cabinets and fridge for something to have for dinner, needing to get some food in you soon lest risking your blood sugar dropping. Surprisingly, your dad was loaded up on real food. But you really didn’t feel like actually cooking anything, so you settled on making a sandwich instead, loading it up and scarfing it down in less than five minutes.

You glanced at the clock and it was nearing eight o’clock without so much as a word from your dad, not even someone else at the station to let you know of his whereabouts. But did he even tell anyone he had a son? That this said son was living with him now? Those deputies apparently knew who you were. But how much did they actually know about you? Did your dad tell them about you? And if so, had he been relaying stories all these years, or only thought to bring it up now that you were forced into his home?

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, not used to sitting at home alone. You tried to watch the tv, get sucked into some bullshit show like everyone else seemed to do with ease, but you just got antsy, pulling out your gun and checking it over again and again as your leg bounced wildly.

Normally, you would be out, hiding within the shadows of some dark street corner. There was always someone else around as well, a friend to rant on and on to you about his latest adventure before celebrating with a bottle of booze, or sometimes a girl who sought out the mystique of the city’s underground life as she hung off of your arm in fear. Or sometimes you would hop the subway and let it take you wherever the limited tracks were destined for. You would travel from borough to borough, watching as nameless faces filtered in and out of the metal confines.

God, you needed something to do, somewhere to go, someone to talk to or simply stand silently beside you as you lived in each other’s presence. You just needed to get out of this stupid trailer.

You shut off the tv and grabbed your jacket, not even bothering to lock the door behind you as you jumped down the stairs and picked up your bike. You took off, legs peddling steadily with no destination in mind, just like always. You rode down back roads and through neighborhoods and into the center of town, and then you kept going. You rode until the buildings filtered out and you were left with nothing but trees, a sight unfamiliar to you and sending your nerves ablaze.

You kept a steady eye on the tree line just like you would with every alcove between skyscrapers. But you saw nothing in the trees, no animal of any sort to tell you there was life being lived in the darkness. You could see a yellow light flickering as you rounded the corner and you came up to a gas station. You decided that this would be a good place to stop and give yourself a rest.

You threw your bike down next to the door, the bell above chiming through the still night as you walked inside. The cashier did no more than glance your way before looking back down at the magazine in his hands, completely disinterested.

You browsed around the place, taking in the array of snacks and drinks. You grabbed a Slim Jim from the shelf and snuck it up the sleeve of your jacket before grabbing a bag of chips and leaving them out in the open. You didn’t even have to look at the cashier to know that he hadn’t seen you, too bored and too engrossed in his reading.

You glanced over at the fridge and spotted the beer section. You wondered if the cashier would ask for your ID or simply not give a shit if you brought them over. You decided against it, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention until you were certain that wasn’t gonna happen and switched your attention onto the slushie machine instead. You poured yourself a large cup and then made your way back over to the cashier.

The guy rung you up silently, not even reading out the price as he waited for you to hand him over the cash. He gave you back your change without a single customer service smile or offer of a good night, and you provided none of your own in turn.

You dropped down onto the curb outside and took a large sip of the slushie before ripping open the bag of chips. You had to force yourself to take your time with the food, the knowledge that no one was gonna steal it from you still so fresh that it felt like you were eating in slow motion.

The headlights of a car cut through the pitch black night as it turned into the parking lot, pulling up to one of the pumps, and your eyes squinted as you saw who was inside. It was Steve.

You glanced down at your watch to see what time it was and it was just past midnight, seemingly too late for him to be out at a gas station at the edge of town all alone. You glanced back up, watching carefully as Steve stepped out of the car, hand on the door as he prepared to close it when his eyes locked onto you and a look of surprise that quickly turned to nervousness crossed his face as he crossed over to you.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked as he stopped in front of you, and you raised your head to look up at him.

“I was bored.” You shrugged.

“It’s midnight.” Steve said, more like a question than an answer.

“Exactly.” You stated plainly. “So, what are you doing here?”

Steve looked like he wasn’t expecting that question. “I needed gas.”

“But it’s midnight.” You fired back with feigned innocence, cocking your head to the side.

“I tend to stay out late.” Steve shrugged.

“I tend to stay out.” You shrugged right back and then held out your bag of chips, something you had never done before. “Chip?”

“No, thanks.” Steve laughed. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” You shoved a chip in your mouth.

“Does, um...” Steve shifted nervously. “Does your dad know you’re here?”

You stared at him impassively. “He wasn’t home when I left.”

Steve nodded, his eyes drifting around, as if they were afraid to stay locked on you for too long. You grabbed another chip, purposefully chewing it loudly to fill the silence and make Steve look at you again. You didn’t know why you wanted him to look at you, but you didn’t like that he wasn’t. The chewing eventually worked and Steve looked back down at you, face scrunching in disgust.

“You chew very loud.” Steve complained.

“No, I don’t.” You retorted. “I was just doing it to annoy you.”

“Well, it worked.” Steve said sarcastically, and then he eyed the chips, eyes squinting as if he had to think long and hard about his next decision. “Can I have one?”

Steve reached down for the bag of chips and you reached up on instinct, meeting his outstretched hand halfway and letting him snatch a chip from the bag before lowering it again. It took Steve a second to eat the chip, just standing there with it in his hand for a moment as his eyes trailed up from your hand to your eyes before dropping them to the ground and shoving the chip in his mouth with a small sniffle.

His actions, his demeanor, the micro expressions that crossed his face like fractured shadows, it all reminded you of kids you would run into in the city, the ones who knew more than they were letting on and didn’t know how to hide that fact. But what information Steve knew that he was trying not to let show, you had no idea. But it intrigued you. Everything about him made you curious, made you wonder what kind of thoughts were running through his mind. It was clear that there was something he wasn’t telling you.

You felt something hit your face, and then it happened again. You turned your attention towards the sky and found that the twinkling stars had been casted over by a haze of grey, the clouds blocking out any sign of the struggling beauty and, instead, making everything look sickly.

“It’s gonna rain.” Steve said, head also pointed towards the overcast before slowly looking down at you, a hint of something sad hiding behind his brown eyes. But whether it was more akin to disappointment, grief, or simple melancholy, you couldn’t quite decipher. “Let me drive you home. It looks like it’s gonna pour.”

“I’m fine.” You dismissed, his expression filling you with a sense of something you couldn’t name. It was weird, odd, but you knew for a fact that it wasn’t unease, had felt that feeling on one too many occasions to know its signs.

“Jesus.” Steve sighed, sniffling a bit again, and you began to wonder why. Was he trying to hide his sadness from you, or did he just have a stuffy nose? “You’re gonna get soaked. Just let me drop you off.”

You continued to just stare at him for a moment, trying to get him to back down, but it didn’t work, not like you had thought it would. Steve seemed like the type of easily give in to authority, to crumble under its grasp as easily as a sandcastle crumbled under a wave. But he stayed firm, unmoving and unrelenting, eyes still filled with the unnamable sadness, but otherwise determined.

“Fine.” You stated plainly, being sure he couldn’t hear any of the frustration in your tone. You had always been good at getting your way, knew the right buttons to push and the correct dirt to dig up. It normally irked you when others fought back, but, for some reason, with Steve, it filled you with a sense of pride for him.

You weren’t sure why Steve was affecting you so much, why just the simple shift from light to dark in his eyes had you reeling like nothing ever had. But you found that you didn’t mind it, that you actually liked it, found it slightly fun to know that you would have to work harder to get to the darkest depths of him and, what you would normally use against, use for him. There wasn’t good or bad in your mind, there was your side and their side, whoever they might be at any given moment, and, despite only knowing him for just over twelve hours, you wanted Steve on your side.