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lubdubology · 30 days ago

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Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV. You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it.

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops.

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane.

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull.

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload.

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you.

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice.

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile.

+++

The Void was bullshit.

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here.

Maybe.

You weren’t really sure.

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying.

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in.

Figure out a way back to him.

Back home.

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to.

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam.

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there.

Just in case.

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere.

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly.

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count.

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain.

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction.

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight.

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?”

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—”

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form.

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.”

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you.

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air.

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint.

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic.

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue.

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air.

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield.

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp.

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight.

His silent encouragement is enough.

You are not dying in the fucking Void.

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm.

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black.

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you.

+++

You wake up in the cache.

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat.

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan.

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.”

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion.

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating.

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his.

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism.

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness.

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists.

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.”

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low.

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough.

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry.

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone.

But you can’t think about it.

Not now.

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours.

Logan.

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally.

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.”

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care.

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you.

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here.

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into.

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space.

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests.

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes.

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up.

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine.

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe.

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope.

Logan huffs. “Probably not.”

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to.

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly.

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.”

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.”

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on.

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself.

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull.

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting.

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him.

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick.

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies.

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her.

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides.

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice.

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips.

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.”

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead.

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle.

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly.

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?”

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly.

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls.

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before.

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom.

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits.

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself.

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him.

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind.

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one.

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating.

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it.

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.”

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.”

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear.

“I am your home,” you reply softly.

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate.

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer.

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air.

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours.

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need.

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like.

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion.

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage.

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement.

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws.

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole.

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”.

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain.

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head.

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue.

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain.

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders.

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it.

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants.

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him.

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours.

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws.

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful.

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep.

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel.

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh.

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes.

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction.

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming.

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly.

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest.

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready.

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements.

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock.

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation.

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan.

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.”

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest.

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair.

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you.

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back.

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck.

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit.

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer.

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake.

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you.

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you.

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full.

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart.

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.”

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him.

#deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #worst wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool #logan x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction

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gilbertscurls · 3 months ago

Text

Down Bad ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: angst, mentions of depression, panic attack, suggestive, 12k words

Matt had no idea how he got there, how he found himself sitting in the living room, and Y/N, his ex-girlfriend cuddled up on the opposite couch with her new partner. He felt like it was some cruel joke when he came to visit Madison, his good friend, and he suddenly was met with the girl he was so in love with sitting there. And someone else had his arm wrapped around her.

When he walked in, and Madison came to greet him, his gaze immediately landed on you and… Vinnie Hacker. Matt didn’t think he’d ever felt such a painful pang in his chest before. He must have looked like he’d just been stabbed as he stood there staring at you. His jaw went slack and his heart dropped, and for a second, he couldn’t even believe what he was seeing. Vinnie had an arm wrapped around you, and you were leaning against him with a smile.

He was standing there watching someone else touch you like it was no big deal, and he thought he might throw up. He suddenly felt like he’d been punched in the chest, and he could barely even breathe. Nick and Chris were behind him, and he was painfully aware that they were watching his reaction to his.

Finally, you stood up to hug his brothers hello, before you found yourself right in front of him. “Matt.” You nodded, not sure how to greet him.

He froze for a second.

She said my name, he thought.

You’d just said his name in that same sweet, soft voice, and he suddenly forgot how to talk.

You were standing right in front of him, only inches away.

“Hey,” he managed to answer weakly.

He desperately wanted to touch you, to grab you and pull you against him and hold you like he’d done dozens of times before…

“You, uh…”

His eyes were still fixated on Vinnie, who was just behind you the whole time.

“You look good,” he told you lamely.

You nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

He could tell you were a little uncomfortable, and it killed him. He wished you were wearing anything other than the skintight, low-cut dress you had on now. It looked amazing, but he could remember all the times you’d worn that around him, and seeing you in it now was driving him crazy.

He was still staring at Vinnie, fighting the urge to punch him in the face.

“Hey, man.” Vinnie reached to shake his hand, standing by your side.

Matt wanted to snap Vinnie’s wrist, but instead, he forced a smile as he shook his hand.

“Hey,” he replied.

His eyes darted between Vinnie and you, watching the way Vinnie put his arm back around you, and he felt like he was going to explode.

“Um…” you mumbled awkwardly. “Vinnie, this is Matt, my… My ex. Matt, this is Vinnie, my, um… Vinnie.”

Matt didn’t miss the way your voice caught on the words “my ex”.

He heard the awkward pause.

He heard you call Vinnie your Vinnie.

And he wanted to rip Vinnie’s other arm off when Vinnie pulled you against him as you talked.

Matt clenched his jaw and forced a smile, but he wanted to smash Vinnie’s face.

Nick and Chris were just watching this entire exchange from behind him, and Matt did not want to know what they were thinking right now. He was doing everything he could to make a polite conversation with a massive knot in his chest.

He was forcing himself to look at Vinnie’s face and ignore the fact that Vinnie was holding you against his chest, and he was trying to think of something to say.

He was feeling even more sick to his stomach.

You were so close to him that he could smell your perfume, and he could remember the way you’d smelled every time he’d buried his face in your neck and inhaled your sweet scent.

He could see the smooth, milky white skin of your neck and shoulders just a few inches from him, and he remembered how it tasted and how it smelled the first time he’d kissed it.

But then, hiding right in the corner of your cleavage, something piqued his attention.

You had a hickey on your neck.

The second he saw it, he felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest.

He was frozen in shock for a second.

Someone else had marked you.

He felt a rush of jealousy and rage and heartache and possessiveness all at once, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Vinnie was right there, holding you against him and holding you close, and Matt knew exactly how that hickey had gotten there…

Matt swallowed hard as he stared at it, and he felt the jealousy, anger, and hurt rush through him all over again.

You were his. You’d belonged to him, and someone else had marked you.

He stared at the hickey and wondered exactly how many times he’d done the same thing to your neck.

He tried to count, remembering the times he’d left love bites on your beautiful skin.

You’d always worn them proudly for the next couple of days, and he’d always liked reminding you that you were his.

He could almost hear his voice in his head again, whispering to you that you belonged to him every time he’d pressed his lips to your skin.

He’d tell you how beautiful you were while he left little love bites on your collarbones, and he’d always loved the way he knew they were still there the next day.

And now, as he stood right beside you, someone else had left a hickey on the same spot he’d claimed as his.

He’d marked you as his dozens of times over the past months, and now you were wearing someone else’s marks on your gorgeous neck…

Finally, Vinnie took you back to the couch, sitting so close to you. And Matt almost lost his mind.

He sat right beside you again, and Matt’s hands reflexively clenched into fists. He was watching Vinnie put his arm around you again, and he was watching you snuggle into him as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Matt just stared at the way he was holding you, holding you so close, and he was fighting the urge to rip his arm off.

“So… Come on, sit with us,” Madison urged awkwardly, not sure how to cope with the situation.

Matt knew he had to sit down, even though he was desperate to avoid it. He forced himself to move, and he very carefully sat down on the loveseat across the couch. He didn’t want to make eye contact with Vinnie, and he didn’t want to keep staring at you either.

They were all sitting around just chatting now, and Matt felt like he wanted to throw up. He kept glancing at the hickey on your neck, and he kept watching the way Vinnie held you. He had his arm draped over your shoulders, and he was rubbing your upper arm with his thumb and touching you like it was no big deal

Matt wanted to grab him by the throat, and he was forcing himself to keep his hands balled up on his thighs instead. Every few seconds, he would glance at the little red mark on your neck, and he would feel another twinge of jealousy and possessiveness every single time.

Suddenly, Chris said something, and even though Matt didn’t catch any of it, he was grateful, because he could not have made conversation right now.

Vinnie smiled and ran his hand over your shoulder, his fingertips brushing your bare skin.

Matt clenched his jaw. He wanted to bite his tongue until it bled, and he wanted to scream and punch something.

He didn’t understand how Vinnie could be touching you like that with such a smug look on his face, and he wanted to murder him for thinking he had the right to put his hands on you.

He watched Vinnie brush his fingertips over your shoulder and trace along the edge of the fabric of your dress…

You were sitting there completely comfortable while someone else’s hands were on you, and Matt thought that might be even more upsetting than the hickey itself.

He was the one that was supposed to be touching you, holding you, rubbing your skin with his thumb like that…

Nobody else was supposed to have those privileges. Nobody.

Chris and Nick were chatting with Madison about something, and Matt was painfully aware that he should be engaging in the conversation. He kept his eyes on them, making sure they were distracted, before finally stealing a glance and you and Vinnie.

You were facing each other now, and he watched as Vinnie touched your cheek with his hand. He was touching your face, and he was doing it with such affection that he might as well have been declaring himself as your boyfriend.

Touching your face was the single most personal thing that Matt had ever done with you, and he wasn’t going to tolerate someone else daring to touch you that way.

He watched Vinnie put his hand against your cheek and slide it down to the side of your neck… He almost lost it when he touched the spot he’d just been staring at. He heard you giggle as Vinnie touched the hickey and he wanted to throw up.

“So…” Nick suddenly couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Are you two, like…?”

Finally, the question was out there.

Matt was desperate to know the answer.

He watched you and Vinnie share a look, and his heart was in his throat as he waited for the response.

You seemed to be communicating with the look.

You were just looking at him, and Matt could see a hint of nervousness on your face…

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he thought he might have seen you bite your lip slightly.

A few more seconds of you just sitting there silently passed, and Matt realized that he was holding his breath.

You were both looking back and forth between each other and back to him and back to each other, and he was desperate for one of you to finally say something.

“We, um…” You let out a nervous chuckle. “We’re… Talking.”

Matt’s heart sank.

Somehow, hearing you say that was a million times worse than if you’d just said, “Yes”.

Talking.

You and Vinnie were discussing what you were to each other. Like you were deciding if you were dating.

He suddenly wanted to rip his hair out.

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

You had a hickey on your neck from Vinnie, and you were telling him that you were deciding if you were dating…

He suddenly wanted to crawl into a hole and die, and he wanted to smash Vinnie’s face into a wall at the same time.

Talking wasn’t dating, and Matt felt a small flicker of relief that you hadn’t just told him that you were officially a couple yet.

But you had a hickey on your neck.

If his official boyfriend status still wasn’t established, how had that happened?

He glanced at the hickey again, his eyes tracing over the little red mark on your skin.

There was no way you’d just let someone else mark you if you didn’t think he was going to be your boyfriend…

And now you and Vinnie were discussing it, and it felt like he’d been stabbed straight through the heart.

But even if you weren’t dating, you were sleeping together. And that killed him.

Matt was staring at you, but his vision was starting to go blurry, his chest was getting tighter, and it was getting harder to breathe and he was so upset he felt like he was going to vomit all over the floor.

Somehow, he heard himself say, “You mean like… Dating?”

You licked your lips nervously. “We're... Seeing each other. Casually. For now.”

Casually.

His heart was beating so hard that he felt like it was going to burst through his chest, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

The idea that you’d decided to date casually was horrifying.

He couldn’t believe you’d just jump from an intense, passionate relationship with him to a casual dating scenario with Vinnie.

His first instinct was to protest… To say that you couldn’t do that… To tell you that you needed to break it off with Vinnie right now because you couldn’t make the transition… Couldn’t start casually dating someone right after the crazy, passionate situation that you’d just had with him…

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look you in the eye.

He glanced down at the floor as he swallowed thickly, his mind starting to race with the new information.

“How long have you guys been seeing each other?” It was all he could think to ask.

His voice was raspy and cracked, but he needed to know. He had to know just how much he’d missed out on, how long you’d been with someone else instead of him.

"About a month," Vinnie answered with a grin, almost proudly, hugging you a little tighter.

Matt’s heart ached at Vinnie’s answer.

Three months. They’d been broken up for three months, and you’d been seeing Vinnie for a month. That meant he’d spent a month missing you—wishing he could be the one holding you like that, wishing he was the one to put his hands all over you like that—while someone else got to do it instead.

And now you were letting him do it, and you were even giggling about something while he was whispering into your ear and touching your skin with his fingertips.

Matt was starting to feel like he was underwater.

He was trying to take deep, steady breaths, but he felt like he was breathing in mud or something, like someone was holding his head under water and his lungs were filling up with something poisonous.

It had been three months of him missing you, of him crying over you, of him thinking of you.

And this was what you’d been doing instead of being with him. Of you dating someone else—someone so much worse than him—and of you letting someone else hold you and touch you like that.

He hated the way Vinnie’s hand was stroking your arm like he had the right to do that.

He hated the way your body was curled into his like you felt comfortable being so physically close to Vinnie.

But more than anything, he hated the way your hand was on Vinnie’s thigh, so casually… Like it was an everyday occurrence for you to touch someone else.

His eyes kept catching on that damn hickey, and he couldn’t help but stare at it again.

You were letting someone else give you love bites, and it made him feel like he might throw up.

Because how Vinnie could ever truly satisfy you? Did he really even know you? Did he know your needs? Knew what you liked? How you sounded? How you looked?

Of course, he didn’t know those things. And if he did, he couldn’t know all of them…

There was no way that Vinnie knew how to satisfy you like he could.

And that just made it all so much worse.

The fact that you were letting someone else touch you and claim you and make you giggle and make you smile and make your body sing and oh God, he was going to explode, he was going to scream, he couldn’t take this pain, he couldn’t breathe…

He was gripping his thighs so tightly now that his knuckles were white, and his chest was so tight that he couldn’t take deep enough breaths.

He could feel panic closing in around him, and he was just trying to fight the urge to grab you, and pull you away, and shake some sense into you.

He wanted to shake you until you realized that you didn’t belong with Vinnie, that you belonged with him, and that the way Vinnie was touching you was a crime because you were his, and his alone…

He didn’t care if Vinnie was more famous or more rich or more muscular or anything like that. He just knew that he knew you the best. He knew you the most intimately, and his love for you was more intense than anything Vinnie could offer.

He was the one who would have done anything for you, and he was the one who was so, so incredibly deeply in love with you that it was tearing him apart at the seams. He was the one who had taken the most care to learn your body and your needs specifically.

He couldn’t believe you’d let someone else touch you like that. He couldn’t believe you’d let someone else mark you like he had the right to claim you like that…

He knew he’d be gentle with you, and he knew he’d be soft with you, and he knew he’d be so, so damn passionate every time he put his mouth on you.

He knew your body and he knew the spots that made your toes curl and he knew the way you sounded when you came.

He couldn’t understand how you’d be satisfied with casually sleeping with Vinnie.

He could see you leaning up against Vinnie, laughing at something he was saying, and he felt like he was dying.

How could he be making you laugh like that when it was Matt who made you laugh so hard it sounded like the sweetest music on earth?

How could he be making you feel so casual and comfortable when the things Matt did to you made you melt into a puddle?

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He just couldn’t stomach watching you lean up against Vinnie and let him laugh and touch you and whisper into your ear and do all the things that Matt had been doing to you for months.

He knew he had no right to be feeling these things, and he knew that you didn’t belong to him anymore…

But goddamn, it still hurt.

He’d tried as hard as he could to contain himself, but he couldn’t do it anymore.

He suddenly shot to his feet and turned so fast that his head swam, making his way out of the room as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.

He managed to slam the bathroom door shut behind him, immediately lurching forward to catch himself on the sink.

There was a ringing in his ears, and his vision was still swimming a little from how fast he’d stood up, and he suddenly felt nauseous.

He gripped the edge of the sink so hard that his joints felt like they were threatening to pop, and he was struggling to pull in deep enough breaths.

Everything was just crashing into him all at once: the fact that you had a hickey on your neck, the fact that you’d been seeing someone else, the fact that it had been a month and he’d been missing you the entire time…

He suddenly felt like he was on fire, and he reached up to grab at his hair before doubling over, his stomach suddenly turning in an intense wave of nausea.

He hadn’t eaten much all day, and he was suddenly very dizzy, and he didn’t think he’d ever experienced this level of emotional pain in his entire life.

It was like he was being tortured: his entire body was aching from how much it hurt to experience this level of anguish.

He was gripping the edge of the sink so hard that he was surprised the porcelain didn’t crack under the pressure, and he was breathing so hard that he wondered if it was possible for a person to die of heartache.

His chest was agonizingly tight, and he was suddenly wondering if it was possible for a person’s heart to actually break.

He was gripping the side of the sink with one hand, and bracing his other one against the wall, and he was struggling to control his breathing long enough to force himself to inhale and exhale and stay standing.

He was bent over so far that his forehead was almost touching the cool countertop of the bathroom sink, and he was struggling to stay conscious and keep taking deep breaths…

For a second, he thought he was hallucinating when he heard a knock on the door.

It was like his mind was playing a trick on him, trying to convince him that there was someone on the other side of the door because he was so damn close to passing out…

Before he could realize it, he was already being helped to sit down on the cool bathroom floor, but everything was so blurry, that he barely could register anything.

He tried to focus, but he felt so disoriented.

The room was shifting in and out of focus, and his head was pounding, and the world was suddenly spinny and fuzzy and just… Wrong.

His vision focused for a few seconds, and he finally recognized who was helping him, and he suddenly couldn’t help but wonder if it might be better if he did pass out…

He stared up at you, his eyes searching your face.

Everything kind of slowed down as he looked at you, and it was almost like he was seeing you for the first time.

He took you in slowly as if he was suddenly memorizing every millimeter of you.

Your hair was a little rumpled, and your cheeks were flush, and he couldn’t tell if your eyes looked worried or concerned or both.

He was suddenly aware of the fact that you were leaning over him, studying his face, and he realized that you were holding him.

“Hey… Hey, can you hear me?” you asked but your voice sounded like he was underwater.

He tried to swallow, but he didn’t seem to have enough saliva in his mouth to make his throat move.

He suddenly remembered that you’d asked him a question, and he was trying to form some words, but he felt like his tongue didn’t work either.

He couldn’t figure out how to make any sounds.

“Breathe, okay?” His hand suddenly found itself pressed against your chest, feeling the steady beating of your heart. “Feel my heart. Try to match my breathing.”

He could feel the steady thumping of your heart under his palm, and he suddenly felt like he wanted to crawl inside your chest so he could burrow himself right up against your heart.

It was a steady, reassuring thump thump thump, and even if he couldn’t control the rest of his body, he at least seemed to be taking breaths in time with the beating of your heart.

You were always so good at helping him with his anxiety, with his panic attacks. You knew exactly what to do to make him calm down. But it didn't help much when the reason was you. You and your new lover.

He couldn’t help but remember a time when you’d been helping him through a panic attack in your bed… He couldn’t help but remember the way you would press your chest up against his back, and the way you’d whisper in his ear to try and soothe him.

It was just another thing that he’d taken for granted, and he’d been so damn clueless to not realize how spoiled he’d been that you’d done things like that for him…

And he suddenly wanted you to stop helping him, because even though you were being so gentle and careful while you talked to him, and even though you were holding him like he was the most valuable thing in your entire world, you weren’t his.

You were Vinnie’s, and he had never felt more painfully aware of that fact than he did at this very moment.

He tried to swallow again, and suddenly it was a little easier, and he almost had enough saliva in his mouth now.

And just like before, he could feel your heart thumping under his hand, and he suddenly didn’t want you to stop holding him, because it was the closest he’d been to your body in months, and even if you weren’t his anymore, he couldn’t get himself to stop craving you.

His hand was still pressed up against your chest, and he could feel your chest expanding against his palm every time you took a deep breath.

It was reminding him of the way you’d hold him when he was feeling particularly anxious. You liked to have him rest his head on your chest so that he could feel the movement of your breathing and mirror your breathing pace.

He suddenly realized that you were probably doing that on purpose, because you knew that it would help calm his breathing even more, and he wished that you’d just stop caring about him like this.

He loved the way you always knew exactly what to do to help him, and he loved how familiar you were with his anxiety, but it just made you leaving worse, because he knew that no one else could help him like you did.

He was suddenly reminded of the first time you’d ever helped him with a panic attack, and how you’d learned quickly to recognize the signs that he was starting to freak out.

You’d known what to look for in his body language, and you’d gotten so familiar with the way he tensed up, how his eyes unfocused, and how his breathing escalated whenever he started to struggle.

You noticed that he left suddenly, and you noticed that he was probably losing control, and you abandoned Vinnie to come and comfort him, even though he didn’t have any right to your comfort.

But you came anyways, and you knelt down and you held him the way you always did, and you were being so damn soft and so damn gentle with him, and he ached with how much he missed you…

“Are you okay?” you whispered suddenly.

He felt like that was such an awful, stupid question that it almost would’ve hurt worse if you hadn’t asked it.

Because the answer was so obviously no, he was not okay.

He was so far from being okay that he couldn’t even see “okay” as a distant speck on the horizon

He was drowning. He was dying. He was breaking from missing you. From still loving you. From having to watch you with someone else.

Matt suddenly felt like he wanted to scream out how not okay he was, but he was worried that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come out would be a strangled whimper of pain.

His chest was aching with the way he still loved you, and every time he breathed, it felt like his heart was getting crushed.

He knew there was a certain amount of “emotional pain” that a person’s body could endure before it became literally intolerable, and he was suddenly wondering if a person could die of heartache.

He had this sick, twisted thought that maybe dying would be easier than dealing with the sharp, intense, overwhelming pain he had whenever he saw you.

Whenever he saw you smiling at Vinnie. Whenever he saw you laughing with Vinnie. Whenever he saw you leaning into Vinnie, with that look in your eyes…

“Please, I'm really worried.” He suddenly heard your quiet voice, full of concern.

He heard how worried you sounded, and he suddenly wanted to reassure you that he was fine.

He wanted to tell you that you could go back to Vinnie and that you didn’t need to worry about him, and that he didn’t want you to worry about him, and that he wanted you to be happy with Vinnie…

But he suddenly felt like he might start sobbing from how not fine he was if he tried to speak.

He tried to take in a deeper breath, but he knew he was on the verge of a really bad panic attack, because every time he tried to inhale, it got harder and harder for his chest to expand.

He was drowning, he was dying, and he suddenly couldn’t think of any way to make you stop being so goddamn concerned and worried about him right now.

He wanted to scream at you to go away, to stop being so soft, to stop touching him like this, and to stop making him remember all the things he loved about you.

But he could only focus on the movement of your chest under his, because every time you breathed, your chest gently expanded against his palm, reminding him of the way he’d sleep with his head on your chest at night.

“Matt, please, breathe…” you whispered desperately.

He was trying to breathe, but he suddenly felt like he couldn’t even remember how, and his chest felt so tight, and he didn’t know how to fix it because it suddenly felt like his body was rejecting every attempt he made at breathing and the more he tried to force himself to get a lungful of air, the worse it seemed to get.

He felt his heart rate speeding up again, and he felt like he was starting to hyperventilate, and he was terrified that he was going to pass out again, and he suddenly started to struggle to control his breathing even more.

And then, when nothing else worked, and he was on the verge of passing out from the lack of oxygen… Your lips suddenly were on his.

Every thought suddenly vanished from his mind, and all at once he was so overwhelmed with how perfect your lips felt against his that the only thing he could think about how good it felt…

He suddenly completely forgot about everything else, and he only focused on how it felt to have your breath mingling with his, and how it felt to have your lips working against his.

Your lips were so soft on his, and he remembered the way your mouths always seemed to fit so perfectly together and he felt like he’d been starving this entire time, and you were the only thing he’d been craving to fill the aching void inside him.

When you pulled away, he’d leaned up to follow you, and he’d almost whimpered at the loss of your mouth against his.

But he was breathing.

He was still struggling to get enough oxygen, but every breath was feeling less constricted than it had a minute ago.

He suddenly wanted you to kiss him again.

He wanted to feel your mouth on his for longer than the few short seconds you’d just given him, because he’d almost forgotten how much he’d craved something as simple as your kiss, and he suddenly wanted to beg you to kiss him again because at least if you were kissing him, you weren’t kissing Vinnie.

“Is that better?” you whispered, your voice still full of worry.

He could only nod because his chest was still tight as you looked at him with that worry-filled expression on your beautiful face.

He suddenly wanted to lie to you and tell you that he was fine and that you didn’t need to worry about him, and that you could go back to Vinnie without any guilt, but he’d never lied well enough to fool you before, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fool you now.

His chest suddenly ached from loving you so much.

His entire body ached from the desire he had for you, because his skin suddenly buzzed from how much he wanted to touch you, and he felt like he had to clench his hands into fists to keep from reaching up to touch your face, or touch your hair, or run his fingers down your bare arms.

He was suddenly very aware of just how much of your skin he could see right now, and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself from studying your body and remembering all the memories he harbored of what your skin felt like against his palms, or under his mouth.

He tried to keep his eyes focused on your face, but he suddenly couldn’t keep his attention away from the bare skin of your thighs, and he suddenly couldn’t help but imagine what you’d look like underneath him, in the way he hadn’t had the privilege to do in months.

He couldn’t help but wonder what you’d look like on top of him, straddling his waist in the same way he used to hold you, and he suddenly felt like he could practically taste your skin in his mouth as he struggled to breathe around the desire he had for you.

“Matt, talk to me,” you said pleadingly.

He couldn’t talk to you, because if he’d opened his mouth, he was going to say something awful, like how he still loved you, or how he didn’t want you to be with anyone but him, or how he didn’t want you kissing anyone but him.

He suddenly didn’t trust himself to keep his tongue from spitting out the truth that he was dying inside because he still wanted you to be his.

Matt wanted to ask you why you kissed him. He wanted to know if you did it because you wanted to make him feel better, or if you just did it out of reflex.

He loved that you still seemed so worried for him, and he loved that you’d come to his aid, but he suddenly wished that you hadn’t done something like kiss him, because it just made loving you harder.

And as if you could read his mind, you explained. But then again, you always knew him better than he knew himself. “You couldn't breathe. And when… When I kissed you, you held your breath. I… I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack.”

He hated that you were right and that you’d probably read that somewhere, because he hated that you could fix him when he didn’t even deserve your help, and he suddenly didn’t trust himself to hold his tongue back any longer.

He suddenly felt like he had to let you know the truth, and he suddenly didn’t know how to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“I miss you.”

The words suddenly slipped out before he had the chance to stop them, and he sounded so desperate as he said them, and he knew that you hadn’t missed how helpless and lost he truly was, because you knew him too well now.

Your face suddenly fell, and Matt was almost sure he saw the exact moment when your heart broke.

He could see how those three words had clearly hurt you, and he hated that he caused you pain, in any form, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring into your eyes and telling you the truth.

“I miss you, all the time.”

He suddenly felt like if he said those words out loud, you might understand just how badly he was aching from missing you, and how he couldn’t get through each passing day without hurting from how much he still longed for you.

“Matt…” You sighed, your voice broken.

He loved how soft your voice still was when you spoke his name, and he ached with longing for you, even as he stared into your eyes.

“I miss you every night when I go to bed,” he suddenly blurted out, because he couldn’t hold anything back from you now.

He didn’t have the power to hold his tongue back anymore, because you were staring at him with your big, beautiful eyes, and he was drowning in how much he missed you.

“I sleep on your side of the bed because it still smells like you,” he whispered, the words rushing out like he couldn’t stop the truth from leaving his mouth now.

He felt like he was confessing his deepest, darkest secret to you now, but he felt like he just needed you to know how much he was aching without you, and how badly he was struggling without being able to curl up against you.

“I’ve taken your pillows and your blankets, but nothing is as soft as you are,” he confessed in a voice that he couldn’t control anymore.

He felt like he was spilling his soul into your hands, opening up about the small details of how he’d been coping without you, and how he’d just been aching and struggling and missing you every single night.

“All day, every day, I just miss you,” he got out in a voice that sounded strangled.

He felt like he couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat, and he felt like he wanted to beg you to come back to him, and to stop making him so damn lonely all of the time…

“I… I can’t eat,” he blurted out, and his voice sounded thick, raspy, and choked up.

Matt suddenly felt like he didn’t want to admit to you how he’d lost weight since you’d left because he didn’t want you to be so worried for him, but he suddenly needed you to know, so that you knew how badly you were affecting how he was taking care of himself.

“I skip meals,” he got out in another confession because he could tell you were looking worried for him now, and he suddenly had to get it out before you could start fretting about him. “I don’t mean to, but when I think of eating, it makes my stomach hurt. And when I try to force myself to eat, I get sick to my stomach, and I feel like I’m gonna puke it right back up.”

Your eyes were full of tears, and you were covering your lips with your hand, but you were listening.

“I can never sleep for more than a few hours,” he whispered next because he suddenly felt like he needed you to know just how much restlessness haunted him now. “And… And whenever I go too long without sleeping, my anxiety gets worse.”

“My chest gets really tight, and I have nightmares,” he confessed because he knew that you needed to know how much his mental health was deteriorating without you because you always seemed to be the thing that grounded him from spiraling into anxiety attacks or breakdowns.

He wanted you to know every little detail of how he’d been struggling without you.

“I have these nightmares every night, but… But they feel like they could be real, and they make me so scared to go to sleep because I dream about losing you,” he admitted because he felt like he had to explain just how scared he was of losing you altogether.

He suddenly wanted you to understand how his thoughts consumed him, without you to help him stay focused.

“And when I’m awake, I can’t stop thinking,” he blurted out. “My mind is racing all the time, because I can’t stop thinking about you, and I can’t stop missing you, and my mind just won’t stop screaming for you. All. The. Time…”

“And my head hurts. My heart hurts. My chest hurts. My stomach hurts. I ache everywhere without you. And, and, I just need you…” he admitted in a voice that sounded like he was broken.

“Matt…” you whispered once again, your voice breaking.

“I need you,” he repeated, and he was desperate for you to understand how badly he was struggling without you. “I can’t… I can’t sleep without you. I can’t eat without you. I can’t shower without imagining you’re with me, because I just need you all the time. In every way.”

“And it hurts so badly,” he got out in a raspy voice, finally admitting the aching he’d been suffering through for so long. “It hurts so badly that I can’t hug you, or touch you, or… Or, or be with you. I can’t stop missing you. I can’t stop craving you. I can’t stop loving you…”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you continued to silently cry, not even sure what to say anymore.

He suddenly couldn’t keep himself from confessing his thoughts to you.

“And, and it’s been hell without you, imagining you with another guy,” he blurted out, unable to keep himself from admitting how much he hated that you were with someone other than him.

“And, and I keep thinking about how he’s kissing you, and touching you, and taking you, and I just— God, how I hate him,” he got out in a strangled voice, and he felt like he was going to be sick…

“It just makes me so, so, so sick, thinking about how he gets to touch you now. How he gets to kiss you, and touch your bare skin, and taste you, and— God, I just— I just fucking hate it,” he whispered in a voice that still sounded broken, aching, and desperate.

“It’s driving me crazy to think that he can touch you, and taste you, and be with you when I want you so badly I can’t see straight.”

Matt knew he sounded possessive and obsessive, but he couldn’t help it, because he had been wanting you so badly for so goddamn long now.

“It hurts so bad to think about you with him. And how he gets to have you… I can’t stop thinking about you in bed with him. And— and— I just—” he suddenly trailed off, because he felt like his heart was throbbing inside his chest

“I just… God, I just want you back,” he whispered in an aching voice because he felt like he’d been dying inside without you. “So badly… I’ve just been wanting you so damn badly, and I just… I just can’t stop…” he repeated, and he suddenly felt like he’d never stop aching for you.

“You're the one who ended things,” you reminded him in a broken whisper.

He suddenly felt like a knife plunged into his heart as you reminded him that he was the one who had ended things between you.

Of course, he knew that he was the one who had walked away from you. Of course, he knew that his reasons hadn’t been the best ones and that they hadn’t been good enough to justify his decision.

But God, hearing you say those words to him, it felt like you were reminding him that he was to blame for his suffering now.

His eyes suddenly blurred from unfallen tears, and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I…” he whispered faintly, trying to form a response to explain himself, since you still didn’t know exactly why he’d ended things with you.

“I…” he suddenly whispered again, because he felt like he was drowning from how badly he’d missed you, and from how he’d just exposed how broken he was.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, and he could hear how raspy his own voice was sounding, and he felt his throat suddenly closing up on him now. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“I was waiting for you for over a month,” you whispered, your voice choked. “And you waited until I started to move on to say anything.”

He felt like his throat was going to close up on him, and he felt like it was impossible to even swallow as he remembered how he’d just let you wait for him.

God, he’d been such an idiot for making you wait for him this entire time, and he knew it had been wrong of him, and now you were moving on, and it was his fault.

“I… I was… I was scared,” he confessed because he didn’t have the heart to lie to you.

He just couldn’t hold the truth in any longer.

“I was scared to reach out again, even though I’d been missing you the entire time,” he whispered because he knew you’d been right. He’d waited too damn long.

You sighed shakily. “Vinnie… Is a really nice guy. He treats me really good, Matt.”

His entire body suddenly felt like it stung from how badly he didn’t want to hear how you were with a nice guy.

“Yeah?” he whispered, but he didn’t care right now how you were being treated by someone else.

He suddenly didn’t care how nice he was to you.

He suddenly didn’t care how much you probably liked Vinnie.

He suddenly only cared about what he wanted from you, and how badly he missed you.

“Does he hold you tight?” he blurted out, suddenly desperate to learn everything he could about you now that you were with another guy. “Does he touch you?”

The words were rushing out of him before he’d even had the chance to stop them.

Your eyes widened as he caught you off guard, but you answered anyway, “Yes. He does.”

His heart throbbed at your answer, and he suddenly felt sick from learning that you let another guy touch you the same way he used to touch you.

“Does he kiss you?” he whispered desperately, unable to stop himself from learning the answer.

“Yes,” you whispered shakily.

His stomach churned and ached as you admitted that you’d been kissing someone else other than him.

“Does he… Does he make you feel good?” he whispered, and suddenly he just had to know if this guy was giving you everything he’d used to give you. He felt like his entire body was throbbing from how badly he wanted to know if you liked doing those things with this Vinnie guy. “Does he… Does he please you?”

“He does.”

He felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest, and he felt like he’d been punched as you admitted that this Vinnie guy was pleasing you just as well as he used to…

He didn’t know how the hell to respond to that information, as he felt like he’d been stabbed, but he just couldn’t stop himself from asking another question.

“Are you… Does he, um… Does he make you, um…” Matt tried to ask you another question, but suddenly couldn’t get it out of his mouth, because he felt like he was choking at even just the thought of this guy touching you in any way.

But you understood anyway, your voice being a broken whisper. “Yes.”

His heart stung and ached even more as you confirmed his suspicions that this Vinnie guy was… He was giving you what you needed.

He could feel himself choking at that realization.

He closed his eyes, and he suddenly was trying to take a deep breath, but his entire body was aching so badly now, and his chest was so damn tight…

Matt suddenly didn’t even really have any more words, because there wasn’t anything else he could say to you. He’d gotten the answers to his questions, and he’d learned that he really was too late to salvage anything between you.

He opened his eyes and looked at you once again, and he suddenly had to swallow down a thick lump in his throat as he gazed at your face. Your eyes were sparkling faintly, probably from tears, but he didn’t know if they were tears of happiness or tears of sadness.

He didn’t know if you were happy with this other guy, or if you were still just as miserable and lonely as him.

He just wanted to know if he’d lost his chance at the only thing that would ever make him completely happy.

“Are you… Do you love him?” he whispered because it was the only question he could think to ask now.

Your eyes widened before you averted your gaze, not answering. The first question you didn't answer.

His stomach churned and ached at your silence, and he took a shuddering breath as he realized that her silence was a much louder answer than you knew.

But he still wanted you to say the words, just so that he could know for sure.

“Y/N,” he whispered, and his voice was raspy from how badly he was aching from this. “Are you in love with him?”

And then, his world came to a halt. Because you said, „No.”

Matt felt like his heart skipped a beat, and he felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs as he heard the word ‘no’ come out of your mouth.

He stared at you for a few seconds, and his head suddenly started to spin at what you’d just confessed to him…

“W… What?” he choked out, his voice strangled.

“Not yet, at least,” you clarified quietly.

Not yet. Yet. Meaning you weren’t in love with him right now, but someday, you could be…

Somehow, that little yet was the worst thing you could’ve said to him, because it gave him some kind of sickening hope that maybe, somehow, he still had some kind of chance with you.

He felt a fresh wave of nausea as he thought about it.

Someday, you could end up falling in love with this guy.

And someday, you could end up marrying him.

All of these thoughts suddenly swirled in his head, and he felt like his whole world was closing in around him now, like he couldn’t breathe…

He was overwhelmed by the idea of that, of you someday falling in love with this guy, of you someday marrying him, and of you someday doing all the things that you’d once said you’d only do with him…

He couldn’t breathe, and his body was suddenly shaking so badly that he thought he’d fall if he wasn't already sitting on the floor.

Matt closed his eyes because it was all too much.

It was too much, to think about you someday doing all the things you’d once said you only want to do with him with someone else.

It was too much, to think about you falling in love with anyone other than him.

He suddenly felt so, so alone, more than he’d ever felt in his life.

Matt heard a strangled sound come out of his own throat, and he realized that it was a strangled sob and that the tears had finally started spilling over his eyes.

“Please,” he heard himself whispering, and he felt so desperate now that he was so on the edge. “Please don’t fall in love with him…”

“Matt…” You sighed shakily.

He suddenly heard his own broken voice begging you.

“Please, please, please, don’t,” he pleaded, and God, he could hear desperation in his voice. “Please don’t fall in love with him, because… God, I just—”

He cut himself off, feeling like his heart was breaking all over again at how utterly hopeless this was.

His shoulders shuddered with a sob, and hot tears burned his throat and his eyes as he stared at you, still begging you not to fall in love with him. “Because, and, if you love him, then… then I… I…”

He stopped as his breath suddenly caught in his chest, because he felt like saying what he was about to say would just break his heart again, and he wouldn’t be able to survive it this time.

But no matter how awful and sickening it would be, he knew that he had to say it.

“If you fall in love with him, I won’t—“ he blurted out, his voice shaky, cracking, and breaking, “I won’t be able to survive it… I already can’t breathe without you…”

“I've waited… For you to call, for you to text me… For two months. And you didn't,” you whispered. “And when... And when I decided it was time to move on, you… You say all that.”

He felt a new wave of nausea at that, knowing just how badly he’d screwed up for you to say those words to him.

Of course, you had to move on. He hadn’t given you much of a choice, now had he?

The last three months had been hell, and he’d been so damn scared and hopeless.

And now, he was hearing the bitter truth that he’d driven you straight to another guy’s arms.

Matt let out another strangled sob as you pointed it out to him, because God, it was just too painful and horrible to hear out loud.

“I… I waited too long… I know I did…” he replied, in a strangled voice. “I just was so… so scared to reach out… because… I didn’t think you’d even want to hear from me…”

He squeezed his eyes closed, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if he were trying to slow his racing heart. The pain and the heartache of these last three months had been nearly too much to handle, and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself from admitting it to you now.

“I… I didn’t think you’d even want to see me…” he whispered, and his voice broke, and he suddenly wasn’t even capable of keeping the tears from flowing down his face now.

Matt looked at you again, seeing the pain on your face, and feeling another wave of nausea at being the cause of it.

Jesus, he’d really, really done a number on you by leaving you…

He swallowed hard because he didn’t know what else to say right now, and he was trying to force himself to breathe because he suddenly didn’t even feel like he could right now.

He took a few more shaky breaths, trying to still his racing heart, because God, he was just so overwhelmed and overcome by seeing you and talking to you right now, and by learning that you were with someone else, and by admitting that he’d nearly driven himself to utter depression by leaving you.

“I just… I need… I need to know one thing. Are you happy?” he suddenly asked, and he didn’t even know if he wanted to know the answer, because it had been torture to think about you being with someone else, and it had been hell to think about you being happier with someone else.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. There was a clear conflict in your eyes. And you didn't answer.

Matt suddenly felt like he was being punched in the stomach by how silent you remained, how you weren’t saying anything.

He felt utterly sick at your silence because it was so obvious now that you weren’t… You weren’t happy. He’d always been able to tell when you were really, really happy, and he hadn’t seen that look on your face when you’d been talking about that guy.

No, you weren’t. You were miserable.

It hurt more than he could express just hearing it in your silence.

It hurt like hell to know that you weren’t even happy with someone else…

“God,” he whispered, as the anguish of your silence suddenly hit him full force, and his shoulders started to shake again. “God, I feel so sick…”

He pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to hold back another strangled sob from escaping his throat as he felt sick to his stomach just thinking about you being miserable and alone while still being with someone else.

He’d put you through this… He’d put you through hell, and he’d made you miserable…

And that made him feel like a piece of utter scum.

His body shuddered with another sob, and tears were falling freely again, and he felt so utterly helpless and hopeless at how screwed up this situation was.

“Jesus, please… I don’t want you to be miserable…” he whispered, and his own heartbreak was practically written all over his face now. “Please don’t be miserable…”

“I'm not miserable,” you whispered shakily. “Just… Not as happy as I used to be.”

He felt like your words had just stabbed him.

Hearing that you weren’t as happy as you used to be was so much worse than finding out you were miserable… Because you used to be utterly happy when you’d been with him.

“God, I… I can’t…” he whispered, and suddenly another strangled sob escaped his throat. “I can’t stand hearing that you’re not as happy…”

He pressed a hand to his mouth and shuddered again, trying to suppress the sudden, overwhelming urge to throw up right now as the grief just kept piling up.

You’d been so happy when you’d been with him. It was so obvious. He’d seen how happy you’d been. And now… now, you were just… not.

He suddenly had a flashback to your face, to you laughing and smiling and having fun with him, and his heart ached as he remembered how you’d always looked when he’d been with you…

“God, you used to be so damn happy,” he breathed out, and his voice was strangled. “You were so damn happy when you were with me…”

“I was,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He let out another strangled sob at your reply, because hearing that you’d been happy when you’d been with him, and hearing that you weren’t anymore…

It was so much more horrible than anything that you could’ve said to him.

“I’m such a dick…” he breathed out, and he felt fresh tears burn and fall from his eyes.

He felt like he’d been sucker-punched because he knew that it was all his fault… He was the one who’d left you and hurt you, and his leaving was the reason why you weren’t as happy as you used to be.

“God, I hurt you…” he whispered, and he pressed his hands to his face now, trying to muffle his sobs.

He felt like he was drowning now, like the weight of this guilt and depression and regret was just pulling him further and further underwater.

“I’m so sorry…” he breathed out, and his whole body shuddered again as he tried to breathe. “God, I’m so sorry…”

You curled up against the wall, pulling your knees to your chest. Matt let out a strangled sob at the sight of you like that.

Jesus, you’d always curled up like that when you’d been sad or upset and he’d always held you… And you’d always laid your head against his chest and he’d held you so tightly.

God, how he suddenly longed to hold you again…

He longed to hold you in his arms, comfort you, and tell you how sorry he was.

And he longed to tell you to leave that guy and leave that miserable life and come back to him…

He looked at you, and his whole chest ached as he saw you were almost in the same position that he’d held you in a hundred times.

Jesus… He couldn’t stand this…

“Please come here…” he whispered, and the words left his mouth before he’d even realized what he was saying.

His whole body was aching with the need to hold you, and this situation was so screwed up and his emotions were so all over the place right now that he couldn’t even think straight, and he suddenly heard himself pleading to you.

“Please… Please come here and let me hold you like I used to…”

You were shaking and you knew you shouldn’t, but… You did it anyway.

Matt felt a fresh wave of nausea as you did actually comply and started shuffling over to him. And he tried to ignore the fact that you were wearing that tight, little dress.

He couldn’t resist the urge to touch you now, and he reached out to grab you. He reached out and pulled you so that you were settled down between his legs, your back was pressed up against his chest, and your head was resting just under his chin.

And he realized that it felt so good, so right, to hold you this way again…

He reached one arm around you and pressed his whole body up against yours, and he suddenly shivered, because he forgot how good it felt to have your body against his.

“Why, Matt?” Your body was trembling from surpassed sobs. “Why did you leave?”

He closed his eyes at that and held you even tighter as he heard the pain in your voice. His heart ached again as he realized how badly he’d hurt you, and it ached to hear that pain in your voice still, even after three months…

“God, baby…” he whispered, and his voice was choked again. “I left because I’m stupid…”

He turned his face down and nuzzled his face into your hair, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“I left… Because I’m a dumb jerk… And an idiot…” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “And because I’m a coward… And a fool…”

“It’s not a reason,” you reminded him in a hushed whisper.

He breathed out a shaky sigh because you were right. Those reasons didn’t matter… They didn’t matter at all…

It had still been such a complete mistake to leave you.

He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to break down again, and he started to admit the real reason: the true reason why he’d left.

“I left you because I was scared,” he whispered, in a choked voice. “So goddamn scared…”

“Scared of what, Matt?”

His shoulders shuddered and his breath hitched in his throat as he finally admitted it: the real reason why he’d left you… The thing he’d been running from for months…

“I was scared of everything,” he whispered. “I was scared of losing you… Scared that you’d get sick of me and leave me… Scared that one day you’d wake up and decide you didn’t want me anymore or that you wanted someone else… I was scared that you’d…”

He suddenly couldn’t say the words.

Because, God, thinking them had been hard enough, but saying them was practically impossible.

Hearing them out loud would be unbearable…

He swallowed hard again, forcing himself to say the words that would just wreck him.

“I was scared you’d… You’d stop loving me…”

Your eyes squeezed shut and another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks.

He felt his throat closing up again as he heard you crying now.

God… He realized how horrible and selfish and shitty this all sounded.

He felt an urge to just keep talking and just keep pouring out all this shitty and awful and screwed up stuff because he suddenly felt like he just had to get it all off his chest.

“I was scared that you’d wake up one day and realize that I’m just a nothing,” he blurted out, and he suddenly felt like he was falling apart again. “That…”

He swallowed hard and let out another shuddering breath as he felt a fresh wave of tears start to fall from his eyes again.

Jesus… He was in so deep… He was such a mess…

“That… T-that I’m not enough for you,” he whispered, and his voice was shaking, and he was crying again…

“You… You were scared that I’d leave…” you repeated. “So you left first?”

He closed his eyes, and his shoulders trembled as he let out another strangled sob as he realized just how stupid and shitty and awful that sounded…

Because, God, that was what he’d done, wasn’t it?

He’d been scared that you’d break his heart so the idiot that he was had gone and broken yours first.

“God…” he managed, his voice was still choked. “Jesus… Yeah. I left you… B-because I was scared I’d get left first…”

“What kind of bullshit is that?” You sobbed out.

He flinched a little at your words because he knew more than anything in the world that it was bullshit and that what he’d done was horrible and completely irrational and so goddamn selfish and wrong.

“I know…” he whispered, and he started to apologize again, because even though he’d said it a hundred times already he still couldn’t stop saying it. “God, I know. I know it’s bullshit… I just—“

He breathed in and had to fight back another strangled sob as he felt like he was drowning just talking about this.

“I’m just so stupid…” he whispered, and his heart and head were such a mess, and the words just kept falling from his mouth. “I’m a dumbass, and I’m so self-centered… I should’ve known… I should’ve known that you would never leave me… I’m just…”

He let out a strangled sob again, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

God, he’d been such a dumbass: he’d really left you because he was scared…

He’d left the most perfect girl he’d ever met because he’d been a dumbass and he’d been a sucker and a coward and so goddamn scared.

“And what do you want me to do now, Matt?” you asked quietly.

He swallowed hard, his heart aching in his chest.

“What do I…?” he murmured, and his heart leaped into his throat as he realized what you were saying. “God… baby, you don’t…”

And there was a desperate hope that was building inside of him, and his mind was racing as he tried to process everything: were you really about to have this conversation… Were you really about to ask him what he wanted… Did you really want to know if he still wanted you?

He held you even tighter, and a strangled sob escaped his throat. God, he just wanted to beg you, to just blurt out what he wanted and pray that you’d say yes, and pray that you’d take him back.

“I—” he choked out, his words falling like a desperate waterfall, “I want you. I want you, and… and I want you back… God, I just want you, baby…”

His heart was racing, his body was shaking, and his mind was racing as he tried to find the words to explain how much he wanted you.

“Please,” he found himself saying, tears starting to spill again, and he was pleading now. “Please come back to me. Please. I… I just want you again so bad, and it hurts so much being without you, and… God, I need you…”

“It’s not fair,” you whispered shakily. “Not to me, not to Vinnie…”

He felt his heart clench at the mention of that name.

God, he forgot that you were seeing that guy…

He swallowed hard, and his shoulders shook again, because he did realize that it wasn’t fair of him to be begging like this and asking you to come back when you were with someone else, and that… That he was the selfish one, and he was the villain, and he suddenly just wanted to stop and shut up and not ask you for anything.

But then he realized that he couldn’t just stop. The words just kept spilling from his mouth, and he couldn’t hold them back.

“Please… I know it’s not fair, I’m…” he whispered, and another sob escaped his throat, and his mind was going a million miles a minute, and all he could do was plead, “I’m trying, and I just… I need to be with you so badly… god, I miss you…”

He felt the words falling out of his mouth and he realized that he couldn’t stop talking, because all of the things he’d been feeling for three months were just racing through his mind, and he kept just spewing things out like a goddamn dumpster fire.

“Please… Please forgive me and just… just be with me. Please… I’m begging you…” he choked out. “God, I’m begging you, baby, I will do anything…”

There was a clear conflict on your face, you felt torn between your loyalty to Vinnie and your love for Matt despite everything.

He hated himself more than ever, because it was written all over your face how badly this was hurting you: you were conflicted and you were tearing up, and it was all because of him.

And his entire body ached because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore. He didn’t want to be the selfish, awful, evil villain in this situation, and… And he wanted to just shut up and tell you to stay with your boyfriend.

“So, what do you want me to do? Break things off with Vinnie?” you croaked out.

He closed his eyes again.

His body was on fire, and he wanted so badly to just say yes, to just tell you to end things with your boyfriend and come back to him, but…

He couldn’t do that to you.

He couldn’t, because that would be so damn selfish and so wrong and so unfair, and that’s exactly what he’d done months ago, and you’d begged him to stay and he’d just… He’d left anyway.

Matt suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

Please, God, just let him do the right thing.

Let him be good and kind and fair enough to just tell you to stay with your boyfriend.

He opened his mouth, and for just a moment, all he wanted to do was to say ��stay”, but then he started talking and the words just started falling from his mouth, and he couldn’t stop them, because his heart and mind were racing, and he was so, so scared you’d say no…

“No,” he whispered, and the word just slipped out before he could think clearly, and he realized it was the absolutely worst thing to say.

He felt bile rising in his throat, and he started pleading all over again, his voice so desperate he could feel how pathetic it sounded.

“Don’t. Don’t… I didn’t mean that. I’m… I’m an idiot. Ignore me, just… Just forget I said anything, don’t… Please… God, please don’t…”

“Because I will,” you told him, your voice shaking. “If you just tell me to.”

He felt like his chest was collapsing now.

You were actually going to do it… You were going to break things off with your boyfriend and come back to him if he just told you to.

And part of him wanted to say it. God, how he wanted to say it…

But he knew he couldn’t… He just… He couldn’t… He couldn’t, because that would be so selfish…

But despite how wrong it was, he felt like he was going to die without you. He already almost spiraled into a depression in the span of those three months since the breakup, he already couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't live.

He suddenly felt a choked, strangled sob rising in his throat, because he felt like he was going to die: he felt like if he didn’t have you, he wouldn’t be able to live, and his whole body ached and stung because he loved you, he loved you so damn much and he needed you…

God… He felt so desperate that he couldn’t stay quiet. He felt like he was begging for air at this point, and he just… He just had to blurt out what his body was screaming.

“Please… Just… Oh, god, please come back,” he sobbed out, his voice choked and full of pleading and tears again now. “God, I’m begging you, please just… I’m begging you to give me a chance. I’m so… so sorry, and I just… I need you. I need you. I can’t live without you, baby, I… Please…”

You gently took his hand in yours, feeling just how much he was trembling, and you pressed a soft kiss on the back of it. “I will.”

A strangled, gasped sob escaped his throat, and everything went white.

He didn’t believe it… He was hallucinating…

No… No goddamn way… He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming, because there was no way that you just said the one thing that he wanted more than anything else in life.

But then you kissed his hand, and the feeling of your lips was so real and so familiar that he realized it wasn’t a dream.

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