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happysparklingshadows · 3 days ago

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A Certain Hunger (4/?)

Chapter 3 ✿ Chapter 5

Summary: It's been a few weeks in this cabin, and thinking about being saved is getting a little bit bleak. So, you have a good idea for everyone to find a job to make things easier for your time being in Canada. You pick up a fishing rod, and everyone else picks up the gun to see who will become the hunter. You reconnect with a childhood friend and start to accept your new home.

Pairing: Surviving!Poly! Yellowjackets x reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Smut, HOMOSEXUAL SEXXX, Lowkey controversial entirely written sex scene with a character yall wouldn't guess lol, depictions of a threeway, Lowkey mean reader, Depiction of a terminal illness and death of a mother, 90s setting with the views of the time, homophobia and internal homophobia, Homophobic slurs, Alcohol/drug use, gore and blood, depictions of mental health, depictions of death, 90s slang is used (411 means giving the tea or details of a situation to someone).

Taglist: @zhivaxo @h-doodles @homopheli @bigtimesalt8196 @juniperjean @scatorccioz @juniperjean @yaakooi @lottieswebs @juchily @freezinggay @deathly710-blog @ghostoflesbianism @marvelous-wandanatangel @errriiie @anskkks @deathvidal @slutforhotpeople @thursdayygrrrl @day-ziez @evewasheretoday @mayasaurusss @captainbabybear @eleanormall @mommyeater2000 @leonchef @mikititta @tigersarrcool @nyasbae @dykepvppy @jax1118 @oakwave @mmiah @dvrkhcld @swiftin0f @opheliadeservedbetter-27 @psychicdreamwonderland @pinkmoonzzz @under-your-bed-not-in-it @sadsapphic-rose @fictitious-sapphic

Word count: 13.4k

Notes: I want to apologize for my hiatus, but it was for good reason. I needed to care for my father, who got very sick around September last year when I was going to write the 4th chapter, and he has since been better. Sadly, I lost my motivation, but I have detailed notes for the following 8 chapters, and I will be trying to finish seasons 1 and two of the story as soon as I can before the third season airs! This year, for NANOWRIMO, I have decided to write for this story and see how far I can go within the next month or two. Thank you to everyone who was so kind and understanding about my disappearance and still loves my story!

“(Y/n), what the fuck is a ratio?” Jackie whispers to you loud enough for Shauna to hear beside you in a lull in math class. Mrs. Goldberg had to leave the class for some reason, you don’t remember why. You smile over at Jackie with her lovely brown eyes and take a good look at her. She’s as beautiful as you remember.

You chuckle as you look into your notes and say, “From what Mrs. Goldmen wrote, an ordered pair of numbers a and b, written a / b where b does not equal 0.” You read from your notes as Shauna and Jackie looked blankly up at you from the obtuse definition. You laugh with them, “Whatever the fuck that means!”

Jackie and Shauna laugh with you, but Jackie groans in frustration at the last question.

Taissa, behind you, leans forward and smiles, “What’s wrong?”

Jackie turns dramatically to Taissa as she pulls her paper over to Taissa; she just wants the answer now. You look at Jackie moving around as Van pulls your attention with a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, (y/n), can you help me with the first question? Jackie stole my answer key.” She joked as you turned to help her.

You giggle at her joke as you look down at the paper.

It was blank.

There weren’t even questions printed onto the page like you thought. You looked at your paper again, flipping it around but finding that it had nothing written on it either. It didn’t have the answers you thought you were writing on it.

You furrow your brows as you look up to Van, but the redhead isn’t there. Neither were the others. A chill runs down your spine as you start to remember.

The door of your old math teacher's class slams open, causing you to squeal and jump from your desk. That then was the only desk in the room. It was as if when your eyes looked away from something, it disappeared.

Mrs. Goldmen looks at you with a sad, sympathetic smile as she leads you to the hallway; you don’t have any control at the moment as your legs walk you down the hallway with her. Mrs. Goldmen's hand is on your shoulder as she says words that have been etched into the gray matter of your brain. “Honey, your mother has gone to the hospital, and your father is here to pick you up.”

You remember this. This was the day your mother’s health got so much worse. The day you became her caretaker.

Fat tears run down your eyes as you walk to the office door. Mrs. Goldman disappears when her hand leaves your shoulder. You look around for her; the hallways of your old high school are empty, and liminal darkness creeps in the corners of the walls. You felt an urge to go into the office.

You held the cold handle and turned the knob to the left to open the office door.

It wasn’t right.

You are met with the darkness of the woods, which has claimed you as its own. You turn, and the hallways no longer protect you from the cold forest. You scream as you are surrounded by woods again; the door stands alone with its hinges.

You feel the ripe cold air coming up your legs and arms; you hug yourself.

Howls from the trees start to chant above you. Every corner was a howl from a freakish, unnatural octave, and you started to feel the snow melt under your toes and the nip of the winter bite at the skin of your arms. Unbearable and cutting is how it felt—hunger in the air.

You look down at yourself and see something that drops your heart.

The gold heart necklace from Jackie’s Sweet 16.

You don’t think before you run. You run straight and away from trees as the howls follow you. Helpless as sticks and bushes stopped you as you rushed through the 4ft of snow.

You sob and run, knowing you are coming to an end. You are going to die. You should just stay still and watch with open eyes as they slice your throat, shoot you with an arrow, or stab you with a spear. So why would you run?

But you ran anyway.

Raw, cold toes feel the crunching of the snow. Twigs tickle between your toes and scratch when you lift your feet.

You don’t hear anything anymore. You are in the heart of the woods; the tree watches you as you finally fall onto a mound of snow. Nothing makes any sense. You cry and feel yourself shake with adrenaline; you need to keep going.

A chanting comes to your ears. You freeze in the moment; you hear yourself.

You crawl towards the song, French humming and chanting from a distance.

Over the hill, you see yourself dressed in your old headdress, the pink stain furs of a white rabbit made into a cloak with the head of a doe adorn on the top. You circle the campfire that cooks the meat; the others dressed in their cloaks watch with stabbing eyes.

The queen in the center watches a younger you dance around the fire. The Antler queen nods her head and looks around the circle.

You watch yourself take a satisfying bite of the fatty meat from the pan that cooked the chunks. The others immediately rush to the pan and take their share of the meat. The grease shines on your satisfied smirk on the younger self, bubbling in your stomach. “Wake up, " you blurt out to yourself in a panic.

You gag as your eyes fill with tears.

No.

No. You don’t want to remember this.

This wasn’t even the worst of it.

Stop.

Wake up (y/n) wake up wake up wake up wake up-

‘21

You wake up violently from your dream. You feel yourself lean harder onto the surface you were on and feel a darting pain from a rod in your neck. You gasp as you look around, realizing you weren’t in your house again.

The tree whispers to you again. You know it.

You stand in the wooded area behind your home. It was always comforting to hide in the trees and smell the sun's sweet earth, playing pirates or whispering about boys you never liked with Shauna and Jackie. This was your hideout as a child. You played fox and hounds and painted nails as you watched the sunset. You hate it now. It screams at you, and it itches your skin to be surrounded again; you need a little distance. Your breath is short again.

Your hands cling to the tree behind you, and you feel something in your hand: your pocket knife. You turn around to look at what you have done again. You stare back at the symbol. Even when you dream, you seem to find a way to protect yourself, even a little bit.

You put the knife in your nightgown pocket. And you backed away. Slowly accepting the fact that this is something you will never stop doing, no matter the pills, sleep therapy, or drinking, can make you stop sleepwalking to the trees when you think about them. It follows closely behind, no matter the distance.

Fucking Shauna.

When you went to her house last night, you weren’t planning on sleeping with her. Or Jeff.

You were sitting at her island drinking coffee like you usually do. Ever since you returned from New York to Wiskayok, you reconnected with Shauna because of the brunches with Jackie's parents. You have been coming over for coffee to talk about your lives like regular people. It was refreshing to look at Shauna and see an adult woman instead of the girl you grew up with and survived with. Not seeing Shauna was especially hard after coming home from the wilderness because you were the closest to her before the crash, even before you knew who you were. You still don’t know who you are without her in some ways.

You both talk about the upcoming brunch, how you'll get a rabbit as a present, and how Jackie’s parents will talk down to you like they always do. But as the conversation continues, Shauna confesses that she and Jeff are in a deep dry spell. They haven’t touched each other in a long time, and how Shauna has not been touched in a long time. Then, without even thinking about it, you two start kissing each other.

Then, something instinctually comes over you as you kiss and touch each other. You didn’t even notice when Jeff got there, but the planned 40-minute coffee became hours of love-making. You have made love with Shauna and Jeff before, and this wasn’t anything short of the other times you were with the married couple.

But as soon as the passion ended, you left. You felt satisfied and a little weird from your desperation with Shauna. You got dressed and kissed both of them goodbye. You remember feeling so grateful Callie was sleeping over at her friend's house.

When you drove home, all you thought about was your day with Misty and Natalie, Travis killing himself, and making love with Shauna. It was a blast from the past. As you entered your driveway, an intrusive thought came to mind: the image of a pan over an open fire frying chunks of meat.

You shouldn’t have gone to bed thinking about the past. This only happens when the team creeps into your space; they always do that if you give them a chance.

You thought grumpily as you walked back to your backdoor. Your cat, Ginger, rubs on your legs when you get into your backyard. Your nightgown has mud at the ends, and your feet are dirty; your toenails have dirt under them.

A black van passes by as you walk into your home. It hisses in the wind as it drives by. You look at it, worried someone will see the dirt on your nightgown and think you are some senile old woman.

You get back into your home and sigh. Rubbing the ache in the back of your neck, you start a pot of coffee for yourself before you start your day. You needed a moment for yourself before you had to act all day, masking all your quirks and characteristics to seem normal.

“You don’t think people can notice you’re a little crazy, right?”

You froze as you put your cup of coffee on the counter. You know that voice.

“I mean, I love you for how crazy you are, but you have been losing it a lot lately.” Jackie’s voice says behind you. She always stands in her yellowjacket uniform with curled hair; she looks precisely how she should be remembered. “Don’t want you to bite someone on accident.”

“I’ll try not to, Jackie. But you never know; someone might not know not to put their hand so close to my mouth.” You say back at her. You feel your eyes well; she was always so sad to remember even more when you see her. Her phantom has been long accepted and dreaded, but something that no one could stop. You didn’t know if you even would want her spirit to leave you.

“Well, you should comb your hair and take a bath. You look like death… smell like it too,” Jackie says, and as if she was never there, she was gone.

You sigh and rub your eyes. You turn back for your coffee and pour sugar inside of it, “It’s too early for this shit.” You mutter to yourself. You can’t get angry at this. It’s your best hallucination, and you couldn’t get mad with Jackie, never with her. You got to leave, but Jackie never got to the chance to live out of the cedar and butterfly weeds.

‘96

“Lottie, I know it is… fucking weird as shit. But we can’t pass up a house in the woods, okay? I didn’t see any books wrapped in human skin.” You say softly to Lottie as everyone finishes their breakfast of berries and gossip. You rub the stinging at the back of your neck that can’t go away.

“I know, but it just doesn’t feel right being in the same house as a dead body,” Lottie says back.

“Well, maybe we can make something for the house to ease, you know, the energies.”

“Like charms?”

“Maybe? I have never dealt with this situation, but I trust you can settle the energies here. You are so good at being a peacekeeper.” You say to her and put your hand on her shoulder; you take it off quickly because you still don’t know where you stand with her after last night's kiss. Because you know if the others were to look at you and check if you were gay, you would be quickly exposed.

“Thank you, (Y/n)...” She says, looking down at her shoes.”Are we okay? I didn’t mean to make things weird. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

You smile, hiding the hurt, and quickly say, “Oh, my god, yeah, we are, Lottie. I get it. We have been through a lot, and we just wanted some comfort. It’s not a big deal.”

Lottie chuckles out of relief and pats your arm; she nods. “Okay, good; I didn’t want anything to be weird.”

“No, nothing is weird, Lottie.” You reassure her as you move yourself away. You want to peel your skin off, and a sudden loneliness surrounds you.

The morning moves on quickly. Travis sits on the porch with a gun, and you just stare at him as you walk to the campfire in front of the cabin with the angler's box and pole.

“Okay, everyone! We need to talk plans!” You announce in your loudest voice. Everyone circles the fire and the porch to listen to you; every morning since the crash, you have made an effort to set goals for the day and get through the days until rescue. “Okay, so we’ve been in these woods for ten days. We are low on food but shouldn’t worry too much longer. We now have a fishing line and a working pole with the help of Lottie and Shauna,” You say as you smile at the two. The others do the same, giving little thanks to the two blushing girls. “So, we’re not hopeless right now; anyone who wants to learn how to fish can come with me and see if you want to do that. But does anyone know how to use the rifle?” You ask the group and consider your list of things to speak about today.

Couch Ben clears his throat and says, “I went hunting with family before, so I can teach people who want to.”

You nod your head at him and say, “Okay! Everyone should try it out to see who is the best with a gun. We’ve been out here for a little bit, and I am sure we will have to take care of ourselves until they get here-”

Jackie interrupts, “So, we shouldn’t worry about the food because they must be close by now?”

You look over at her; you know why she is talking. She doesn’t want a job, and she doesn’t want to worry about getting saved. But it has been 11 days since the crash; you don’t want to kill hope.

“Well, kind of. We should be prepared if it takes them a few more weeks to find us in these woods. Jackie, we’re in the thick of it right now, so it would be better if we all tried to use the gun and see if we can hunt-”

“Well, are you going to try out the gun?” She asked you with crossed arms and a well-known tone of annoyance.

You suck your teeth and tilt your head to her, “No, I am going out fishing. I know I am good at it, so I will do that. You can try to see if you are good at hunting. It’s just a tryout.” To end this small conversation, you say, “Okay, so the goal for today is to find some food and learn some skills tonight. Mari, Laura, and Krystal have already volunteered to clean and do the projects we have started at the cabin, alright? Anything else?”.

No one else had anything to say. You nod as you hold up the fisher pole and say, “I am going to the beach to fish and make a little project. if anyone wants to come with me, you will find me.” You say this as you see that no one will move to fish with you for some reason. You nod and start heading out of the campsite and walking down Natalie's trail to the lake. A few nights ago, Natalie took the time to crave a path to the beach and plane with small crosses on the trees. She wanted everyone to be able to tell where they were in the woods without getting lost.

The days have gone by quickly lately since you all have found the cabin, and it's been getting to you a little bit. You didn't like the feeling of being able to find your way around the woods, even though it was convenient. It still would never replace your home. You missed home, and you can't tell anyone else about it.

As you walk down the trail deep in thought, the sun hits your eyes through the leaves, it reminds you of your backyard. It’s precisely like where your tree house stands just outside your home, where you can look out the window and see your mother washing dishes. God, you missed your mom. And as of an hour ago, she should have taken her morning medicine and had her legs messaged because she can’t walk around too much. You feel your throat tighten, and your body has a wave of emotional nausea.

“Hey, Wait up!” Shauna called from behind you on the trail.

You stop and smile at her, “Hey, Shauna. You coming with me?” you ask.

“Yeah, I don’t want to touch the gun. I don’t want to kill anything.”

“I get it. I hate fish, so I like killing them.” You joke to her with the best deadpan voice you can muster.

Shauna chuckles and shakes her head softly, “You’re a freak, you know that?”

“Oh yeah? You’re not going to say that when I get a fish.” You cackled. “You can just journal if you want; I am just going to make you help me make a lazy fisherman.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a heavy stick supported with rocks with a hook and line attached. It just catches fish without anyone doing anything. You just raise the line, and hopefully, a fish is hooked.”

“We have hooks? What was in that box?”

“Not a lot, but it had a bait hook and a lure for the pole. It had some rusty hooks and oil for the pole. I made some hooks from the pop things on top of the cans.”

“The tab?”

“Yeah, I kinda cut them and made them like hooks. I’m thinking about making a net while we’re here.”

“You think we’ll be here long enough for that?”

“I don’t know; all I know is I will go crazy if I sit still too much. I overthink, you know.” You confess to Shauna as you come across a wide river a little off the trail from the lake. You and Shauna make some marks on the trees to make a path back to the trail.

After a while, the two of you settle up after making a lazy fisherman. It was easy to be around Shauna. You’ve been sandbox friends, and that kind of love never dies. You mainly talked about school and the annoying people you knew, like Randy. The biggest meathead you’ve ever met.

“Randy smells like Salmi and is cold to the touch but also is very hot when you stand near him.” You say to Shauna as you cast a line with a little bug at the end. You sit on the river's edge with Shauna sitting against a tree.

Shauna laughs out loud as she hugs her journal to her chest. And you keep going on your rant.

“Honestly, girl, If I ever hear him say the words Faggot or Dyke again, to Misty or Kevin or whoever. I’ll write a story about him eating Jeff’s ass and finally getting to feel Jeff’s sweet touch. Because you can’t tell me he isn’t in love with that guy.” You say with a laugh in your tone as you can’t talk straight. It’s ridiculous, but it was so funny to both of you. Shauna is snorting like a pig next to you, making you fall on your back, laughing.

“What the fuck?!”

“He thinks about gay people too much to not be gay!” You laugh louder. Both of you laugh until your sides hurt. It felt nice just to be girls for a moment in the woods, and you pretend you were at the back of your house with Shauna.

It lulls for a moment before Shauna asks, “Randy called Misty a dyke?”

“Yeah. At the Spring Fling.” You said with a little bit of sadness going through. You felt so bad for Misty in moments like that. “I remember when me, you, and Jackie got there after getting ready seeing Misty-”

“In that big puffy pink dress,” Shauna says, pointing a finger at you. She remembers, and she smirks a little. At the time, unfortunately, you laughed at her dress for being out of date and seemed to be “trying too hard.”

“Yeah… But Misty was just there and- I mean, I am not going to say Misty is cool or that she isn’t weird. Sometimes, I don’t know if she isn’t an alien, but she isn’t mean or disgusting.” You say as you gently rile in the line. You feel yourself frown a little bit. “She was standing in the corner without a date and any friends, and Randy just comes up to her and calls her an ugly dyke.” You say a little quieter.

“Oh my god, that is so horrible; why didn’t you tell me the 411?”

“I mean, I only knew because she cried when I went into the bathroom. I was a shoulder to cry on; I didn’t want to make it a thing if Misty didn’t want to. I wish I could have done something. Fuck Randy.”

“Fuck Randy!” Shauna agreed. Shauna looks at you fish peacefully as the sound of gunshots rings in the distance. You look over to her and think about the next thing to discuss.

“So, Jackie is mad at me, isn’t she? Jackie learning how to shoot a gun?” You ask her, point her to talk to you about Jackie. You love Jackie deeply, but she usually causes drama within the trio.

“Yeah, she is being a bitch lately.”

“Yeah, I think she has the worst attitude out of everyone, but I can’t be upset that she is trying to come to terms with the crash.”

“Okay, but she doesn’t have to fight everything you ask her to do. You’re just trying to help everyone.”

“Thank you. And yeah, I hope she will stop fighting me every step of the way, but we just don’t know how long we’ll be out here, so I just don’t think we should be so argumentative…” You sigh and look at her with wary eyes, “I’ll talk to her. Like I always do. It’ll be okay. We love each other. No fucking gun will get in the way.”

“You’re right. It’ll be okay. We must be here for each other before we’re rescued.”

“You're right.” You say as you keep watching your line in the water. Praying for a fish to take a bite

‘21

You smile as your father laughs at the TV. You rub your hands to apply lotion to his shaking ones. You and he were watching “I Love Lucy” because it was his favorite childhood show.

He doesn’t have fully solid days constantly anymore, and it's the reason you have him in the nursing home. Somedays, he was just like you when you returned from the wilderness. He wouldn’t eat or do anything but watch TV. He would sit in his chair and watch TV; when it was off, he didn’t know where he was anymore. One day, he forgot where the bathroom was in the home he had lived in for 45 years, and he wet himself before you found him in the living room looking in the china cabinet, thinking it was the bathroom. But other days, he was as sharp as nails, playing chess and talking about things from the 70s like it was yesterday.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s and early-set dementia, but you were calm. You were now an adult with savings and a career, and you had the means to care for him now. To repay him for him nursing you after you came back.

You remember the nights he would pet your hair back after you vomited from episodes of PTSD. How he would sit in your bedroom holding you in his lap with tears in his eyes, listening to you scream in his chest. He just sat there with you and let you sob; no words were needed. He just stood there and let you cling like a little girl again. He let you yell at him and berate him as if he were the wilderness himself because he knew you weren’t yelling at him. He knew when to push you forward and when you needed to be held.

He helped you through the 5 years of healing after you were found. You had a total of 3 surgeries to make your brain's blood vessels normal again. You had to wear a splint on your neck for 1 year. You had to have countless MRIs throughout your life. Countless painful nights as your neck stabbed at you and caused you to feel no comfort. Your dad was always there with you, sitting beside you at every doctor's appointment and every event. He would only sit outside the waiting room for your therapy sessions.

Your father looks at you with (e/c) eyes and a soft smile, “I’m so happy to see you, peanut. How is your job?”

“Well, I'm still stuck around the last few chapters of my trilogy, Trying to fight my publisher for more time," you say as you let his shaking hand down and go to his other to lotion them. They were callous and dry. Your father's hard work was shown in his battered hands, which shivered. “You took a shower already?”

“Yeah, I wanted to look nice for you.” He rasps with a chuckle, his wrinkled face still holding his cheeky smile. He had the same soul as he always had, and moments like these make you think of happy memories of being in the woods with him and your mom.

“Oh, thank you, dad! I was going to say it didn’t smell like a caveman in here.” You chuckle back with him as you finish rubbing the lotion on his other hand.

“Oh, hush, you!” He slowly pokes your side and cheek, holding a smile.

“No.” You giggle back at him as you stand up, your hands moving to comb his hair. “Have the nurses been kind to you?”

“Sweethearts. Kirsta, the night shift nurse, is very kind. She comes in here when I sleep and never has a bad attitude.” He said as he leisurely scratches his nose, “Don’t hate the food.”

“Well, that's good, Dad.” You say as you look down at him. He looked clean and comfortable in his recliner. “I should get going. I need to get a few words down before I go to bed.”

“Alright, Peanut.” He says and takes you in. He grabs your hand gingerly and says, “I love you. Be safe. Text me when you get home.”

You chuckle and nod your head. You find it adorable that your father still wants you to tell him whenever you leave him. Even when you lived with him at your grown age, he wanted to know you were safe. “Of course, Dad! Don’t worry.”

“You better, " he says as he points at you with a shaking finger. He was so cute to you at that moment. You just laugh and nod your head to him. “I will!” you state back with a big smile.

You leave his room and start walking down the hallway of the nursing home. Walking down the halls, you can hear the other residents talking and watching TV.

You hear a ping on your phone and see Shauna texting you again. You sigh as you click on the notification.

Shauna Okay so I did something bad. You Like what? Did you rear-end someone again? Shauna No Shauna Dinner You Omg you went to the dinner? What happened? Shauna Jeff is cheating Shauna Jeff is cheating on me, and he isn’t trying to fix some fucking data system. I am just so done. Shauna So I went to dinner. Shauna And I stayed for dessert. You Omg you didn’t Shauna Yep, and I am going to see him again tonight. You Shit Shauna! You I mean, get your lick back but don’t go too far.

As you approached the front of the nursing home, which had a large circle desk for the nurses, you turned on the curve and accidentally tripped over another woman.

You look at the woman with a smile, which drops for a second because you know her. It was Misty. You didn’t realize she worked here, where your father is, but you quickly perk your lips up again.

“Oh my god, Misty!”

“(Y/n)! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well. My dad has been here for a while, and I am here to visit! I didn’t know we were going to meet again so soon.”

“I was picking up my Tupperware, which I left yesterday.” She shows you her red-top Tupperware in her oversized purse. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to have Chocolate Martinis at Antonio’s; they are outstanding.”

You didn’t want to. You have been seeing the team too much again, and you had sex with Shauna last night. You become increasingly like how you used to be when you get around these women.

“Sure! You wanna pick me up from my house?” You blurt without a second to stop yourself. You wanted to kick yourself, but you couldn’t stop it.

“Great!” Misty beams with a big smile as you both leave the nursing home. “I’ll tell you about the Travis situation, " she adds as she walks beside you.

‘96

You and Shauna sat beside the riverbank for a long time, talking about everything and nothing. It didn’t feel like you were doing anything as you and she gossiped about the others in the wilderness. It was relaxing and pleasing. You kept looking down to your now two fishing lines for any signs of fish. The sounds of gunfire going off in the distance, in an odd way, were comforting because you knew where everyone else was while being far away.

While waiting for the fish, you started talking about school and dances- anything to keep your mind busy.

“So, after my mom curled my hair and did my makeup, she left me to get my dress on. You remember the one purple one with the ruffles.”

“Sophmore year homecoming, right?” Shauna asks as she points to you, trying to remember.

“Yeah, that one. I don’t know if I have ever told you, but the zipper popped open when I put on the dress.” You said with a smile hurting your cheeks as you laughed loudly from your gut at your story. It used to make you cry thinking about that time, but now it is funny. Shauna bubbled in laughter beside you as you continued, “She was yelling at me, crying and sobbing, that I was going to that dance whether I liked it or not. She just started sewing me into the dress.”

“No fucking way your mom sewed you into a dress!” Shauna laughed with you as she grabbed your arm. Her eyes water with tears as she laughs with you.

“No, she did! It was the last time I ever got anything from Macy’s.” You giggle as you glance back to the fishing line one more time.

Shauna began to chuckle softly, her eyes crinkling slightly as she listened to your story. It made her miss everyday life before the crash. "God, homecoming. I wish we were back there instead of this," Shauna motioned to the wilderness around us with a sigh.

"Yeah, same. I would much rather be crying about being fat over this any day." You sign as you lean on Shauna’s shoulder. You try to keep the good vibes that were made, so you smile and nudge her, "But, hey, we have each other, and people are looking for us. They have to be."

Shauna smiled softly as you moved closer to her. She smiled at you, but inside, she wasn't sure if she believed you'd be found. But she didn't want to worry you. "Yeah, of course. Maybe we're already on the news," she added, attempting to sound optimistic.

"Oh yeah, I don't know how people haven't heard about us,” You said quickly after she finished because you believed you were headline news. “ All our families must be doing everything to find us, and they would have known as soon as the plane didn't land." You added a lump in your throat growing as you said families. You thought about your family's reaction and everyone’s family’s reaction to them being missing. You couldn't imagine the fear and worry they must be experiencing, not knowing where you all were. But you tried hard to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, needing to remain strong.

"I'm sure they're out there looking for us. They'll find us," she said, mostly trying to persuade herself and you.

"They will, and all we have to do is wait until they do." You nudge her again and smile, saying, “Besides, we have good company.”

As you move your head back, you see the lure dramatically dunking into the water. You quickly grab your pole and start to reel in the fish. As ywou start to move, you can feel how heavy the fish is on the other end.

“Whoa, oh my god, did you catch a fish?” Shauna asks in excitement as she sits up on her knees beside you and looks at the water.

“Trying to!” You say back as you keep reeling in the fish.

Suddenly, after struggling with the reel a little bit, you pull up two fish on one hook. You squeal in happiness as you quickly grab the two fish with pride. Shauna squeals with you as you hold the two big fish.

You and Shauna hug each other happily as you hold the pole up, “Holy shit! Holy shit Shauna!”

“They are fucking huge!” Shauna gushed as she grabbed one of the fish and immediately cringed at the feeling of the fish’s slimy-scaled skin. “Gross”

“I know, right? Come on, let's get this back to the cabin before we get some more,” you say with a big smile. You feel relieved. You all will eat tonight and be full tonight. Your dad would be very proud of you.

You walk back to the cabin in triumph as you laugh and talk with Shauna all the way up the trail. Before too long, you arrive at the cabin, and everyone starts to finish off firing the gun.

Van's face brightens like a light bulb as she sees you two walk to the cabin with dinner: “Whoa! Look at you!”

Everyone’s attention turns to you, and they cheer for you both on for the find.

“You got a fish!” Jackie squealed as she sat up from her seat on the cabin steps. Mari came over and grabbed the fish with a big smile, holding the fish from the mouth with her finger. “No, they caught two fish!” Mari said back, she looked into its lifeless eye.

“I didn’t do anything.” Shauna chuckled as you shook your head, wanting to share the praise with her.

You roll your eyes and look back to Mari. You notice behind Mari that Natalie is looking at you with a serious face that you can’t place in your mind. You couldn’t tell if Natalie was angry, happy, or disgusted by the fish.

“Yeah, the pole still works, thank god.” You chuckle as you put the pole on the wood seat you all have made around the fireplace. You add, “I think it’s a good sign we got two fish. Maybe it’s the woods telling us we’ll be okay until we’re found.”

You look up to the group, and your eyes meet Lottie’s as if you were saying, “See, told you so” with your eyes. She warily smiles at you and looks down as you silently converse with just the context from earlier.

“You are you trying to sound like Miss Cleo? Wanna read my future?” Jackie jokes and snickers at your comments, dismissing them as stupid. You chuckle and shake your head, “No, Jackie, I’m being hopeful! I can overread a thing or two.” You say as you push her shoulder; she looks at you and chuckles.

You and Mari let the fish rest on the cabin table before you descaled them for dinner tonight. There was more than enough for everyone to eat, and it made you feel so proud to be able to provide dinner for everyone. And because you were going to wait anyway, you both put a bowl on top of the fish to keep it fresh until you return from everyone testing out shooting on cans.

You didn’t care much for the gun or the loud noise of it going off, it unsettled you deeply. It made you feel uncomfortable and cringe at the ringing in your ears.

Lottie and Van placed the old cans on a log infront of the group, quickly retreating into the brush of the woods. With your arms crossed, you lean against a tree, waiting for everyone to finish practicing there.

“Team, this is how this will go down—one final round for all the marbles. You got five targets, five shots each. Mari, can you start us off?’

“Um, just a thought. Shouldn’t we be saving bullets, you know?” Laura Lee added with concern in her voice.

“Uh, yeah, in theory, but lucky for us, the nutjob who lived here before was apparently hoarding for the apocalypse.” Couch Ben reassured as best he could. You could tell he didn’t want to be here, but he was putting up as much of a front as he could.

Mari fires a shot at the cans. You quickly cover your ears as you cringe at the boom. She missed the can, and you recoil before she goes again.

“The cans,” Travis mocks as he looks at her with narrowed, judgemental eyes. You couldn’t stand him in any way lately. His mere voice made you wish it was a gunshot. “You’re-You’re aiming for the cans.”

“Shut up,” Mari snapped at him as she cocks the gun, still holding it to the cans.

“Do you like being this way?” Natalie says to Travis, her eyes slowly rolling to him in annoyance. Waiting for the gunshot, you haven’t moved your hands from your ears.

“If you shit the bed again, you gonna ask for another do-over?”

Natalie shakes her head at him quietly as you glare at him. You just want him to shut up with his edgy and macho persona so everyone can get on with this stupid practice. You added, “You don’t ask for a do-over, you just clean your fucking bed, we are shooting cans, idiot.”

Your hands aren’t as firmly over your ears as Mari fires again. You flinch again as you cover them. Your eyes locked in a broad expression as you looked at the cans; the startling way the sound ripped through you, made you freeze like a deer in the woods, hoping the bullet wasn’t for them.

And she fires again quickly, this time hitting a can. You smile and nod at her, keeping your hands over your ears. You now see the eyes on you as you react to the sounds. You feel a blush over your body as embarrassment comes over you, but you can’t bring yourself to pull your hands down. “Hey. All right.” Couch Ben says calmly but clearly happy she finally hit a can. “Good job, Mari.” Everyone slowly claps for her. She smiles, and as she walks back to Akilah, she thrusts the Gun into Travis’s hands.

Travis immediately starts preparing to shoot at the cans, and he hits four cans until he misses his first.

“So close, flex.” Natalie teased him from behind. You looked at her with a snicker at her comment.

Suddenly, Travis turns around with the gun ready in his hand, and he aims it at Natalie’s face. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Whoa!” You gasp as you step closer to Natalie out of instinct to protect your friend, your eyes as wide as saucers.

“Travis! Put the gun down.” Couch Ben shouts demands at him, His eyes wide with panic because he can’t stand and take it away from him.

You don’t even think as you yell, “Put the fucking gun down, Travis! What the fuck are you doing?”

He then turns around and shoots at the cans after an intense silence. You cringe again at the sound of his gun.

“All right, that’s, uh-yeah, that’s good shooting, Martinez. Don’t ever do that again.” Couch Ben says awkwardly as everyone quietly watches on with tension in their shoulders. You felt yourself seething with anger bubbling in your stomach.

“Don’t choke. Again.” He says to Natalie with an antagonistic glare.

He then backs away and stands near you. You look at him with disgust as you spit at his feet, “Stand away from me, asshole.” You hiss at him.

He looks at you in surprise that you are still so angry at him that you just keep your mean mug on him, and he steps away. He was surprised at your sudden outburst, as did everyone behind you because you were known for being overly friendly, but you ensured he knew not to be near you.

You look at Natalie and nod, “You got this, girl.” you say. You cover your ears quickly before she does anything else.

Natalie looks at Travis with the same intensity as you and takes a smooth, deep breath. She then puts the gun to her shoulder and hits each can without hesitation. One by One, they drop to the forest floor. She then smiles slowly as she finishes. Everyone cheers and applauds her for showing Travis up.

You snicker as you look at her. Natalie moves her head towards you first. Meeting your eyes with happy eyes and a big smile, she looks at you quickly over and looks away to the other. You blush quickly, trying not to overthink about her looking for your approval first and your praise, and you don’t think much about her looking you over. She sure wasn’t checking you out.

After the gun practice, everyone searched for berries and mushrooms in the woods. Travis left to the cabin with his tail tucked between his legs after you kept telling him to go away. He left after you said that you don’t trust him and no one should because he acts like a brat. He looked hurt and looked around at the other girls with eyes that screamed he regretted what he did with the gun, but no one had his back. He just stepped back, and you shook your head as you turned to the others.

“Are any of these, like, Maple syrup trees?” Laura Lee asks as she looks up at the tall sycamore tree.

“What?” Tai questions as she walks behind her, towards the clearing a few feet away.

“I don’t know,” Laura Lee mumbled as she walked away. She softly touched your shoulder as she walked by, needing you to stabilize her from the trail's incline.

You found some chestnuts on the ground. They were fresh and not ready yet, and you put them in your pocket as you heard Akilah smack Misty’s hand.

“Don’t eat that kind,” Akilah panicked as she pushed the mushroom in Misty’s hand on the forest floor. “It’s poisonous.”

Misty looks at her with big eyes and a little shaky hands.

Van says, sarcastically, “Like “Kill you” poisonous, or like, “trip your balls off” poisonous?”

“What? I don’t know. My Girl Scout leader didn’t get all that specific about it.”

” (y/n)?” Taissa asks as she kneels to the ground with Mari.

You look over to Taissa, looking at tiny button-like mushrooms that grow from decaying animals.

“Don’t eat that one either. That's a dead mushroom. It is too new to eat if we could eat it. It would be like eating rotting meat. Don’t even touch.” You say as you look for more nuts on the forest ground. “Try to look for nuts. They are on the ground. If it has a hole, just drop it for the animals.”

“Well, could you just show us something edible so we can get going?” Misty asks kindly, impatiently—this is the first time you have heard her sound like that.

Taissa looks behind her to Misty, rising to stand over her, “What’s the big furry?”

“Coach needs a sponge bath?” Van teases Misty with a smirk, and you feel one grow on your lips at the joke, too. Everyone pauses to look at Misty, animals looking down at the runt. As a snicker comes to their lips, Taissa fully laughs, covering her mouth.

“That’s-That’s so mean.” Taissa laughs as she looks to the ground. Everyone softly holds their laughs as Misty storms off. Van laughs as Misty rushes past and giggles out, “I’m sorry. Whatever.”

Van puts her arm around Taissa’s shoulders, and you look at them. Jealousy courses through you. Why couldn’t you have someone like they do?

“Get off me!” Taissa patted Van’s arm away. In response, Van smears a smash berry she hid on her finger on Taissa’s face. “Did you put a berry on me?”

“I did.” Van said, taking her arm off her, and moved herself towards you.

“Okay, so, everyone, we just need to focus. We know we can’t touch those and those ones.” Taissa spoke to the group, trying to lead them back on track,

“No mushrooms, No mushrooms.” Van says as she starts to look up the trees for the chestnuts.

“Uh, Guys…” Jackie called out from a few yards away. You all moved quickly to her voice out of concern that she had encountered a wild animal in the woods.

“Jackie? “What is it?” you called back as you rushed to her.

“Guys, come here!” Jackie laughed.

“Look! Holy Shit!” Jackie exclaimed. You come over some trees and bushes to see Jackie slapping the door of a small personal plane that has vines and moss growing on it. The woods themselves are almost swallowing it, as it has had overgrowth for at least a decade, only covering and trapping it in place.

“W-what is this doing here?” Van asks in disbelief.

“It must have been the dead guy’s.” Jackie says as she looks at the wheels being stuck in the mud.

Laura Lee quickly finds the door and opens it, “I wonder if It still works?” Laura Lee questioned to no one in particular.

Van gently spins the propeller, “Holy fuck!”

Laura Lee is inside the plane, messing around loudly. You don’t want to get near that thing. You never want to be near a plane again. You stand away as you watch them touch the plane in excitement, everyone else coming closer to the plane.

Suddenly, as your anxieties manifested themselves to life, the plane started from Van’s spinning the propeller and Laura Lee messing around inside. The engine started with a startling rattle as it crept forward.

“Holy shit.” Van says as she steps back in shock. Jackie is wholly frozen until she suddenly pushes Van out of the way of the plane.

“Back away! What the fuck?” Jackie says as she is frozen in place.

“Stop the fucking plane!” You scream out to the plane. You feel yourself planted to the ground. You didn’t even react when Van fell to the ground. Everyone yells to stop the plane, and Laura Lee panics inside the plane, crying out, “I’m trying! I’m trying!”

The plane stopped just in time to avoid harming Jackie. She looked at the plane with buggy, big eyes and took a deep breath of relief.

Everyone pauses after the intense change of events. You stand frozen in silence as you look down at the wheels and wings. You had an intrusive thought creep into your mind, but you quieted quickly before speaking it out.

Lottie looks on, almost disassociated, as she says, “It didn’t want him to leave.”

You turn your head to her and look at her deeply concernedly. She says what you had thought. Maybe the wilderness didn’t want the mummy to leave. That's why he did what he did in the attic and why the air was so suffocating.

‘21

You giggle at Misty’s goofy joke about old men as you try not to spit out the chocolate martini in your mouth. Earlier today, Misty called you to ask how you were doing after the road trip because she thought the air between you and Natalie was off. She just wanted to check up. It ended up with you sitting across from her at an Italian restaurant.

“Yeah, so I just turned off the oxygen tank.” She says to add on to the joke, which kind of makes you laugh harder because you can see her doing that.

“Stop, you didn’t!” You giggle again as you try to hide your face with a napkin; your face is red hot.

“I didn’t-” Misty laughs with you as she sips on her chocolate martini. She says, “I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” You say it with some sternness from Misty’s character. You make her feel more supported if you sometimes reaffirm what she wants to be seen as. You see her in that way. No one likes to be told who they are.

You notice her laugh, look slightly behind you briefly, and note it.

“Well, So, How is your work? Any new boos” Misty asks as she takes another sip of her martini. You feel yourself smile at the question and know she asks for more profound reasons.

“No, no, nothing special about work. And just little flings here and there. Keep the bed warm,” you say as you look at Misty’s eyes intently. You feel a little tense when you ask, “And you? How is it going with Kevin?” You ask with a soft joke about the last time you saw each other.

Misty became slightly flustered momentarily and shook her head, “I was trying to get Natalie out of her comfort zone.” Looking behind you again, she says, “But more or less the same. No one special enough to say they dated Misty Quigley.”

You chuckle and smile at Misty’s last comment, but you look behind you as soon as she finishes talking out of curiosity. You see behind a window of the inside of the restaurant. Dressed up nice, Misty is holding her head on her fist, listening to the man across from her, Natalie. Misty is following Natalie.

“Misty-”

“I can explain!” Misty says as she blabbers on, “I was trying to keep an eye on her and make sure she is okay after seeing Travis because she might do something crazy or relapse.”

You quietly listen to Misty explain herself with a soft smile as you scoff softly, pulling out your phone, “And here I thought you wanted to spend time with little old me.”

Misty squeals, “I did want to see you. I wanted to get a drink.”

“It’s okay.” You chuckle softly and say, “Sometimes you trade friends out for a night out. It’s alright, girl.”

Suddenly, Misty straightens her back and smiles softly. She lifts her drink to her lips as Natalie rushes to your table. You lean back on your chair with wide eyes, holding your chocolate martini.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Natalie hissed to Misty, standing in a black dress. She was clearly on a fate tonight, and you couldn’t help but feel a mumbling jealousy in your stomach as you looked at her.

“Okay, so, don’t look now, but,” Misty lowers her voice to a whisper and says, “that reporter, Jessica Roberts, is sitting at the bar right now. She’s watching you.”

“And what are you doing?” Natalie tilted her head to the side as she looked at Misty with suspicious eyes, her tone clear of annoyance.

“I’m having your back.” Misty stated.

“Y-you’re having my…” Natalie is in disbelief. “How did you even know I was even here?”

“I’m a citizen detective, " Misty said, looking at Natalie with big, innocent eyes.

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re not Rizzoli and Isles. I don’t need you.”

“Yeah, but, Natalie-”

“Go the fuck home.” Natalie spat.

“Alright, you need to stop talking to Misty like that-” You finally cut yourself into the conversation.

“Who are you speaking to?” Natalie snapped her head to you and said, “I expect this from Misty, but you? I don’t understand why you are here.”

“I’m here, having a drink with Misty. I saw her at her job, and we decided to get drinks.”

“Oh please, you came here to spy on me! How fucking pathetic. Don’t you have to write a book about rubbing off a genie?” She hissed at you and looked daggers into you. She went too far in your eyes now, and you lean on your elbow on the table as you look back into her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you so strong and high mighty?” You hiss lowly to Natalie. Ever since the night in the woods with Natalie, you have had difficulty holding back your teeth when you feel cornered, even a little. “Misty is here protecting you and having your back like always. Because Jessica,” You point to the bar, Jessica looking to the bartender to order another drink, “Is here waiting for you to relapse to spill the beans about it. Stop biting at people trying to be there for you; you might not be so alone. Now go drink, and go on your date with goth freak Kevin Tang.” You cut coldly as you look into Natalie’s blue eyes. You grab your drink, lean back in your chair, take a sip.

“Make sure you don’t go too far. You might need to get another one of your coins, right? What does that make it 9 times you have gotten a sobriety coin?” you stab at her and mention her many times in AA. You didn’t care how hurtful or unnecessary your anger was to her. You must say it to her, and she needed to hear it. She needed to back off Misty.

It was intense, and it was real.

You didn’t need to bite so hard. But she didn’t need to bite first.

You two hold a glare as Natalie steps back and scowls at you. She doesn’t say a word. You know why.

It’s because you are right.

You feel Misty touching your hand and saying, “Are you alright? That was pretty harsh.” Once, Natalie returned to her table with a perfect smile mask.

“I’m alright. But I think we should go now.” You say softly as you touch Misty’s hand back,

Misty holds your hand with a squeeze quickly. She wants to hold you. You have protected her yet again from the wolves in the group.

You both held the heavy silence as you softly panted a bit. You felt it in the car; it was surrounding and whole. You were happy and open, as always.

In the car, you look over to Misty, noticing the flustered face she holds. She was always awkward, but you always found her adoring. As you both drive down to your home, the trees that pass hypnotize you into a calm place. You feel your body, and with each breath you take, cold air enters your nose, and an image of last night's dream comes to your mind. Running past trees, you felt as if you were back there somehow. Maybe it was because of the anniversary, the reporter, or Travis’s death; you couldn’t pinpoint it, but you felt a forgotten hunger you hadn’t felt in a long time. You let it take over like it did them because of the exciting thrill of it all again. It felt youthful and intense.

“Misty.”

“Yes?”

“Do you miss me?” You ask her as you softly touch a lint off her shoulder.

“W-what do you mean? I have been with you for the past two hours.” She says as she drives down your street.

“No. No, Misty.” You chuckle, and the hunger comes over you. You want to feel warm; you have been far too cold lately. “Have you missed me and the warmth we shared?”

You don’t understand yourself. You sound like you did all those years ago in the woods. How sexual you became without trying. It felt like the air around us darkened into lustful wants and licks. How natural you were with your body.

Misty was caught off guard by how quickly your words changed the car's atmosphere. The memories of the wilderness and how you looked her over suddenly brought back feelings that she thought were long gone. Misty’s throat tightened, and her heart quickened as she glanced over at you, taking in the expression on your face as you asked her the question. She slowly parked the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel tight “Y-yeah, I did…”

Your hand snakes onto Misty’s inner thigh, and your thumb rubs the fabric of her jeans. Your eyes stare down at your hand.

“Would you like to feel my heat again?” you whisper, feeling your hot breath hitting off her cheek. You don’t understand the tingling and desperatiness your cunt feels at this moment. You shouldn’t have touched her, spoken to her, or even considered thinking about her. You knew better than to let yourself cave into your primal instincts, instincts you have because of the wilderness with them. All the hurt in the woods manifested into want as it always did.

Misty’s breath hitches at the feeling of your hand on her thigh, and her heartbeat quickens in her chest as her skin tingles under your touch. It's almost as if no time has passed at all. Your words and desperate tone send a shiver down her spine as she glances over at you, her eyes darkening with lust and need. “Yes… please.” She whispered back, her voice filled with want. Your hand moves up her thigh and softly rubs the fabric at the crotch of her jeans. You could feel her heat underneath.

You lunged at Misty, cupping her cheeks with your hands. You pulled her into your face and kissed her. Your lips met and mashed together as your hands moved closer to her, pushing her back against the driver’s side door. Thank God you live on a dirt road.

Misty lets a small gasp into the kiss as your hand moves up her thigh. Her body already feels as if it's on fire. She responds to the kiss passionately, her desire for you growing with each passing second. She reaches up and grips your hair, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth with desperate need.

(y/n) hands quickly work to unbutton Misty's jeans. You move your kisses off Misty's lips to her jaw and neck. Misty lets out a small moan as your lips move down her jaw. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, surrendering herself to the feel of your lips on her skin. The feel of your tongue moving down her neck, sending small licks and nips here and there, makes her shiver in pleasure. You softly growl in lust as you start to pull the jeans and underwear down her pale legs, your thumb touching the bare skin. She spreads her legs farther apart, allowing you to pull her jeans and underwear down, her breathing getting more labored with each passing second.

You quickly push your two fingers inside of Misty’s weeping cunt, and she dramatically moves her leg to the center console for you to have more of her. You move her head from her neck and just look at her as you push inside of her, a gasp rattling the car escapes from her.

You look into her brown eyes for a moment as you see when pleasure takes over her being as you feel her walls tighten around your fingers. You feel her pink, wet hole flex and twitch to your fingers; it feels like she hasn’t had sex in a long time as you start to pump your fingers into her.

Her hand locks into your hair, or more so your head, as she rubs her other hand on your shoulder. She softly pushes you down to her cunt as she rolls her head back in a deep moan. You feel the vibration on the pads of your pointer and middle fingers. You feel the hotness of her cunt as you lean down, her musk clouding your judgment and making you think of only one thing.

You lean down, pushing your body to the floor of the passenger’s seat, licking her cunt. You taste her flavor and wetness leaking from her clit. You circle your tongue around the bulb with reckless abandon. You feel her gushing onto your fingers, and her loud moans only encourage you to go harder.

“(y-y/n)! Honey- right there, yeah!” Misty’s needy, desperate moans fill the car up with hot air. Her legs shake as she rolls her eyes. She panted like an animal as you tongue into her, sucking up all her wetness as you could. You felt throbbing in your wrist as you curled your fingers up to touch her soft spot. You could have been here for days and not cared.

Misty grabs her breast as she arches her back to your mouth. She moaned louder and louder to tell you she was going to cum, but you didn’t care. You kept licking and sucking her juices.

“Sweet Jesus!” Misty whispers to the air as she feels you fuck her harder with your mouth. She finally lets out a high-pitched, needy groan as her feet curl, legs twitching. Her eyes closed as her head hit the glass of her door, and she leaned back to relish in the feeling. You bury yourself in her folds, looking up from her lap, and watch as she shivers, as your tongue doesn’t stop.

You move your mouth up to her clit again and your fingers into her hole, pounding her with an elemental need to feel your fingers caress her cervix. You don’t move again. You don’t care how uncomfortable it felt as your legs were pinched into the floor, or how the cupholder stabbed into your rib, or that your neck was throbbing so that you could hear your heartbeat. You wanted her, and you wanted to feel her ultimately come undone to your fingers again.

‘96

The clattering of some forks and spoons scrap across the plates, people talking over everyone else, and the heat of the fire warm the cabin’s first floor. Everyone was in a better mood after shooting practice and settling for the night. Travis sits alone in the corner of the room, rejected by everyone tonight as punishment. You felt yourself thinking about him being sad and alone in the corner. “Good.”

Jackie and Shauna sit beside you at the table, your attention entirely on them and their discussion about how Pamala Anderson’s sex tape scandal.

“I mean, she shouldn’t have been a slut and done it, is all I have to say.” Jackie shrugged and took a bite of the white fish, and her face cringed when she pulled out a small bone.

“No!” You say with a chuckle and shake of your head, “Someone shouldn’t have robbed their safe and sold the sex tape.”

“She shouldn’t have even done it. Like, who just does a porno if they are not a slut?”

“She was with her husband. Who else are you supposed to have a sex tape with?” Shauna asked as she shook her head at Jackie.

“No one! No one should ever do a porn! It's so degrading.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know how someone would want to make one, but she wasn’t with a whole lot of guys. She’s married to Tommy Lee. And it was supposed to be his thing for tour.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t think a Mötley Crüe member would have a sex tape? I wouldn’t be surprised if they taped the many other women they have fucked,” You say as you delightfully eat the fish. It was fresh and delicious after days of only eating berries and leftover snacks you could find from the crash. You are having meat, and it feels like a real treat as you haven’t tasted anything as delicious in weeks.

Before you could continue, Van touched your shoulder as you looked at Jackie. You turned to her as she said, “Hey, do you have a sweater I can burrow? I don’t think anyone else has anything I can wear.”

You smiled big at Vanessa, nodding your head, and stood up. “Yeah, I have a few.”

“Where are you going?” Jackie asks sassily as you get up. She tilts her eyes at you.

Shauna looks up at you and is slightly confused, but she also asks, “Are you coming back?”

“Yeah, just getting something for Van, hold up.” You say as you start to walk away.

“Thanks, (y/n). You're a lifesaver.” Van beams as her smile moves with you. You touch her shoulder as you walk past her, and you walk over to the other side of the cabin to the bags.

You were one of the lucky ones that found all your luggage. You had your carry-on, luggage, and purse still intact and untouched from the fire. You were so happy to have your journal and book you haven’t finished, but you felt bad for everyone still looking for their things. Van could only find her carry-on; some didn’t have anything they packed. You all carried every bag you could find, but some still had missing clothes. Because of that, Van has been coming to you to burrow clothes as the only other heavy girl much smaller than you, so you let her burrow your shirts and hoodies since the crash.

A small sandwich bag falls to the floor as you open the bag and grab the heavy yellowjackets sweatshirt. It was your stash of weed with the rolling papers and filters. You blush as you quickly grab the bag from the ground and put it into your jeans pocket. You look behind you to see if anyone has seen that, with embarrassment painted all over your face.

You walk back over to Van and hand her the hoodie. You smile widely as you sit down. You didn’t want everyone to know you had weed, but you think that tonight would be the best night to do anything. You smile as you whisper into Jackie’s ear, “I have weed.”

She stops eating instantly, and her eyes bug out. She looks over at you and laughs, “What?”

You hit her shoulder softly as she laughs again, “You have what?”

“What?” Shauna asks, besides Jackie, and when you two make eye contact, it makes you laugh.

You whisper in Jackie’s ear again. “I have weed. Would we like a joint?” Jackie laughs and hits you on the shoulder, her mouth wide open in shock and amusement. She nods her head and whispers to Shauna, and you turn your head to Van, “Hey, I have a joint-”

“What?” Van asks as she leans her ear towards your lips. Your lips accidentally graze her ear, and you say, “I have a joint. Tell the other seniors. Don’t be suspicious; don’t tell the underclassmen.”

Van smirk grew wide on her freckled face as she nods her head, she says. “Okay, I’ll let them know. When are we doing this?”

“When everyone is asleep, " you tell her, knowing that if anyone overhears you, they will not understand what you are discussing.

You light the joint with a twig, puffing the air out of the end of the filter. You hear muffled giggles from Jackie and Shauna beside you. " Stop laughing,” you snicker back and pull the joint from your lips. You pull Shauna and Jackie to the back of the cabin and show them the weed you packed on the plane. You all decide to roll one out.

“Didn’t know you would have the good stuff,” Jackie smirks with an amused laugh in her voice. She takes a puff and hands it to Shauna with a muffled cough.

Shauna laughs softly as she also smokes and coughs in response to inhaling the smoke. She covers her mouth with her elbow, and you laugh at her.

Van moves behind the cabin's hunter shed, and Taissa, Natalie, and Lottie follow her.

“Hey!" you say to them as you take a hit of the joint and blow the smoke quickly.

Natalie says to you, “Damn, (y/n). Didn’t know you were such a criminal. Hand that over to me.”

You giggle happily as you hand it over to Natalie. You look up at her from your spot on the log. She looks down at you with heavy eyes as she takes a hit. She slowly looks over your face again before handing it over to Van. You felt a blush come over you again as you felt her eyes scan over your features, and you didn’t know what to do. You felt insecure and flattered at the attention but still deeply hesitated to meet her eyes.

Natalie, who never passes up a joint, reaches out her hand to take it from you while Taissa eyes it. Lottie looks at the joint and then at you with a tiny bit of concern; the others knew she’d probably be the one most concerned about the joint.

“Where’d you get that from?” Nat asks as she inhales the joint.

You felt yourself joke, “Where do you think I got weed from?’

“I don’t know. A drug dealer.” Van jokes to you with a scrunch of her freckled nose.

“Sort of. My mom is the one who has the weed. She has a weed card since she got diagnosed with cancer.” You said without realizing the words from your throat. You hadn’t thought about your mom almost all day, “She grows some behind our house in the woods, Natalie,” You point at her jokingly, “Don’t get any ideas. You have to buy that shit.”

Everyone laughs loudly at your joke. Lottie takes the joint and smiles, holding the smoke in her mouth. You look at your feet, and suddenly, your mother comes to mind. You think about your mom, and a lump grows in your throat. Did she take her night medicine? Is she watching Frasier? Is she worrying about you?

From the side of the shed, there is a crunch of leaves and twigs, and a petite figure comes from behind the shed. Natalie turns herself and turns back to face you. She gives you a face of “fuck it's her again.”

Misty comes from the shed, pushing a curl behind her ear as she looks at the group. You smile at her as Jackie rolls her eyes, smoking the joint beside you.

“Hey Misty! What are you doing here?”

“H-hi. I was going to the bathroom. What are you guys doing?” she asks nervously as she approaches the group.

“Drugs.” Lottie says as she looks at Misty with a humorous tone.

You laugh as you take the joint from Jackie and wave your hand to Misty to enter the circle, “Come closer, it’s okay; it’s legal here.” You joke, and it makes everyone laugh with bloodshot eyes. Misty chuckles and looks around at everyone in approval. Sometimes, it was painful to see her so desperate for some kind of friendship that it made you feel bad, so in your intoxicated state, you pulled your hand out for her, “You can try it if you want to, Misty. Sit.”

Misty’s eyes looked wide as everyone turned their head towards you as you invited her into the smoke circle, but no one stopped you. They seemed also to want to see what Misty does.

“I-I can? Is it safe?” she asks as she approaches the log beside you.

Jackie snickered and looked at Misty with narrow eyes, “No, that’s why we are all smoking on it.” She condescended.

You shake your head and take Misty’s hand. “Ignore her. Just don’t take a huge hit. You gotta get used to it, then you’ll want more,” You told Misty gently. You puff the joint before it goes out in the wind. Your body is starting to relax and calm in the woods, and your neck doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier.

You hand Misty the joint, and everyone watching the scene plays out with amused eyes. You gently hold your hand over hers to guide her. “Have you ever smoked a cigarette?”

“No, they’re bad for you.”

You chuckle and nod, “Yes, but they are just like weed. You take small inhales, not like you're trying to breathe it in, but sip on a drink with a straw, okay? Baby puff.” You say, pulling the joint back to your lips and showing her.

Your lips wrap around the filter softly as you take a quarter breath in. You then dramatically hold it out and show that you take the rest of the breath through your mouth. You hold the smoke in for a moment and then let it out for her to understand. “You get it now?” you cough.

“I-I think.” she says as she takes the joint from you, holding it between shaky fingers. She takes a puff and then starts coughing furiously. Natalie took the joint from Misty’s shaking hand before it fell to the ground, she takes a puff inbetween her laughs.

Misty holds her fist to her lips as she tries to get all the smoke out of her lungs. Everyone laughs happily and claps for her when she does it, enjoying seeing Misty try something for the first time. You put your hand on her back to pat it gently. She seems to relax at your touch momentarily before finally getting her coughing under control.

“You finally tried marijuana for the first time!” You exclaim and rub a circle on Misty’s back, her cheeks crimson.

“It was amazing,” Misty breathlessly says as she looks at everyone else. Everyone is very high now, and their eyes are bloodshot and dry. You smack your lips, longing for a drink.

“Misty, have you ever drank?” Lottie asks as she sits with her knees to her chest. She tilts her head to the sides and watches Misty’s facial expressions. You didn’t understand the feeling you felt from her eyes. It felt almost like she was studying and calculating Misty. You have never seen that look on someone.

Misty studders and says, “Y-Yeah, I have. I stole some sherry from my mother’s cabinet.”

Van laughs a little “whoa” out as a joke about how mild Misty’s confession was, the smoke of the joint coming out of her mouth like the hot breath of a hunger wolf, and she says, “I’ve done crazier.”

Taissa looks at Van with a playful glare and says, “Like what?”

“I stole a whole bottle fo whiskey from my mom. And she didn’t even find out. She didn’t even realize she didn’t drink it, so she just got more for herself.” Van confesses with a smug smirk on her face, and Natalie chuckles and nods her head like she’s done that before to her mom. You felt a little wrong about what Van said because it made you feel like her mom had a nasty drinking problem.

“I did that before with my mom’s cigarettes.” Natalie says, “They never notice if you just take a few here and there.”

Jackie smirked and said, “I know every one of my mom's pills in the bathroom cabinet. I took a few for the trip. She’s never caught me before.”

“My dad is very strict with those things. I don’t think I can do anything without my parents knowing,” Lottie said, looking to the ground with a severe expression. You couldn’t put your finger on it, it her confession felt like it had a little more then she was letting on. Lately she has been off and talking more vague about things, and confessing more things about her life. Lottie’s parents were strict but the more you hear about them it sounds like they hover over Lottie’s every move.

“My mom just grows the shit, and I just take it.” You blurt out with your words softly slurring because you are high, and you realize you talked about your mom again. Was she okay?

Everyone laughs at how you talk and starts to laugh at their words sounding like yours—slurred and funny to hear.

You felt a sudden wave come over you as you laughed with your friends. It felt good—maybe too good—so good that it made you think about your mother. Was she okay? Did she get her pills on time? Did she bathe? Did she go to chemo?

In your laughter, your laughs turn to sobs in a second. You cover your mouth as heavy sobs leave your throat. You couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t stop yourself.

Everyone slowly realized that your sounds weren’t in glee anymore; they were out of sorrow and a moment of weakness.

When you look, you see brown eyes, concerns, and worry on all the faces. You let out one thing that you knew was going to hurt them. Your body didn’t stop itself from letting out deep-seated sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I really miss my parents and momm- mom so much.” You whimpered as you wiped your tears. You had a full belly and a fire keeping you warm. But inside, you have never been so cold and helpless in these woods.

Everyone’s faces soften and twist in their sadness. We all know what we are feeling, and they also start tearing up. Everyone missed their parents, and you felt like an asshole even saying anything.

You sniffle and try to stop your tears. Being strong has worn you down, but you have a “strong shoulder.” Like your father always said, you can handle the hurt.

You say to everyone, “I think we all need some love right now. Group hug. Please.” Standing up, throwing the dying joint into the fire, moving your plush arms around to urge them to you.

One by one, they stood, hovered over you, and hugged you and each other—a moment of shared pain and joy. Being strong was hard, but as you felt them hold you, you felt a second wind. You have to get yourself and the others out of here. Out of these fucking woods.

Note 2: Sorry to anyone who wanted to be on the taglist and I couldn’t add you! I hope you still find this fic!

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eupheme · 59 minutes ago

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you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.”

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this.

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here.

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind.

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor.

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset.

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff.

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name.

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same.

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?”

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.”

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it.

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy.

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?”

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand.

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.”

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle.

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far…

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air.

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small.

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk.

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door.

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this.

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you.

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better.

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment.

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang.

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little.

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat–

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here.

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.”

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared.

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.”

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are.

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway.

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile.

You respond in kind.

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed – like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago.

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination.

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day.

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week.

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support.

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters.

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front.

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand.

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts.

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–”

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after.

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply.

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.”

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–

“Logan,” you breathe.

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth–

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…

friends.

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

#this was incredible #logan howlett x reader #jess reads #2024 fave fics #fic rec: logan howlett #fic rec: deadpool & wolverine #thinking of queue

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