#I was punching the air when I read his chapters
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
My baby đ¤˛đ˝đđŞŠâ¨
I made this like 2 years ago when my obsession with Aoyama was still fresh and I think it still holds up pretty well given that my art back then kinda sucked lmao. I kinda ate with the lineart in this ngl, I was still trying to figure out how to use my drawing app when I made this bc this was made when I was getting into digital art and got my iP*d oop.
Chat should I make this my new pfp???đđď¸đď¸
Im still gonna continue my au arts with him, Monoma, and Toga Iâm just busy
#fanart#digital art#artists on tumblr#sketch#yuga aoyama#aoyama yuuga#mha#my hero academia#bnha#boku no hero academia#anime art#drawing#art#mha aoyama#bnha aoyama#heâs a cinnamon roll#he could never do any harm#he is my baby#stop hating my boy#he deserved better#I was punching the air when I read his chapters#if he has no fans then Iâm dead
27 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff
#jjk spoilers#All the prettiest characters were brought back from apparent death#Nobara was okay and it's true that when I read the lawyer's and Kusakabe's fights against Sukuna I thought it was being kept vague#but to pull a Nobara with all of them... idk#No one stays dead here except for the people who actually care for the kids and by that I mean 'including Yuuji'#kinda lowkey bitter about it#Don't get me wrong I like the characters and also they're super pretty but idk It makes death feel cheap? And the high stakes kinda fake?#Choso Gojo and Nanami actual only characters who died apparently#Well. Poor Itadori#And Kusukabe goes and runs his mouth that way in front of the kid. He is not entirely wrong but also he very much is#And yes he also says 'don't worry it's not for you to feel guilty over anything you're just kids' but also he did very much say that thing#about it all being Gojo's fault for not killing Itadori. In front of Itadori who feels guilty for that precisely#and in front of Megumi who asked Gojo to spare him and also went through the experience of Sukuna using his body as well#So Kusukabe's reassurance about them just being kids and not to feel guilty falls a bit empty#It does feel in character but man it truly makes one appreciate the way Gojo and Nanami dealt with the kids a lot more haha#Ui Ui seems like a dear#Anyway... this chapter felt a bit lame for the most part for me? I like the idea of the characters discussing the could have/would have#and feeling guilt and helplessness over their choices but the way it was done felt a bit lame and without any real emotional punch#It felt more like an explanation to the reader in an awkward way. And there's a lot of empty chat about guilt and grief#without any of the characters really giving off a grieving air about everything and everyone they've lost#And this is precisely what I felt was going to happen with this manga's writing haha#I truly don't understand this kind of writing choices. Contrary to some other shonen writers this author did seem to have the potential#to write this kind of thing well besides the worldbuilding and powers and fight stuff. It's truly a pity. It so breaks my heart#And still this is considered one of the good shonens. Well. WELL haha#I do think shonen can be good! I just think it falls almost always even when there's potential into bery shallow writing#I don't know. Maybe I should read that one Alchemist manga#I've been repeatedly told that one's good and it does seem like it doesn't do... this. But I find the art style so not to my linking#I wish I had never gotten into JJK for real for real. I absolutely adore it. I always end up frustrated. It could be so good. Genuinely good#And yet it's just okay in a sort of forgettable way. What a pity#Everything good ever is present but it never dares do anything to fully explore what it sets. It just does the typical shonen stuff
8 notes
¡
View notes
Text
[I almost killed your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich]- Mafia!TF141*F!Reader
Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)
Mafia!TF141*F!Reader
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
After the unexpected encounter with Soap and Ghost, your shop finally owns the vibes of peace.
The customers become so ânormalâ, almost feels like you arenât in the same area as before â if you ignore the blood on their shirts or recall the memory of seeing them punching someone across the street. You assume the men must tell them to behave in your shop, but you must say the minions become a bit overreacting. They call you ma'am, chat as quietly as possible, and one of them even apologizes when he accidentally touches your finger as if you will chop off his pinky. You start doubting if they view you as a secret henchman of 141.
Itâs morning now, the shop usually has more people at this time, but you havenât had a single customer since you opened it 30 minutes ago, they just vanished without any hint, hence you start testing out new recipes for your bread.
Lilting the song thatâs fully out of tune, you slice the bread you just baked into pieces, and throw one into your mouth. Perfectly crunchy outside, fluffy like clouds inside. Oh my, youâre such a genius.
Youâre totally unaware of your visitor until he stirs the air with a cough and his voice.
âPardon me?â He calls you again, but youâre left in a trance when you land your eyes on him.
Damn, he looks just like your imagination of the man in the Dilf next door fic you just read yesterday on co5. Your eyes travel from his well-trim beard, south to his belted waist. Why does a man with a toned body â which his khaki coat canât even hide â have such a tiny waist? Your mouth's agape at the sight as youâre about to respond.
âmmsadjsmmâ The man raises his eyebrow in confusion, and you hear your voice not forming a proper sentence too. Ah, you forgot the breadâs still stuffed in your mouth.
âehemm, Sorry Sir, I mean what would you like to have?â Quickly swallow the bread and try to pretend you didnât just dumbfounded in front of him, you speak again.
âEnglish breakfast, please.â He croons with an infatuating smile as he saunters to take a seat.Â
His voice is quite soothing, you admit in your mind as you start brewing said manâs tea, just like you presumed the Dilf in the ficâŚÂ okay, you really should clear those nasty brainrots during work.
The tea is nicely served in the tea cup and brought to the man shortly after.
You canât help the smile crawling onto your face when you see him grin at you after a sip. You love watching your customer enjoy your tea, and he obviously relaxes with it have you bask in your achievements.
âDonât finish your breakfast?â
âJust trying a new recipe. I want to add it to my menu.â you reply with a shake of your head, and after a brief halt, you add a question â Have you eaten breakfast yet, Sirâ
âCall me John, love.â The man â John sets his cup on the table before continuing âAnd no, IÂ havenâtâ
âThen⌠would you like to have a grilled cheese sandwich? I canât finish the bread myself, it would be great if someone could help me with it... Of course, it isnât a must!" You hurriedly complement when John widens his eyes slightly at your suggestion, but he meets your eyes with interest within.
âI would love to.â
You beam up as you get the affirmation, and walk behind your counter again.
Slices of bread are already prepared. The pro tip for a delicious grilled cheese sandwich is giving the bread some nice seasoning first, so you pick up your black pepper jar before inquiring about Johnâs preference.
âHow much pepper would you like, John?â
âWould be great if itâs more.â
âAlright.â
You turn back to season the bread, but when you pick up the pepper jar and about to shake it, a question slips into your brain making you pause.
How much is âmoreâ?
The man doesn't have time to sit here and wait for you to contemplate the philosophy of seasoning, so after biting your bottom lip and thinking for 30 seconds, you shake the jar. More is better, you recall what John told you as your hand keeps moving.
You shake it 10 times, since more is better.
Apart from the bread, you hold full confidence in your grilled cheese sandwich. Placing generous amounts of cheese in between, the coveted smell flooded your little shop as you plate the well-toasted sandwich.
âIt surely smells great.â John praises before diving in.
You hang a big expecting grin until John takes a bite and starts coughing like you will put him into the ER with a sandwich.
âItâsâ itâs okayâŚloveâŚâ He tries to comfort you when you apologize abundantly and rush back to your counter to fill him a cup of water. Holy, isnât more pepper better? Now you're going to send the man to heaven with a grilled cheese sandwich.
âHereâs water!â You go back to John as fast as you can with the cold water in your hand, youâre busy checking out John, who stops coughing madly but cheeks pink with the spices, and you donât see the leg of the chair sticking out of its usual place.
A pair of arms catch you from slamming onto the floor, but the cup isnât that lucky as it flies with Newtonâs help and clatters on the floor.
âShit! Iâm so sorry!â You stabilize yourself in Johnâs support. But wow, now the man not only just recovered from a fatal attack to his throat, but also has a wet spot spreading along the chest part of his shirt.
âNo worries, love. Itâs just a shirt.â
Even though John attempts to calm you, you still canât help the sheepishness creep to your cheeks and stain it with the same pink as Johnâs, or stop thinking about if the balance in your bank account is able to buy the man a new shirt. You remember you wanted to get some cash out of the cashpoint but it shoved an âinsufficient funds :(â into your face.
You really donât want any customers to come in right now, even if it means your little tea shop will close down because you only have one from the start of today, but fate always gifts you things you crave when you donât need them.
âSorry boss, Iâm late.â
You look at the tan-skinned man standing like a model just escaped from his manager, staring at you shoving a towel on Johnâs chest and both of your cheeks smeared with suspicious red.
âWhat happened?â
I almost murdered your boss with my grilled cheese sandwich. Apparently, you canât answer with this, so you face John for help.
and heâs looking at you too, with a sly smirk awaiting your explanation.
You wonder if you can just make two sandwiches to shut these men up, with one more for yourself to end this predicament now.
a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!
No John Price is harmed in this chapter.
tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143
#cod imagine#cod x you#cod x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#soap x reader#soap x you#john soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish x you#gaz x reader#gaz x you#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#price x reader#price x you#john price x reader#john price x you#tf141 x reader#tf 141 x reader#tf141 x you#mafia!tf141
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
i love you, in every time ŕżâ§â 1900 - with you i'm free
chapter summary: Logan meets you again in a small town in Pennsylvania. Only this time, you are married to another man, but your marriage is far from perfect.
word count: 11.4k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: this is a bit darker than the other chapters, past and future, so this'll probably be a 'one off'. please read the tags! the domestic violence isn't described too heavily, but there are still some descriptions and scenes involving it. you've been warned!
warnings/tags: angst, mentions of brushing hair, outdated mindsets on women, domestic violence, bruises, cheating, blood, character death
series masterlist - chapter 2 â chapter 4
Logan found himself in a small town in Pennsylvania 20 years later. Victor was doing who knows what, he wasnât sure if he even cared, so he was alone, once again.
Coal mining was the primary job in this town, so he found himself doing just that. After work, the guys would go to a nearby bar and get drunk, go back home, and repeat it all over again.
This was his second week here, and the guys finally learned that he only came along to do one thing- drink.
You walked into the dimly lit bar, the smell of tobacco and cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The men, mostly miners from the town, were crowded around tables, drinking and laughing loudly after a long day of work. The sound of clinking glasses and rough voices filled the room, but your eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the bar, quiet and distant.
He didnât look like the othersâhe wasnât laughing, wasnât part of the group. He just sat there, nursing a glass of whiskey, his dark eyes focused on the amber liquid as if it held answers to questions he wasnât ready to ask. Something about him felt familiar, though you couldnât place why.
You hadnât intended to come inside. George was already drunk somewhere in the back, and you knew what that would mean when he got home. But something pulled you toward the bar, toward him. You made your way over, hesitating for just a moment before slipping onto the stool beside him.
âYou new in town?â you asked, your voice soft but cutting through the noise around you.
The man didnât look at you right away, but his hand tightened slightly around the glass. His jaw clenched, as if the sound of your voice had struck something deep inside him. Slowly, he turned his head, and when his eyes met yours, the world seemed to tilt for a moment.
It was like a punch to the gut, a shock that ran through both of you, though you couldnât understand why. You had never met him before, but his eyes... those eyes. Dark, haunted, and yet filled with something familiar, something you couldnât explain.
Logan stared at you, his mind racing. It couldnât be. But it was. You were here, sitting right next to him, alive. Different, yet the same. His chest tightened, the memories flooding backâyour face, your smile, your laugh. The way you had slipped away from him, twice now.
He hadnât expected to see you again. Not after the last time. But here you were, as real as the glass in his hand.
âYeah,â he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. âJust passing through.â
You tilted your head slightly, curious about the stranger beside you. âPassing through? Not many people come here unless theyâre looking to stay a while.â
Loganâs eyes flicked to you again, lingering this time. It was you, all right. Same voice, same damn spark. He could feel his heart pounding, and for a moment, he wasnât sure if he should just get up and walk away. He didnât know if he could handle thisâlosing you again.
âIâm not lookinâ to stay,â he said, taking a long sip of his drink, hoping it would calm the storm inside him.
You smiled faintly, noticing how closed-off he seemed. âSeems like youâre fitting in already, though,â you joked, nodding toward the men in the back. âThatâs my husband back there, George. One of the miners.â
Loganâs jaw tightened at the word âhusband,â though he didnât know why it hit him so hard. Of course, youâd have a life. It was always like this. But that didnât make it any easier.
âIs that right?â he replied, not really asking. He glanced toward the group of men, catching sight of George, loud and drunk, waving his glass around like he owned the place. A man like that didnât deserve you. But Logan stayed silent.
âYeah,â you said softly, looking down at your hands. âHeâs⌠something.â
There was a heaviness in your voice, something that told Logan more than your words ever could. He recognized that toneâthe one you used when you were trying to hide the truth, trying to make things seem better than they were.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Logan just stared at his drink, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. You were married. You had a life. He didnât belong here. But he couldnât just walk away. Not again.
âY/N.â The sound of your name from his lips was barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed through the bar. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.
âHow⌠how do you know my name?â you asked, frowning in confusion. He hadnât asked, and you hadnât introduced yourself.
Logan cursed inwardly, realizing his slip. He hadnât meant to say it, but your name had come so naturally, like it always did. âI, uh⌠heard someone call you that when I came in,â he lied, quickly looking away. âDidnât mean to surprise you.â
You blinked, but before you could question him further, Georgeâs booming voice interrupted.
âY/N!â he shouted, stumbling toward you. âWhatâre you doinâ at the bar? Get over here!â
You flinched slightly, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Logan noticed immediately, his eyes darkening as he glanced between you and the drunk man. He didnât like the way George looked at you, the way he called for you like he owned you.
âI should go,â you muttered, standing up quickly, the warmth between you and Logan fading as you stepped away. âIt was nice meeting youâŚ?â
âLogan,â he said, his voice low. âNameâs Logan.â
You smiled faintly again, nodding. âLogan. Well, take care.â
He watched you walk away, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he couldnât put into words. This wasnât fair. Not to him, not to you. But life had never been fair, had it?
As George draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group with a roughness that made Loganâs blood boil, he clenched his fists under the bar. He wanted to stand up, walk over there, and tear that manâs arm off. But he stayed where he was, the ring in his pocket feeling heavier than ever. The ring he never got to give you.
You were gone again, and Logan was left with the bitter taste of whiskey and the familiar ache of loss.
---
George never really allowed you to do much, he wanted you to be the âperfect wifeâ and the âperfect motherâ, but he always said that last part to you with such hatred.
Some nights, while you silently cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you were broken, and that maybe you deserved it. Not ever getting pregnant, having an abusive husband- not that it was rare, most of the guysâ wives went through the same things too.
One day, you were out doing errands, getting some things to make George his favorite dinner in hopes you wouldnât end up with another bruise on your wrist like yesterday, when you saw him. Logan, from a few nights ago.
He was smoking a cigar against a brick building; he should be at work with the rest of the men.
You paused, your breath catching for a moment as you saw him. Logan. He looked out of place, leaning against the wall like he didnât belong in this time or this town. His eyes, sharp even from a distance, locked onto yours the second you stepped out of the store. It was like he knew youâd be there, as if he had been waiting.
You hesitated, then made your way toward him, the worn handle of the basket digging into your palm as you gripped it tightly.
âShouldnât you be at work?â you asked softly, your voice carrying just enough over the sound of the bustling street.
Logan took a long drag from the cigar, his eyes narrowing slightly, and shrugged. âTook a break. Figured I needed some air.â
You shifted awkwardly, glancing around before lowering your voice. âIf George finds out youâre not workingâŚâ
He scoffed, the sound rough, almost amused. âGeorge ainât my boss.â
His words hung in the air, and you knew he was right. George might run things at home, but out here, Logan didnât answer to anyone. You, on the other hand⌠your life was different.
Loganâs eyes flicked down to your wrist, where the bruise from yesterdayâs outburst was still visible, even though youâd tried to hide it with long sleeves. His expression darkened instantly, the casual air gone in an instant.
âHe do that?â His voice was low, almost a growl.
You swallowed, tugging the sleeve down further. âItâs nothing,â you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. âI justâGeorge gets frustrated sometimes.â
Logan pushed off the wall, stepping closer, the smell of smoke and leather surrounding you. He was close now, too close, and you felt your heart quickenânot in fear, but in something else entirely.
âFrustrated?â Logan repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. âThat what you call it?â
You didnât answer. Couldnât, really. What were you supposed to say? That it was normal? That the other wives had it worse? The words died in your throat, and instead, you turned your head, focusing on the basket in your hand. âI should get going.â
But Logan didnât move, didnât let you slip away that easily. âYou donât have to put up with that, Y/N,â he muttered, his voice softer now. His hand brushed your arm, barely a touch, but you felt it. Felt it everywhere.
Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him, finding those dark, intense eyes watching you closely. âI⌠I should get home,â you said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.
Logan didnât argue, but the look on his face told you that he wasnât letting this go. âIâll walk with you,â he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
You didnât protest as he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked in silence for a while, your steps in sync, even though neither of you said a word. It was like that night in the barâthe unspoken connection, the weight of something you couldnât quite name hanging between you. But this time, there was no crowd, no drunken laughter. Just you and him, and the quiet tension that seemed to grow with every step.
When you reached the edge of your street, you stopped. âYou donât have to walk me the whole way,â you murmured, glancing toward your house, where Georgeâs silhouette was already moving around inside.
Logan didnât respond right away. Instead, he looked at you, his gaze lingering on the bruise again before his eyes met yours. âYou ever need someone to talk to,â he said quietly, âyou know where to find me.â
Your heart clenched at the offer, at the way he said it like he meant it. You nodded, unsure of what else to do, and turned to leave.
But as you stepped away, his hand brushed yours again, just for a second. It was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder that there was something hereâsomething neither of you fully understood but couldnât deny.
You walked inside, feeling his presence behind you even after the door closed, knowing that things had just shifted, that something had begun. And it scared you. Not because of George, not because of what it might mean if you were caughtâbut because of how much you wanted it. How much you wanted him.
---
Over the next few days, Logan stayed close. You saw him more oftenâsometimes at the store, sometimes on the streetâbut always watching, always aware. He didnât push, didnât say much. But his presence was a constant, a quiet offer of protection that you hadnât asked for but found yourself relying on.
It was late one evening when it finally happened. George had been out drinking again, and when he came home, it was worse than usual. You flinched as his hand caught your wrist, yanking you toward him as he slurred something about dinner not being ready on time.
You wouldâve left the house if you could, but you couldnât. Not when George was glaring at you like that, his drunken eyes wild with the sort of rage that had become all too familiar. You knew exactly what was going to happen tonight. It wasnât newâthis quiet dread that wrapped itself around your throat, choking off your breath. Running had never worked before, and by now, you had learned there was no use in trying.
George's grip on your wrist tightened painfully as he muttered something under his breath. The way he yanked you close made your heart race, not out of fear, but from the exhaustion of enduring it. He wasnât done with his tiradeâhis words slurred together, complaining about dinner, the house, everything. It didnât matter. Nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.
As his fist balled around the fabric of your dress, you stared blankly at the floor, your mind drifting elsewhere, anywhere but here. To the street outside, to the market, to Logan. The quiet man whoâd appeared in your life without explanation. You didnât know why, but when you thought of him, you felt something differentâsomething dangerous but soothing all the same. A flicker of rebellion, of hope, that you hadnât felt in so long.
George shoved you toward the kitchen table, grumbling about the cold food, about you being lazy, about anything he could think of. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the table, but didnât say a word. You never did, not when it got like this.
But Logan⌠he had noticed. He had noticed the bruises, the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, the way you avoided eye contact. He wasnât like the other men in town. He wasnât one to turn a blind eye. You remembered his intense gaze lingering on your wrist, the bruise that you couldnât quite hide. You remembered the way he had spoken to you softly, almost like he cared.
That thought gave you strength now, as George barked another order, telling you to clean up the dishes. Your body moved mechanically, but your mind stayed somewhere else. You could almost feel Loganâs hand brushing against yours again, the briefest touch when heâd walked you home the other night. It had been so subtle, but it had sent a jolt through youâa reminder that there were still things you could feel, still things you could want.
The night dragged on, just as it always did, but when George finally passed out in his chair, snoring heavily, you slipped outside. The cool night air hit your skin, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in. You werenât going far. Just a few minutes of peace. Just enough to remind yourself that you were still alive.
You walked slowly down the empty street, your eyes scanning the shadows. You didnât mean to, but your feet led you toward the alley where Logan had been smoking that day. It was a habit now, searching for him, even when you knew you shouldnât.
And then, there he was. Leaning against the same wall, his broad figure half-hidden by the dim light of the streetlamp. His cigar glowed faintly in the dark, and as soon as he saw you, he straightened, eyes narrowing with concern.
âY/N,â Logan said softly, stepping toward you. His voice was rough but gentle in the stillness of the night. âWhatâre you doinâ out here?â
You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your throat felt tight, and your chest ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldnât. Instead, you just walked closer, until you were standing right in front of him, your head tipped back slightly to meet his gaze.
Loganâs eyes flickered over your face, taking in every detailâthe bruise that had started to fade but was still visible on your wrist, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He didnât ask any questions. He didnât need to. He knew.
Without a word, Logan reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck in a way that was more comforting than anything youâd felt in years. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him. Just for a moment.
âY/N, you donât have to stay there,â he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. âNot with him.â
You squeezed your eyes shut, the truth of his words cutting deeper than anything else. You didnât want to stay, you didnât. But leaving wasnât as easy as it sounded. George was⌠dangerous. You didnât know what he would do if you tried to leave him. And besides, where would you even go? You had nothing. No money, no family. Just an empty house that felt more like a prison with every passing day.
âI donât have anywhere else to go,â you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own admission.
Loganâs grip tightened slightly, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to help, wanted to tear you away from that life, but he was fighting something inside himself too.
âYou always got me,â Logan said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldnât quite name. âAlways.â
The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. You didnât know what to say. The part of you that was practical screamed that you couldnât rely on him, that you shouldnât get attached. But the other part, the part that had been buried deep beneath years of heartache, wanted to believe him. Wanted to fall into him, to take whatever comfort he could offer.
Before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand trembling slightly as you rested it on his chest. You felt his heart beating under your palm, steady and strong. Loganâs breath hitched at the contact, but he didnât pull away. He never did.
âLogan,â you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet street. âI donât know what to do.â
He let out a slow breath, his forehead resting against yours now, his warm breath mingling with yours. His free hand came up, his thumb brushing your cheek softly, tracing the path of an unshed tear.
âYou donât have to decide tonight,â he said gently, his lips so close to yours that it took everything in you not to close the distance. âBut whatever you decide⌠Iâm not lettinâ you go through this alone. Not again.â
Your heart ached at his wordsâhis promise. The unspoken connection between you felt stronger than ever, and before you knew it, you were closing that distance, your lips brushing against his in a hesitant, tender kiss.
Logan froze for half a second, but then his arms were around you, pulling you closer as if heâd been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember. His lips were rough, but his kiss was gentle, full of restraint. You could feel the years of longing behind it, the pain of lifetimes lived and lost, but also the desireâthe need that neither of you could ignore any longer.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Loganâs eyes were darker than youâd ever seen them. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
âY/NâŚâ he whispered, his voice ragged, his forehead still resting against yours. âThis ainât right. Youâre⌠youâre married.â
âI know,â you said, your voice barely more than a breath. âBut I⌠I donât care anymore.â
Loganâs grip on you tightened for a moment, like he was trying to fight it, but then he cursed softly under his breath and kissed you again, this time with more desperation, more need. His hands tangled in your hair, his lips claiming yours in a way that made it clear this wasnât something either of you could stop now.
And for the first time in a long time, you didnât want to.
---
The next few days blurred together, a dangerous mix of stolen moments and whispered promises. Logan was always there, watching over you, his touch lingering on your skin long after you parted. You knew it was wrong, knew that it would only lead to more heartache, but you couldnât stop. He had become your anchor, your escape from a life you couldnât bear anymore.
It wasnât long before you were meeting him after dark, slipping out of the house when George was too drunk to notice. The kisses became longer, the touches more urgent.
Soon, it wasnât just nights you were seeing him. It was after George left for work, during Loganâs lunch breaks, or anytime he could sneak away from the mine. Youâd meet in the same alley, or sometimes heâd find you waiting in a small park just outside town. The secrecy of it allâthe sneaking around, the stolen momentsâit was reckless, but neither of you could stop.
Logan wasnât the kind of man who talked much, but the way he looked at you, the way he held youâlike you were the only thing keeping him groundedâit said enough. His hands were always gentle, so different from Georgeâs, even though you could feel the strength behind them. That raw, unyielding strength that was so uniquely his.
One afternoon, Logan met you in the small clearing just past the main street. It was a rare moment when George was working late, giving you a little more time than usual. You leaned against the large oak tree, your back pressed into the rough bark, and waited. It wasnât long before Loganâs figure appeared in the distance, his broad shoulders tense, eyes scanning the area out of habit.
As soon as he spotted you, his shoulders seemed to relax, and he made his way over, his footsteps heavy but quiet in the dirt. When he got close enough, you smiled softly, your fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress, a nervous habit youâd picked up over the last few weeks.
âThought Iâd lost you for a minute there,â you teased, keeping your voice light, though there was a real fear under the surface. Every time you saw him, there was a tiny part of you that worried it might be the last.
Logan gave a half-smile, though it didnât reach his eyes. âNot that easy to lose me, Y/N.â
You looked up at him, trying to read what was going on in his head. He seemed⌠tense, more so than usual. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
âYou alright?â you asked, your voice softening as you stepped closer, close enough to touch him, but not quite daring to yet.
Loganâs gaze flickered down to you, and for a moment, you saw something in his eyesâsomething old, something heavy. But he shook his head, as if brushing it off, and reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you.
âIâm fine,â he muttered, though you could tell he wasnât. He was never fine.
You reached out, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. âYou donât have to pretend with me, Logan.â
He stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you, before he finally spoke. âItâs just⌠this,â he said, his voice low, almost pained. âI donât want you gettinâ hurt.â
You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. âIâm already hurt,â you whispered, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of those words. The bruises, the fear, the nights spent lying awake, wondering if George would snapâit had become your normal, and you hated it.
Loganâs expression didnât change much, but his jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark flashing behind his eyes. He stood still, his hands loose at his sides, and for a second you thought maybe youâd gone too farâthat maybe admitting this would scare him away, make him walk off into the night and leave you standing there alone.
But he didnât. He never did.
Logan exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound quiet but loaded with restrained anger, like a simmering fire just barely held in check. His handârough and warmâreached out to settle on your arm, fingers curling gently around your elbow. It was a simple touch, but it grounded you in a way that nothing else did.
âIâll handle it,â Logan said, voice low, rough. His words were more than a statementâthey were a promise, weighted with meaning you couldnât quite untangle.
Your heart skipped at the way he said it, quiet but firm, like the solution was already decided, and there was no point in questioning it.
âYou canât,â you whispered, not because you didnât believe him, but because you knew how dangerous George could be. And if Logan went to himâif George found out about the two of youâŚ
Loganâs thumb brushed once along your forearm, slow and deliberate. âIâve handled worse,â he muttered, gaze never leaving yours. There was a sharpness in his eyes now, something fierce. You didnât know what heâd been through in his lifeâjust that it was far more than you could imagine.
A part of you wanted to tell him not to get involved, but the other partâthe part of you that had been breaking under Georgeâs hand for yearsâwanted to let Logan do exactly what he was offering.
You bit your lip. âIf he finds outâŚâ You trailed off, but Logan understood. Of course he did.
He stepped in closer, so close that the rough wool of his shirt brushed against your dress. His hand shifted from your arm to the back of your neck, his fingers resting there firmly, possessively, but with the same strange tenderness he always showed you. âI wonât let him hurt you again,â Logan murmured, voice steady.
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. And when you looked into his eyesâdark and steady and filled with something raw and unyieldingâyou thought maybe you could.
Your hand rested flat against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the worn fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat strong beneath your palm, steady and unrelenting.
âHe wonât stop, Logan.â Your voice cracked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. âHeâll justâheâll come after me, after us.â
Loganâs lips pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. âLet him try,â he said, the words edged with a quiet menace that sent a chill down your spine.
It should have scared you, the way he said itâlike violence was something inevitable, something he didnât shy away from. But instead, it made you feel⌠safe. Safer than youâd felt in years.
The night air around you was cool, but standing this close to Logan, you felt none of it. His hand slipped from your neck down to the small of your back, his touch warm and steady through the fabric of your dress.
âI shouldnât be here,â you whispered, but even as you said it, you didnât move away.
Loganâs gaze softened, just a fraction. âI ainât gonna pretend this is right,â he said, voice rough but quiet. âBut I ainât gonna pretend I donât want you, either.â
His words hit you hard, sinking deep into your chest. You hadnât realized how starved you wereâhow badly you needed someone to see you, to want you. And Logan⌠he saw everything. The bruises, the fear, the exhaustion. And still, he looked at you like you were worth something.
You swallowed thickly. âWhat happens if he finds out?â
Loganâs expression darkened. âHe wonât.â
The finality in his tone left no room for doubt, and for a moment, all the fear that had been building inside you loosened, just enough to let you breathe.
Without thinking, you reached up, fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. Loganâs eyes closed briefly, like the small touch was something he hadnât let himself feel in a long time. When his eyes opened again, they were darker, filled with a need that mirrored your own.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didnât. You couldnât.
His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, like a man starved for something he couldnât name. His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as if he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go.
You melted into him, the fear and exhaustion slipping away, at least for now. His kiss was everythingâan escape, a promise, a lifeline.
When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan rested his forehead against yours. His hand lingered on your waist, as if letting go wasnât an option.
âJust say the word, Y/N,â Logan whispered, his voice rough with emotion. âSay the word, and weâll leave. Tonight.â
Your heart ached at the offerâat the thought of running away with him, leaving everything behind. But it wasnât that simple, and you both knew it.
âI canât,â you whispered, hating yourself for the truth of it.
Loganâs grip on you tightened briefly, as if trying to hold onto something he couldnât keep. But when he spoke again, his voice was steady.
âThen Iâll stay,â he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. âUntil you can.â
You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. For the first time in years, you felt like you werenât alone.
And thatâjust thatâwas enough to keep you going. For now.
---
One of the local churches was having a retreat set up for the women in town. Clara had been talking your ear off about it at Sunday church, spouting how excited she was to get out of the house.
You listened half-heartedly, but really you were thinking about what a perfect excuse it was to flip this into a lie for George.
You told Logan you couldnât run away with him, but that didnât include spending these few days with him, maybe off somewhere in a nearby town.
Most of the women in town were very religious, and at times you felt like an outsider. You didnât believe like they did, but you kept up a perfect front to make them believe you felt the same way.
âMaybe weâll have another sewing circle this time. Whaddya think?â Clara asked, a wide grin splitting her face as she held her hat against the October breeze.
You gave a noncommittal hum, tugging the sleeves of your dress down to cover the faint bruises on your wrists. âMaybe,â you murmured, though your thoughts were far from sewing circles and prayer sessions.
The retreat was perfect. It would get you out of Georgeâs reachâat least for a couple of daysâand give you the time you so desperately craved. More than anything, it meant time with Logan.
Clara didnât seem to notice your distraction. âItâs always good to get away, you know? Some of these girls say the Holy Spirit really speaks to âem up there.â She gave you a knowing look. âSometimes, you just gotta leave it all behind for a bit.â
You forced a smile. "Maybe that's what I need."
Clara squeezed your arm, oblivious to how you tensed. âSee? Thatâs the spirit! Now you just gotta convince your husband.â
You swallowed thickly. George wouldnât care about a church retreat if it kept up appearances. He didnât pay much mind to you unless you were standing in his wayâor if dinner wasnât on time. A couple of days without you underfoot? Heâd probably welcome the peace.
Later that night, after George had his fill of supper and slumped into his chair with a bottle, you tested the waters.
âYou remember Clara?â you asked, keeping your tone light. âShe mentioned a church retreat this weekend. Thought Iâd go.â
George barely glanced up. âWhat for?â
âSome of the other women are going too.â You folded your hands together tightly, hiding your nervous fidgeting. âItâs just a few days. Theyâll be praying and sewing... nothing much.â
George grunted, shifting in his chair. âYou ainât skippin' out on Sunday dinner.â
You bit your lip, nodding quickly. âNo. Iâll be back before then.â
He waved you off with a lazy flick of his hand. âFine. Just be sure you ainât runnin' off to waste money.â
Relief washed over you so fast your knees felt weak. You ducked your head, murmuring a quiet, âThank you,â before slipping into the next room. It had been easier than you expectedâmaybe too easy. But you werenât about to second-guess it.
---
The next day, you told Logan.
You found him where you always didâleaning against the brick wall near the alley, a cigar pinched between his teeth. He straightened the second he saw you, his sharp gaze sweeping over you like it always did, searching for signs of hurt.
âI told George Iâm going to the church retreat,â you said quietly, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you. âItâs this weekend. Iâll have a couple of days...â You let the words hang between you, heart pounding as you waited for him to understand what you were really saying.
Loganâs jaw ticked, his expression hard to read. âYou sure?â His voice was low, the sound of it like gravel underfoot.
You gave a small nod. âItâs the only way I can get away.â
He exhaled through his nose, looking past you for a second before his eyes settled back on yours. âWhereâs the retreat supposed to be?â
âAbout an hour north,â you said. âBut... Iâm not going there.â
Loganâs lips twitched, something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âThat right?â
âYeah.â Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. âI wanna be with you, Logan. Just for a couple of days. Somewhere... away from here.â
The smirk faded, replaced by something heavier, something that settled deep in his eyes. âYou know what you're askinâ, darlinâ?â
You nodded. âI know.â
He didnât move for a long moment, just stood there watching you with those steady, knowing eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for youâhis hand slipping under your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed along your jaw, and the touch made your breath catch.
âWhere do you wanna go?â Logan asked, his voice rough but gentle.
âAnywhere.â The word slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how desperate it sounded. âJust... not here.â
Logan gave a slow, deliberate nod. âAlright,â he muttered, the barest flicker of emotion crossing his face. âMeet me at the train station Friday night. Iâll take care of the rest.â
---
Friday came quicker than you expected.
The afternoon dragged, tension curling in your stomach as you packed a small bag. You kept everything simpleâa couple of plain dresses, your brush, and the few coins youâd stashed away in a tin under the floorboards. You told yourself it wasnât permanent. Youâd be back in a few days, and everything would go back to how it was.
At least thatâs what you kept telling yourself.
When the sun began to set, you told George you were leaving. He didnât even look up from his whiskey. âJust donât come back actin' all high and holy,â he muttered.
You gave a quick nod, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
---
The train station was quiet when you arrived, your breath fogging in the cold night air. You spotted Logan almost immediately, standing near the platform with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He wore the same tired expression he always did, but when his eyes found yours, something softened in his gaze.
âYou made it,â he murmured, stepping closer. His hand found yours, rough fingers wrapping around yours like they belonged there.
âYeah,â you whispered, squeezing his hand.
Logan gave a small nod toward the waiting train. âCâmon. Letâs get outta here.â
You boarded without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind you as the train rumbled to life beneath your feet. Logan led you to a quiet corner of the car, his hand never leaving yours.
As the train pulled away from the station, you glanced out the window. The town grew smaller, the lights fading into the distance until there was nothing but the dark, open night stretching out ahead of you.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe.
Loganâs arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. His warmth bled into you, steady and unyielding, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.
âYou alright?â Logan asked quietly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.
You nodded, leaning into him. âYeah. I am.â
Logan didnât say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as you settled against him. His arm was solid and steady around you, a quiet strength that made you feel secure. The train rocked beneath you, the rhythmic clattering on the tracks filling the silence. You closed your eyes, letting the sound and the warmth of Logan's presence wash over you.
For the first time in what felt like years, you could relaxâif only for a little while.
"You got enough for a few days?" Logan asked, his voice gruff but soft, as if he was trying not to push too much too soon.
You nodded, pulling your small bag closer to you. "Yeah. Just the basics."
Logan gave a small grunt of approval. "We'll stop by a place I know, out of the way. Youâll be safe there."
"Safe..." The word hung in the air between you, heavier than you meant it to be. It felt like a luxury you hadn't been allowed for a long time, and the thought of it made your chest tighten.
Loganâs thumb stroked absently along your arm, a small gesture that grounded you. He didnât press you for more, didnât ask questions you werenât ready to answer. That was the thing about Loganâhe didnât pry, didnât demand anything from you. He just was. It was one of the reasons you felt drawn to him, why you kept finding yourself in his orbit.
But there was still so much you didnât know about him. Heâd never mentioned a family, never talked about where heâd come from or how he ended up here. There was a deep well of mystery around Logan, and sometimes you could feel it, the weight of something unspoken between the two of you. But you didnât push him for answers either.
You shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder, the scent of cigar smoke and pine surrounding you. âWhere are we going?â
"There's a place, up in the hills," Logan said quietly. "A cabin. No one's been there in a while. We'll be alone."
Alone. Just the two of you. The thought sent a ripple of excitement and fear through you, your heart skipping a beat. The idea of leaving everything behindâeven if just for a few daysâfelt like a risk. But wasnât that what you wanted? A break from George, from the town, from the suffocating weight of a life you never really chose.
âYou sure about this?â Logan asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. âAbout⌠us?â
His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your decision settle in your chest. It wasnât just about getting away anymore. It was about choosing him, even if it was only for a little while. A choice that could never be undone.
âIâm sure,â you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, like he was looking for any hint of doubt.
Loganâs expression softened, just a fraction, and he gave a slow nod. âAlright.â
The train continued its steady rhythm, carrying you further away from the life you knew and into something unknown. You couldnât think about what would come afterâabout George, about the retreat, about the women who would notice your absence. All you could think about was Logan, and the way his hand held yours, like he didnât want to let go.
---
The cabin was quiet, nestled deep in the woods where no one could find you. Logan hadnât been lying when he said it was out of the way. You hadnât passed another soul on the journey here, and the solitude felt like a blanket wrapping around you, warm and comforting.
Logan pushed the door open, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The inside was simpleârough wooden furniture, a stone fireplace, and a bed in the corner, covered in a faded quilt. It wasnât much, but it felt safe, isolated from the rest of the world.
âYou can get some rest,â Logan said, setting your bag down near the bed. âFireplace works, and thereâs wood out back if it gets cold.â
You nodded, glancing around the room before your eyes settled on him. âThank you.â
Loganâs gaze flickered, something unreadable passing across his face before he nodded. âDonât gotta thank me.â
There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. You wanted to ask him moreâabout why he was helping you, about what he really wanted from all thisâbut the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm.
âLoganâŚâ you started, unsure of where you were going with it.
He turned to face you fully, his eyes locked on yours. âYeah?â
You hesitated, then closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of his skin through his shirt.
âI just⌠I needed to be with you,â you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Loganâs hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. âYou got me,â he murmured, his voice rough but sincere. âFor as long as you need.â
Your breath hitched, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It wasnât soft or tentative like you thought it might beâit was hungry, desperate, like youâd been holding back for too long.
Loganâs arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the world outside the cabin seemed to disappear. There was no George, no town, no expectations. Just you and Logan, and the fire that burned between you.
---
Later, as the fire crackled in the hearth and the two of you lay tangled in each otherâs arms, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with everything that had happened.
Loganâs hand trailed idly along your arm, his fingers brushing over the faint bruises youâd tried so hard to hide. His touch was gentle, but you could feel the tension in him, the quiet anger simmering beneath the surface.
âIâll kill him,â Logan muttered, his voice low and dangerous. âIf he ever touches you again.â
You tensed, your breath catching in your throat. âLoganââ
âI mean it,â he growled, his grip on you tightening slightly. âHe doesnât deserve you.â
You turned to face him, your hand resting on his chest. âItâs not that simpleâŚâ
Loganâs eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something raw and painful in his gaze, something you couldnât quite understand. But then he shook his head, exhaling slowly. âI just donât wanna lose you. Not again.â
His words sent a chill down your spine, but before you could ask what he meant, Logan leaned down and kissed you again, silencing your questions.
The kiss was rough, full of unspoken thingsâpromises, regrets, desires that neither of you could fully articulate. His lips moved against yours like they were trying to drown out the past, to focus only on the here and now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers digging into his skin, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as possible.
For now, you didnât want to think about George. You didnât want to think about the bruises you were hiding, the lies you had to keep telling to survive. You wanted to focus on Loganâthe way his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath, the way he made you feel alive.
When you finally broke apart, your breathing heavy, Logan stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. His hand brushed your cheek, and for a moment, the roughness of him softened, like he was letting his guard down.
"You should rest," he murmured, his voice low, but there was a strain in it, like he was trying to hold something back.
You shook your head slightly. "I donât want to rest. I want to stay here with you."
Loganâs eyes searched yours, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your skin for just a second longer than necessary.
âYou know this canât last,â he said quietly, the weight of the truth settling between you both.
You nodded, the ache in your chest growing. âI know.â
You had always known it couldnât last. This was just a moment stolen from the real worldâa fantasy that couldnât survive the harshness of the life waiting for you back home. But that didnât stop you from wanting it. It didnât stop you from wanting him.
Loganâs hand found yours again, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt almost protective. He hadnât let go since youâd arrived at the cabin, as if he feared you might slip away if he did.
âI wish it could be different,â you whispered, staring down at your intertwined hands.
Logan was silent for a long time before he spoke. âMe too.â
The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but there was still a chill in the air, an unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. You could feel it in the way Loganâs thumb stroked absentmindedly across your knuckles, like he was trying to ground himselfâtrying to ground you.
âWhy are you doing this?â you asked, your voice softer now. âHelping me, I mean.â
Loganâs gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly. When he looked back at you, his eyes were hard to read. âBecause you deserve better than him.â
It wasnât a full answer, but it was the closest heâd come to telling you why. You werenât sure if he was holding something back or if he just didnât know how to say it. Logan wasnât the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and youâd never pushed him for more than he was willing to give.
You nodded, accepting his answer for now. âThank you.â
Loganâs eyes softened at your words, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âYou donât gotta thank me, Y/N.â
You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into him. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to just be. No pretending, no worrying about what came next. Just thisâjust him.
---
The morning light filtered through the small windows of the cabin, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor. You woke to the sound of birds chirping outside and the comforting warmth of Loganâs body beside you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay like this, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
You couldnât remember the last time you felt this peaceful.
Logan stirred beneath you, his arm tightening around your waist as he woke. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable.
âMorninâ,â he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
You smiled, the corners of your lips tugging up. âMorning.â
Logan gave a quiet grunt in response, shifting slightly beneath you. His hand was still draped over your waist, his fingers rough but warm against your skin. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable in the soft morning light, like he was trying to figure out if this moment was real.
âYou sleep alright?â he asked, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
You nodded, brushing your fingers absently along his collarbone. âBetter than I have in a long time.â
Logan gave a small hum, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like thatâyour body curled into his, the outside world forgotten.
It felt fragile, like if you moved too quickly or said the wrong thing, it might all shatter.
âGotta admit,â you murmured, âit feels strange waking up like this.â
âYeah?â Logan's lips twitched, just barely. âStrange good, or strange bad?â
A soft laugh slipped out of you. âGood,â you whispered. âStrange in a good way.â
He held your gaze, something flickering in his eyesâsomething like relief. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same quiet intensity youâd come to expect from him. Logan wasnât a man who wasted words, and that suited you just fine.
The clock on the mantle ticked steadily, marking the minutes passing in this stolen moment. You let out a soft breath and rested your chin on his chest, tracing invisible patterns on his skin with your fingertip.
âWhat time do you think it is?â you asked, though you didnât really care about the answer.
Logan turned his head slightly toward the window, where the early morning sun was just beginning to peek through the trees. âStill early.â
âGood.â You nestled closer, unwilling to let the morning slip away just yet.
He didnât say anything for a while, just ran his hand up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. The motion was soothingâso different from anything youâd known in your marriage. With George, everything felt like an obligation, a duty. With Logan... it felt like choice.
Loganâs breath stirred your hair as he spoke again, his voice low. âYou thinkin' about goin' back?â
The question hit you like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading out in every direction.
You hesitated, your fingers stilling against his chest. âI donât know.â
Loganâs jaw flexed, and you could feel the tension creep back into him. âIf you donât want to... you donât gotta.â
âItâs not that simple.â
Logan gave a quiet grunt, his hand still resting against your back, though his grip tightened slightly. âIt could be.â
You shook your head. âHeâs my husband, Logan.â
Logan exhaled hard through his nose, and you felt the anger simmering just beneath the surface. âThat donât mean you owe him anything.â
The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and it tugged at something deep inside youâsomething that made you want to stay, to never go back to the life youâd left behind.
But it wasnât that easy. It never was.
âI have to,â you whispered. âAt least for now.â
Logan was silent for a long time, his hand resting heavily on your back. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, almost reluctant. âYou know where to find me if things get bad.â
It wasnât a promise, not exactlyâbut it felt like one.
âI know,â you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his shoulder.
Loganâs hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. âYou got somethinâ to say, darlinâ, just say it.â
You closed your eyes, trying to find the words. âI just... I donât want this to end.â
The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. Loganâs grip on you tightened, his expression darkening.
âIt wonât,â he said quietly, and there was a fierceness in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. âNot if I have anything to say about it.â
His words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you let yourself believeâjust for a momentâthat maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.
You pressed your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair. âPromise?â
Loganâs breath was warm against your skin. âI ainât goinâ anywhere, Y/N. Not this time.â
Something about the way he said itâlike there was more weight behind those words than you could fully understandâmade your chest ache. But you didnât push for more.
Instead, you kissed him.
It was slow this time, tender in a way that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. Logan kissed you back just as softly, his hands cradling you like you were something precious.
And for a little while longer, you let yourself believe in the possibility of happiness.
---
The days you spent at the cabin away from everything with Logan were the closest you think youâd ever get to heaven.
But of course, it had to come to an end. Logan walked you back to your house, keeping to the shadows where the trees thickened along the road. Luckily, George wasnât home yet, but you knew heâd be back soon. On Sundays, the men from the mines always went to the bar after church, spending what little money they had on whiskey before heading home for dinner.
Logan stopped a few steps short of the porch, his expression unreadable. His heavy boots crunched against the dirt, and he tilted his head, listening for signs of anyone nearby. It was quietâjust the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant caw of a crow.
âLooks clear,â he muttered, glancing toward the road. Then his eyes were back on youâsharp, like he was committing every detail of this moment to memory.
You stood there, one hand gripping the hem of your plain cotton dress, the other clutching the shawl draped over your shoulders. It was getting colder, October creeping in around the edges.
Loganâs jaw tightened, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest. âYou sure youâre good?â His voice was low, rough as gravel.
âIâll be fine,â you whispered, but the words felt thin, like paper stretched too tight.
His eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the bruise near your jaw that hadnât quite faded. You saw itâthe way his knuckles twitched like he wanted to tear something apart, or maybe someone. But Logan knew better than to push this conversation again. Youâd had it more times than either of you cared to count.
âI mean it, Y/N,â he said, quieter this time, but no less serious. âIf things getââ
âI know.â You cut him off gently, giving a small nod. âI know where to find you.â
Loganâs lips pressed into a thin line, but he didnât argue. The porch steps creaked under your weight as you climbed them slowly, heart heavy in your chest. You reached for the door, but before your fingers touched the worn wood, you felt his hand wrap gently around your wrist.
You turned, meeting his gaze.
âYou ainât alone in this,â he said softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. It was the kind of touch that made your knees weakâsteady, solid, full of unspoken promises.
âI know,â you whispered, holding his gaze a second longer than you should have. Then you pulled your hand free, feeling the cold settle in the space where his warmth had been.
The door clicked quietly behind you, sealing you inside.
---
It was well into the afternoon by the time George came home. Youâd set the table with what little you hadâa pot of boiled potatoes, bread that was more crust than loaf, and a pan of cold pork youâd managed to stretch out since Friday.
George slammed the door behind him, the stench of sweat and beer clinging to his clothes. He tossed his flat cap onto the chair and grunted as he sat down heavily at the table.
âWhereâs the roast?â he asked, eyeing the measly spread with disapproval.
âThere wasnât any.â You kept your voice even, steady, though your hands trembled slightly as you placed the food in front of him.
George gave you a hard look, his lip curling in disgust. âUseless,â he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.
You clenched your jaw, swallowing the sharp retort that burned on your tongue. Fighting him would only make it worse.
He ate in silence, the scrape of his knife against the plate the only sound in the small kitchen. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape.
âGoinâ to bed,â he grumbled, already halfway out of the room before you could respond.
The knot in your stomach tightened, but you stayed still, standing in the middle of the kitchen long after the sound of his boots thudding down the hallway faded.
It was always like this. A dull, suffocating acheâday after day, night after night. And the worst part? You werenât sure if you had the strength to keep pretending.
---
It was well past midnight when you slipped out the back door. The cold bit at your skin, and you pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you made your way down the dirt path leading into the woods. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the clearing where Logan was waiting, his broad frame leaning against a tree trunk.
He looked up as you approached, his keen eyes catching the moonlight.
âFigured youâd come.â There was no smugness in his toneâjust quiet understanding, like heâd known all along that you wouldnât be able to stay away.
You stopped a few feet from him, your breath clouding in the crisp night air. âI couldnât do it,â you admitted, your voice small.
Logan pushed off the tree and closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, firm and grounding. âYou ainât gotta explain.â
You looked up at him, heart aching with everything you wanted to say but couldnât. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his chest.
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath, the quiet strength in the way he held youâlike heâd fight the whole world just to keep you safe.
âI missed you,â you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Loganâs grip tightened. âI know,â he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched on around you, silent and still, as Loganâs hands roamed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.
âYou stayinâ tonight?â he asked quietly, his breath warm against your hair.
You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. âJust tonight.â
Logan didnât argue. He never did.
He took your hand, lacing his rough fingers through yours, and led you deeper into the woodsâaway from the house, away from the life you were supposed to live.
And for one stolen night, you let yourself believe it was enough.
---
When you got home later that night, around 3 in the morning, everything looked normal. The lights in the house were all off, and it was quiet.
You hung your shawl on the hook by the door when you heard the clink of a bottle. Your heart sank. George was awake.
The small kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. George sat slouched at the table, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his hand. His eyes were dark, glazed over with drunken fury. You could tell by the set of his jaw, by the way his knuckles gripped the bottle too tight, that this wasnât going to end well.
âWhereâve you been?â His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, his steps heavy as he moved toward you.
âI went to clear my head,â you said softly, keeping your voice calm, steady, though your heart pounded in your chest. âThe air helps me sleep.â
George narrowed his eyes. âThat so? 'Cause Johnnyâs wife told me somethin' different. Said she didnât see you at the church retreat.â
You froze. You had been at the retreatâbrieflyâbut it was a cover for your meeting with Logan, and Johnnyâs wife mustâve been one of the few people you didnât see. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.
âI was there,â you managed, though you knew it wouldnât matter.
George took another step toward you, his voice rising. âDonât lie to me!â His breath stank of alcohol as he spat the words at you, the anger radiating off him like heat. âWhat were you really doinâ, Y/N? Who were you with?â
Your stomach twisted in fear as his hand shot out, grabbing your arm hard enough to make you wince. âGeorge, pleaseââ you started, but he cut you off.
âI know you werenât there. Where the hell were you?â He shook you, his grip tightening painfully around your arm.
You winced, biting back a cry. âI told you, I was there.â
But George wasnât listening anymore. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, and a dangerous look settled across his face. âYou been sneakinâ around on me, havenât you?â His voice was low, deadly now. He released your arm with a shove, sending you stumbling back a step. âYou think Iâm stupid?â
âGeorge, Iâm not sneaking around,â you said, trying to keep your voice calm even though your pulse was racing. âI just needed some air. Iââ
His hand moved faster than you expected, backhanding you hard across the face. Pain exploded through your cheek, and you stumbled, clutching the side of your face as tears sprang to your eyes.
âYou think I donât know?â George hissed, his face twisted with fury. âYouâve been leavinâ me here, goinâ off, God knows where. You ainât foolinâ me, Y/N.â
You took a shaky breath, tasting blood where your teeth had cut your lip. âGeorge, pleaseââ
But he was already moving, crossing the small kitchen in two heavy steps. You saw the glint of metal before he pulled the shotgun from the corner near the door. Panic seized you.
âGeorge, noââ Your voice broke as you held up your hands, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The small kitchen felt like a cage, the walls closing in around you.
George leveled the shotgun at you, his hands shaking slightly but his eyes wild with rage. âYou think you can just leave? You think you can just run off whenever you please?â
You felt like you were drowning, your heart pounding so hard in your chest it hurt. âI wasnât leaving,â you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. âI wasnâtâGeorge, please, put the gun down.â
âShut up!â he snarled, taking a step toward you. âYouâre lyinâ! Youâve always been lyinâ, and Iâm done with it.â
You were shaking, trying to think of something, anything that would get through to him. âIâm your wife,â you said quietly, desperately. âIâve never wanted to hurt you. Iââ
But the words didnât matter. Nothing you said would stop this. You could see it in his eyesâthe cold, determined look of a man who had already made up his mind.
For a moment, everything felt frozen. The ticking of the old clock on the wall, the crackling of the dying fireâit all seemed too loud, too slow. Georgeâs finger twitched on the trigger.
And then, in an instant, the world shattered.
The shotgun blast was deafening, the sound tearing through the small kitchen like thunder. You didnât even feel the impact at firstâjust a sharp, searing pain that spread through your chest, knocking the air from your lungs.
You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you as you hit the floor hard, the cold tiles pressing against your cheek. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, blood pooling around you.
The room swam, your vision dimming as you tried to focus, but all you could see was the dark shape of George standing over you, the shotgun still smoking in his hands.
---
Logan heard the shot before he smelled the blood.
His body reacted instinctively, his enhanced senses kicking into overdrive. Heâd been lying awake, his thoughts consumed by you, when the sound echoed through the still night. There was no mistaking it.
His heart lurched in his chest, and without thinking, Logan bolted to his feet, running toward your house, his mind racing with fear. He knew. He knew it was you.
The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air as he neared the house. Loganâs breath caught in his throat when he saw the door slightly ajar, the soft light spilling out into the dark.
He pushed the door open, his claws already unsheathed.
The sight that greeted him froze him in place.
You were lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around you, your breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. And standing over you, his face twisted with something like confusion, was George.
Loganâs vision blurred with red.
He didnât thinkâhe just moved. In a blur, he was on George, his claws slashing through the air. There was a sickening crunch as the bone tore through flesh and bone, and then George was on the ground, lifeless.
Logan didnât care. His only focus was you.
He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, desperate to stop the bleeding, but there was too much. The wound was too deep. âY/N,â he whispered, his voice rough, desperate. âStay with me.â
Your eyes fluttered open, but it was hard to focus. Everything felt distant, like you were floating just out of reach of the world. You tried to speak, but the words wouldnât come. Blood bubbled at your lips.
Loganâs face hovered above yours, his expression shattered. âPlease, darlinâ, hold on. Just hold on.â
You coughed, the pain in your chest unbearable, and for a brief moment, your eyes met his. The world was fading fast now, slipping away like sand through your fingers.
âLogan...â you managed, your voice barely a whisper.
His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears you didnât even realize had fallen. âIâm here,â he choked out. âIâm here.â
You smiled weakly, even as the darkness closed in around you. âI⌠I love you.â
Loganâs breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he could somehow hold you to this world. But you knew, just as he did, that this was the end.
âI love you too,â he whispered, his voice breaking.
Your chest ached, not just from the pain but from the weight of those wordsâthe weight of knowing this was goodbye.
And then, everything went still.
You felt Loganâs hand in yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even as the world around you faded into darkness.
You werenât afraid. Not anymore.
You were free.
Logan knelt there, holding you long after the last breath left your body, his heart breaking all over again.
in this chapter logan is 68 years old and reader is around 21-24 years old.
just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic#i love you in every time
404 notes
¡
View notes
Text
I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME â Chapter 03
đâ¤ď¸ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna
Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: 18+, smut. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of masturbation in this chapter and Reader has some dirty fantasies about our favorite hockey player. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear
MASTERLIST
You are at the Tigers' next home game, too, watching and cheering from the stands, having fun just like the last time, but now you also understand the rules, thanks to your private lesson with Sukuna. You still grin anytime you look at the hockey rules written in his elegant handwriting and the little drawing with the tattooed stick figure.
The Tigers win, thanks to Sukuna scoring several goals. You congratulate him after the game, when he once again skates next to you as you walk past the plexiglass. And Sukuna smiles one of his rare dazzling smiles at you, which makes you feel giddy for the rest of the evening.
But Sukuna isn't just on your mind when you are at one of his hockey games. You catch yourself looking for pink hair anytime you walk over campus. And more often than not, when you eventually spot Sukuna, he is somehow already looking at you with his boyish grin and a raised eyebrow, as if he was looking for you, too.
You run into him in front of the dining hall several times, and he tells you to join him, leading you to his table again. You are surprised to realize that, apparently, it's a regular occurrence for Sukuna to sit on his own, or if someone is with him, it is only his brother or the team's kit manager, Uraume, who somehow seems to be on friendly terms with Sukuna, too.
It makes you wonder because you always assumed the star player would be surrounded by his teammates or admirers, basking in their attention.
It's one of those days when it's only Sukuna and you who have lunch together, when you blurt out,
"Why are you always sitting here alone or with your brother or Uraume? Why don't you sit with your teammates?"
Sukuna huffs at your question,
"Most of my teammates bore me to death or piss me off. They know better than to sit with me. In the beginning, they tried to tell me that the team always shares a table, but I told them to fuck off and not get on my dick. They got the message. They do as I say on the ice, and they also do what I say off the ice."
You don't doubt it. Anyone who seeks a fight with Sukuna must be crazy. This charming version of Sukuna you meet isn't the version he is for most people. He can be an asshole, and you don't doubt for a second that he doesn't hesitate to throw some punches off the ice too.
But the bad boy doesn't seem that bad when he has lunch with you. Sukuna is actually a charming lunch companion and full of surprises.
You put the novel you are currently reading on the table, and Sukuna jerks his chin toward the book, commenting on one of the characters in a way that tells you he knows what he is talking about. You look at him curiously,
"You read it, too?"
Sukuna leans back in his chair, one arm casually resting on the backrest of the chair next to him, his thighs spread under the table, his long legs brushing against yours, and a smug grin spreading over his handsome face.
"Yeah. Believe it or not, princess. I read a lot in my free time and for my classes, too."
And you suddenly realize that you have no idea what Sukuna's major is. You always assumed it was something obvious, like kinesiology or sports management. But his comment about reading makes you curious.
"What is your major, Sukuna?"
You didn't think it was possible, but Sukuna seems to look even more smug when he answers you,
"History."
Your hand that was bringing your spoon to your mouth stops mid-air, and you blink at Sukuna.
"History? Okay, wow, I didn't expect that."
Sukuna's grin is shit-eating by now, his eyes sparkling in amusement.
"Why not? You think I'm some dumb jock? I am offended, princess."
"No... I.. I don't know. I guess I pictured history majors differently. And isn't it kind of boring? All that old stuff?"
Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you,
"I analize past events to see what we can learn from them for modern times. It's about critical thinking and evaluating human actions. What is boring about that?"
"When you put it like that it doesn't sound so bad, I guess."
"Exactly. You are a creative writing major, right princess? You have all your fictional stories that you read or write yourself. They aren't boring to you, right? Now, I, on the other hand, have all those stories that actually happened. And many of them are first-class novel material. All that old stuff, as you call it, is very interesting. All the drama, the betrayal, the political intrigues."
You nod solemnly,
"Yeah, if I want to write a story set in the past I have to do research, too, to see how life worked at that time. How lucky that I have an expert to ask for help now!"
Sukuna grins at you,
"You're such a lucky girl indeed. But don't think I will just share my knowledge for free."
You give Sukuna a blank look,
"What? You gonna charge money for it?"
"Who said anything about money?"
He grins teasingly at you and you roll your eyes, throwing your hands up as you grin back at Sukuna,
"So, what kind of payment do you have in mind?"
"Maybe I am talking about this," Sukuna gestures to the table and your plate, "Keeping me company for lunch, coming to my games, being an enthusiastic enjoyer of my cigarette smoke. By the way, I need one after we are finished eating. You coming with me, princess? Consider it a payment in advance for gaining acess to all the amazing history knowledge in my mind."
Sukuna winks at you, and you can't help but laugh.
"Okay, I think that sounds fair."
You're on your way to your dorm after class when you hear your name getting called by a very familiar, smooth, low voice. You turn around, only to almost drop the stack of books you are carrying in your arms.
Sukuna is jogging toward you, apparently going for a run as part of his daily workout, and there is definitely too much of his tattooed skin and buff muscles on display.
You stare at him, probably looking like a complete fool, as your eyes trail over Sukuna's tall, muscular figure. He's only wearing a black tank top and red shorts with the Tigers logo. It's far too little clothing to cover up how gorgeous he is.
You gulp hard. Sukuna looks so sexy, with his muscles all buff, the veins on his arms standing out from his workout, and a thin layer of glistening sweat coating his tattooed skin and muscles.
He asks you how your day was, and you manage to give him an answer that sounds halfway sane while your gaze travels up and down his body.
You don't know where to look. There is just so much of him, and it makes you feel so flustered! Sukuna makes you feel things you aren't ready to admit, but the fluttery feeling in your stomach grows more intense by the second.
Your heart jumps to your throat when you glimpse a pair of black bands peeking out from under Sukuna's shorts.
Oh my god. Does he have upper thigh tattoos?
You stare at those tempting black lines on Sukuna's muscular thighs a moment too long before you catch yourself, and your head quickly snaps up again, eyes wide, looking at Sukuna's face with an expression that does nothing to hide how affected you are by him and his stupid gorgeous body.
A cocky smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face. The face of someone who knows exactly how sexy he is.
"Do you like my tattoos, princess?"
"Yeah, um... they look very cool," you manage to say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, "How many do you have in total?"
You silently curse yourself the moment the words have left your mouth because you know you just presented Sukuna with an open goal. And, of course, he doesn't even let a second go by before he grins at you with a devilish glint in his eyes, his voice dropping to a seductive timbre,
"I'll let you count them if you want."
You make a sound of complaint, but Sukuna's words send your pulse racing, and you are sure he knows it. You are saved from further embarrassment though by the beeping sound Sukuna's heart rate monitor makes to inform him something is off. He laughs softly and jerks his chin toward you,
"I have to keep going. See you at my game!"
And with that said, Sukuna runs past you, but not without reaching out to ruffle your hair, making you yell after him to stop ruining your hairstyle.
It's a busy weekend for you, with several deadlines for assignments and a birthday party in your dorm that you help organize, so you decide not to go to the hockey game.
You don't even think about it until Monday morning when you get practically cornered by a scowling Sukuna.
You turn around after getting some books from your locker only to gasp because Sukuna is standing in front of you, tall and buff, effectively blocking your way.
He takes a step closer, his tall, broad body blocking out the light and the other people in the hallway, making it seem like it is only you and him. One of his large tattooed hands comes to rest on your locker, right next to your face, and Sukuna leans down so he is on eye-level with you, stopping only centimeters from your face.
"I didn't see you at my game."
You hug the books you just got out of your locker to your chest as you tilt your head to smile nervously up at Sukuna.
"Yeah, I was too busy and couldn't make it."
Sukuna curls his lips, and you feel the need to shrug apologetically and add a soft,
"Sorry."
Sukuna sighs and straightens up again, running his hand through his pink hair, slicking it back while fixing you with a sulky look out of his beautiful maroon eyes. It almost looks like he is pouting.
"You know that's a problem, right, princess? We lost the game."
You blink up at him in slight alarm before you see the mischievous sparkle in Sukuna's maroon eyes and see the corners of his lips twitch.
And so you play along and stare at him with comically big eyes, pressing a hand to your mouth that is opened in a fake shocked expression.
"Oh no! Forgive me, Your Majesty, King Sukuna The First! I wasn't aware that my absence would lead to your men's defeat on the icy battlefield."
Sukuna chuckles softly and leans closer again, both of his large hands placed on each side of your head now, his voice a low whisper, as if he is sharing a secret with you,
"I like it when you are there to watch me play. You are my personal lucky charm, princess. We haven't lost a single game since you started coming. But we lost this Saturday. Call me superstitious, but as a responsible player, I must demand your presence at all future home games."
You look at his beautiful face, so close to you that you can make out every little detail of the second pair of eyes tattooed into his skin. You feel your heart beat faster and a smile spreads over your face as you tilt your head, coming even closer to Sukuna,
"Well, I guess then it's my duty to come to every game. I promise I will take my job as your personal lucky charm seriously from now on."
Your voice has also dropped to a flirty whisper, and your pulse flutters wildly with Sukuna standing so close to you. You can feel the warmth radiating off his tall, muscular body. Can smell his sexy cologne again and a hint of cherry, maybe from his hair gel.
Your gaze meets Sukuna's maroon eyes. A lazy but contented smile spreads over his beautiful face. His voice is still barely a whisper, low and seductive, almost a purr,
"Good girl. That's what I wanted to hear."
You can feel his warm breath on your cheek, and you instinctively feel your lashes flutter and tilt your head back even more, your lips parting slightly as if preparing for a kiss.
For a moment, the two of you are locked in your own little universe, where it's only the star player and his lucky charm. Only Sukuna and you, so close to each other that you feel each other's body heat and your breaths brush over each other's lips.
So close.
You gaze deeply into each other's eyes, and Sukuna leans even closer. You think he is really going to kiss you. Your eyes close as your heart beats like crazy.
But a loud yell of "Sukuna! Coach is looking for you!" interrupts the moment, and both your and Sukuna's eyes fly wide open.
He pulls away, rolling his pretty eyes in annoyance as he yells over his broad shoulder at his teammate,
"And what the fuck is so important? I would have come to his office after class anyway! It's not my fucking fault that we lost!"
Sukuna's maroon eyes snap to yours again, and he huffs and grins, cupping your cheek with his large hand and brushing his thumb over your lower lip, adding in his typical velvety voice,
"Neither your fault, princess. Even though you should have really been in the arena. But you can double the good luck at the next game by cheering extra enthusiastically for me. Will you do that for me?"
You barely manage a nod and murmur a breathless "Okay," making your lips move against Sukuna's thumb, almost like a little kiss, before he pulls his hand away and grabs his backpack to sling it casually over his broad shoulder and wink at you one last time before he leaves to see his coach.
You let your head fall against the locker, hug your books tightly to your chest where your heart is beating like crazy, and stare dumbfounded after Sukuna's tall figure. Your knees feel weak, and there is heat pulsing between your thighs from all the sexual tension that was between you and Sukuna just seconds ago.
You let out a long breath and chuckle softly to yourself.
Sukuna's lucky charm, huh?
You like the sound of that.
You find yourself in the hockey arena sooner than expected. But not for a hockey game. One of the girls from your classic literature class is on the figure skater team, and she asked if you could meet her after her training to do the assignment you have together.
You thought you would leave again and go to the coffee shop to work there, but your assignment partner scrunches her face apologetically,
"I'm so sorry, but I can't leave yet. I have to stay here and wait for my teammate to give me the keys to the team room, but she is still in the back talking to our coach. But we can do the assignment here. We can just get comfy on the stands and work there. Is that okay with you?"
You tell her it's okay and follow her, letting her lead you to the otherwise completely empty stands. Just when you sit down, you hear several voices coming from the direction of the ice, and when you turn your head to look what's going on, you see the hockey team entering the rink now for their training. And, of course, there he is.
Sukuna.
He looks gorgeous as always, smiling broadly about something Yuuji said to him as he skates casually over the ice, his helmet still off and under his arm, unaware that you are here to watch him. He isn't yet wearing his usual hockey jersey but a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt and his shoulder pads. It looks sinful on him, accentuating every muscle on his gorgeous body. Even from this distance, you can count his abs.
He looks beautiful. Especially with that genuine smile lighting up his face as he laughs with his brother.
You stare at him, following his every move, while trying to listen to your assignment partner's ideas. But she stops mid-sentence, and when you take it as a clue to look at her, she is grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat.
"So, Sukuna, huh?"
She jerks her chin toward the hockey team down on the ice, and you shake your head quickly, making a dismissive hand gesture.
"No, it's not like that."
She raises a skeptical eyebrow but leaves it at that. For a few minutes, the two of you work on the assignment while you steal the occasional glance at the rink.
The problem with the hockey arena is that it is cold as the ninth circle of hell. You hug yourself and rub your arms, shuddering in the chilly air of the arena. You didn't think you would work on the assignment here, or you would have brought a jacket.
It's right then that you suddenly hear your name called in that familiar, sexy, low voice.
You turn your head, unable to stop the big grin from spreading over your face, as you see Sukuna leaning against the boards beneath your seats, touching the plexiglass that separates the rink from the stands, and looking up at you.
"Are you here to bring me luck during training, too? You really take your job seriously, princess. I approve of that eagerness."
You laugh, playing along and making a salute gesture,
"Of course. I am always on duty, sir!"
Your little salute gets messed up by how violently you tremble from the cold, though. Sukuna raises an eyebrow, and his eyes travel over your body, over the thin t-shirt you are wearing.
"You're not dressed for the job, though. What are you doing, freezing your pretty ass off?"
You laugh,
"I didn't know I would spend an hour in here."
Sukuna huffs, brushing a stray strand of pink hair out of his forehead,
"Wait a sec."
He pushes himself off the boards and casually skates to the other side of the ice. You see him grab something from the bench where his stuff is. And then he glides back over the ice toward you with his sexy smirk on his tattooed face and his white team hoodie in his hand.
The sight makes your stomach flutter. You grin from ear to ear as Sukuna skates over to you, stopping at the boards and grinning up at you.
"Come down here and put that on, princess! I don't want my good luck charm to get a cold!"
You chuckle as you hurry down the stairs to the boards. Sukuna throws his hoodie over the plexiglass, and you catch it and quickly slip into it.
A blissful sigh leaves your lips. Sukuna's hoodie is so soft and warm, and it smells just like him, making your stomach tingle when you smell his fresh, sexy, boyish scent mixed with cigarette smoke and cherries.
You smile gratefully at the star player, who can actually be pretty nice contrary to his bad boy reputaion.
"Thank you, Sukuna."
Sukuna stands there, resting his chin on the back of his hand on his hockey stick as his beautiful maroon eyes slowly wander over you. There is something in his eyes that you haven't seen in his gaze before, but you can't quite name it.
All you know is that Sukuna's gaze lingers a lot longer than necessary on your body, which is now clad in his hoodie. He looks happy somehow, pleased, but there is also something darker in his eyes, almost like some primal hunger.
It makes you lick your lips nervously, but then Sukuna seems to shake himself out of it, and he smirks at you again, just as cocky as always, flirty and sweet-talking like a champ,
"You're welcome, princess. Anything for my lucky charm."
He skates back to where his teammates are doing practice shots, joining them immediately in full hockey star mode.
You feel oddly light-headed from the encounter with Sukuna and the feeling of his warm, comfy hoodie on your body, and his sexy scent in your nose as you walk back to your classmate.
She looks at you with an amused expression on her face and a "see, I told you so" attitude written all over her face.
"Oh yeah, it's clearly not like that at all, huh?"
You leave the arena huddled comfortably into Sukuna's hoodie, your hands shoved deep into the soft front pocket, smiling at how the hoodie looks more like a dress on you because of the height difference between you and Sukuna. It's making your tummy flutter a bit to imagine him wearing it before he gave it to you. Almost like you get an indirect feel of his tall, strong body. You bite your lip and try to chase that thought away. This is dangerous territory.
But the thing is, even when you are back in your dorm, you can't bring yourself to take off Sukuna's hoodie.
It's far too comfy and warm, and so you just stay in it the rest of the evening while preparing dinner and working on your assignment. It also smells so good. You catch yourself bringing the soft fabric up to your nose several times to inhale the fresh and seductive scent that is Itadori Sukuna. Fresh cologne, cigarette smoke, and cherries.
You tell yourself you will take the hoodie off before bed. It will be too warm to sleep in it anyway. Yes, definitely, you will change into one of your usual T-shirts!
Just five more minutes.
In the end, you stay in Sukuna's hoodie. But it is a bad idea, as you soon realize when you lie in your bed, and your mind gets flooded with images of Sukuna's sexy grin and his gorgeous tattooed body. You feel a bit guilty when your hand slips into your panties while you are still wearing the hoodie that smells like Sukuna. You don't want to be into him like that!
But you can't stop yourself, even though it feels kind of wrong to give in to the sudden urge to push your panties down so you can feel Sukuna's hoodie brush over your wet pussy, soaking the soft fabric with your arousal as a needy moan falls from your lips.
You imagine Sukuna lying in his bed with a hand down his pants, too, while he thinks of you in his hoodie and nothing else. And that thought leads to an all too sexy fantasy of you riding Sukuna on his bed while you're wearing his hoodie, and his large hands slip under it and wrap around your waist. And he's smirking at you and calling you princess and his lucky charm while you bounce on his lap until you cum all over his gorgeous cock.
You curse yourself a little for whispering his name when you cum so hard that your vision goes black for a moment.
I would SQUEAL internally if Sukuna gave me his hoodie â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ And being his personal lucky charm sounds like the best job ever to me! AAAHH he just drives me insane!
Thank you so much for all the love for this AU!! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3, too. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet â¤ď¸
In Chapter 4, Reader and Sukuna end up in the locker room together. Let's see what that leads to ;)
#sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#sukuna fluff#sukuna x you#sukuna#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk smut#jjk fluff#sukuna x y/n#jjk x y/n#ryomen sukuna#{đâ¤ď¸} hockey au
870 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Guns and Roses: Chapter 10
I KNOW I POSTED LAST NIGHT BUT I COULDN'T STOP MYSELF - HERE ENOYYY EEEEEEKKK
TW: VIOLENCE ANGST PUNCHING BRUISING
masterlist
âThat guyâs a fucking asshole,â Caleb muttered as you walked in from dinner. You barely glanced his way, too emotionally drained to unpack the nightâs events. The weight of it pressed down on you as you stood by the nightstand, brushing your hair in silent, rhythmic strokes, hoping the familiar motion might somehow clear the ache in your chest.
But even now, you could still feel the ghost of Joelâs hands on your face, his touch lingering as though heâd never really pulled away. He had been closeâcloser than youâd prepared forâand in that charged moment, you felt an undeniable pull, an ache that seemed to pulse through you, quietly urging him to close the distance. His lips, soft and pink, flashed in your mind like an oasis you hadnât dared to reach, a forbidden place youâd denied yourself.
A wave of regret washed over you as you remembered the way heâd paused, held back, waiting for the smallest signal from you. You hadnât given it, hadnât let him know. And now, here in the quiet of this room, the memory of his nearness was all you had, and you couldnât help but wish youâd crossed that line.
When you didnât respond, Caleb lowered the book heâd been reading, placing it flat on his chest, his gaze heavy as he studied you through the mirror. The silence between you was thick, pressing down on you with an unspoken weight that made your hands falter as they brushed over your hair.
"Did you two ever�" he asked finally, the question hanging in the air.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for a moment before looking away. "No. We didnâtâŚnever." The words were out quickly. You focused on your reflection, refusing to let your eyes drift back to his, hoping he wouldnât see the flicker of hesitation that even you could feel deep down.
"Good." His reply was soft, almost a sigh, but it held a note of finality, a quiet relief he wanted to believe.
And it wasnât a lie. You hadnât crossed that line with Joelânot in the way Caleb feared. But there was something there, something you couldnât name or give shape to, something that felt almost tangible in the way it filled every moment you shared with him. It was more than physical; it was a pull, a quiet force that youâd been holding back from fully understanding.
The memory of Joelâs expression tonight crept into your mindâhow heâd looked at you with that pained intensity as you told him it was too late, that you were marrying Caleb. Youâd said it with such conviction, surprising even yourself. The words had sounded so solid, so sure. But beneath that certainty was a war raging, a clash between the promise youâd made and the longing you still felt, a pull rooted so deeply in your gut it left an ache.
And now, in the stillness of this room, with Calebâs expectant silence pressing against you, you wondered if that ache would ever truly fadeâor if it was something youâd carry, a quiet, constant reminder of the path you hadnât taken.
It wasnât fair to Caleb. Every time he reached for your hand or pressed his lips to yours, you felt a pang of guilt, knowing he deserved someone who loved him without reservations, without ghosts lingering in her mind.
He deserved someone who wouldnât drift away in thought at the feel of his hand, someone who didnât close her eyes and wonder what it might be like if it were someone else.
You could feel the warmth of his affection, the weight of his love, and yet here you were, holding pieces of yourself back, leaving parts of your heart that he would never reach.
As you slipped into bed, Caleb broke the silence again, his voice hesitant but with a hint of determination. âI was thinkingâŚmaybe we could bring the wedding forward. Why wait?â His eyes searched yours, hopeful, trying to find some reflection of his own certainty. But you kept your gaze on the ceiling, your mind somewhere distant.
A part of you wanted to say yesânot out of some sweeping, undeniable love, but out of a quiet desperation for stability, a need to root yourself in something certain, someone who could finally drown out the constant hum of Joel in your mind.
You hoped that by making those vows, sealing your commitment in words as binding as they were final, you might stitch a clean line across the tangled feelings you held for him, quieting them to a faint, harmless echo.
But as the words hovered on the edge of your tongue, a knot of unease twisted deep in your gut, a silent protest rising within you, unyielding and impossible to ignore.
"âŚLetâs talk about it tomorrow. Iâm tired." You rolled over onto your side, putting a small but needed distance between you.
âAlright. Goodnight,â he murmured softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder.
It should have felt comforting, groundingâsomething to pull you closer to the life youâd chosen.
But as he settled beside you, you lay there, eyes shut, wishing to feel something, anything at all.
â˘â˘â˘
Days passed, and somehow it felt even worse knowing that Joel was somewhere in town, close but entirely out of reach. The weight of it settled in your chestâa hollow ache that you knew you had no right to feel. After all, youâd been the one to tell him it was too late, that you had chosen a different path.
But really, what choice had there been?
Life with Joel had always been a storm, unpredictable and wild, leaving you to gather the scattered pieces of yourself whenever he was gone.
As you moved through your days, running errands, keeping busy with mundane tasksâpicking up supplies, stopping by the market, helping Maria with the gardenâyou found yourself glancing up each time you heard footsteps, your heart giving a hopeful leap before reason set in. Every time the doorbell chimed at the general store or someone rounded a corner on the main street, youâd scan their face, just in case it might be him. You told yourself it was foolish, that you shouldnât expect him, but the habit was unbreakable.
Each disappointment left a quiet bruise. The truth was, you felt lost, untethered, like you were moving without a map. You were standing at a crossroads, one side offering you the safe, steady life you thought you wanted, and the other pulling you toward a need you barely understood, a pull so strong it scared the light right out of you.
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden haze over everything it touched, the world seemed to glow in quiet reverence. Long shadows stretched across the ground, and the leaves caught the fading light, turning them into flickering embers of orange and red. It was a rare, perfect moment, as if the day itself was holding its breath.
âHey, Ellie,â you called softly, spotting her standing at the edge of the porch. She stood with her gaze lowered, her shoulders tight, her usual spark dimmed and subdued. When she looked up, there was a heaviness in her eyes, a weight she carried with a quiet resilience that made your heart ache. You could see itâthe struggle she didnât want anyone else to notice, the weariness sheâd tried so hard to hide.
"Did you want to come in?" you offered, gesturing toward the door.
She shook her head quickly. "NoâŚout hereâs fine."
You nodded, leaning against the railing, giving her space. She shifted on her feet, hands shoved deep in her pockets, a trace of hesitation flickering across her face.
"I wanted toâŚsay sorry about dinner," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. âThat was really fucking stupid of me.â
You offered her a gentle smile. "Hey, donât worry about it. Really."
But you could see the regret in her eyes, a silent apology lingering there. Without thinking, you opened your arms, and after a momentâs hesitation, she stepped forward, letting you pull her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, and as she leaned into you, you felt her release a small, shuddering sigh, like sheâd been holding her breath under the weight of everything she couldnât say.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes met yours with an unusual intensity. "Has JoelâŚspoken to you?" she asked, her voice careful, like she was treading on fragile ground.
You nodded, averting your gaze, not quite sure where this was headed. "YeahâŚweâve spoken a little. Why?" Your tone came out a little guarded, betraying the unease stirring within youâyou hadnât expected her to bring him up.
Ellie hesitated, a look of vulnerability flickering in her eyes. "Did heâŚexplain everything?"
You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the admission settle over you. âHonestly? I was so angry, I didnât really give him a chance to explain.â Running your fingers through your hair, you let out a weary sigh. âAndâŚIâm not even sure it would change anything.â
She paused, her eyes searching your face, a flicker of disappointment shadowing her expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
Finally, with a surprising gravity, she looked directly at you and asked, âDo you love him?â
"What?" you whispered, caught off guard.
âDo you love Joel?â she repeated, her gaze unwavering. âBecause if you do, it matters.â
You were about to respond, ready to deflect, but Ellie didnât give you the chance. In a quiet, deliberate motion, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an unmistakable bite markâjagged, the edges tinged with an unnatural red, yet somehow healed into a scar that seemed etched into her very soul. Your heart stopped, your breath caught as you stared at it, struggling to comprehend a reality youâd never imagined possible.
âIâm immune,â she said, her voice steady, though it carried an ache that had clearly weighed on her for a long time.
The world seemed to narrow to that bite, to the raw truth it held. Immune. The word echoed in your mind, almost too big to grasp, reshaping everything you thought you knew. That scar wasnât just a markâit was a revelation, a silent testament to survival against the impossible.
âI got bitten, years ago,â she began, her voice even and steady, each word carefully controlled, like sheâd repeated this story to herself so many times that the shock of it had dulled, fading into a familiar ache. âAndâŚI didnât turn.â She paused, letting the weight of those words settle between you, their meaning unfathomable.
âBefore we left, I was on patrol,â she continued, her gaze distant, focused somewhere beyond the room. âThose raidersâthey knew about me. They were after me, after what I am. They want a cure, and to them, Iâm the key. Thatâs why I had to leave Jackson, why I had to disappear.â She swallowed, a shadow flickering across her face. âTheyâd kill me to get what they wanted.â
She turned back to you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. âJoel left because he was protecting me,â she said, her voice soft but unwavering. The words seemed to carry a depth of gratitude, pain, and loyalty that went beyond anything sheâd ever let show before.
Her words sank into you like stones, heavy and undeniable, pulling you into the depths of everything sheâd endured. For a brief moment, she looked scared, as if expecting you to recoil, to look at her with fear in your eyes. But all you could see was this girlâthis brave, burdened girl who had lost so much and carried this unimaginable weight alone.
âOh, EllieâŚâ you whispered, pulling her into a hug, holding her tightly, hoping it might lessen the weight she carried, even if just for a moment.
She mumbled against your shoulder, her voice muffled but tinged with her usual dry humor, âAre we just gonna hug all day?â
âYes,â you replied softly, your arms wrapped around her. âYes, we are.â
With Ellie against your chest, you found yourself lost in thought. Joel hadnât abandoned you out of indifference; he had shouldered the enormous weight of keeping Ellie safe, protecting a secret that was far bigger than either of you. You thought about all heâd lost, the sacrifices heâd made, and the toll it had taken on himâthe way it had hollowed him out, leaving a shell of the man you once knew.
A pang of guilt twisted within you, regret pooling in your chest as you realized how quickly youâd dismissed him, how you hadnât given him the chance to bare his soul, to explain the truth heâd been carrying alone for so long.
Last night, he had practically begged for that chance, and you had turned away.
You pulled back, subtly brushing a tear from your eye, but Ellie noticed. She looked at you, her voice soft, gentle, as if she understood just how deep this conversation was cutting. âSoâŚitâs not his fault. If you love himâŚplease, donât let this be the reason you donât.â
A pang of guilt twisted in your chest, sharpening the ache that had already settled there. âEllie, IâŚI spent a year thinking you two were dead. He couldâve left a noteâŚanything.â The hurt slipped out, raw and honest, surprising even you.
Ellie snorted, a wry smile breaking through the tension. âYeah, well, Joelâs a fucking idiot sometimes. But heâs your idiot, yâknow? And if you feel even a tiny bit of what he does for you, then youâve gotta let that Caleb guy go.â
You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. âEllie!â
âIâm serious!â she threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice taking on that familiar blunt edge. âJesus, I feel like a damn couples counselor here, but come on. Think about it. Really think about it.â
Her words lingered in the air as she turned to leave, cutting straight to the heart of your indecision, leaving you with no easy escape. You could only give her a silent nod, your mind louder than it had been in a long time.
â˘â˘â˘
It was your birthday.
Once, this day had been filled with meaningâsun-soaked afternoons at the beach, laughter stretching into late nights, bouquets of flowers from a boyfriend who felt like he knew you better than anyone. Back then, it was a day to celebrate, a marker of joy. But now, it felt different, a quiet reminder of time passing, of things that had faded and slipped away.
You groaned as the blinds opened, spilling bright, uninvited light across the room, tugging you from the last, lingering fragments of a dream. Caleb leaned over, pressing soft kisses across your face, each one gentle and warm.
But somehow, the touch feltâŚmisplaced, like an ill-fitting piece in a puzzle. Your mind betrayed you, drifting to thoughts of Joelâto the imagined sensation of his rough beard brushing against your cheek, the warmth of his presence unmistakable, something that lingered even in his absence.
"Good morning, baby. Happy birthday," Caleb murmured, his voice warm, affectionate, grounding.
You forced a smile, whispering, âMorning,â while your thoughts drifted somewhere else.
Caleb clapped his hands together, the sound bright and eager. "Alright! Get up, get dressed. Iâve got a surprise for you," he announced, his excitement almost childlike, lighting up the room.
You groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. âYou know I hate surprises.â
But that was a lie, wasnât it? You remembered the time Joel had taken you to the farm, how heâd planned every detail with an unexpected tenderness. And that other time heâd led you out under the vast night sky, revealing that heâd named a star after you, his shoulders brushing against yours.
The man had literally gifted you a piece of the heavens, and that memory burned brighter than anything else.
â˘â˘â˘
You got dressed, brushing off Calebâs playful protests as he tried to convince you to let him blindfold you. âCome on, just this once!â he begged, grinning as the two of you strolled side by side down the street. But you could already guess where he was leading you.
Mariaâs house.
Sure enough, as you reached her porch, he made one final attempt. âOkay, let me put it on now, just so they think we walked the whole way like this.â
âFine,â you relented, laughing as you let him tie the scarf over your eyes. His laughter mixed with yours as he guided you up the steps and inside.
The warmth of Mariaâs house wrapped around you instantly, filled with the familiar scents of home-cooked food and fresh coffee. You could hear rustling, hushed whispers, and the occasional stifled giggleâa poor attempt at hiding what was clearly waiting for you. But it brought a genuine smile to your face, their clumsy enthusiasm both endearing and comforting.
âAlright, take it off now,â Caleb whispered, barely containing his excitement.
As he slipped the scarf from your eyes, a chorus of voices filled the room. âSurprise!â
You blinked, taken aback even though youâd guessed it. Around you stood everyone who matteredâMaria, Ellie, Tommy, each face smiling with warmth and sincerity. You took it all in, grateful for each of them. But as your eyes swept across the room, you felt a small, inexplicable pang in your chest.
Joel wasnât there.
Of course he wouldnât be. Youâd been the one to end things, to say it was too late. He had no reason to show up, no reason to pretend it didnât still hurt. And yet, the emptiness of his absence gnawed at you, a hollow ache you hadnât expected, a vacancy that cast a subtle shadow over the gathering.
For a moment, you almost laughed at yourself, at how foolish it was to feel his absence so sharply amidst people who loved you.
Mariaâs hug grounded you, pulling you back into the moment. âHappy birthday, sweetheart,â she murmured, her voice a gentle warmth that seeped into your heart.
âHappy birthday, sunshine!â Tommy chimed in, his baby balanced on one hip, his grin wide and teasing. âYouâre getting old!â
You snorted, rolling your eyes. âNot as old as you, Tommy.â
Ellie was next, bounding over with her usual mischievous smirk. âHappy birthday! Donât worry, I didnât get you anything lame,â she added, with a wink that drew a laugh from you.
You glanced around, noticing the mismatched wrapping paper on a small pile of gifts, streamers drooping from the ceiling, looking like theyâd survived a few birthdays already.
Somehow, the makeshift charm of it all was perfect. âGuysâŚyou didnât have to do all this,â you said, a hint of emotion tightening your voice.
Tommy grinned, nodding at Caleb. âAll your manâs idea. He wanted to make this one special.â
You looked over at Caleb, his face beaming with pride and affection. âThank you,â you murmured, giving him a soft kiss, hoping the gesture might quiet the conflicted feelings bubbling up beneath the surface.
âAlright, enough of that,â Caleb said, clapping his hands with a grin. âLetâs get to the presents!â He gently steered you toward the center of the living room, where the small pile of gifts awaited, each one carrying a personal touch from those who cared about you.
You settled onto the floor, surrounded by colorful packages, each one wrapped with care. Caleb handed you the first gift, and you carefully peeled back the paper to reveal a beautifully scented candleâa blend of lavender and cedar, one of Lydiaâs creations from her little workshop on the edge of Jackson.
âOh, I love this! Whoâs it from?â you asked, holding up the candle and breathing in the familiar scent.
âUh-uh,â Tommy chimed in, grinning from the couch as he crossed his arms. âYou gotta guessâmakes it more fun.â
You smiled, glancing around the room, already having an idea. âMaria. She knows Iâm obsessed with this scent.â
âGuilty,â Maria laughed, raising her hand with a playful shrug. âThought itâd be perfect for you.â
Next, you picked up a small, oddly shaped package wrapped in newspaper with tape clumsily slapped on every edge. Inside was a mug, boldly painted with â#1 Old Personâ in bright letters, complete with a cartoon of a grumpy face and a cane.
You raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. âLet me guessâŚEllie?â
Ellie groaned, crossing her arms. âWhat? I thought it was perfect!â she said, though her grin was unmistakable. âI mean, youâre getting up there, arenât you?â
You couldnât help but laugh, holding the mug up to show everyone. âThis isâŚincredibly accurate. Thanks, Ellie,â you said, trying to look serious as you held back a smile.
Ellie shrugged, her smirk widening. âJust keeping you humble.â
Tommyâs gift came next, wrapped in an old flannel shirt and tied with a strip of leather. You unwrapped it to reveal a sturdy, worn pocketknife, the blade engraved with delicate etchings of mountains and pine trees, like the landscapes around Jackson. It had clearly seen its share of use but had been cleaned and polished until it gleamed.
âThought you could use a reliable blade,â Tommy said with a grin, leaning back with that familiar glint of pride. âGot a lot of history in that one. Used to belong to one of the rangers around here, way back when.â
You turned it over in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the smoothness of the handle that felt perfectly worn to fit. It wasnât just practical; it felt like a piece of the land, of all the paths youâd come to know.
âThank you, Tommy,â you said, meeting his gaze. âItâsâŚperfect. Really.â
Soon, only two small packages remained beside you. You looked around, eyebrows raised, wondering who mightâve gone out of their way to get you two gifts. You picked up the first one, turning it over in your hands, curiosity prickling at you.
The package was wrapped with a care and precision that immediately drew your attention. It was covered in a soft, natural brown paper, the kind that felt textured under your fingertips, like it had been chosen intentionally. A delicate rope ribbon was tied around the top, carefully knotted and finished with a small, neat bowâa touch that made it feel personal, thoughtful, like someone had taken their time to make this moment feel special.
You slowly undid the ribbon, your fingers grazing over the rough twine as you pulled back the paper. Inside was a packet of rose seeds, their delicate promise of life and color held in each tiny seed. The simple, quiet beauty of it took you by surprise, and your heart swelled, a rush of unexpected joy flooding through you.
Seeds like this were rare, a near-impossible find. Youâd managed to cultivate a few hardy plants in your garden, but rosesâroses were a dream youâd given up on long ago. Caleb must have gone out of his way, venturing further on patrol, searching specifically for these, knowing how much theyâd mean to you.
Without a second thought, you jumped up, wrapping your arms around him, the weight of the gesture sinking in.
In this moment, everything felt rightâsolid and certain, grounded in this small but powerful act of care. For the first time, you felt a sense of calm about your future with him, a glimmer of peace in the middle of all the chaos.
âCaleb, this is incredibleâhow did you even find these?â you asked, your voice filled with wonder.
But as you looked up at Caleb, a strange, pained expression crossed his face. His eyes flickered, a brief moment of something almost like discomfort, his smile fading as he seemed to brace himself.
He looked queasy, unsteady, as if something within him had just cracked. âUhâŚthatâs not from me,â he murmured, his voice sounding hollow, almost broken. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet your gaze.
The words sank in slowly, and you felt yourself pull back, the warmth of the moment slipping away as confusion took its place. The room fell into a tense, awkward silence, a stillness that felt like it stretched forever. You glanced around, searching for answers in the faces around you, but all you found was the same look of surprise and discomfort reflected back at you.
Then, with a crushing inevitability, it hit you.
Joel. It was Joel.
The truth settled over you like a weight, dragging you down as the air seemed to still around you. The seedsâthe rare, impossible seeds, the effort someone would have gone to just to find them, to make them yours. It had Joel written in every detail, every small, unspoken gesture meant to convey what words never could. The realization clawed at you, turning what had been a moment of pure joy into something complicated, something unbearably tender and painful all at once.
Your fingers tightened around the packet, the tiny seeds now feeling impossibly heavy in your hands, as if they held all the things left unsaid between you.
You didnât dare look up, didnât want to see the pity or confusion on anyoneâs face, least of all Calebâs. The warmth of his love, the comfort you had just found, suddenly felt fragile, slipping through your fingers as your heart twisted with the undeniable truth that, despite everything, Joel had left his mark on you, deep and unshakeable.
â˘â˘â˘
You sat with Maria on the couch, the gentle hum of conversation around you fading as Tommy, Ellie, and Caleb headed outside to set up a fire pit. Their voices blended into low laughter and the crackle of kindling, a comforting sound that drifted back to the house.
Caleb had gifted you a leather-bound journal, its pages blank and waiting, a thoughtful gesture, especially since yours had nearly run out of space. Yet, somehow, the gift felt strangely hollow, unable to fill the silence left behind by everything else you couldnât voice.
Mariaâs voice cut softly through your thoughts. âHeâs on patrol,â she said, her tone quiet but knowing, as if she understood more than she let on.
You looked at her, catching her gaze, something flickering there that made you feel seen in a way you werenât ready for.
She nodded gently. âHe wanted to come,â she continued, âbut he couldnât miss his shift.â
âOh.â You tried to keep your voice even, unaffected, but you felt an unbidden rush of relief mingling with a strange disappointment.
Why did knowing he wanted to be here, but couldnât, make your chest tighten? Why did it bring that bittersweet feeling creeping in, like a sigh you couldnât let go of?
He would have been here if he could.
âBut heâll be there tonight,â Maria added, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her tone light but carrying a hint of something unspoken.
âTonight?â You glanced at her, feeling a sudden stir of curiosity tangled with a wary edge. âWhat do you mean?â
Maria raised her eyebrows, her expression feigning innocence but laced with amusement. âAh, Caleb and his damn surprises. Guess he didnât tell you?â
You shook your head, an odd mix of dread and excitement swirling in your chest, tightening like a knot. The idea of seeing Joelâof being in the same room after the weight of todayâs revelationsâleft your mind in a quiet spin.
âWeâre all heading to the Tipsy Bison tonight,â she said, giving your knee a reassuring pat. âFigured weâd celebrate properly, give you a chance to unwind.â
âSoundsâŚnice,â you murmured, managing a small smile.
Maria leaned closer, a playful glint in her eyes. âWell, I have another gift for youâŚbut I didnât want to show Caleb up. Though, I think that ship mightâve already sailed.â
âMaria!â you protested, but you couldnât help laughing with her.
âIâm kidding, Iâm kidding,â she said, her chuckles spilling over as she led you upstairs. âSorry, that was mean.â She caught her breath, grinning. âBut stillâyouâre gonna love this.â
âYouâre such an ass,â you teased, nudging her as you followed her into her room.
âHere it is,â she said, reaching into her closet.
There it hung - a dress crafted by Maria, a vision of elegance and simplicity. Made from a soft, creamy fabric, it hugged the body in all the right places, flowing naturally down to a midi length that grazed just below the knees. The neckline was a gentle scoop, the capped sleeves curved gracefully over the shoulders, lending the dress a vintage charm.
Scattered across the dress were small, floral cutouts, almost like dainty stars punctuating the fabric, allowing subtle glimpses of skin beneath. The fabric managed to be both demure and alluring, with a timeless, almost ethereal quality, as if it belonged to another era yet felt perfectly suited for the present.
It was a dress that could turn heads in any roomâsimple, beautiful, and quietly captivating.
You stared, momentarily speechless. âMariaâŚthis is stunning.â
She smiled, giving you a nudge. âI thought you might like it. Figured it was time you had something as beautiful as you are.â
Your cheeks flushed, and you ran a hand over the dress, feeling the luxurious fabric beneath your fingertips. âIâll wear it tonight,â you said softly, a touch of excitement sparking within you.
â˘â˘â˘
You felt a flutter of nerves, the unmistakable butterflies in your stomachâa feeling you hadnât encountered in a while. It was both thrilling and unnerving, like something had shifted inside you, but you couldnât quite name it.
As you walked toward the Tipsy Bison, your mind wandered to Joel. You pictured him leaning against the bar, his usual presence a quiet, magnetic force.
Would he say hello? Would he give you space, giving no more than a polite nod? Would he even bother to acknowledge you?
As you made your way through the crowd at the bar, the subtle signs of birthday decorations became apparentâscavenged balloons in soft pastel shades, a few whispers of âHappy birthdayâ as you passed familiar faces. Calebâs hand rested lightly on your lower back, a small but constant touch that didnât go unnoticed.
When Caleb saw you come down the stairs from Mariaâs room, wearing that dress, his breath caught in his throat. You were a vision in cream, the soft fabric catching the dim light of the bar, and for a split second, he thought about you standing at the altar, ready to take his last name, ready to belong to him completely.
"Letâs get the birthday girl a fucking drink!" Tommy exclaimed, his voice already tinged with the warmth of a few drinks, clearly eager to get the night started.
"Cheers to another year older and wiser!" he added, lifting his glass high with a grin.
"Cheers," you echoed, raising your glass, the weight of the night settling on your shoulders as you took in the faces around you. The warmth of the room, the laughter, and the clinking of glasses felt almost surreal.
You found yourself scanning the room, searching for Joel, an unspoken urgency tightening in your chest. Where was he?
âLooking for someone?â Calebâs voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned, feeling a flicker of disappointment you couldnât quite hide.
âOh, there you are,â you replied, forcing a smile, but the words felt hollow, empty. The brightness in his eyes didnât reach you, and for a brief, guilty moment, you couldnât ignore the ache in your heart that only one person seemed to fill.
âLetâs dance,â he said, taking your hand and pulling you onto the dance floor. His touch was warm, but there was something detached in the way he held you, something that didnât settle right in your chest.
âYou look beautiful,â he murmured, as you began to sway to the soft thrum of music in the background.
âThank you,â you replied, your words automatic as your gaze flickered toward the door of the Tipsy Bison, your heart still fluttering with anticipation.
You tried to focus on the rhythm of your movements, the way the soft music swirled around you, but your mind kept drifting, restless.
A voice summoned Caleb away, murmuring something about a cake you werenât supposed to know about. He shook his head, clearly frustrated that the moment had to end. "I'll be right back," he promised, his gaze lingering.
You chuckled softly, not wanting to make it harder for him to leave. âItâs fine, really. Go onâIâll find Maria in the meantime.â
You turned to find her and Tommy somewhere in the crowd, but then you felt itâthe pull. A visceral, gut-wrenching tug that stole the breath from your lungs, like some magnetic force had wrapped itself around your very core.
It was something primal, something undeniable, surging through you like lightning, an irresistible draw toward the one person you hadnât been able to shake from your heart, not even for a moment.
He was here.
You gasped quietly, the sound caught somewhere between a breath and a whisper as you turned. And there he was.
Joel.
Your heart thundered wildly, drowning out every other sound as you took him in. He looked achingly handsome, cleaned up in a way youâd never seenâhis beard trimmed to perfection, each hair deliberate yet effortlessly rugged. He wore a dark button-up that fit him with an almost devastating precision, every line and curve of him highlighted, yet softened by the shirtâs deep hue. His hair was slicked back, adding a polish to his usual rough edges.
His gaze swept the room, searching, until it found you. And when his eyes landed on you, a subtle shift crossed his faceâa flicker of uncertainty melting into something so tender, so open it felt like a gift.
A slow, guarded smile broke across his lips, the kind of smile that felt rare and carefully offered. And despite yourself, you mirrored it, warmth spreading through your chest, leaving you breathless, your heart catching as you looked back at him.
He started toward you, his steps almost tentative, as if each one took more courage than the last. There was something shy in the way he approached, and it was so painfully sweet that it left a hollow ache, a dizzying rush, a feeling you couldnât name but felt in every fiber of your being.
âHappy birthday,â he murmured, pulling you into a hug that felt like it wrapped around every inch of you, enveloping you in a warmth that made the world fall away.
His arms were strong, steady, and as he held you, you felt your knees weaken, the weight of his presence overwhelming yet grounding. You clung to him, not daring to move, as if letting go would break whatever fragile spell had pulled him here, to you, in this moment.
âThank you,â you whispered, your voice trembling, the words barely making it past the thundering pulse in your ears. It felt like your heart had taken up residence in your throat, every beat a reminder of how real he was, how close.
âI, uhâŚâ He trailed off, his voice catching, and for a heartbeat, you saw himâtruly saw himâvulnerable, a hint of hesitation softening the hard lines of his face. âI wanted to come by earlier, but I got caught up on patrol.â
âMaria told me,â you replied, your words spilling out before you could even think, laced with a breathlessness you couldnât hide.
He nodded, a flicker of something almost bashful passing over his face, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to hold back. There was a gentleness in his expression, a quiet depth that made your chest ache, that left you wanting to memorize every line, every flicker of his gaze.
âDid youâŚdid you get my gift?â he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. That roughness in his tone, usually so sure, now carried a raw, unguarded edge, and in that single question, you could feel the weight of every unspoken word between youâtender and vulnerable, lingering just beneath the surface.
You nodded, your smile deepening. âIt was perfect,â you murmured, warmth flooding your chest as you thought of the rose seeds heâd chosen, each one a promise, a quiet gift just for you.
A genuine smile broke across his face, softening those guarded lines, and you realized how long it had been since youâd seen him like thisâunguarded, open. âGood,â he said, almost tenderly. âFor your garden.â
His gaze traveled over you, lingering in a way that made your heart pound. âThatâs⌠a hell of a dressâ he murmured, his voice low, eyes tracing every line and curve, his stare lingering on you as if he was seeing you for the first time, taking in every detail.
A blush crept up your cheeks under the weight of his attention, a rush of warmth that spread through you, leaving you both exposed and exhilarated. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, a fire you couldnât look away from, and yetâŚyou didnât want to.
âThanks⌠Maria made it,â you replied, voice softer than you meant, struggling to find your footing under his gaze.
He nodded, his gaze flickering briefly around the room, watching the couples swaying together in soft rhythms on the dance floor. There was a pauseâa flicker of something in his expression, something that felt like hesitation, vulnerability even. Then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he asked, âMay I?â
This was dangerous, recklessâyou shouldnât, you thought. Not with your fiancĂŠ just a few feet away, busy in the kitchen preparing your birthday cake.
But something in you betrayed that logic, and after a heartbeat, you nodded, surrendering. His hand slipped around yours, warm and steady, and he led you onto the dance floor. The moment felt surreal, as if the world had slipped into a different time and space where only the two of you existed.
Everything around you dissolvedâthe lights, the murmurs of other people, even the steady hum of music. All that was left was him, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you in gentle steps that felt too right, too natural, like you had always been meant to move this way together. The rhythm of the song was a soft thrum in the background, intimate and unhurried, but it was his presence that overpowered it, anchoring you, drawing you closer.
With each step, every subtle shift, you felt yourself spiraling deeper into his orbit, as if the universe had tilted just to place you here, in this fragile, fleeting moment. And for now, just this once, you let yourself be swept away, the rest of the world dissolving like a forgotten dream.
The soft fairy lights strung across the Tipsy Bison cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating his eyes until they looked like molten honeyârich, deep, filled with secrets and stories youâd give anything to know. Those eyes were the kind that made the air hitch in your lungs, made you feel as if you were the only person in his world.
And under his gaze, you almost believed it.
Your hands intertwined perfectly, his fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt like a homecoming, as though theyâd always been meant to find solace there. His other hand settled low on your hip, his thumb brushing gentle, rhythmic circles against you, a touch so grounding yet tender it sent a warmth spreading through you. His movements guided you in a slow, unhurried sway, the two of you falling effortlessly into a rhythm that matched the musicâs soft, steady beat.
âWhere⌠whereâd you find the seeds?â you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, eyes searching his face, trying to catch every flicker of expression.
âWhen Ellie and I were⌠uh, gone,â he began, his voice steady yet laced with something raw, something fragile. He looked down, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. âFound âem and thought of you. Kept âem, just in case I everâŚâ He trailed off, the unfinished words hanging heavily between you, laden with all the things heâd never said, all the things that had gone unspoken but never unfelt.
The space around you thickened, the weight of his thoughtfulness settling into every unspoken inch between you. He hadnât merely thought of you in passingâheâd carried you with him, held onto this small piece of hope, even when it seemed like whatever you had was just a distant memory, too far gone to ever reach again.
âOh.â The word slipped from your lips, barely above a whisper, your heart thundering in your chest as you absorbed everything his quiet confession held. You looked up at him, feeling the impact of everything youâd just learned, the depths heâd gone to, the things heâd kept close.
âEllie told me.â
You felt him still, his hand pressing a little firmer against your hip, grounding himself in the moment. âShe did?â His voice was barely audible, tinged with an emotion you couldnât quite nameârelief? Regret? A complicated blend of both.
âYeah,â you replied, voice trembling. âShe told me everything⌠about her bite, about why you left.â
When he finally looked back at you, there was a glimmer of something vulnerable in his eyesâa quiet, almost desperate hope that made your chest ache.
âWhy didnât you tell me, Joel?â The question slipped out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy enough to linger in the air. âWhy didnât you wake me up? Or⌠at least leave a note?â
The sounds around you faded, the music dimming to nothing as his expression shifted, his gaze dropping. He seemed to struggle, the silence stretching out between you until it felt like it could crack under the weight of everything unsaid.
Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and raw. âI know,â he muttered, barely above a whisper, each word weighed down with regret. âI know it wasâŚfucking stupid. Shouldâve told you, shouldâve explained. Thereâs no excuseâI shouldâve justâŚshouldâve told you, I think.â He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping as though he couldnât bear to meet your eyes. âI was scared, and I know that sounds like a damn pathetic excuse, but⌠itâs the truth.â
He took a shaky breath, as if gathering the courage to continue. âI thought if I just⌠left quietly, it wouldnât feel so real. But saying goodbye⌠I couldnât face it. Couldnât face you.â His voice wavered, a crack of vulnerability slipping through. âAnd now Iâd do anything to go back, to change it all. Anything.â
There was a painful honesty in his tone, an ache that seemed to reach down to his very core. His shoulders tensed, his jaw set with the weight of guilt heâd been carrying, a guilt that had carved itself deep into him.
You could see it in the way his gaze wavered, as if he couldnât quite meet your eyes, as if he was bracing himself for whatever judgment you might cast. In that moment, he was laid bare, stripped of his usual guarded strength, showing you the bruises he kept hiddenâthe hurt heâd caused himself by walking away.
You stayed silent, the words tangled up in your chest, knotted and aching, fighting to break free.
âI missed you,â you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it, carrying a weight that felt almost too heavy to bear. The words hung in the air, soft yet resonant, filled with regret, with longing, with an ache you hadnât realized was still so raw.
He looked at you, his eyes widening just slightly, a glimmer of something fragile lighting in his gaze. âYou⌠did?â His voice was barely above a murmur, hesitant, like he didnât dare believe it, yet there was a quiet desperation in his expressionâa need to hear it, to let himself hope, even if it was dangerous. The look he gave you made the air feel heavier, thick with all the emotions youâd been holding back.
âOf course I did,â you replied, meeting his gaze and feeling your heart twist at the vulnerability in his face. âYou took care of me in ways I didnât even realize until you were gone.â Your voice dropped, and you looked down, feeling your chest tighten. âIâI couldnât sleep for months without you there beside me. Didnât want to admit it, but⌠it felt like I was drowning without you.â
He looked at you now like you were the answer to something heâd been searching for, as if those words had bridged a chasm heâd thought was too wide to ever cross.
The confession slipped out, raw and unguarded, before you could even think to hold it back. You had spent so long convincing yourself that you were better off without him, telling yourself that youâd moved on, that you didnât need him.
But the truth was, you hadnât been whole since he left. Each night, lying alone in the vast emptiness of your bed, it felt as though some vital piece of you was missing, like a wound that refused to heal.
âI thought about you every day,â he murmured, his voice thick, laced with a depth of emotion that made your chest ache. The words lingered between you, heavy with the weight of everything heâd kept buried.
In his eyes, you could see itâthe regret, the longing, the silent, unyielding truth heâd been carrying alone. And in that moment, he wasnât hiding anymore; he was letting himself be seen, stripped of all pretense, finally letting you see the vulnerability heâd kept locked away.
His hand slid down to your hip, then rose slowly, almost as if he were afraid you might pull away, before settling on your face, his fingers brushing your cheek with a touch so light it felt like it might disappear if you blinked.
It was intoxicatingânot the whiskey, but the overwhelming gravity of him, the way his mere presence made you feel more alive, more vulnerable, than youâd ever thought possible.
Only he could do thisâmake you feel utterly exposed and entirely safe, with just the whisper of his fingers against your skin.
His thumb drifted down, grazing your bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, his gaze following the movement with a fierce, aching intensity, as though he were memorizing every detail, committing the sensation to memory. âTo think,â he murmured, his voice a rough blend of regret and yearning, âI never got to kiss these lips.â
âJoelâŚâ The whisper slipped from your lips, trembling, as if your own voice could barely contain the weight of his name. The ground beneath you felt like it was crumbling, the world narrowing to this one breathless moment. Your knees weakened, a quiet surrender overtaking you, and for the first time, you felt helplessly, beautifully powerless, lost in the ache between his fingertips and his gaze.
You felt his hand slip to the back of your neck, steadying you as he drew you closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the solid strength of him grounding you in a way that nothing else could. He gave you a sad smile, one that broke something inside you, because it was tinged with so much sorrow it never quite reached his eyes.
âYou donât have to say anything,â he murmured, his voice soft, a little rough, almost like a plea. His hand slid up, guiding you until your head rested against his chest, your ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. âJust⌠let me hold you,â he whispered, his words thick with an ache he couldnât hide. âPlease⌠donât say anything.â
You nodded, sensing the unspoken fear in his eyesâthe fear that you might tell him to stop, to pull back, to shatter this fragile closeness he so desperately clung to.
In his arms, you felt something deeper than comfort; it was a sense of belonging, a promise wrapped in the warmth of his hold, a silent assurance that, for this brief moment, everything was as it should be. And yet, somewhere beneath that warmth, there was an acheâa quiet sadness that made it feel like both a beginning and an ending, like a promise and a goodbye, woven together in the quiet, unspoken understanding that neither of you dared to break.
What you didnât see was Caleb, emerging from the kitchen with a smile that radiated warmth and excitement. His eyes sparkled with the joy of seeing you again, eager to sweep you back into the celebration, to lose himself in the laughter and dance that had defined the night. But as his gaze landed on you and Joelâyour hand pressed against Joelâs chest, his arm wrapped around you, the two of you standing impossibly closeâCaleb froze.
In an instant, the warmth in his chest turned cold, hardening into a knot of dread that twisted painfully, souring the joy heâd felt only moments before. He saw the way your hand lingered on Joelâs chest, how Joel looked at you with an intensity Caleb could never ignoreâa look filled with longing, regret, a depth that seemed to cut straight through him.
Calebâs chest tightened, his pulse pounding as he took in the scene before him. Here was the man who felt like a shadow over everything Caleb dreamed ofâa silent barrier between you and the life he wanted to build, a man who symbolized not just an obstacle, but a threat to the future Caleb had envisioned with you.
â˘â˘â˘
A cough broke the silence, slicing through the tension like a blade. Caleb stood in front of you, his expression tightly controlled, but the pain in his eyes spoke louder than words. He wasnât the kind of man to yell or make a scene, but the quiet devastation in his gaze twisted something deep inside you.
âMind if I steal my girl for a second?â he said, his voice tight, each word laced with barely contained frustration.
Joelâs shoulders slumped slightly, a flicker of resignation crossing his face as he gave a silent nod. He met your eyes one last time, an unspoken regret hanging there, before he backed away, disappearing into the crowd.
You turned to Caleb, forcing a small, uneasy smile, hoping he wouldnât bring up what heâd just seen. But he didnât return your smile. Instead, he swallowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a hurt that made it hard to meet his gaze.
âWhat the hell was that?â he asked quietly, his voice carrying a restrained intensity, the simmering anger unmistakable.
âNothing,â you replied quickly, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow.
âDonât.â His tone was sharper than youâd ever heard it, a warning edged with pain. âDonât lie to me. Not nowânot when weâre supposed to be getting married in a month.â
âWe were just dancing, Caleb,â you insisted, but the words felt feeble, barely convincing even to yourself.
âStop,â he said, his voice rising slightly, drawing a few glances from the people nearby. His face twisted with a mixture of hurt and frustration, his control slipping. âDonât act like I didnât see what was going on. You think I canât see it? The way you looked at him?â
He took a shaky breath, his voice trembling as he continued, âI need you to be honest with me, because I canât do this if thereâs any part of you thatâs still holding onto him.â
âCan we talk about this later?â you pleaded, feeling the weight of curious eyes around you, your voice a quiet entreaty.
âNo.â Calebâs response was immediate, his frustration evident. âWeâre talking about this now.â
âCaleb,â you whispered, glancing around at the people watching, feeling exposed. âPlease, not here. Not in front of everyone.â
âI donât care whoâs watching,â he said, his voice lower but unyielding. âI deserve to know whatâs going on between you twoâright now.â
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tommy and Maria edging closer, their faces etched with concern as they observed the tension building between you and Caleb. Their presence only added to the weight pressing down on you, the intensity of the moment nearly suffocating.
Calebâs gaze shifted, his frustration boiling over. âWhere the hell is he?â he muttered under his breath, his jaw tight.
As if summoned by the charged air, Joel appeared beside you, his expression calm but his gaze sharp as he looked at Caleb. âNo reason to be raising your voice at the lady,â he said, his tone low, but the quiet warning was unmistakable.
Calebâs face hardened, a bitter sneer twisting his mouth. âI need to talk to you, asshole,â he said, voice taut with anger as he took a step closer to Joel.
âCaleb,â you began, your voice pleading, but he didnât look at you. His eyes were locked on Joel, the rage barely contained.
âGo ahead,â Joel said coolly, crossing his arms as he met Calebâs glare head-on, unflinching.
Calebâs shoulders tensed as he moved even closer, his voice low, but the intensity behind it was unmistakable. âYou need to back off. I donât know what the hell you two had going on, but sheâs my fiancĂŠe. And I donât want to see you anywhere near her again.â
Joelâs gaze narrowed, his jaw tightening. âDonât think thatâs your call to make.â
âLike hell it isnât,â Caleb shot back, his voice rising enough to draw more attention, the frustration and hurt evident in his tone.
âCaleb, please,â you whispered, voice cracking, tears welling in your eyes. But he didnât look at youâhis gaze was fixed on Joel, anger and frustration hardening his features. Joelâs eyes, however, were on you, searching, his silent question clear: Are you okay?
âCaleb,â Joel said, his tone even, unshaken, âthis isnât the time. Itâs her birthday.â
Caleb let out a bitter laugh, his eyes flashing. âNow youâre acting like you know whatâs best for her?â He shook his head, his voice a mixture of hurt and disbelief. âI canât believe you. You waltz back into her life, and suddenly youâre the one who understands her?â
Joel held his ground, his expression steady. âIâm not pretending to know everything,â he replied quietly. âBut I know that right now, she doesnât need this.â
Caleb clenched his fists, glancing at you, then back at Joel, his voice rising. âAnd what she needs is you?â
âCaleb, stop,â you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, but the urgency in it held him in place.
âThis isnât the right time to talk about this,â Joel said, his voice low as he began to turn away, but not before casting a lingering glance your wayâa quiet, unspoken reassurance.
But Caleb wasnât done. âHey! You donât get to walk away from me, asshole.â He reached out, his hand gripping Joelâs shoulder, pulling him back with enough force to turn him around to face him directly.
Before you even registered what was happening, Calebâs fist flew forward, connecting with Joelâs jaw with a force that sent a shockwave through the crowd around you. The impact echoed, silencing the murmur of voices as people turned to stare, wide-eyed.
Joel staggered back, momentarily dazed, his hand rising instinctively to his jaw. But then he steadied himself, his gaze hardening as he looked back at Caleb, a dark determination in his eyes.
âCaleb!â you gasped, stepping forward, but the tension between them was thick, raw, and unyielding, as though neither could hear you. Calebâs chest heaved with anger, his fists still clenched, and Joel stood his ground, his posture unshaken, his gaze steady, daring Caleb to make the next move.
The silence around you was deafening, everyone waiting to see what would happen next, and you felt a mix of fear and desperation, knowing that whatever came next could change everything.
Joel turned to leave again, clearly trying to defuse the situation, but Caleb wasnât finished. He grabbed Joelâs arm, yanking him back once more. This time, Joel had reached his limit. In one swift movement, he gripped Calebâs shoulders firmly, pulling him close enough to speak low, his voice a quiet storm.
âEnough,â Joel hissed, his words sharp and precise, barely contained as he struggled to keep control. His grip on Caleb was firm, a grounding hold that left no room for further argument. There was a finality in his tone, a command that dared Caleb to defy him.
âYou got a problem with me, you come to me,â Joel said, his voice low and steady. âLike a man. You donât ruin her night.â
For a moment, Caleb faltered, his breath coming in heavy, uneven waves as he stared back at Joel, the weight of his words settling over him. The two of them stood in a silent standoff, the tension between them almost palpable, crackling with unspoken resentment and restraint. But Joelâs controlâhis refusal to let this spiralâspoke louder than any fight could have. His priority was clear, and it wasnât himself.
As he slowly released his grip, he cast a look back in your direction, his gaze softening for just a heartbeat, a fleeting vulnerability crossing his expression.
You thought it was over.
You thought the tension had finally dissolved, that the confrontation would end with Joelâs final, steady words. But just as Joel began to turn away, you saw a flash of movementâCaleb, his face twisted with embarrassment and anger, lunging forward, fists clenched.
Before you could think, you moved instinctively, stepping between them. âCaleb, stop!â you cried, reaching out, but in the flurry, Calebâs fist, meant for Joel, swung wildly in the chaosâand in an instant, pain exploded across your eye as his knuckles connected with you instead. You staggered back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips, clutching your face as the room spun in shock.
Calebâs fist connected with your eye in a swift, unintended blow, and a sharp, blinding pain surged through you, leaving your vision faltering as the shock of it set in. You stumbled back, your hand instinctively flying to your face as the world spun, your eye already throbbing, the pain deep and immediate.
âJesus Christ, Iâm so sorry,â Caleb stammered, his face pale as he stared at you, horror and guilt flashing across his features. He reached out, hands trembling as he tried to come closer. âIt was an accidentâI didnât mean toââ
But the words hung there, hollow and helpless, unable to undo the pain or the impact. His eyes were wide, pleading, as though he wished he could take back the last few seconds, erase what had just happened. The shock in his expression, the way he hesitated, spoke to the gravity of the mistake heâd madeâa line crossed, one that couldnât be undone.
Before he could get any closer, Tommy stepped between you, his voice low and firm. âStep back. Right now.â
Calebâs hands froze mid-air, his face twisted in a mixture of panic and regret. âI didnât knowâI wasnât aiming for her. It was an accident, I swear!â
âNow,â Tommy repeated, his tone brooking no argument, his steady gaze pinning Caleb in place. The room had fallen into a tense silence, all eyes on the unfolding scene, the weight of what had just happened settling over everyone.
Joel was by your side in an instant, his hand gentle yet firm as it cradled your face, his thumb brushing tenderly just below your eye, which was already starting to swell and bruise. His gaze was frantic, worry etched into every line of his face as he took in the injury, his jaw tightening, eyes flicking with barely restrained anger.
âHey, darling,â he murmured, his voice soft, steady. âYouâre alright. Iâm hereâIâm right here.â
But the pain, both physical and emotional, overwhelmed you, a sob escaping before you could stop it. âI need to get out of here, Joel,â you managed, your voice breaking as tears slipped down your cheeks. âPlease⌠I canât be here.â
Without hesitation, Joel slipped his arm around you, his touch solid and reassuring as he led you away, his presence a shield against the stares and murmurs surrounding you. He held you close, his own voice low and steady as he whispered, âIâve got you. Just breathe. Weâre getting out of here, right now.â
Joel guided you home, the short walk feeling like miles with the throbbing pain in your eye. As soon as you reached the door, he had Ellie sprint to his place to grab some painkillers he kept stashed away for his back, the kind tucked into his drawer just for emergencies.
Now, he had you settled on your couch, his presence anchoring you as he sat as close as he could, his fingers brushing carefully beneath your swollen eye, his touch feather-light. His face was etched with worry, a raw, almost desperate guilt darkening his expression. âIâm so fuckinâ sorry,â he murmured, his voice thick and rough with regret. He looked like heâd take the pain on himself if he could.
âItâs not your fault,â you managed, choking on the words as quiet sobs broke through, your breath catching with each one. âI donât even know why I stepped forwardâI just⌠I didnât want him to hit you again.â
He stilled, his gaze softening as he reached up to gently wipe away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. âMy darlinâ girl,â he whispered, the endearment filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. âI canât stand seeinâ you like this, hurtinâ like this.â
He looked around, his concern shifting to impatience. âWhere the hell is Ellie?â he muttered, glancing toward the door as though he could summon her with sheer will, his urgency clearâhe couldnât bear to see you in pain one second longer than necessary.
And though the ache in your eye throbbed, his touch, his presence, and the warmth in his voice softened the edges, leaving you with the feeling that, as long as he was here, youâd be alright.
Just then, Ellie burst in, breathless and wide-eyed, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief as she took in the scene. âHoly shit,â she exclaimed, eyes darting between you and Joel. âThat was the craziest thing Iâve ever seen!â
âEllie,â Joel cut her off, his tone firm but gentle as he motioned to the bottle in her hand. âGive me those, and grab some water from the kitchen, would ya?â
Without hesitation, Ellie handed over the painkillers, her gaze lingering on you with concern before she hurried into the kitchen. Joel opened the bottle, easing you upright with one hand, his touch warm and steady.
âHere, baby,â he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet tenderness as he held the glass to you and placed a pill in your hand. âTake thisâitâll help.â
You took the pill, letting his words and touch ground you as you sipped the water he offered. The throbbing pain dulled just slightly in the warmth of his care, and as you met his gaze, you saw something thereâan unspoken promise, a reassurance that he wasnât going anywhere.
Ellie dropped onto the other couch, her brows knit in worry as she took in your bruised face. âThatâs a nasty black eye,â she muttered, her voice caught between worry and a strange sort of awe.
âEllie,â Joelâs voice held a gentle but unmistakable warning. âGo on home. Itâs past your bedtime.â
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. âItâs only ten!â she protested, but the look he gave her softened her defiance. With a huff, she stood up, glancing back at you with genuine concern.
âHey⌠I hope you feel better soon,â she said, her voice quieter, sincere. She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Joel before she added, âAnd, uhâJoelâll take care of you. Youâre in good hands.â
You managed a small, grateful smile, the warmth of her concern and Joelâs steady presence easing some of the ache. Ellie nodded, satisfied, and slipped out the door, leaving you alone with Joel in the soft quiet, the sense of safety he radiated settling around you like a blanket.
The pain had started to dull, though your vision remained blurred, Joelâs figure splitting slightly into a hazy double image as he leaned in close, his hand resting steady and grounding on your shoulder.
âYou alright? Warm enough?â he asked, his voice gentle but thick with concern, his eyes scanning your face as if he could will the pain away.
âYeah⌠yeah, Iâm fine, Joel,â you managed, offering a faint, wavering smile. âThank you for getting me out of there. I⌠Iâve never seen him like thatâso angry.â
Joelâs expression shifted, his jaw setting as something dark and fierce flickered in his gaze. He shook his head, his mouth tightening, frustration etched into every line of his face. âHe had no right,â he muttered, his voice low, barely restrained. âOf all damn nightsâon your birthday, no less. That assholeâŚâ His words trailed off, the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior, as though he was holding back an urge to storm out and finish what had been started.
âYou know you deserve better than that, right?â Joelâs voice was soft but firm, his gaze steady as he looked at you, waiting for the words to sink in. âI would never⌠I canât imagine ever doing that to you.â
There was an honesty in his tone, a quiet conviction that made your chest tighten. His hand lingered on your shoulder, warm and grounding, and the way he looked at youâas if you were someone precious, someone worth protectingâstirred something deep within you, a feeling youâd buried for too long.
For a moment, the pain in your eye, the embarrassment of the night, all of it faded under the weight of his words, his presence.
âI know you wouldnât,â you murmured, your voice barely holding steady as you let out a shaky breath. Slowly, you lifted your hand, your fingers grazing the angle of his jaw where Calebâs punch had left a faint bruise, half-hidden beneath the roughness of his beard. Your touch was soft, tentative, tracing the bruise with a gentleness that seemed to make him wince, though he didnât pull away. His gaze stayed locked on yours, unwavering, intense, as though he was absorbing every part of this moment.
âBet I look awful,â you tried to joke, a faint laugh escaping, but the self-consciousness gnawed at you, awareness flooding in as you thought of the swelling around your eye, the bruises marking your skin. Embarrassment washed over you, and you began to pull your hand back, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath his steady gaze.
But Joelâs hand moved swiftly, catching yours, his fingers curling around yours, holding your hand against his cheek. âDonât,â he whispered, his voice low and warm, a quiet command wrapped in tenderness.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with a look so unguarded, so filled with admiration, it left you breathless. âYouâre beautiful. Donât ever doubt that. Even now⌠youâre still the most perfect thing Iâve ever seen.â
His words settled around you, filling the space between you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
âJoel,â you whispered, your voice barely holding steady as you looked up at him, feeling every part of you drawn to him, helpless to resist. âKiss me.â
Something flickered in his eyesâa mixture of longing and relief, like heâd been waiting his whole life for this moment. In an instant, the space between you disappeared. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his breath warm against your lips, hovering for a heartbeat, letting every ounce of tension swell until it felt like you might break from it.
Then he kissed you, his lips claimed yours with a fervor that took your breath away, the kiss deep and consuming, as if he were pouring years of waiting, of unspoken feelings, into this single, electric moment.
His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his other arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel his heartbeat, wild and fierce, mirroring your own, a rhythm that seemed to fill every inch of you.
The kiss deepened, his lips moving over yours with an intensity that left you dizzy, the world blurring until nothing else existed but the heat of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the way he held you as if heâd finally found what heâd been searching for.
You clung to him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as he pulled you impossibly closer, the space between you vanishing entirely.
When he finally drew back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathless, he didnât let go. His hand lingered, fingers grazing your jaw, his eyes searching yours, a quiet intensity in them that made your pulse race all over again.
TAG LIST
@sweatpeakarolinaa
@wasitforrevenge
@ro-nahime-things
@pedritospunk
@aceaubrianna
@karolinape @wasitforrevenge @picketniffler @somedayheaven
@anoverwhelmingdin @ashleyfilm
@somedayheaven @anoverwhelmingdin @joeldjarin @yourgirlcin
@swimmingeggcloudkid @dlwrish @cathsteen @reneerocks3617
@denisanoemi @prnxcessfics @orcasoul @rosebuds-and-moonlight @rescuethewretched
@valkyreally @ccmoonshine @dlwrish @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy @damneddamsy @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @frogjumps-world @dendulinka6 @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @lol-im-done
@somedayheaven @ohdearvalentine @keseqna @kulekehe
@darkheartgatita @ickearmn @spacegirl-3 @mystickittytaco
@sukunnayuuji @jasminedragoon @merm4id5lut @ickearmn
@dugiioh @ginsan-eyes @smoochispoof @off-dreaming-again @cynicalbunny @dendulinka6 @w-w-a-n-d-r-l-u-s-t-t @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @spacemamax @lizzie-cakes @off-dreaming-again @cumberpeggg @agnus04 @laliceee @bambisweetheartss @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @joelspeach @queen-since-97 @maried01
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#ellie tlou#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal#joel miller one shot#joel miller smut#pedro pascal one shot#joel miller tlou#the last of us fanfiction#tommy miller#the last of us hbo#game joel miller#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal smut#marcus acacius#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#pedropascaledit#general marcus acacius
251 notes
¡
View notes
Text
a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader
chapter 1 - biting the apple | masterlist | read the prologue first
two new mutants arrive at the mansion.
i am churning this thing out and i have a very specific direction that i'm going to take it. the story does not really follow the canon plot because that would be boringgg. trust me, i know where this bus is heading. i hope you stay along for the ride! figuratively and literally! wink wink
warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma, fighting, canon typical violence, 5.5k words
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
âBefore you all leave, I want to give you food for thought. One of the heaviest themes of Frankenstein revolves around the idea of nature versus nurture. Is the creature inherently evil, or was his treatment by society what turned him into a monster?â You pose the question to your students as class comes to a close.
The similarities to your own existence is not lost on you. You hope the metaphor clicks in their minds as it did yours when you first read the classic novel. Charles made it assigned reading when he taught comparative literature at the school. When you were old enough, you took the job. And you were inspired by some of his lessons, of course.
âWe will be discussing this theme next week, so those of you that havenât done your readingâŚâ You donât finish your sentence, but make a face that communicates all they need to know.
Your students leave the classroom and you slump against your desk. Despite your outside calm, inside your thoughts are racing.Â
Scott and Ororo arenât back yet and you feel as if you could break something. Or a million somethings.Â
The reasonable part of you knows that if something bad happened, Charles would know and tell you immediately. But the unreasonable part of you wants to drain your energy source to find them. To sneak your mind around the globe until you pick up on their footsteps crunching the ground or their signature heartbeats sending pulses into the air.
Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you to the door that leads to the underground base of the X-Men. Youâre going stir crazy.
Earlier in the day, before classes started, you assisted Jean in refining her powers. She wasnât able to move a car with her mind, but she managed to start the engine without a key in the ignition. To you, that seemed more impressive. To the professor, it was exactly what he didnât want. He wanted her to control her powers.
That word again. Control.
His reactions to Jeanâs issues made you all the more wary to reveal your own struggles. With the recent revelation of Magnetoâs scheme to abduct you, hesitancy bubbled up in your chest at adding anything more to Charlesâ metaphorical plate. You would just be a burden.
Exiting the elevator, you enter the completely metal hallway, something of a labyrinth to newcomers. Your shoes echo against the metal and you look from left to right. No one else graces your path as you walk to the training room. There is another one upstairs that the students use when training with Scott, but you personally prefer this one. Far away from onlookers.
Your abilities donât necessarily lend themselves to you having any physical prowess, but you managed to get trained up quite well in your years at the mansion. âThe metaphysical is very much so connected to the physical. The health of your powers could very well depend on the health of your body,â Charles told you long ago.Â
With nothing to do but wait, you change into the clothes from your locker and wrap your knuckles with tape. The large room is empty and you approach a punching bag. You begin.Â
The rhythm you find is steady and fast. Hit after hit, blow after blow. The bag swings on its chain, bouncing back and forth between your hands. You punch and punch and punch, feeling anger build in your system. In your mind's eye, you see the bloody heart that was stolen from your chest. You see the chains holding you down. You see your motherâs face, staring at you in disgust. You see vines. Thousands of vines, each reaching to wrap themselves around your body, your arms, your legs, your neck. They rip the cross from your necklace, leaving a stinging brand there. You see your fatherâs lifeless form.Â
And you feel your skull starting to split open when a voice says your name.
You nearly scream at the intrusion and your head flies around. âHoly shit, Jean! I couldâve killed you!â
âYeah, I can see that,â she says with hesitancy. Sheâs looking at you like youâre a wounded animal about to lash out. Her eyes flit to the punching bag over your shoulder.
You look at it and gape at your handiwork. The bag ripped at the seams and sand spilled from the tears onto the ground.Â
âImagining Scottâs head?â She jokes, but it sounds strained. You hardly hear it.
You still stare at the punching bag, not quite sure what to make of this. You losing control was as infrequent as pigs flying, soâŚnever.
A soft hand touches your shoulder. âAre you okay?â Jean asks so caringly.
You rip your gaze from the bag and look at her. You change your expression from one of near tears to one of slight amusement. âMustâve gotten a little too enthusiastic.â
She analyzes you quickly, so quick you mightâve missed it if you didnât know her so well. âI wanted to let you know that the jet is on its way back. They were able to locate the mutants.â You feel something in your chest relax. âNot in record time, though.â
You smirk. âOf course not. They didnât have me.â
âCan you come help me prep the bay for when they get here?â
You nod. âJust let me change and Iâll meet you there.â
She turns to walk away and you watch her leave. Your gaze drops to your hands, where the tape did nothing to prevent the bruises forming around your knuckles. Looking at the clock hanging above the entrance, you realize two hours have passed. Itâs nearly ten oâclock.Â
As you enter the locker room, you swear you can still feel burning skin where your cross lays.Â
You enter the loading dock of the jet in your regular attire and are greeted by Jean and the professor. They seem to be in deep discussion when you arrive, but snap their heads up the second they sense you coming. You can tell they were talking about you.Â
You plaster a smile on your face and say sarcastically, âLooks like they managed to find them without me, after all.â
âThey wouldâve been here an hour after they left if you were with them, Iâm sure,â Jean says with a playful roll of her eyes.
âObviously.â
You shift your attention to Charles, who has begun using a computer to track the jetâs movements. Jean starts working the switchboard. You ask, âHow many mutants did they pick up?â
His gaze does not move from the computer. âTwo. A young girl and an older man. They were on separate paths until they met and started traveling together.âÂ
Your eyebrows furrow. âWhat made you think to bring them here?â
Charles has always been slightly particular when choosing the people to bring to his school. And even more hesitant to bring fully grown adults. At your question, his eyes shift to yours. âWhy did I bring you to this school?â
You blink.
âTo offer you protection. To offer you safety from a world that hurt you repeatedly. And to help you understand your abilities and use them for good. Not just to teach you Latin and calculus,â he adds with a smile.Â
You nod, but still have a lingering question. âBut why--â
He cuts you off, âWhy am I bringing an adult man to our mansion as well?â He pauses. âBecause he is extremely powerful. That kind of power can either be used toward the greater good, or harnessed for evil.â
By Erik.
âI see,â you say, hand mindlessly playing with your necklace.
Charles returns to the computer and says to you and Jean, âGet ready, they are nearly here.â
You are usually a part of the retrieval missions, making you less used to assisting with arrivals. However, you bring out two stretchers from the medical room and place them neatly by the door after getting a call from the jet. âThey were in a rough fight with one of the members of the Brotherhood and the man is out cold. We think he has regenerative abilities so he isnât badly injured, but the girl was with him when they got into a car accident. Sheâll need attention. Sheâs jarred, but not unresponsive,â Ororo says.
Another of your jobs on the team is designated medic. You have innate knowledge of the human body and medical herbs because of your powers. It was never something you questioned when you were younger. If you scratched your arm or busted your lip open, you would skip into the woods and find something natural to heal yourself. Still, you begged Charles not to assign you to teaching biology. You despised the subject.
The ceiling of the hangar opens to reveal a velvety night sky. You feel the jet before you see it, the push it has on the trees around the mansion tingle your fingertips. The trees' movements stir your power source in your stomach, a warm, buttery feeling. The sleek aircraft lowers gently into the bay, your hair being pushed over your shoulders by the air movement. You feel relief at the sight of your friends returning from the mission; they exit the jet and you smile. Your grin droops at the sight of their expressions.
âWe need you to look over these two, stat,â Scott says with urgency.Â
You hurriedly bring the stretchers to the jetâs ramp and enter the main compartment with Scott and Ororo. Inside, they point you to a young girl, maybe sixteen years old, with brown hair and a soft face sitting in one of the seats. The two of them work to remove the man who sits slouched over in one of the front seats. The way they grunt, youâd think he weighs a ton.
The girlâs hands are wrapped tightly around the straps keeping her to the chair. When you approach, she jumps and stares at you with terrified eyes. âHi, honey,â you say calmly. You introduce yourself. âIâm going to be taking care of you, okay? I just need you to undo these straps.â
She shakes her head tightly. âI canât.â
âYou canât or you wonât?â You ask.Â
She thinks between the two options and asks, âAm I safe?â
Your heart breaks. Upset coils in your stomach at the thought of all the people who have hurt this little girl. âYes. Youâre safe here.â
She seems to think this over and makes her decision. Her hands shakily unlatch themselves from the straps and move to unbuckle herself. You reach to help her, but she flinches. âDonât touch me, please,â she says with desperation.
Your hands retract immediately.
âI just, itâs myâŚâ she struggles with the words. âI hurt people when they touch me.â
You nod in understanding. That must have been a terrifying revelation for her. âThatâs okay. Weâll get you all sorted out here. You are okay.â
She seems to relax a bit. You look over your shoulder and see your two friends lugging the man down the ramp and rolling him onto the stretcher. If this were any other scenario, you would laugh at Scott for struggling so much.Â
You turn back to the girl and say, âAnd whatâs your name?â
âMarie-- I mean, Rogue.â The way she says it makes you think she is still trying out the name for size.
âItâs very nice to meet you, Rogue.â You look her over and ask, âAre you able to walk or do you need help?â
She has undone the straps and sits a bit more forward in her chair. âI think I can stand.â
Rogue puts weight on her leg as she moves to stand up, but winces at the feeling and immediately sits back down.Â
âCan I touch your clothes or is that also a problem?â
âYou can. Itâs just my skin.â
You sling her arm over your shoulder, careful not to touch any exposed skin, and help her out of the chair. âJust put your weight on me, honâ.â
She does as you say and leans against you completely. When you have exited the jet, you help her sit on the stretcher. The others have left, presumably to attend to the man. Charles is the only one left and he moves his wheelchair over to greet the young girl. âWhat is this place?â she asks after his introduction.
âItâs a place for people like you. And me. And her.â He points to you and you feel yourself smile. âItâs somewhere safe.â
Your gloved hand moves carefully over Rogueâs legs, feeling for any fractured bones or torn skin invisible to the eye.
Sheâs been relatively quiet for the duration of her examination, but she asks, âSo, what can you do?â
You look up at her and grin. âI can do a lot of things.â You stand and walk to the shelves of potted plants on the wall to your right. You hold up one of the more pathetic looking plants and say, âSee how this one is all wilted?â
Rogue nods.Â
You pull your glove off with your teeth. âWatch this.â
Once your hand rests delicately against the plantâs stem, its wilting flowers perk up. A lush green color returns to its body, becoming perfectly healthy again. You look over at her and her mouth is gaping at the sight. âBut why do you keep all the plants here if theyâll die without you?â
You put the plant back in its place and slip your glove back on. As you make your way back to the examination table, you say, âThatâs exactly why. The professor used it as a tool to help me understand my importance here. To help me distinguish between the big parts of my powers and the smaller, more delicate parts.â You shrug as you grab some medical tape meant to alleviate and correct sprains. âI also like having company when Iâm down here.â
âCompany?â she asks when you kneel before her again to start wrapping her ankle.
âThey talk to me,â you say, slightly mischievously.
Her mouth gapes again. âSo, thatâs your mutation? Talking to plants?â
âItâs a lot deeper than that. The Earth and I are like two sides of the same coin. Through our connection, I can track people if they are grounded. I can grow and heal things, but also kill them. I can create beauty, but also take it away. And Iâm recently starting to realize Iâm much more connected to humans than I thought.â
She considers this as you finish wrapping her ankle.Â
You laugh a little. âMost of those are Professor Xâs words, not mine.â
Charles arrives after a few minutes of comfortable silence, asking Rogue to come with him. You give her a small smile and tell her, âMake sure to drink those herbs with water once every day. Itâll help the pain.â
She gives you a tentative smile back.Â
Before she leaves, you squeeze her gloved hand. âYouâre gonna do great.â
Once the two of them are gone, you decide it's time to check on Jean and the man. She took him to the laboratory where digital scans of mutantsâ brains and bodies could be completed. You walk down the hall and enter the door to the left, seeing Jean in her white lab coat. She is analyzing what looks to be brain waves on the monitor in front of her. âOh, good,â she says when she turns to see you. âI wanted you to take a look at him. See if thereâs anything Iâm missing.â
You approach the table where he lays and take your first real look at him.
He is shirtless to allow the nodes and wires access to his chest. You scan over his body, seeing no obvious outer injuries. His face is calm in his induced state of comatose, but etched with what seems like a permanent line between his eyebrows. You have the urge to smooth it with your thumb.
âHis name is Logan Howlett. He has extremely impressive regenerative abilities.â
Your eyes continue to study the ridges of his face. âIs that his mutation?â The thought of Charles saying he is a very powerful mutant crosses your mind.Â
âThatâs part of it. Once he wakes up, we'll give him a chance to tell us more. And then weâll do a full body scan; Charles thinks thereâs something else to him. Heâs not wrong. Loganâs brain activity is far different from anyone Iâve ever seen,â she says in slight awe.
You continue to gaze at him. There is something else to him. Something you canât quite place.
âCould you check his vitals for me? I didnât notice anything strange, but I want to be sure,â Jean asks.
Hesitancy fills your body. For some reason, you donât want to touch him. Some sort of dread pits in your stomach. Something will happen.Â
Despite your bodyâs strange resistance, you nod curtly. You approach the table and lean over him. His scent fills your nose. Itâs woodsy and smokey, all mixed with something metal that twinges your nostrils. You close your eyes and inhale, pressing your hand to his chest. In a second, youâve been pulled to him, a vice grip around your wrist. Jean yells and starts pulling at your shoulders. Your body goes alive and you twist your arm around and headbutt him, causing him to loosen his grip on you. However, the moment your skull collides with his, you nearly pass out from the impact. It feels like heâs made of metal.Â
âOh, my God,â you groan, collapsing to the floor. Your head is throbbing.
Before you or Jean can react, heâs jumped off the table. It looks like heâs grabbed six knives and placed them between his fingers. âWhere the hell am I?â he shouts.
Jean holds up her hands, but youâre still recovering on the floor, holding your forehead in your hands. Jesus, fuck. You hope He will excuse your language.
âYouâre at Xavierâs School for Mutants in New York. We arenât going to hurt you,â Jean says calmly. âWell, not anymore.â Her eyes flick down to you and you make a face.
âIt wasnât my fault he fucking attacked me,â you say with narrowed eyes. You glance at him, annoyance replacing the pain that had swept across your forehead. âWhatâs with the claws?â you ask, now realizing that what you thought were knives were actually thin metal spikes protruding from between his knuckles.
He stares at you, chest heaving. Then back at Jean. Fury clouds his eyesight, but you know thereâs fear in there, too.Â
âLook, weâre not going to hurt you. Youâre safe here,â Jean says again. âI just need you to calm down and we can talk.â
The throbbing has eased and you make your way to stand.Â
Something like a sarcastic grin falls on his lips. âOh, sure, we can talk.âÂ
You position yourself, readying for a fight. âGet Scott,â you say to Jean quietly.Â
âYou sure?â she whispers back.
âYeah, Iâve got this.â
She looks between the two of you for a moment, then runs out of the room. You hear her shoes echo in the hallway.Â
âYou really want to do this, bub?â he asks in a voice so quiet, you nearly miss it.
You watch him carefully. You know that youâll never beat him, but you can keep him occupied until reinforcements arrive. âDo you really want to do this?â you respond with a grin.
Something lights in his eyes, something thrilling that makes your heart pound. He pounces, jumping over the table, his claws aiming for your throat. You dodge the attack, rolling to the side. You are back on your feet in an instant, crouching low to the ground. âGot anything else in you, big boy?â you tease, grin spreading wider at his fuming expression.
He yells, running at you with a speed you wouldnât think him capable of. He shoves you to the ground with retracted claws and you grunt at the impact, but kick his legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor as you crawl away. He yanks your leg, making you stumble once more. You kick with all your might, but he wonât let go. Thinking you might be the stupidest person alive, you let him drag you so youâre pinned beneath him. âSexy,â you say with a wink.
You can feel his steady heartbeat this close. "You're annoying," he hisses. You see his eyes drop to the cross around your neck and take that as your opportunity to kick him in the groin. He grunts and his hold around you weakens. You shove him off of you and stand to make a move for the door. You donât think heâll kill you, but you donât want to take that chance.
Before you reach the door, an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you harshly against a solid body. You hadnât noticed before, but heâs tall. Very tall. âWhere do you think youâre going?â he whispers in your ear.
It sends a thrill down your spine.
âAre you always this friendly?â you whisper back, hand coming up to touch his arm. Your fingers hardly wrap around his forearm.
In the blink of an eye, he has detached himself from you, falling to the floor. Your fingers tingle from the use of your power, slowing his heart rate enough that he would go unconscious, but not enough to kill him. With his regenerative abilities, though, you assume heâll be back on his feet in about five minutes. You hardly ever use that ability, finding it invasive. With this man, however, you think your actions are justified.
You nudge his leg with your foot when Jean and Scott come running in. âHoly shit, you took him out yourself?â Scott asks incredulously.Â
âI just slowed his heart rate so that he wouldnât break all the bones in my body. I appreciate your faith in me, though, Scott,â you say, wiping your brow.
He approaches the man on the floor, coming to stand beside you. âAre you alright?â
âYeah, Iâm fine. He nearly broke my skull, though.â
Scott raises a brow.Â
âHow are we going to get him adjusted if he wonât speak to us without starting a fight?â Jean asks as she starts to fix the state of the room.
âI think our best bet is to leave him alone,â you say.
Scott looks at you. His visor blocks his eyes, but you can tell they are looking at you as if you are crazy. âLeave him alone? Heâll wreak havoc trying to find a way out.â
You shrug. âI think thereâs someone who might be able to convince him to stay.â
âBetter than getting a face full of claws,â Jean says, glancing at his limp body.
Exhaustion washes over you when you take the elevator back upstairs. Itâs three in the morning and the events of the day are finally hitting you square in the chest.
You slump against the metal railing of the elevator, relishing in the silence. Jean and Scott stayed with Logan to put him in a state of deep sleep so that he wouldnât go stalking around the mansion at night. You could imagine how some poor child would react to running into such a large and imposing man in the middle of the night. It would be terrifying.
You run your fingers through your hair and pinch the bridge of your nose. His smell lingers around you, crowding your space.Â
What a prick.
Fighting you like that when all you wanted to do was help him? What was he going to do? Kill you?
A part of you wants to believe that he wouldnât do that, but another part of you understands that he wouldâve done anything to get out of here.
Logan.
You test the name out on your tongue. You wonder if he has another name, too. Something all of his enemies know by heart.
Deciding that that was enough thinking for the night, you shut your brain off and exit the elevator. You make your way to your bedroom and collapse on your bed, sleep hitting you like a bus.
You wake, body aching and head throbbing. Although you managed to escape the fight with no outer wounds, your body protests as you remove yourself from your bed. Thank God itâs Saturday.
Thankfully, your mind allowed you a break from the night terrors that plagued you so frequently, instead replacing them with dreams of walking through a forest. As you walked farther into the dank, the trees began to die, but you woke before anything else could happen.Â
You get ready for the day and make your way downstairs. In the kitchen, you see Ororo sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee in her hands. Before you can voice your question, she says, âThereâs some in the pot.â
You grin and pour the coffee into your bright pink mug along with the creamer that sits by the pot. Scott calls the shade an affront to the color pink. âSoâŚâ you start.
âHe isnât awake yet. Charles thinks heâll be up in an hour or so.â
Relief slumps your shoulders and you take a seat across from her, moving the coffee around in your mug before you take a sip. âHe is crazy strong, Ororo,â you scoff. âIt felt like his skeleton was made of metal. And his clawsâŚâ You shake your head.
âCharles thinks heâll be useful to us.â
âI know. I just hope he calms down a bit.âÂ
Ororo gives you a sheepish smile. âYou have to admit, he is handsome, though.â
You laugh. âThatâs the impression he gave you?â
She shrugs. âI might have a different one if I had to fight him.â
You contemplate her statement. You suppose he was handsome, but it didnât startle you when you first saw him. It was the kind of beauty that creeps up and you donât realize it until youâve been staring at them for too long. He was rugged, yes, but there was something enticing about his looks. A boyish quality. You remember the smirk that donned his face when he challenged you to a fight.
You shake your head. âYeah, he definitely made an interesting impression.â
The two of you leave the kitchen once some of the older students begin filing in, many making their own breakfasts instead of eating the provided meal with the other students in the dining room. âAre we training today?â you ask as the two of you walk down the main hall.
âI think Charles wants us to wait until heâs spoken with Logan. Wants us to meet him properly.â
You roll your eyes. âMeet him properly.â Tackling someone to the ground isnât a proper greeting?
âBe nice,â you hear someone say behind you. Jean falls into stride with the two of you.Â
âJean! Donât read my thoughts,â you say, pushing her lightly.
âBut you think so loudly,â she complains.
The three of you make your way outside, deciding to steer clear of the mansion until Logan has had his conversation with Charles. âI really donât want to run into him again. It would not be conducive to a healthy future relationship,â you mutter.
âHe is kind of volatile, isnât he?â Jean asks rhetorically. âI mean, he attacked with no real provocation.â
âWaking up in a room youâve never been in with two strangers isnât provoking enough?â Ororo asks, taking a seat at one of the lawn tables. You join her, leaning back in your chair.
Being in nature calms your nerves, but also sets them alight. Your senses come to life again and you hear the running water of the fountain, the wind whistling through the trees, and the small animals stepping in the grass. As Jean and Ororo continue their conversation, you close your eyes and lean your head back and allow yourself to connect. It is only the second day after the full moon, which means your sensitivity to everything around you is still high. You pull at the energy from the ground, letting it throb through your body. You feel the aching in your body disappear, feel your muscles rejuvenated, feel the blood pumping through your veins.
You hear the humming of a manâs voice, scratchy and slightly off-key. Itâs a voice you havenât heard in years. Heâs humming something that only graces your ears in dreams. It scratches your scalp and kisses your forehead. Dad.
You steady your breathing, trying to latch onto his voice. Youâve never experienced this in the daytime; it usually only happens when youâre asleep or in a deep meditative state. The words of your friends fade away.
In your mindâs eye, you stand from the table and follow the humming into the woods. You stumble over fallen branches, but your unusual miscoordination doesnât prick the logical part of your brain. All you can think of is your father. His voice roaming through the trees, taking you deeper into the woods. And suddenly, you are somewhere else.
The church.Â
His voice is gone.
âNo,â you whimper, turning into a young girl again.Â
You feel the shackles of the past lock around your wrists, forcing you to your knees. A screech escapes your throat at a forcible yank of your hair backwards. You look up to see your mother staring down at you. Her eyes are pitch black. âYour father rejects you. Even in death, he will not visit your wretched soul,â she says with a sneer, pulling your hair farther back. It feels as if she is trying to rip it from your skull.
âHe never rejected me,â you spit.
âAre you so sure?â
You open your eyes with a deep inhale. It wasnât real. You remind yourself.
Jean and Ororo stare at you, waiting for your response to something. You subtly shake your head of the images conjured by your mind and ask, âSorry, what were we talking about?â
You hope they assume your exhaustion from last night got the better of you and you simply dozed off for a moment. âLogan is ready to meet us,â Jean says, her eyes a reflection of worry. Not toward meeting Logan, to your dismay.
âOh, great.â
Despite a desire to remain calm, your heart thunders in your chest. You worry your cross between your fingers. You have no idea what to expect from him; you fully believe he will pounce at you again.Â
Ororo holds your hand as the three of you enter Charlesâ study. Scott sits on the armrest of one of the chairs in the room, arms folded over his chest. Charles is behind his desk and sitting ever so casually on the edge of the desk, is Logan.
He wears a gray X-Men sweatshirt and the jeans he had on when he arrived at the mansion. His eyes fall to yours immediately, recognition filling his gaze. You break eye contact dismissively, going to sit on the other armrest of the chair Scott sits on. You keep your eyes strictly on Charles, but you feel Loganâs on you. Your heart doesnât steady.
âEveryone, this is Logan Howlett. The Wolverine,â Charles says, gesturing to the man sitting on his desk.
Scott huffs a laugh. âWolverine? Like the animal?â
You nudge him in the side. âAs if Cyclops is any better.â
Charles clears his throat. âPlease.â
âWe are the X-Men, some of which you have already met.â Charles gives you a pointed look. You throw your hands up in defense. âI promise you not all of your introductions will be soâŚviolent.â
Scott snickers.Â
âShut the hell up,â you hiss. Your eyes flick to Loganâs. He watches the interaction between you two carefully.
Charles goes around the room, introducing each of your friends to the stranger. When he gets to you, Loganâs stare bears into you heavier than it had before. It intimidates you, but doesnât scare you. Charles tells him your name, following with, âOthers know her as Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring.â
You donât expect him to say anything, but his voice fills your ears for the first time since last night. âThe goddess of spring is who knocked me out cold last night?â
âItâs not just nature I can manipulate,â you say tersely. âBub.â
His eyes narrow as his lips turn up in a smirk.
Charles finishes the introductions and tells the team that training will commence in thirty minutes. The second his spiel is over, you stand. Deciding to jump into the fire, you approach Logan. âSorry about last night,â he says.
It takes you by surprise. You expected more of a fight from him.
âUh, itâs okay,â you say, shaking your head slightly. âYou gave me some much needed practice.â
You sense your friends watching your interaction from afar. Although they are conversing casually, you feel their eyes on you.
âYeah, you seemed a little rusty, Pro.â
You narrow your eyes. âAnd you seemed a little overzealous, Wolverine.â
He grunts. âIf thatâs overzealous, then I worry for your boyfriend.â He points to Scott on the word boyfriend.
âScott?â You laugh. âNow, thatâs a good joke. Youâre funny.â
A look of confusion crosses his face and you leave him like that, feeling content with how the conversation ended. Screw a healthy relationship.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
i had to get this out of my brain or i was going to go crazy. i hope you enjoyed! im excited to keep writing them :)
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#wolverine x reader#wolverine#xmen#scott summers#jean grey#ororo munroe#cyclops#storm#professor x#dark phoenix#i had to get this out of my brain
306 notes
¡
View notes
Text
lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 9
Summary:Â Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her familyâs restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didnât see comingâone teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isnât sure theyâll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.
Previous Chapters:Â Chapter 1Â |Â Chapter 2Â |Â Chapter 3Â |Â Chapter 4Â |Â Chapter 5Â |Â Chapter 6Â |Â Chapter 7 | Chapter 8
A/N: Happy reading!!!!!
Isla touches up her lipstick under the bright lights of the bathroom, which smells like apples thanks to whatever air freshener is plugged in here. When she drops the lipstick in her purse, Isla sighs at her reflection, the frustration evident in her green eyes. She knows itâs only been a little over an hour since she and her family arrived at Midsummers, but it was an hour spent unable to get to Rafe, and the thought has her blowing a slow breath out of her nose.
Relax. Youâre becoming desperate. When has she ever chased after a guy? Itâs not in her nature, really, and sheâs not sure why itâs becoming so prominent about Rafe Cameron, of all people. She tells herself that itâs guilt thatâs driving her, feeling badly for assuming he was the one who had punched JJ because of how offended and hurt he had looked when it came up. Truthfully, Isla hadnât expected Rafe to be hurt by it, not the way she had seen it reflected in his eyes, and she guesses maybe thatâs why sheâs so adamant on talking to him and properly apologizing to him.
And especially after that date. . . The way he set it up for them, cooking their mealâit was the sweetest thing any guy has ever done for her to show her their interest. Anyone she has been with before, whether it was a relationship or whatever, never put that kind of effort for her. And that. . . It meant a lot to her. Not to mention the fact that she really did have a good fucking time and, frankly, wished that he had kissed her. Or she should have kissed him.
They should have fucking kissed.
Isla blows out a breath, knowing she canât change the past as she gives herself one last look over before walking to the door. She begins her walk down the hallway back to where the party is, hearing chatter and music in the distance, only to come to a sudden halt to avoid running into someone who turns the corner from a connecting hallway.
âIsla?â She freezes upon hearing her name from the familiar voice, taking in a deep, quiet breath when her gaze lifts and her eyes lock with her ex-boyfriend.
Of all the people to run into. . .Â
She hadnât once thought of running into Carlo at Midsummers, but that was also because she forgot that a few months ago, his mom got remarried and his step-dad is from the Kook side of Outer Banks, and while Carlo hadnât changed schools and still went to the public school Isla and her friends go to instead of switching over to the Kook academy, it shouldnât be a surprise that he and his family would come tonight. She had been lucky enough not to spot himâuntil now, as he stares at her in mild surprise, like he hadnât expected to run into her, either.
âI was just heading back,â she says, moving to brush past him.
âWaitââ She is forced to stop when he suddenly appears in front of her. âWe never got a chance to talk at Sarahâs party.â
Her patience is already wearing thin. âThatâs because I made it clear I donât want to talk to you,â she tells him, trying to keep her voice steady. Goddammit, why canât he take the hint? What is there for him to say? To apologize for cheating on her? Beg for her forgiveness? She doesnât careânot anymore, at least. Her annoyance builds, and Isla narrows her eyes and says, âLetâs get one thing clear, Carlo. I donât owe you shit, alright? You fucked up. You threw our relationship out the window. So Iâm well within my rights to tell you to go to hell and never have to speak to you again, because you donât deserve it.â
Carloâs jaw tightens, the vein in his temple beginning to protrude with every word Isla hits him with. But she simply keeps glaring at him, undeterred and sick of him trying to have a conversation with her that he thinks will change her opinion of him. âYou never even gave me a chance to explain myselfââ
âExplain yourself?â Isla repeats, eyebrows rising in disbelief at his audacity. âIâm sorry, I donât need a step by step walk-through of how your dick ended up in some Jersey girl. Itâs been a year since we broke up, Carlo. Move on. I sure as hell have.â
She sees the muscle in his jaw work, indignation firing up in his eyes. But right when Isla thinks heâs going to argue back, spew some bullshit, he surprises her by dipping his chin briefly in a nod. âFine,â he says tightly. âYou win. Wonât bother you again.â
Isla arches an eyebrow as she watches him turn and go, mildly surprised at how easily he gave in. But she doesnât have a chance to dwell on it, because a new voice from behind her speaks up. âAre you always this brutal to guys who have a thing for you?â
Heart jumping, Isla spins around to see Rafe leaning against the wall on his side, watching her with an almost blank expression. Unable to help herself, Islaâs gaze dips, taking in the sight of him now that heâs this close after days of not seeing him, admiring the pristine press of his suit, his bangs framing his temples, and the family ring he wears on his pinky that gleams under the hallway lights.
When her gaze lifts to meet his, he arches an eyebrow, and instead of being embarrassed that he noticed her blatantly checking him out, sheâs just relieved to see himâto have him talk to her. âOnly the ones who deserve it,â she replies, her voice growing soft on its own. Thereâs about five feet of space between them, and sheâs desperate to diminish it. âRafe, Iâcan we talk?â
âAbout what?â he asks, but thereâs a shift in his gaze that tells Isla he knows exactly what she wants to talk about.
She takes a couple of steps towards him, all too aware of the party going on behind her and that any one of her friends or her sister could walk by at any point and spot them. But she doesnât want to add fuel to this already sensitive situation as she tells him, âI want to apologizeââ
âNot here,â he cuts her off.
Isla blinks and before she knows it, his hand is holding hers and Islaâs gaze instantly drops down to the way his larger hand engulfs hers, his touch warm as their palms press together, and the air hitches in her throat as he tugs her forward. She has enough sense to use her free hand to lift the skirt of her dress so she doesnât trip as Rafe pulls her around her corner, her heart thundering and too quickly for her to comprehend, theyâre suddenly in a small, dark room.
Islaâs gaze darts, just barely making out the shelves next to her and along the wall opposite of the door as she turns around when the sound of the door clicking shut breaks the silence. She squints when a light is switched on, bathing her and Rafe in dim yellow lighting. Her throat tightens when she notices how small the room isâfeeling smaller still with Rafe towering over her. Even in the shitty lighting of the supply closet, heâs unfairly gorgeous, the kind that makes her heart skip a beat in one second and pick up its pace in the next. And in the small space, the scent of his cologne is more prominent; fresh and woodsy and delicious.
When her gaze meets his, he arches an eyebrow and tells her, âWouldnât want your friends to spot us.â
He says it dryly, and it tightens something in her chestâeven as she notes the way his gaze seems to trace the length of her, her skin prickling with awareness. His words have her blurting, âRafe, Iâm soââ
âI overreacted,â he cuts in, effectively surprising her as she gapes up at him. She most definitely hadnât expected that. When he takes note of her surprised expression, one corner of his lips tilts up in a small, knowing smile. âI was thinking about it and I canât exactly blame you for thinking I gave Maybank the black eye.â
âI was unfair,â she says with a frown, unsure how this conversation turned around. âI shouldnât have just assumed that it was you.â
âI canât exactly blame you for it,â he says, that half smile still visible as he rubs his bottom lip with a thumb. âNot with the history I have with your friends. I canât expect you to forget all of that after just one date. It was unfair of me, too, to just shut you out these last couple of days.â His gaze meets hers and Islaâs throat locks at the genuine apology in his eyes, the kind that you canât fake. âIâm sorry for not responding to your messages.â
Islaâs lips part, though no words come out as she stares at him in surprise. Part of her wonders if sheâs imagining things, but she still canât help the way her lips curve up into an incredulous, fond smile. Rafeâs gaze tracks the movement as he asks through a short chuckle, âWhat?â
She shakes her head, biting down on her smiling bottom lip. âI came here today fully intent on apologizing to you for not giving you the benefit of the doubt. And you just completely turn it around and apologize to me instead.â
His smile widens a bit, looking down at her with a lift of his chin. âDid I steal your thunder?â
Isla lets out a laugh. âA little bit,â she says with a nod. The air between them grows tense, in a way that makes her skin heat up as she realizes their proximity. But even so, her smile falters and she tells him, âI really am sorry. I didnât mean to hurt you.â
Rafeâs smile fades a bit and for a second, Isla thinks heâs going to deny being hurt. But then again, Rafe is full of surprises, because he nods, gaze dropping to their feet as his lips twist to the side briefly. âI appreciate your apology.â His gaze lifts, blue eyes locking with her deep green, and the air seems to crackle. âYouâre forgiven.â
Her shoulders sink in relief, not realizing how badly she wanted to hear those words until Rafe says them. The guy had given her one of the best dates she had ever been on, and she had turned around and insulted him, hurt his feelings, and Isla hated that she did that. If you asked her months ago if she would be up at night, tossing and turning over hurting Rafe Cameronâs feelings, she would have laughed in your face. But now, Isla feels an immense amount of relief knowing that he has forgiven her, and itâs a crazy development, but itâs not one she minds.
âGood,â she says quietly through a smile.
Her heart jumps when Rafe takes a step towards her, the already small space between them diminishing more as he does. âWhat about me?â he asks, voice low and enough to threaten goosebumps breaking across her skin. âAm I forgiven, too?â
She has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact as he gets closer, her pulse skittering in anticipation as the distance between them diminishes. The world beyond the door of the supply closet ceases to exist and all Isla can think of, can focus on, is the man before her, towering over her in his staggering height that she never before admired. She sees the way Rafeâs gaze dips from her eyes, lingering on her lips, and her stomach flips at the hungry look that darkens his eyes. She desperately wants him to act on that hunger.
âYes,â she answers, her voice a whisper as if sheâs divulging a secret only for him to know. Her own gaze flickers to his mouth, at lips that look so soft and make her wonder if they feel the same. Desire makes heat pool in her belly, her heart thudding faster and faster with every passing second. Through her dried throat, she speaks up, âIf I tell you something, you promise not to hold it against me?â
Maybe he hears the vulnerability that slips into her tone, because Rafeâs gaze snaps up to meet her eyes once more. His chin dips into a single nod. âI promise.â
Her pulse quickens even more. For a split second, she hesitates in spilling her truth, knowing itâs going to leave her open and vulnerable in front of a person she never before wanted to be in such a state. But somewhere along the way, things changed so fast that Isla is left dizzy from it, but itâs a slow turning change she finds herself wanting to explore more of. Itâs scary and new, but Isla wouldnât be a Pogue if she shied away from trying scary and new things.
So conjuring up every ounce of her confidence, she looks him in the eye and confesses, âI missed you.â
Rafeâs eyes flare and she swears she hears him suck in a sharp breath, like her words were a punch in the gut. Her own cheeks warm as her statement hangs between them, feeling her heart pounding in her ears as she waits for him to say something. Anything. The tension in the small space is taut, ready to snap at any second, and she wonders if he can feel it so intently, too. Is she just imagining it? Can he, too, feel the sizzle of energy that exists between them?
âIsla.â His voice is rough, eyes darkening with a need that she feels deep in her bones. âTell me I can kiss you.â
She nearly wants to cry in relief. âPlease.â
Itâs all the permission he needs, thankfully, and their collision is earth shattering.
Rafeâs arm winds around her waist and he tugs her close, erasing any remaining space between them as he leans down and captures her lips in a searing, breath-stealing kiss. Isla canât stop the instant, gratifying moan that sounds from her throat at the first contact of his lips against hers, her hands coming up to grip the lapels of his suit jacket as she practically melts into him and the head spinning kiss.
Their fronts are pressed together and she swears she can feel every hard line of his torso against her as Rafeâs other hand grips her jaw, thumb on one side and his fingers on the other as he tilts her head just the way he likes it. Islaâs knees threaten to give out when his tongue teases her lips and she parts them for him immediately, wetness pooling in her underwear when he groans as his tongue languidly, teasingly slides along hers, tasting her as if heâs savoring every moment. Liquid heat pours through her blood as Rafe takes a few steps forward until Isla is being pressed against a shelf, the contents of it rattling yet neither of them paying any attention as he continues to rob her of her breath with his kiss.
One of her hands slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and the pace of the kiss doesnât slow for a second as Rafeâs arm moves from around her waistâonly for his hand to grip her thigh from the parting of the slit of her dress, his skin warm against her already heated one, and she gasps against him as he lifts her leg to hook it around his hip. It brings them even closer, if possible, and Isla whimpers when she feels his hardness press against her panty covered core, the fiery need for him intensifying even more.
Yes, yes, yes. This is better than she could have ever imagined, going beyond her wildest fantasies. Every movement of his lips against hers sparks electricity in her veins, bringing her closer and closer to the point of cataclysmic explosion. She has kissed plenty of people before but, God, never like this. This, she can feel deep in her soul, bringing every cell in her body to life. She thinks she can easily get addicted to thisâto Rafeâs kisses. How can someone be so damn good at kissing?
Isla doesnât want to stop, she never wants this to stop, but air becomes an annoying necessity. Their kiss slows down, but it seems that Rafe doesnât want to end it, either, dragging it out as long as he can, tasting her lips with sweet, soft kisses that make her heart ache in the best way. They donât pull apart, foreheads pressing together as they catch their breaths, the supply closet filled with the sounds of their labored breathing as they share the air between them.
Islaâs eyes slowly open, heavy with dizzying lust, eyelashes fluttering as she finally opens themâonly to see that Rafe is already watching her with a hooded gaze of his own. Her heart leaps, noting his kiss swollen lips, which have pinkened also because of her lipstick. The sight of her lipstick smeared on his mouth intensifies the heat pooled low in her belly, watching him with a hunger no doubt he can see.
Fuck. He kissed her in a way that ruined anyone else for her. Thereâs no going back from this.
âThat was. . .â She trails off, still trying to catch her breath, their noses brushing together.
His mouth curves up. âBetter than I couldâve imagined,â he finishes, making her already flushed cheeks blush more as she lifts her gaze to meet his, a shy yet thrilled smile dancing on her own lips. Especially when she feels his fingers brushing along her thigh, her leg still wrapped around him, and the blush deepens as she slowly puts her foot back onto the ground.
A breathless laugh escapes her as says, âYouâve got lipstick on your face.â
Rafe grins. An honest, panty-dropping smile that makes her want to kiss him again. His hand on her jaw shifts and she feels his thumb swipe along her bottom lip. âSo do you, baby.â
Oh, God. The term of endearment does more to her than she cares to admit, breath stilling in her lungs as her lips tingle not only from his kiss, but the gentle caress of his thumb. His voice is low, a dizzying rasp, and if he ever finds out the kind of effect he has on her, then Isla is in trouble.
Dropping her gaze, she opens her purse and pulls out a small tissue packet. When she takes out a tissue and holds it up to him, Rafe glances at it before meeting her gaze, smirking as he says, âYour mess. Only right for you to clean it up.â
She finds herself grinning at the teasing glint in his eyes, biting her bottom lip as she moves her hand further up and, gently, wipes at Rafeâs lips. His gaze is heavy on her as she does so, heart thudding wildly as she gets rid of her lipstick smeared on his smiling mouth. âDone,â she says once sheâs finished, crushing the tissue in a ball in her hand.
âThank you,â he hums before taking the tissue pack from her hand. âMy turn.â
Her pulse stutters once more when he places a knuckle under chin to lift her face up, gazes locking as he, oh so gently, wipes at the skin right around her lips, as if heâs being careful not to displace the rest of her makeup. Itâs the most tender anyone has ever been with her, even if itâs something as mundane as him fixing her smeared lipstick, and Isla is a hundred percent sure she falls for him a little bit more, right at this moment. Who knew Rafe Cameron could be so soft, so gentle? After kissing her senseless, nonetheless.
âWhat do you say to a second date?â he asks, head tilting slightly as he dabs at the corner of her mouth.
Isla finds herself smiling, stomach fluttering. âIâll say yes if you promise to kiss me again.â
Rafe grins, lowering his hand. Her body craves to be wrapped up in him again as he lifts his chin and says, âThatâs a promise Iâll always keep.â
He proves himself when he presses a slow kiss to her lips once more, and Isla melts into him once more, wishing that they could stay in here, just the two of them, instead of returning to the Midsummers party. Her heart flutters wildly, happily, as she returns the kiss before they break apart slowly. âJust let me know when,â she tells him.
âHmm?â Rafe hums, his gaze on her lips, like he wants to kiss her again. Sheâd totally let him.
Isla laughs. âFor the date.â
His eyes flicker up to meet hers. âYes, maâam.â He glances over his shoulder. âLet me make sure the coast is clear.â
âOne sec,â she says, taking out her phone and lipstick. Using the camera, she checks her reflection for a moment and grins at Rafe. âNice clean up job,â she says, making him chuckle as he watches her quickly reapply her lipstick. He really did wipe away any remnants from her skin, and with the lipstick newly applied, no one would ever know. âOkay, Iâm ready.â
She watches as Rafe steps to the door, switching off the light and plunging them into darkness, only for some light to slip through the crack that appears when Rafe opens the door just an inch or so. He peeks out, his hand gesturing her forward, and she steps up. âOkay, youâre good to go.â
He opens the door wider and Islaâs heart thuds as she steps out into the empty, bright hallway. She can hear the music and the party continue on outside, glancing down at the last second to make sure her dress is straightened, which it is. Right when sheâs about to make her way down the hallway, not wanting to linger in case someone comes by, Rafeâs voice stops her.
âIsla.â She glances at him where he remains inside, standing in the space between the door and the door frame. He grins that panty-dropping smile once more, his gaze dipping to take in the length of her and igniting a fire in her skin as it trails back up to meet her eyes. âYou look beautiful.â
Her cheeks flush, glancing away momentarily to give herself a second to get her wits about her, before musing, âYouâre only saying that âcause you just made out with me.â
He chuckles. âDoesnât make it any less true.â He winks and somehow makes even that seem hot, when Isla would otherwise find it cringey if it was anyone else. Rafe nods in the direction of the party. âGet back out there.â
Islaâs not quite ready to leave him, but she knows she has to because her friends and sister will start looking for her if sheâs gone for too long. When she rejoins Kie and Sarah, her sister asks, âWhere have you been?â
âBathroom,â Isla answers. âWhy, did I miss something?â
âNo,â Sarah hums, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder.Â
âOther than watching people ask Mom and Dad about their anniversary party. I think Momâs gonna break out in hives,â Kie adds in. Their parentsâ twentieth wedding anniversary is coming up quick, and theyâre planning a party which Kie and Isla will be helping out with, and while their mom loves to throw a good party, the whole planning part stresses her out. âBut we saw Carlo and were worried if you ran into him.â
Isla scoffs, trying to ignore the way her lips are still tingling from Rafeâs kisses. âI did,â she says, making both of their gazes whip to her. Isla rolls her eyes. âItâs fine. I told him to fuck off, and that was the end of that.â
Sarah shakes her head, expression scrunching up in annoyance. âIf men are gonna have one thing, itâs the fucking audacity.â
Kie nods as Isla chuckles. âTell me about it,â she says, just as her skin prickles with awareness. Her gaze wanders until it lands on Rafe, back on the porch with his friends, and Isla bites the inside of her cheek as his gaze seems to find hers in that moment, too. They lock eyes on opposite sides of the party, and her belly flips as that dizzying kiss replays in her mind on a loop.
She has to look away before anyone notices, tuning back into the conversation with Kie and Sarah while trying not to think of Rafe. But it doesnât help that he watches her from wherever he is throughout the party, a secret just between them in a crowd full of people, but theirs to keep. For now, at least.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron smut#obx#outer banks#obx fanfic#outer banks fanfic#obx fic#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks fic#obx fanfiction#john b routledge#sarah cameron#kie carrera#kiara carrera#jj maybank#jiara#pope heyward#cleo obx#obx smut
165 notes
¡
View notes
Text
screw up; over wine | drabble i.
synopsis; jungkook wants to make your first date special and unlike any other night youâve had before. while determined to win your heart over with a fancy, romantic dinner that includes sweet, tasty chardonnay and medium rare steaks, not everything goes according to his plan.
pairing; boyfriend! jungkook x model! female reader
word count; 4.1k
genre; fluff, baby angst probably
warnings; none
timeline; this drabble is set 7 years ago, at the very start of the over wine coupleâs relationship where jungkook is a finance major and oc is still active in the modelling industry. theyâre both in their early 20s here!
authorâs note; a thank you drabble for all the support and encouragement iâve been receiving the past two weeks!! also a lil drabble for the people who arenât a fan of angst and still punched through that 38k last chapter :) enjoy this little tidbit of the start their relationship before it all became messy and went downhill
series masterlist | over wine universe
The sound of the lively chatter at the tables surrounding you had gone over your head before. The clinking of cutlery amplifies and bubbles of laughter fill the air the moment Jungkook excuses himself to the bathroom and all of a sudden, you watch yourself become a nerve-wrecking mess, unsure what to do the minute youâre left alone and forced to listen to the couples at the tables on your sides. You can feel their eyes on you, noticing the way they keep glancing at you with some sort of pity in their eyes. The bustling restaurant suddenly feels much more crowded and you canât help but feel exposed with him now gone, the bill at your table staring back at you like it tells you everything Jungkook didnât have the balls to say.Â
Itâs only when the waitress comes back a second time around when you finally search your handbag for your card and hand it to her, plastering a smile on your face that is supposed to copy the one you were previously wearing. You could tell she was getting impatient before, her hair tied into a bun so slick, you were sure she was unable to move the brows at her forehead.Â
Sheâs been eyeing you and Jungkook ever since you came in and sat down, it was hard not to notice, seeing the way her lips pursed as she tongued the front of her teeth when Jungkook ordered you the most expensive Chardonnay on the menu. And at the end, when he left for the bathroom about five seconds after he read the price at the bottom of the receipt, you could swear you saw a vein pop at her forehead. It was funny back then. Though now that heâs been gone for nearly ten minutes, each and every bit of humor has left your body just like you watched it happen to that woman before. The inkling feeling at your chest enlarges each time somebody locks eyes with you and shares that sorrowful, pitiful smile, and you lose it.
You had a good time tonight, that much you canât deny, and you refuse to be pitied. Especg not by a bunch of strangers. You know everyone at the restaurant had seen it at this point. Seen the way Jungkook had leaned over the table with crossed arms supporting him while that charming, boyish smile painted his face, resulting in a flush to your cheeks as you tried to hide it and blame it on the wine that must have gotten to your head. You felt luckier than anyone else in the room only half an hour ago, where you thought the dates around you couldnât compare. Like they couldnât have gotten better than yours by the end of the night.
Yes, embarrassment fills your chest when the waitress hands you back your card and flashes you a knowing smile. However, you refuse to let it bring you down. Humiliation draws over you as you stand up from your seat and make your way over to the corner Jungkook disappeared behind, each step of your stiletto heels to the restaurantâs floor tiles accentuating the flow of your mini dress against your ass. You know eyes are on you, but you ignore it and keep your head high. If you had driven here yourself, you probably would have let the guy rot in the menâs restroom until they had found him, though for now, you still need him for that twenty-minute ride back home.
And itâs not like you mind paying for tonightâs dinner. As a matter of fact, if Jungkook had simply asked you to cover the bill, you know you wouldâve reached out for your wallet without a second thought. He made you feel at ease from the start on; ensuring your beef was cooked to perfection, sitting you down on the booth while he did so on the chair. Even double checking whether or not your glass of Chardonnay was sweet enough to your liking, if you needed another napkin at your neck so you wouldnât stain that pretty little dress, and if you werenât getting cold right beneath that airconditioning screwed to the ceilingâready to run back to the car to get your jack from the backseat.
Thatâs right, you wouldnât have minded, because Jungkook has been perfect all night. And no matter how many times you thought to yourself âGod damn, youâre having a blast and so is he,â you wouldnât have minded if at the end of the night heâd be like, âhey, this probably isnât working out and we should never do this again.â Because, sure, then it is what it is. But at least youâve got more class than him if you think itâs a shitty thing to hide in the menâs restroom the moment the bill is served instead of growing a pair and telling you exactly that in your face.
ââHyung, please, I need you right now.ââ It is the first thing you hear once you round the corner and you come face to face with his back, his phone is held to his ear and it appears his fingers are pinching the bridge at his nose. ââItâs just that Iâm really into this girl, and I can swear she feels the same way. I canât afford fucking it up now. I promise Iâll pay you back by the end of the month, okay?ââ
It stings more than youâd like to admit. You lean against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest as you try to process the situation. Part of you wants to confront him right there, tell him the bill has been taken care of and ask him why he brought you here if he knew he couldnât even pay for it. He could at least tell you to stay within a reasonable budget, where the wine bottle didnât have to cost 400 bucks and each additional sauce wouldnât have to cost another 15 on top.
Would he be scared youâd judge him if he brought you some place else?
ââI know, I know,ââ he mumbles into his phone, throwing his head back. ââI didnât want to bring her somewhere downtown and disappoint her, thatâs all. How was I supposed to know the prices were that high if they donât write it down the menu?ââ
You have to bite your lip to hold the laughter from escaping. Itâs cute, the way he thinks, because the moment youâd see a menu without its prices mentioned, one thing most people would do is run out the building before they charge you for the lukewarm water thatâs already served on the table. You canât help but find his reasoning cute and endearing, his sincerity shining through and you can tell he truly wanted to make tonight special for you. The fact that he was worried about disappointing you speaks volumes about how much he cares. Although, next time around, youâd find him a little cuter if he were honest with you. You really wouldnât think much less of him if he asked you to pay the bill.
ââThanks, hyung. So much.ââ He breathes out, and you can only figure the person on the other end of the line is transferring the money to his bank account as you stand there. ââIâm dodging a bullet here.ââ
It is only when he hangs up the phone that he turns around, halting in his tracks at the sight of you standing there. With his phone still in hand, Min Yoongiâs contact number still displayed on the screen, his expression changes from shock to worry as he sees you standing there, arms folded over another as youâre leaned up against the wall.
ââHi.ââ You smile.
And you have the prettiest smile. Even though itâs closed lipped and seems a little ironic, he thinks you own the most beautiful smile in the room. ââHey,ââ he says, his eyes faltering even though heâs quick to cover up. Sauntering over, he places a hand at your hip to guide you the other way, over to the cashier. ââIâm sorry that took so long, you know how moms can be.ââ He snickers quietly, ââyouâre already two years into college and she still calls every night to ask if youâve eaten.ââ
You stand there, amused by his poor attempt to brush off the situation, His hand on your hip feels warm, and you find yourself swayed by his touch. ââOh, I see,ââ You play along, unable to suppress the playful glint in your eyes. ââSo it was your mom who kept you on the phone for so long? For a hot minute I thought you were bailing on me back here.ââ
Jungkook laughs softly, shaking his head. ââWith the way you look tonight? Iâd be crazy to.ââ His eyes linger on you, shamelessly sneaking down your figure in a long, exposed glance, appreciating the white mini dress that cuts right beneath your ass, accentuating your every curve. He doesnât even try to hide the boyish grin that works its way up his lips, the hand at your hip instead traveling to the small of your back.
Your cheeks flush a little at the compliment, and you turn to face him completely, a flat hand to his chest. ââSmooth talker,ââ you tease, head tilting sweetly as a rush of warmth flows through you.
He grins, his eyes sparkling mischievously. ââJust speaking the truth,ââ he replies, loving the way your eyes grow so big the moment he holds you close and you start looking up at him. He is still running his hand at your back in small circles as he subtly pulls you closer to him, loving the way you just let him. ââLetâs take care of the bill and get you home safely. Are we all set?ââ
You nod cutely, ââI am,ââ you say, and Jungkook guides you around by the waist, his free hand digging into the back pocket of his dress pants before you interrupt him, intertwining your arm with his as you lead the both of you out the door instead. ââAnd I already took care of it.ââ You teasingly whisper in his ear, the smile that you wear on your face undeniable.
Jungkookâs grin falters, halting in his tracks once youâre outside. His brows furrowed together, clearly taken aback. ââWait, you paid?ââ He asks softly, seeming a little deflated even as you stand before him with that pretty smile on your face. He usually canât resist to bring one out himself when your lips break into one, though it comes a little more difficult this time. ââYou know you didnât have to do that, right? I had everything planned out,ââ his hands come to cup your cheeks. ââIt was me who asked you out. That means that Iâm supposed to treat you tonight.ââ
You can see the sincerity in his eyes, and your heart softens at the genuine concern. It is only for a moment that you consider telling him you overheard his phone call with his roommate, and no matter how comfortable Jungkook made you feel tonight alone, you remember itâs only your first date, and youâd hate for things to get sappy so quickly. ââWell, you basically left me all alone with that piece of paper. How could I control myself?ââ Itâs supposed to be a lighthearted joke, he can see it in the way you smile at him, but he canât help but think thereâs some truth to it. ââCome on, bring me home,ââ even with the heels youâre wearing, you have to stand on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. ââThese heels arenât doing me justice anymore.ââ
Jungkook chuckles softly, the tension not yet easing between you even as you drag him to the car by intertwining your hands together. As he opens the door for you to get in, he canât help but feel like heâs somehow failed todayâs date. Looking back at how it mustâve looked like when he ran off to call Min Yoongi for help like heâs still in highschool with a silly little school crush, he feels a pang of embarrassment at the thought of appearing so immature and unprepared in front of you. He wanted everything to be perfect, bring you someplace nice to impress you and show you he could treat you well. Instead, he just looks like a little boy who tried to trick you into paying for the first date.
Even as Jungkook is seated in the driversâ seat and takes the route back to your home, he turns up the volume of the radio, hoping to drown out the disappointment in himself. He definitely screwed up tonight. He doesnât even know if he wants you to say something to him; he just knows that you donât, but the glances you keep sneaking his way for the entire ride back home are enough to make him feel even worse. You can see that something is bothering him, that his playful, flirtatious vibe from before has shifted and is now replaced with something you canât decipher.
You start to wonder if itâs something you said. Wonder if heâs now getting cold feet and suddenly realizes maybe he didnât enjoy himself as much as you thought. He hadnât given you any reason to think like that, though. Not after how sweet he was tonight, not after the way you heard him talk about you over the phone with his friend.
As the car pulls up in front of your place, Jungkook turns off the engine, the radio cutting off as the silence envelopes both of you again. The clicking sound of your seatbelt comes fast and you glance over at him again, finding him already looking at you with a smile that doesnât quite meet his eyes.
He gets out and walks you to the door after that, his hands hidden in the pockets of his pants as he doesnât care to spare you another glance. The shift in energy is obvious between the both of you, not a single soul out on the street at this hour of the day to distract you from the uneasy silence. Your stiletto heels click against the pavement and you have to bite your bottom lip to make the short but uncomfortable way back a little more bearable.
At the end of a date comes a kiss. Itâs how it happens in all the romcoms you watchâit happens in all the chick flicks and all the Disney short movies. But this is no Stephanie Perkins love story, not with the way youâre standing there, hugging your arms as the chilly breeze crosses your skin.
ââI guess this is where we split ways, right?ââ You finally break the silence, your voice tinged with uncertainty. You donât want the night to end on such an awkward note, but the tension between you is undeniable.
Jungkookâs gaze softens, and he takes a step closer to you, the distance between your bodies diminishing. ââI had a great time tonight,ââ he admits, his voice gentle as he reaches to unfold your arms, fingertips grazing over them before they get to your soft hands and intertwines them with his own. ââAnd I really want to see you again,ââ he says quietly, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles. ââYou know, if thatâs okay with you.ââ
You have to tongue the front of your teeth in an attempt to hide that broad smile thatâs tugging at the edges of your lips. ââYeah, Iâd like that.ââ You say, and you can feel your heart race against your chest only with the way heâs looking down at you.
ââAnd Iâll be transferring the money right back to your account first thing back home, alright?ââ
ââOh,ââ you raise an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting him to bring up the topic of money again. ââReally, thatâs okay. I donât mind having to spend a little. And it doesnât really matter in the end, does it? We enjoyed ourselves tonight, and thatâs probably whatâs most important.ââ
ââIt is whatâs most important,ââ he agrees with a boyish smile, heavy lidded eyes staring back at you. ââBut it was me who asked you to join me for dinner. Therefore it was my responsibility to treat you, you know? To make sure you had a good time, and to guarantee the bill was taken care of and nowhere within your reach.ââ Jungkook says, one hand held against his chest as he tilts his head in the most charming way you can think of. ââThat was my mistake. But I wonât be able to go to bed with a good feeling knowing you paid for all that. We didnât dine at McDonaldâs, you know?ââ
You canât help but let out a soft chuckle at his playful reference, because heâs right. There was a lot more on that receipt than two cheeseburgers and fries on the side. Jungkook took you out to wine and dine; told you beforehand to wear the prettiest dress you own and he spared no expense to make sure the evening was special. It was clear he wanted to impress you, even if you hadnât overheard his phone call.
Your hands caress his chest until they reach to play with the collar of his blouse, as if to fix it. ââThen maybe itâs time we pick out some place thatâs a little more affordable, donât you think?ââ Youâre not nagging at him, your voice is gentle, indirectly telling him he doesnât need to spend money on you that he doesnât have. ââYou know Iâd be fine with a pizza and a soda, right?ââ
The feeling of your fingertips tickling at his neck makes him bite his lip, your arms leaning on his broad shoulders for support. ââYou know I canât take you out for pizza.ââ
You smile, enjoying the closeness between you when his own hands fall to your hips. Tugging you closer, just slightly. ââWhy not?ââ You tease, unable to keep that toothy smile off your face. ââI bet we could have just as much fun sharing a pizza as we did tonight.ââ
ââWe would,ââ Jungkookâs eyes meet yours, and he looks a little torn. ââBut youâre special,ââ his lips curl into a small smile when the words leave him, watching as you throw your head back a little in surprise, the warmth rising to your cheeks not gone unnoticed. ââAnd I donât know⌠itâs probably just something you do, but you make me want to give you all the things youâve never been given before, all right?ââ
Heâs speaking from the heart, and the longer he looks into those eyes of yours, the more this lovestruck feeling intensifies in the deepest pits of his chest. Because itâs true; Jeon Jungkook is smitten. You pick up his FaceTime calls in the middle of the night wearing silken, champagne pink Chanel pajamas, you carry your Miss Dior perfumes in the side pockets of your Armani handbags and your agent takes you out to fine dinings at least once a monthâyouâre handed all those luxury items by all sorts of brands trying to get a sponsor out of you because, they as well, know youâre something else. Something big.
You stand before him in a dress he doesnât even want to know the price of, and instead just wants to admire you. How was he ever going to step up his game and give you things you havenât seen before? Sure, perhaps Jungkook was a little starstruck the moment the price at the end of the bill caught his eye, but when it came to you, it was worth it. He doesnât make that kind of money yet, but he will, and when he receives his degree and finally does that, then yes, he wants to spoil you rotten. You deserve it all.
Your heart skips a beat at his words, touched by his genuine sentiment. ââJungkook,ââ you begin softly, your voice tinged with emotion. ââI had a blast tonight, I really did, and I appreciate you so much for the effort you put in the entire evening. But I really hope you didnât do all of this with the idea I would like you any less if it indeed was just a burger and some fries from McDonaldâs.ââ
Jungkookâs eyes soften. ââNo, thatâs not it at all,ââ he assures you, his voice gentle and sincere. ââI wanted to show you a good time, to make you smile.ââ
ââI smiled all the way to the end of the night,ââ you sing-song, leaning into his touch when you cup his cheeks. ââSo no S.O.S phone calls with Min Yoongi at the end of our next date night?ââ
He blinks slowly, shifting his gaze downward as a nervous chuckle escapes his lips. ââYou overheard my phone call,ââ you watch as the embarrassment overtakes him and you think itâs rather cute how he tries to hide his face from you, the sight of your feet suddenly so much more interesting. ââIsnât that great.ââ He mumbles, wincing on the inside.
ââI did. And thereâs nothing to be embarrassed of.ââ You tilt his head back up, forcing him to lock eyes. ââI actually think itâs kind of cute you wanted to impress me. Am I really that intimidating?ââ
Jungkookâs cheeks warm, and he canât help but let out a laugh at your teasing. His thumbs start caressing the material at the small of your back, leaving you a little weak in the knees. ââIntimidating isnât the right word,ââ he admits, pursing his lips like heâs thinking hard. ââIâd say youâre frightening. And not in a good way, either. Rather like one of those Disney villains that would keep you awake as a kid, you know?ââ He smirks cutely, playfully nudging at your side and causing you to squirm at his arms. ââUrsula or something. You look just like her, the big eyes and the crazy hair and all.ââ
ââDo I now?ââ You arch a single brow, amusement crippling at your lips.
He hums, tugging you close to him until your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his warmth radiating through his clothes. ââLike two beads of water.ââ He says a little softer now, his breath fanning against your lips as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.
The space between you seems to shrink, the world around you fading into oblivion the more youâre drawn into him. ââYou wouldnât look at me as if you want to kiss me if that were true.ââ
Jungkookâs breath catches at your words, and he canât deny the truth in them. The teasing glint in your eyes sends a jolt of excitement through him, making him want to prove you wrong. His fingers gently trail along your jawline, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine.
ââOh, really?ââ He retorts playfully, his voice low and husky. ââAnd what if I do want to kiss you?ââ His gaze intensifies, holding you captive as he leans closer, his lips almost brushing against yours. The air cackles with anticipation, and time seems to slow down as the world around you fades away.
Your heart pounds in your chest, matching the rhythm of his as he hovers so close. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it sends a rush of desire through you. Your fingers instinctively find their way to his chest, the anticipation building between you both.
ââDo it and find out.ââ
He doesnât hesitate. Youâve given him the green light and with a surge of boldness running through him, he closes the distance between you, and his lips capture yours in a tender, passionate kiss. Itâs a perfect collision of desire, a moment that feels like it was meant to be.
You place a hand to his chest, able to feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. With your fingers slightly curling at the nape of his neck, arm leaning on his shoulder, you dare to pull him closer to you as he copies your body language not much longer after. He pulls you by the small of your back to make sure it curves and youâre pressed chest to chest. Your breaths mingle, lips eagerly brushing against each other as the kiss deepens and you feel a tingling warmth spreading through your body. His touch is tender and possessive, as if he doesnât want to let you go. Your other hand finds its way to his cheek, caressing it with a soft, adoring touch. Itâs a silent reassurance that this is right, that you want this as much as he does.
Time seems to lose all meaning when his lips lingers on yours, it seems like. Youâre lost in him, just like how he is lost in you. And when you eventually pull away, your foreheads rest against each other, you both share a soft, contented sigh. Your eyes meet, and a knowing smile passes between you.
ââLetâs save the rest for our second date, yeah?ââ
Your heart is still racing, and his touch leaves your body feeling electric. You can see the desire in his eyes as gazes down at you, and with a gentle caress at his cheek, you nod in agreement, a playful glint in your eyes.
ââDefinitely,ââ you whisper, your voice breathless.
As you part ways, you fumble with your keys at the door as Jungkook makes his way back to his car. A sense of contentment washes over you, knowing youâve found someone who makes your heart race and your soul soar.
And as you steal a glance from over your shoulder only one last time for tonight, you find him doing the same thing at the exact same moment. Your eyes meet, and you cutely avert your eyes back forward the moment it happens, missing the way he bites his bottom lip to hold back a cheeky grin, shaking his head in amusement.
Youâre truly one of a kind.
#jungkook drabble#jungkook au#jungkook x reader#jungkook imagine#jungkook#jeon jungkook#BTS jungkook#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts#bts fic
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Two bikes (2)
Summary:Â Youâre back in your hometown and meet two men from your past.
Pairing:Â former Jax Teller x fem!Reader (pre-story), Biker!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Warnings:Â smitten Bucky, fluff, light/implied smut scene
A/N: I wanted Jax and Biker!Bucky in one fic. So suffer with meâŚ
Two bikes (1)
Two bikes masterlist
He moves slowly but with enough strength to punch the air out of your lungs. You gasp with every powerful thrust, torn between lust and regret.
How could you end up in his arms? How could you let him fool you again?
âI knew youâd feel this good, baby,â he groans in your neck. His body presses yours into the mattress and you are glad that he canât see your face.
Youâre close to tears because of your bad decision of getting close to the man breaking your heart more than once.
If only he chanted your name when you were not tangled in each other. If only he meant the words he whispers in your ear while taking you apart.
You know better, and still, you fell for him again.
âLook at you, all fucked out,â he groans with the last thrust. He is still on top of you, his face buried in your neck long after he came inside of you. You feel his chest pressed against your back, so close that it feels like you are one person. âShit, you gave me another one.â
He finally slips out of you, huffing as you do not move. âThat was amazing,â he says while already looking for his pants. âUh-maybe you should head home. Itâs getting late and Iâd hate for you to walk in the dark.â
âI-â your voice fails. How can he be a passionate and sweet lover one moment, and the next he turns into the selfish asshole you know so well. âYouâre right.â
You slip out of bed to grab your clothes and throw them on. He watches you hastily dress with amusement. âYou can go slow. Give me a little show.â
âFuck you,â you snap at him. You walk out of the room, your jacket, bag, and one shoe tugged under your arm to get away from the next mistake you made. âHow could I have been so stupid?â
You walk away, ignoring passersby watching you walk along the sidewalk with only one shoe on. Your apartment isnât far away from his place, and you are too out of it to put your second shoe on.
Youâre more running than walking when you see your building. With your last strength, you spring toward the building and unlock the door with shaking fingers.
You stare at the word count before rereading the words. âThatâs awful. A bad sex scene and the angst doesnât hit right.â You rub your tired eyes. âThree hours and I only got three hundred and eighty lousy words. Youâve got to be kidding me, Y/N.â
Slamming the laptop shut you sigh deeply. Of course, your personal experience is always a good inspiration, but not this time. You want to start this book with a perfect opening, so the reader doesnât want to put the book away until they read every single sentence.
âWhat do we do?â you hide your face in your hands and sigh again. Since the day you met Jax again, your mood turned sour.
You believed coming back to your hometown would spark your inspiration. Instead, you got your heart broken by the very same man causing you to leave town years ago.
âFuck, I need to come up with something better than this shit.â
Youâre about to give up when your phone starts ringing. Reluctantly you leave your unfinished first chapter to answer the call. âHello, this isâŚâ
You donât get to tell your name before Bucky calls you doll. âHey, doll,â he chuckles when you squeak a hello. âI wanted to tell you that I fixed your car. You can get it this afternoon if you want to.â
âThat would be great, James,â you smile to yourself. Hearing Buckyâs voice saved you from despairing over your first chapter. âI can be there at five, is that okay?â
âNo, no doll,â he stops you before you can say more. âIâll pick you up, doll. I canât let you walk or take the bus. And please, stop calling me James. My father called me that when I did something stupid. I hate it.â
âDid he call you James often?â you tease. âI bet he did because you did something stupid all the time. Like smoking or driving too fast.â
âMaâam, Iâm a responsible driver, and I do not smoke,â he replies, but you hear the joke in his words. âMaybe I like a good drink, but thatâs all. Oh, and donât worry. I donât drink and drive.â
âI can call a taxi, Bucky. You donât have to pick me up,â you try not to owe Bucky another favor. He refused to take money from you for repairing your car. Thatâs more than enough.
âDoll, if we want to stay friends,â he tries to sound serious, but chuckles, âyouâll accept a ride on my bike, miss. Iâll pick you up at five pm sharp. Please wear somethingâŚnice.â He laughs when you mutter into the phone. âNah, just kidding. Come as you are, Y/N. Thatâll be enough.â
âFine, but Iâll pay you back somehow.â He makes an odd noise but plays it cool. âOh! I know. Iâll devote the first chapter of my new book to you, Mr. Barnes.â
âA new book!â He gasps. âWill it be about the same woman? Another part of your series? Please say yes.â
Youâre surprised Bucky knows your books. âYes, and no. I try toâŚI donât know.â You huff. âI want her to have a fresh start, just like me. Old habits die hard, but itâs time. If you know what I mean.â
âI know damn well what you mean, doll. Iâll pick you up at five and we can talk about that fresh start some moreâŚâ
âHere,â Bucky holds a leather jacket in his hands. Itâs too small to be his, and you frown. âI got you a jacket, so you wonât freeze.â He grins when you glance at the jacket.
âBucky, Iâm not your old lady,â you point out, knowing about the traditions of bikers.
âNot yet,â he retorts. Bucky helps you into the jacket, and a big smile on his face when he zips it up. âLooks good on you, Y/N.â
You roll your eyes. Heâs very charming, but you know the flirty banter will turn into something more if you donât stop him. ButâŚdo you want to stop him?
âI got you a helmet too,â he grabs the helmet and helps you to put it on. He taps it twice and grins. âPerfect. Now we can go for a rideâŚâ
Bucky gets on his bike, planting his feet on the ground to steady it. He holds out his hand to help you get on the back of his bike.
âHang on, baby. I donât want you to fall off my bike.â He smirks when you laugh. âYou can hold tight onto me, Y/N. I wonât mind.â
You hesitate for a second. This situation is a little too familiar for your liking. You look at his back, reading the wrong clubâs name on it. âHowling Commando,â you whisper.
âIs everything alright,â Bucky asks. âWe can wait if youâre scared of driving in the back.â
âNo,â you shake the memories of the past off and wrap your arms tightly around Bucky. âAll good, Bucky. We can go.â
He starts the engine, ignoring he can feel you pressed against him. If he gets too distracted by your closeness, heâll crash his bike with you in the back. And thatâs the last thing he wants to doâŚ
Tags in reblog.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#biker au#jax teller#jax teller x reader#Two bikes (2)#x reader#female reader
209 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Give It To Me Easy
Chapter 3 of Made Me Love You (The Bangfest)
Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 Masterlist
Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI
Pairing: Joel Miller x f reader x Tommy Miller
Word count: 3.0k
Summary: 3rd and final installment of The Bangfest!
Warnings: SMUT, PIv, fingering, hand job, drinking, girlfriend sharing, not quite a threesome, jealousy, infidelity? Minor angst, shitty writing, poor proofreading, typos galore, foot stuff if you really squint. Dirty talk, little degradation, idk what else.
A word from the author: ok here we go. Last night at the hotel for these three. This story doesnât end how I expected it to. It took on a life of its own, it took more than a year to finish, the plot is weak as hell, but here it is. Many, many thanks to everyone who read and remembered this story even when I kinda gave up on it for a while there. Major, major thanks to @milla-frenchy and @604to647 Youâre the best.
Tommy picked a restaurant in walking distance from the hotel. It was nice to get out and walk in the breezy night air. It was balmy and salty and the wind was soft, ruffling your hair.
Tommy held you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, squeezing and rubbing your warm, slightly sunburnt flesh. He held your left hand in his left hand, and let his right wander up and down your body from shoulder to hip to ass and back again, making silent promises for later. On one pass he lets his hand drop further, past the hem of your dress to run his hand up the back of your thigh, brushing the back of his thumb over the soft lace of your panties.
Joel walked beside you, shielding you with his body from the passing cars, trying hard not to watch how Tommy touched you, trying hard to not feel jealous over someone who wasnât exactly his, even if he had fucked you all day like you were. You were too nervous to look at him, sure that if you did Tommy would know what was happening. You werenât even certain yourself what was happening. It was safer to keep your eyes away from that enticing shadow at your side for now.
At the restaurant, you sat by Tommy, his arm draped over your shoulder as he talked and drank and ate his dinner, unaware of the way you had slipped off your sandal and ran your toes up the inside of Joelâs calf. Unaware of the way Joel cupped your heel and massaged your ankle with his calloused thumb while barely sparing you a glance over the table.
âSo what did yâall do today? You get some work done?â He raised his eyebrow at you in question.
âYeah I worked a little then went for a swim, took a walk in the beach.â
Tommyâs expression pinched slightly, tilting his head he turned to his brother. âYâlet her go alone?â His tone was a mix of worry and accusation. It wasnât what Joel expected. You hadnât given much thought to your alibis.
Joel frowned into his whiskey âNo, I was with her. Should have brought some binoculars.â
Tommy eased at the quick lie, a grin spreading across his face. âYeah I bet you wish you had some binoculars. Find you a girl out there to pick up, huh?â
You were grateful that the conversation quickly turned to construction and deadlines and punch lists and budgets and anything besides you and Joel.
More drinks. Beer for Tommy, whiskey neat for Joel, and a rum and cranberry for you. Tommy pulled you in closer to his side, and let his hand slip between your thighs, squeezing and rubbing your smooth skin before guiding your hand to his lap, letting you feel him growing hard under his jeans. âLetâs go. Want to get you back to the room.â He mouthed at your neck, slurring slightly against your ear.
When Joel tugged your foot against his own straining length, you met his glassy eyes, and read everything behind them as if his thoughts were written there, bold and underlined. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and at Tommyâs urging you all shuffled out of the booth, and down the street.
Ambling along, Tommy leans into you with his arm around your shoulder, letting you carry some of his half-drunken weight. Heâs warm and heavy, and he smells like sweat and beer and detergent. He whispers too loud, clumsily leaning into your shoulder, telling you what he wanted to do when he got home. âBaby. Been away all day. You miss me? You gonna ride me? You need me, baby?â
Joel is quiet on the walk back, making a few comments but mostly just scanning the street, chewing gum smacking as he trailed behind you and Tommy. The distance between you and him felt too great, he wanted you tucked under his arm, where he could lean down and kiss you and whisper to you, make you laugh and blush. He thought about you, how you had looked so pretty earlier in the ocean, cheeks flushed from the sunshine, later flushed from how he had made you come on his cock. He remembered how you looked, your face, your body, your pussy. He thought of how you looked with his cum leaking out. He wondered if you could still feel him. He hoped you could.
When you made it back to the hotel, Joel didnât come to the room, he said he was going to get some air, go check out the poolside bar, and left you and Tommy alone. He needed to talk to you, needed to know how you really felt. Needed to get away from the sight of his brother with his hand on your tit as he crowded you against the door while you struggled to swipe the key card.
Once you made it inside Tommy was on you in a flash, mumbling and biting at your neck and shoulder, hiking up your dress to get his fingers under your panties. He wasted no time, nudging you toward your bed, slipping his hand into your panties to gather your wet arousal, sliding it over your clit. You were glad Joel wasnât there to see it this time, how quickly Tommy could turn you on. âTake this off.â He pulled at the fabric keeping your skin from him. You wriggled out of your clothes. Before you could crawl up to the pillows, Tommy was on you, maneuvering you onto your belly and covering your body with his, caging your thighs with his knees and kissing you messily. His cock rested against your ass, hard and seeking friction.
He rutted against you, and you closed your eyes, you let your thoughts drift once again to Joel and the beach and the nectarine and the way he looked so handsome first thing in the morning. You almost didnât hear Tommy. âHmm?â You grunted. âYou smell like him. Smell like Joel.â He didnât sound angry or accusatory. He soundedâŚcurious? You needed to see his face. His eyes would tell you everything you needed to know. Even drunk you could read his face like a book. You rolled and he made room for you to turn under him, he stayed above you, though, positioning his face right above yours, kissing you deeply, though you couldnât feel it. Your heart had probably stopped.
You got a clear look at him in the lamplight when he pulled back. His eyes shone, black and deep and wet. He smiled weakly. âHe touch you today? While I was gone?â You blinked, unable to speak, afraid youâd confess and ruin everything before youâd made up your mind what needed to be done. Abrupt chaos.
Words failed, and you nodded, slowly and without looking at him. âYeah? You let him touch you? Couldnât wait for me to get home?â You closed your eyes and shook your head, silently confessing all. You waited for whatever noise was sure to erupt. Yelling, wailing, suitcases flying into beds. When it didnât come, you opened your eyes and found lust where question had been. âTell me.â His warm breath on your shoulder, the drag of his lips along the skin of your neck. âHowâd he touch you, baby?â
Words wouldnât come, but you guided his hand to your breast, rubbing his warm palm over your nipple.
âHe had his hand on your tit?â he asked, squeezing and releasing the tender flesh and furrowing his brows. âThat all he did?â
You shook your head again and Tommy grunted, low and hard to interpret if he was upset or disappointed that you werenât more forthcoming. âShow me where else.â
You took a chance. You knew Tommy liked for people to watch, and he seemed happy to let Joel fuck you when you were all together, but you worried this might be too far. You brought Tommyâs hand to your mouth and sucked two of his thick fingers wetly before pushing his hand between your legs. He took the lead and swirled your spit along with the spreading wet over your folds, pressing firm against your clit.
âHere? You let my brother touch this pussy? My pussy?â
He slurred. You nodded, a nervous floaty feeling in your belly and a growing heat in your core. Tommy nodded as if in understanding and plunged two fingers into your cunt. âInside like this?â He pressed, and you nodded again. Tommy groaned at your admission and fucked you harder. âJust his hands?â
Now this is dangerous territory. Would it be crossing a line to admit you fucked Joel? That you didnât make him wear a condom, that he had come inside you, that you came on his brother cock? You shook your head.
âFuck. I should have known. Greedy son of a bitch. Should have known from the way heâs always got a semi when youâre around. One taste wasnât gonna be enough for him and this greedy little pussy just canât help it, can she?â He pulled his fingers from the warmth of your pussy and smacked your tender clit, making you yelp, on the precipice of an orgasm already. âHere I was, feelin sorry for you, leaving you alone all day with an empty pussy and you were back here givin it up for Joel and didnât even send me a picture.â He wasnât mad at all. He seemed proud? Maybe even turned on?
You found your voice and finally spoke, voice small and unsure. âWould you have liked that?â
Tommy dropped his forehead to your chest and sighed. âWouldâa hated it, seeing you all get to have a good time and not get to get my hands on my girl. Fuck I-â
He was cut off by the opening of the door, and Joelâs sudden reappearance. Tommy turned his head to his brother, staring with glassy eyes at the man who helped himself to his brotherâs girlfriend. Joel stood and flexed his hands into fists when he saw you under his little brother, naked, clearly in the middle of something. Jealousy burned up the back of his neck. He wanted to turn and leave, but then he noticed the look on your face, the width of your pupils, the way you bit your lip as you looked up at him from the bed. He noticed Tommyâs heavy eyelids, the smell of alcohol. He toed off his boots.
Joel sank onto the bed beside you, pressing close, running his hand up the top of your thigh to your hip, sliding it low over your belly then back up to pull you against him, arm banded just under your bare tits, and his lips on your neck.
Tommy looked on, as if in a fog, and scooted to the side to make room for the extra body in his bed.
âDid I interrupt something?â Joel questioned.
Before you could answer, Tommy spoke up. âYeah, asshole. Sheâs just been telling me what yall got up to today. Sounds like she kept you real busy,â he punctuated his sentence with a pinch of your nipple, âainât that right?â
Joel hummed, unsure how much to confirm or deny. âWe kept pretty busy.â He studied your face for any indication of what all youâd told your boyfriend.
âMust not have worn her out, though. Sheâs still beggin for more. Feel how wet she is just from tellinâ me about it.â
âWhat did you tell Tommy, darlinâ?â Joel teased as he lifted your knee and settled it over his. You panted at his teasing, at being wedged between their two big, warm bodies, delirious when you felt them both hard.
âI told him how you touched me.â
âWhere? Whereâd I touch you?â
âMy tits.â
âMhm,â Joel agreed and skimmed his palm over your nipples, âwhere else?â
âMy pussy.â
âYour pussy. Thatâs right,â he covered your lips, sticky with arousal with his flattened fingers, rubbing firmly in a few sloppy circles before smacking them gently. âdidnât I take good enough care of this pussy today? You gotta have more?â
You nodded, too caught up in the moment unfolding between you, your boyfriend, and his brother to form a response that wasnât just a desperate, pitiful moan. It was enough, though. Enough to make Joel plunge two thick fingers deep into your soft pussy, back where you like him. Your body rocked with the force of his thrusts, and you thought of how much better his cock felt. His weight on top of you, his breath on your shoulder, and his cock filling you, showing you just how much you could take. You rocked your hips in time to the rhythm he set.
âBaby.â Tommy muttered as he watched, kneading your breast in his hand and leaning to kiss you, stealing your breath as Joel kissed and nibbled your neck. Tommy dragged his lips down your chin, scratching the delicate skin with his mustache, working his way down over your chest until he had your nipple in his mouth. You whined at the prickling sensation, your whole body flooded with warmth and wet. Joelâs hand covered your jaw and turned your face to him so he could kiss you with an air of authority, like he was the conductor of the symphony he and Tommy played on your body. You were just their instrument.
Before you could consider the finer points of that thought, a third finger joined the first two in your clenching hole, followed swiftly by a fourth. The stretch was tremendous, and you squirmed against the pinch.
âToo much?â Tommyâs voice rises above the blood rushing in your ears.
âNah. She can take it. Has to if sheâs gonna take more dick and I can feel her squeezinâ me.â They talked about you like you werenât there. One of them thumbed your clit, the finishing touch that had you arching your back and crying his name.
âJoel!â
If Tommy was too drunk to notice, Joel wasnât. âThatâs my girl.â He soothed as you settled. Tommy slipped his fingers out, but Joel didnât move, he let you ride out the after shocks of your orgasm on his hand and kissed you tenderly. âNow weâre gonna show him what this pussy really needs.â
Tommy grunted when Joel repositioned, making room for himself between your slick smeared thighs. He scooted up, covering you in kisses, petting your hair, murmuring to you about what a cockhungry girl you were, how all you cared about was getting off, how you needed to be full all the time, how one dick wasnât enough for a cumslut like you. You didnât protest. How could you when you were stroking Tommyâs cock in your hand while Joel pulled your hips up and buried his cock in your insatiable cunt?
Tommyâs brows knitted together, eyes flicking from the point where Joel filled you and where your hand wrapped around his turgid member. He spat on his cock, covered your hand with his and guided your strokes, his eyes going unfocused as he came. Drops of his milky seed spattering against your belly and chest. You slid your fingers through Tommyâs cum in a daze, scooping it into your mouth, leaving shiny streaks across your skin and pushing your tits together, reveling in the way Joel made you feel so utterly full.
You felt him everywhere, deep in your belly when he covered your body with his and pounded down with purpose. It was animalistic. He kissed your chest and wrapped his arm around your waist, grinding against your clit until you came. He fucked you through it, following close behind with a shudder.
After you cleaned up with tissues from the nightstand, Tommy pulled you into his heavy embrace, drunk arms enclosing you, letting you fall asleep one last time in your hotel, the future no clearer than the first night, Joelâs come dripping out of you.
Joel kissed the back of your head and returned to his own bed, finally satisfied.
â˘â˘â˘â˘â˘
You woke up early to pack and get a start on the drive. You took a shower, quicker than your prefer, and reminded Tommy to bring back coffee when he and Joel went out to pick up breakfast. Joel, quick and efficient was already packed. You tucked Tommyâs things into his suitcase and were zipping it when they returned.
âLook how good she takes care of me.â Tommy beamed, sweeping you into his arms and kissing you, dropping his hand to squeeze your ass under your sundress. Joel handed you your iced coffee, promising it was just the way you like.
Tommy led you to the truck and you sat shotgun while Tommy drove. The ride was peaceful, coffee drank, the radio tuned, and miles went by. Maybe youâd all pretend this week hadnât happened after all.
Joel cleared his throat, and the men exchanged a look in the rear view mirror.
Tommy reached across the console to take your hand, pulling it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. âYou know, sweetheart,â Tommy began, âme and Joel were talking about what a great trip this was. We had a real good time. I think you had a good time too.â
You nodded in agreement, unsure of what exactly you should say. Yeah I had a great time fucking your brother and he really want me to leave you for him. That would go great.
âJust cause weâre going home doesnât mean we should stop having fun though.â Joel offered. âMe and Tommy had a talk and I told him I want to give you more.â He leaned forward over the seat, stroking your arm. âDo you understand me? I want you to be mine as much as you are his. In all ways.â
âTommy?â You looked to your boyfriend for confirmation of all this. He looked at you, smiling shyly, hopeful.
âWhat do you think? Think you can handle two of us? Let us both take care of you? Let us share you and spoil you?â Tommy squeezed your hand, Joel rubbed your arm, you looked between them, and smiled.
âYeah.â
Pit Stop: An Extra
#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller tlou#joel tlou#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#Joel miller x f reader x Tommy miller#joel miller x you x tommy miller#tommy miller x f!reader#tommy miller x you#tommy miller#tommy miller x reader#tommy miller tlou#tommy miller smut#the Bangfest#made me love you#bat writes
164 notes
¡
View notes
Text
At Peace in your Fire (Pt 4)
part 1 part 2 part 3
Summary: the after math of the meeting in Hewn City
Pairing: Eris x Archeron!Reader
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: out of character Feyre (Keeping secrets from Rhys) slight angst, fluff đ
Notes: Ahhhhhhhh !! Thank you everyone who is reading, liking, commenting, reblogging and asking to be on the taglist I love each and every one of you ! This chapter is a little short, but I really hope you like it ! I wanted to get something out this weekend, and cant wait to work on the next part this week !
Erisâ POV
Eris has experienced a lot of fear in his life. Plenty of terrifying moments to plague his nightmares every century of his life. But this- Y/n falling unconscious before them, crying out in agony before the darkness took her- he thought he had suffered all his worst fears by now. He was so devastatingly wrong.
He moved so fast he didnât have time to think about what he was doing. He was to her before her head could hit the ground. But before he could pull her into his arms, Cassian grabbed her and Azriel yanked Eris back.
âDonât you touch her.â Azriel growled.
âYouâre lucky I moved as quickly as I did! None of you sprang to action and a head wound is the last thing she needs in this state!â Eris defended.
âWhy do you even care?â Mor snapped.
âOkay, thatâs enough. We need to get Y/n to Madja. This meeting is over.â Rhys started to walk toward Cassian where he still held Y/nâs unconscious figure.
All Eris could do was stand there dumbly and watch as they all prepared to winnow her away, and he would have no way to know how she was or what was wrong. He hadnât felt so helpless in so long and it felt like a punch to the gut. Only Nesta threw him a look that he couldnât quite decipher, but it wasnât nearly as cold as she had looked at him before.
And then they were gone. And Eris had to sit down, or he may have thrown up. He was shaking with pent up energy and emotions. He couldnât bring himself to look at her at all during the meeting, not when she has been looking at him with soft eyes that expected a good male to be standing before her. He was not good. He was tortured and twisted and wrong. He knew if he had looked into her eyes he would have fallen apart and gotten to his knees before her to ask for her forgiveness for what had happened with Mor, and even with Lucien. He usually brushed off the comments about those events, any event where his morals are questioned. But with Y/n standing there he felt such a need to defend himself- to explain. But he couldnât. Not fully. And now Y/n will know he is a monster, and she will never again touch his hands with softness, never again look into his eyes with hopeful caution. Gods. All it took was one damn dance and Eris was a fool for her.
He had to see her again. Had to know if she was okay. For now, though, all he can do is go home to the Autumn Court, and pray his father remained unaware of his absence.
Y/nâs POV
Amber eyes, freckled skin, sharp cheekbones, and the softest red hair. Y/n had been dreaming of this face for weeks, but now, instead of a frozen lake with pain and fear in his eyes, they were on the dancefloor. He still looked at her with fear in those beautiful eyes, but this was a much more vulnerable kind of fear. Not fear of her power, but fear of her looking too closely at him. Fear of being seen. In this dream, he doesnât turn and run away. In this dream he stays, and they stare into each otherâs souls for a long while. Then, she leans into him and rests her head on his chest, and he continues to sway her back and forth until the song comes to an end.
When she looks back up at him, his face is cold. His gaze harsh and unforgiving as he pushes her away. She stumbles, but her family rushes in behind her. Eris, who was soft and warm moments ago, was now distant and cruel as he sneers and looks you up and down before exiting the dancehall.
Y/n jolted awake gasping for air. Feyre was immediately by her side, holding her hand. When Y/n catches her breath, Feyre cups her cheek and wipes away the stray tears that Y/n hadnât noticed falling. Feyre climbs into the bed next to her. The small bed was set up right next to the fireplace, and Y/n crooned toward the heat and golden glow on her face. It was nighttime, or maybe the early hours of the morning. Feyre laid on the side furthest from the fire, her head propped up on her hand and reached the other out to comb Y/nâs hair with her fingers.
âHow are you feeling?â Feyre whispered.
Y/n motioned to her throat in a request for water and Feyre jumped up to get it for her. After a few large, unladylike gulps, she set the glass down on her bedside table. âThank you. Iâm okay. What happened?â
âWe were in the meeting with Eris,â Y/nâs heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name and tried to not make it obvious she had just been dreaming about him, âwhen all of a sudden you cried out in pain and fell unconscious.â Feyre finished.
âMy head had been hurting throughout the meeting. I donât know what was wrong, Iâm sorry. That must have been so embarrassing and unprofessional. Is Rhys upset?â
âRhys? Oh Y/n, of course not! Heâs been worried sick about you. Like a mother hen. Heâs terrible, honestly,â Feyre chuckled softly. It made Y/n feel more at ease.
âBut we didnât get the information from Eris about the Spring Court. I messed up the whole meeting because of a silly headache- â
âY/n, stop, itâs really okay. Eris was being an ass anyway and- â Feyre halted as Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. âY/n? Y/n what can I do?â Feyre sat helpless as her twinâs face contorted in pain. Y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed to fully face the fire raging in the hearth and she felt the pressure in her head lighten.
Feyre came to sit beside her again, and when she could think again, Y/n started to remember what happened at the meeting. She remembered being confused the whole meeting. By Eris refusing to look at her, by the history with Mor and with his brother, and the rising tension in the room and the distain that her family held for Eris. She remembered the pain in Erisâ voice that no one else could bother to hear, when he said, ânot all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.â And that was when the pain in her head escalated to a point that she could not handle. Then she comes to now, when Feyre started to insult him, and the pain came back. The only to help, being the fire⌠Her twin wasnât stupid. Y/n knew she had pieced it together too before even looking at her. And it wasnât her daemati power. Y/n had worked tirelessly on her mental shield.
Y/n slowly turned to lock eyes with Feyre and was met with a knowing but weary gaze. âSo⌠Eris, huh?â
âUgh, Feyre!â Y/n groaned and threw her pillow at her head. Easily grabbing the pillow, Feyre and Y/n burst out into laughter. They hadnât laughed like this together in so long. They had been so close until Feyre came to Prythian, and Y/n hadnât noticed how much she had been missing her sister.
When their breathing slowed and they could once again keep a straight face, Y/n looked back to her sister. âI donât know. I feel this pull to him, but I also know how much everyone hates him. I mean her tried to take you from us on that damned lake, he apparently has hurt Mor, and I donât even know what to think about what happened to poor Lucien. And at the same time, I think I see him in a way that not even he can. He is the embodiment of fire, Fey. How could I not be drawn to him like a moth to a flame? I think⌠I think he might be a good male deep down. But Iâm so confused.â Y/n sighed and put her head in her hands again.
Feyre rubbed her sisterâs back in an attempt to soothe her. It makes sense, she thinks, for her sister to be intrigued by Eris. But she was in the same boat with their familyâs animosity toward the male, it would be difficult to work around centuries of hurt, even if they were misunderstandings. âWeâll figure it out. Itâll be okay, I promise.â
When Y/n woke the next morning, it was close to noon and Feyre was gone. Likely off performing her duties as High Lady to get ready for the High Lords meeting, they were planning. As she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, she noticed a quill and parchment sat out on her desk across the room. Having learned how to read and write not long ago, she thought it might be a sign to practice. She had already missed her usual lesson with Rhys or Amren, so this would have to do.
She wrapped the plush green robe tighter around her shivering frame and sat in the large desk chair with her knees to her chest, her head resting atop them. The desk was a beautiful cherry oak wood, stained to deepen the natural red tint of the wood. The complexity of the color and the grain of the wood had Y/nâs mind wandering to a certain male who was just as complex and had hair a similar shade of red. Thinking of the way his hand felt on her waist as they danced, how warm he was, and the moment of vulnerability he showed during the meeting. She felt her heart crack slightly as she recounted the look on his face and the way his voice broke imperceptibly when he said, ânot all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.â
The memories had her picking up the quill, dipping it into some ink, and pressing to the page.
She folded the parchment into a triangle shape that could be carried by the wind, and with all her power, willed the wind to carry it to the Autumn Court. Hoping and praying to whatever gods may listen, that no one else finds it.
Erisâ POV
The minute he arrived back in the Autumn Court, Eris was so exhausted that he could have wept when he saw his horse standing there waiting for him. The chestnut stallion was a clear mirror of himself. Tall, deceivingly strong with his lean frame, and a coat the color red that could only be found in his home court. A striking white blaze ran down his long face onto his soft muzzle. As Eris approached him, Ignatius lifted his head in greeting and let out a low nicker. Eris approached him with tired eyes and a small, fond smile. âHello, friend. Letâs go home, shall we?â Stroking his neck in a few long, slow movements, Eris mounted his steed and they started on their way back to the Forest House.
When they made it back to the stable, Eris took Ignatiusâ saddle and bridle off, put him in his stall and made sure he had extra gain for the night. Giving his friend a final brushing, Eris bid him goodnight- although it was likely closer to morning by now.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, sleep embraced him in a tight hold and dragged him to a land of dreams. Dreams of Y/n and her shining y/h/c hair, her soft but calloused hands in his, and her stunning y/e/c eyes staring straight into his soul. He could stay in this dream forever he thinks. Hearing her soft voice say far too kind things to him.
Eris finally awoke when a maid opened his door and startled him from sleep. She squealed and jumped when Eris shot up from his bed, and profusely apologized as she scurries away, closing the door behind her. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, making his way over to his balcony where the first maid must have come in and set out his tea for the morning. The pot was cold by now, but that was no issue for a fire wielder. Quickly, his tea was hot once again as he sat and looked out upon the grounds of his house. House, not home. As he sat and breathed in the early afternoon air, something caught his attention. It looked like a piece of parchment floating on the breeze. It couldnât be- but it kept getting closer to him and suddenly in was within his reach. He snatched the paper from the sky and looked at it with wide eyes. He could smell her. Y/nâs scent of cashmere and cinnamon, all things warm and comforting. He closed his eyes for a long moment, just breathing her in. when he regained his composure, he sat down and unfolded the letter.
Dear Eris,
I am fine, in case you were wondering. Truthfully⌠Iâve been wondering about you. Maybe that isnât appropriate to say, but Iâve already written it and I simply canât waste good parchment to not say what I mean and what I feel. Iâm confused and I want to talk to you. I donât believe there is ever only one side to a story and Iâd very much like to hear yours.
Y/n
Eris choked out a laugh and had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep himself from breaking out into a fit. He knew she was bold, but this was something he could not have anticipated. She was thinking about him. Eris shook his head to clear his thoughts and rushed back inside to his large mahogany desk. The drawers painted the shade of green of the forest after a heavy rain. After he thought through what he wanted to say, he put ink to paper and wrote out his response. He hoped he didnât seem desperate by responding with such haste, but he too was wondering about her and wanted to know her. So, he held the letter in the palm of his hand and set it alight.
Y/nâs POV
Despite the late start to her day, she tried to regain some sense of control by tracking down Cassian for a training session, eating lunch and doing some studying that Amren assigned her in the library. By the time she got back to her room, the sun was setting, and she asked the house to bring her dinner to her room.
With her eyes half closed from exhaustion, she plopped down on her couch in front of the already lit fire. When she peeled her eyes open, she noticed a small, folded paper sitting in front of the hearth. She felt her heart jump to her throat as she scrambled to reach for it on the ground. Holding her breath, she unfolded the paper delicately. As if it might turn to ash in her hands.
Dearest Y/n,
I am glad to know you are alright. I was⌠worried. About you. I am also happy to see your boldness knows no bounds. You fascinate me and I find myself wanting to know you. But it seems you have questions for me too, so let us make a deal. A question for a question. What do you say, little dove?
I eagerly await your response,
Eris
Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie
@ivy-34 @minaethrym @nebarious @anxious-study @slytherintaco @talesofadragon @paleidiot @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @tenebrisirae
#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#autumn court#eris acotar#eris vandaddy#eris vanserra#eris x reader#eris x y/n
186 notes
¡
View notes
Text
CAT & MOUSE. (I)
Miguel OâHara x Black Cat! F! Reader Warnings: Fighting, physical injury, pressing + sexual innuendo READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER
The feeling of wind through your hair as you stared out onto the city never got old.Â
There was a freeness that came from being the Black Cat. You indulged in the glitz and glamour of material possessions without ever really working a day to get it; spending the evenings into the dark of night scaling rooftops and plotting your next theft rather than packing school lunches. That motherly, parental sort of thing didnât really amuse you anyway.Â
For you, nothing was ever out of the ordinary. Youâd had your eyes on the crime world for a while; and the nature of your âjobâ made it so that PIâs, henchmen or straight up villains were almost always on your tail. More often than not, they never managed to keep up with you anyway.Â
That was why you werenât surprised when one afternoon a portal had opened...literally out of nowhere.Â
You wouldâve gotten the hint that it had something to do with the futuristic-looking watch that sat around your wrist if you hadnât been lunged at by a man in a red and dark blue Spider suit. Â
Hardly surprising.Â
âWhat, no introduction?â you purred.Â
âDonât make this harder than it has to be.â Â
Instinctively, you backflipped out of the way, landing behind an air vent and using it as a post to check your surroundings. Though the man was agile, he was also large, and didnât possess your graceful discretion, allowing for you to roll away as he came up behind you, claws slicing through the metal in his attempt to scratch you. Â
You managed to nip at his calves as you did, his knees momentarily buckling before he chased after you, following your sprint along the red-bricked apartments. Â
No matter the situation, you always found a thrill in the chase; revelling in the sensation of feeling weightless.Â
Most of the buildings were densely built, allowing you to jump between them easily. That didnât last long as you encountered a large gap that happened to be an intersection of the main road. Â
Swiping out your grappling hook, you latched onto a telephone pole as the rope swung you to the nearest surface, the edges of your feet narrowly missing a particularly thick branch of tree. As you did, you were able to catch a glimpse of the man behind you, his hunched form and bared claws evident in his reflection.Â
âYou shouldnât be here!â he yelled. His voice was muffled over the whirling of air pressure from your gliding. You turned around to flip the man off, which clearly agitated him. Launching himself into the air, his movement looked like an eclipse as he flipped over you, landing at your feet. Â
His actions were so fast and powerful that you barely noticed his hand fly towards you. At the last second, you shielded your hands in front of your face, pleasantly surprised not to be met with a punch in the face, but a throttle. He was so large that only one of his hands held both your forearms.  Â
With a good hold on you, he held you against the edge of the rooftop, the small of your back pressing into the glass of a balcony. If you shifted too much, you were almost certain that youâd plunge right into the rush-hour traffic, traumatising schoolkids on their way home.Â
Your grappling hook was on the floor, leaving you with no choice but to fight your way out.Â
Grinning, you etched your leg up so that you pushed yourself even further over the balcony, wild hair dangling 12ft off the ground as you gave the Spider an eyeful of your exposed neck and collarbone. Momentarily he seemed distracted, and you used the leverage to deliver him a quick, but hefty kick to the stomach. Â
He keeled over, and you used the moment to pick up your hook. There was something sexy about seeing a Spider-Man on his knees, but you didnât let it distract you. Â
Instead, you geared up for a swift roundhouse kick to the side of his face â only for him to grab onto your thigh, holding you to his strapping chest as he thrust your bodies into the side of the building adjacent to you. Â
Perhaps youâd gotten too cocky.Â
âShit!â you hissed, watching as you both fell into an empty, gated alley, with piled garbage bins and random cardboard boxes there to break your fall.Â
Your spine hit the brick wall with considerable force, violently knocking the air from your lungs. For a moment, your body went limp, crippling pain from the centre of your back spreading to the other parts of your body, producing a shooting twinge to your skull and toes. The man had one hand around your neck, holding you effortlessly in place as the large flat of his palm pressed against your windpipe. You had no choice but to choke â oxygen few and far between as he showed no signs of letting you go. Â
There was something different about him compared to the other Spiders youâd encountered. For one, it was striking that he hadnât used spiderwebs during his haste to detain you, instead having sharp red talons for jabbing, and secondly â the most damning one of all â there had been no banter. Being the Black Cat meant that repartee with Spider-Man was a given, if not a bit of flirting and even a kiss here and there. This version was so painfully strait-laced, that it you found this romp even more intriguing, if not arousing.Â
âHow did you come across this watch?â he said bluntly, the red lines of his suitsâ eyes narrowing.Â
âHello to you too...â you hummed, wincing as you continued to struggle against his grip. âIâd love to answer, but your pawâs got a hold on my windpipe.âÂ
He grunted, his hand shaking as he contemplated the situation before dropping you. Not only had you been slammed into a building, but now youâd felt like youâd dropped a thousand feet to the ground, absorbing the force on your already aching thighs. Yes, this Spider was certainly different; stronger, ruthless...desperate. Â
Sighing, you took a deep breath as you watched him tower over you, the full scope of his body on show. He was ripped, at least on his upper torso, and had a toned, slender waist and legs - quite literally shaped like an upside-down isosceles triangle. Quite unlike anyone â or anything â youâd seen before. Â
âEscucha, no tengo tiempo para esto,â [Listen, I donât have time for this] he said, the pixels of his mask unravelling to show off the man underneath. âTell me where you got the watch.â Â
You were someone who would always appreciate the finer things in life â Persian cats, historic artworks, jewels â and a good-looking man was no exception. Though you loved being the Black Cat, it was apparent that you hadnât thanked the universe enough for giving you the position, the very opportunity to fall into Spider-Man's grasp. Â
He was gorgeous; almost beyond words. He was looking down at you with a frown, but all you could do was grin.Â
âOne of your little buddies dropped it during one of our meetings,â you smiled, peering up at the man through your lashes. âYou should tell them to be more careful.âÂ
âI know that means you stole it,â he replied. âI know exactly what you are.âÂ
âReally?â you whispered, standing on your tiptoes to run your gloved finger along his cheek, claws gently grazing his unblemished skin. You felt the urge to slice him right there, to have rivulets of blood pour down his cheeks as they seeped into the beds of your fingernails; but you needed a moment to continue in admiring him. âThen you know how this usually ends...âÂ
His eyelids flickered as they responded to your touch, but he merely brushed you off, large hands moving your own to your sides.Â
âIâm not like the others,â he said flatly. âIâm taking you home.âÂ
âHm, so you are.âÂ
He furrowed his brows.Â
âTo your dimensionâs home,â he restated. âYouâre not supposed to be here. Youâre an anomaly, a threat to the multiverse --âÂ
The man stopped as you rolled your eyes, so hard that you thought they mightâve stayed in the back of your skull. Though his demeanour remained stoic, he placed his hands on his hips and twisted his lips into a pout, clearly unamused by your insolence.Â
âOh, sweetheart, you canât be serious,â you laugh, shifting your weight. âIâm just a girl with expensive tastes...I have no interest in fiddling with the ball of yarn that you call a âmultiverseâ. If anything, you should be worried about the others. Theyâre the real freaks.â You said ominously, a small smirk on your face as you knowingly swiped your tongue across your lips.Â
He didnât answer but gave you a pointed look, his piercing eyes giving you a once over. Clicking your tongue, you grinned, amused by his fight to put up a front. He was just like any male who was a control-freak, with apparent fits of rage and the superficial compulsion to intimidate people using silence. Luckily for you, not only did you know better, but you knew how to work with it. Â
More often than not, there was a sadness; a deep, scathing trauma that lay beneath the surface, and this man was no different. The wrinkles on the corners of his eyes told you so, as did his imperceptible reactions to anything that resembled a positive emotion â someone, something was plaguing his mind, and it was all buried under his impassive exterior.Â
Standing on your tiptoes, you cocked your head as you lowered your voice, words barely a whisper as you breathed into his ear.Â
âYouâre hurting. I can fix that...âÂ
Something seemed to flicker at the forefront of his mind.Â
It was at that moment that he shot a red, laser like web from his hands, its material roping around your waist and arms, once again glueing you into submission. Instead of a pain, there was an ecstatic thrill that you got from being cornered; a breathlessness, a light-headedness, a euphoria, making your chest heave in anticipation.Â
âYou know nothing,â he hissed, pressing his body into yours. He was so close that you were able to see that he had fangs, pointed and bared just for you as your joint hormones radiated off each other, igniting a palpable heat. The individual hairs on your body were standing up in salute. âI donât need your help.âÂ
He seemed to swallow his words at that. Â
âAre you sure? Because I can be a real mediator...âÂ
âMe being here should tell you otherwise.â Â
âItâs given you something to do,â you shrugged. âIâm generous like that.âÂ
 âQuĂŠ amable.â [How nice] he grunted.Â
âIâve always been quite the giver,â you said, arching a brow. âYou couldâve just asked for the watch. I wouldâve handed it to youâŚâÂ
Lifting your leg, you slowly began to rub the leather of your costume up his own suit, tracing the outline of his calves and thighs as you worked your way towards his pelvis. Your eyes were locked on his own as you did it, lips ever so slightly parted as you ached for his touch.Â
Well, something certainly touched you, but it wasnât his lips. You glanced down knowingly as you felt a warm mound against your thigh. He was hard.Â
His large chest was heaving, and his breaths were shaky. It took a moment for him to pull away, but he was certainly frustrated, choosing to retract the ties around your body. Â
Smirking, it didnât take long for him to shoot at you again, this time cuffing your wrists above your head to the rails of a fire escape, leaving your legs to dangle slightly off the ground. Like a piece of meat. Â
âYouâre of a cat than me,â you grinned, a gleam in your eye as you spoke. âYou like playing with your food, huh? Havenât even taken me to dinner yet ââÂ
âStop talking.â He said bluntly, and you clamped your lips shut into a line, eyeing him with wide eyes. Diverting his gaze, he took the watch off your wrist, rolling it in his hands before he muttered to himself.Â
âLYLAâŚRadio HQ. I want answers as to who left this.âÂ
A yellow hologram of an eccentric woman popped up, and she glanced between the two of you, a lazy smirk wiping across her features in recognition.Â
âHope Iâm not interrupting,â she giggled before pulling out a camera. âJust marking the occasion.âÂ
She snapped a pic, disappearing before the man could protest, leaving the two of you alone once more. Â
Now you suspected things to get serious.Â
Shaking his head, he glanced down at his own watch, pressing a few buttons so that it came apart. A flurry of colours came from it, producing the same portal that had appeared when he arrived. Its edges were jagged and electric, illuminating your skin with a whitish tint, even in the natural golden glow of the afternoon. Â
Bracing yourself, you expected to be thrust into the wormhole, but no such sensation came. Instead, the Spider had begun to back away from you and towards the vortex.Â
âWhat are you doing?â You hissed, rather outraged, and feeling painfully humbled. You happened to hate that sensation worst of all. Â
Again, he didnât reply, and it seemed that he was back to being an avoidant asshole. Yet barely five minutes ago had he been putty in your hands at a simple touch.Â
The jig was up.Â
âYou know I love this little dance of ours,â you hummed. âBut acting as if you donât know me? If I didnât know better, Iâd say youâre getting a little kinky in your later years, huh, Miguel?âÂ
The dark-haired man scoffed, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye.Â
âIâm not one to play stupid games,â he said. âBut you started it, and Iâll end it...Como yo decida.â [However I decide]Â
And with a flash he was gone, just as quickly as heâd came.Â
Divider by @v6que !
#florence writes!!#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara imagine#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman 2099 smut#atsv x reader#atsv imagine#miguel o'hara fic
160 notes
¡
View notes
Text
All I Really Want Is You
older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap seven/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday
Bad Idea
summary: After a week of avoiding, you find Steve at your front steps.
wc: 4.3k
warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. Steve and Reader have THE talk, we learn Steve & Emmaâs story. There will be discussions of feelings about watching a loved one struggle with terminal illness and death in this chapter. Thereâs not a ton of details about her struggles but it is touched on. Angsty beginning and a very, very fluffy end đ§Ą
authorâs note: itâs all up hill from here guys, just a little growing pains. i canât believe thereâs only three chapters left after this 𼺠thank you for reading and all of the sweet reblogs and messages through out this whole series. you have made this so special for me and itâs been such a comfort to write as I navigate my own life changes right now.
đ <- chapter six -> chapter eight
The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:
End of June -
It had been a week since Steve came back from his camping trip. A week of good morning texts left unanswered, of making sure not to look out your window when you knew he was home - even when you could hear him play with Bandit. He was doing that outside more than usual, a tactic to try and get you to come out and talk to him or hell, even just look at him.Â
He doesnât know that a few times it almost worked.Â
Always & Forever
The words engraved into silver also stay carved deep and fresh in your mind, not letting you forget. You couldnât, even if you tried. Especially not her beautiful eyes. Does she hate you? Part of you feels like you would hate you. The guilt threatens to punch the air out of your lungs.
The days go on like this with you doing everything in your power to avoid him while he did everything he could to run into you. The last ditch effort was after you caught him getting out of his car, your eyes meeting for a split second before you cut through the alley walking in through the back gate instead. Your resolve to stay away grows weaker when Steveâs good morning texts finally stop after that.Â
So when Brad, the new server, gets the courage to ask you out, you say yes. It was a bad idea, anyone couldâve told you that, you didnât really want him. He was just a distraction from facing the consequences of your own actions. Â
He takes you to RPM Steakhouse in the heart of downtown and surprisingly he actually makes you laugh. Heâs full of food industry horror stories heâs collected over the years. Heâs not boring and heâs attentive when you talk, asking questions like heâs really interested. The butterflies that have built a home in your rib cage donât flutter and fly for him though. The nerves that make your heart beat faster, the ones that feel like they vibrate from your fingertips, like your skin is on fire, are stagnant.Â
Heâs not Steve.Â
You skip out on dessert when itâs offered to you, but you let him hug you before you get in your separate Uberâs home. It worked for a few hours at least. Looking out the window when your car hits the expressway, the skyline shines gleaming like the stars in the clear night sky.
Itâs not very long until your phone fights for your attention, the screen illuminating the backseat. It pulls you back to reality, your breath catching when itâs not Bradâs name that flashes across your screen.
Steve
Can we please just talk?Â
You arenât expecting to see him at your front steps when the Uber drops you off at your gate. His hair sticks out wild at the ends, like heâs been pulling it all night, scratch that, all week and it makes more guilt settle deep in your gut. The scruff on his jaw is almost dark enough to be a beard now. His legs are covered in gray sweats and the white undershirt he wears fits tight over his shoulders. You hate how handsome he still is, even with his slides and socks.
Heâs talking to himself, moving his hands like heâs trying to explain something, reciting a speech you canât quite hear from as far as you are. The leftovers shift in your bag when you take your first step making the styrofoam squeak and plastic crinkle, his eyes shoot up instantly at the noise.
âHoney?â
Those wings start to stretch and flutter even after just one word. You wish you could be mad at how much power one word from him has, but all you feel is the weight of how much you missed him when his face softens.
âHi Steve.â You catch the way his lips twitch at the sound of his name coming from your mouth when you open the gate. It had been too long for him, heâd become addicted to it without even knowing it.
He stands up, his eyes canât help but roam your bare legs that sit exposed in your black cocktail dress, or the way the middle sinches into your waist, before fluttering out over the tops of your thighs. His own jealousy threatens to bubble over at the thought of you wearing this for someone else. He needs you to understand him.
âIs this a bad time?â He asks, scratching the back of his neck while he reads the restaurant name on your bag. He hopes whoever took you there isnât coming back. âIf it is sweetheart, I can give you more space. I just, I just wanted to see you.â
You stop in front of him, further away than normal but close enough to smell the cigar smoke that still clings to the cotton of his shirt. It mixes with the spice of his cologne from earlier this morning. His eyes find yours without hesitation, glazed over from the glass of whiskey youâre sure he nursed before finding himself on your front steps. They shimmer under the moon like emeralds and you just want to get lost in them.
The answer you want to give and the answer that you think will protect you are at each otherâs throats, constricting yours from giving him anything right away. His face crumbles a little when his question is met with silence. You donât want him to go.
âNo, itâs not a bad time.â It comes out before you can fight it.
The smile that tugs at Steveâs lips warms your face like the summer sun, his hand reaching out for you before pulling back and finding a new home deep in his pocket instead. Baby steps. Your arm brushes against his when you walk past him, the smallest touch lighting the match.
âI just need to get out of this dress.â You canât look at him when you pull at the fabric as if to show him how uncomfortable it is.
âShould I wait down here?â He clears his throat a little unsure of himself as he watches you dig through your purse. He didnât think heâd get this far.
Cicadas buzz loud against the jingle of your keys in the beat of silence it takes you to unlock the front door. The stale air of the walkway hits you like an oven when you push it open, the heat making your skin stick more than it did outside.
âYou can come up. I promise my dishes are done this time.â You flash him a smirk from over your shoulder watching the way your gesture makes him relax like youâd intended, secretly enjoying the blush you still can get to flush his cheeks so easily.Â
Steve hadnât been inside your apartment since the day he fixed your sink, and you donât think youâll ever get used to seeing him here. Heâs handsome in a timeless way, still somehow put together even in his disheveled state. You watch the way he takes in his surroundings like he wants to commit it all to memory not knowing that he actually is, just in case this all blows up in his face and you never let him come back here again.Â
The only noise that fills the room is the loud whirr of your A/C and itâs your turn to clear your throat.
âUmm, feel free to take a seat. Iâll be really quick.â You awkwardly gesture towards your green couch, grimacing when your mind goes back to the beautiful leather one at his place.Â
He just nods, rubbing his palms against his thighs while taking one last look around before sitting. Your nose scrunches when you see how deep he sinks down, maybe a used couch wasnât the best idea youâd ever had.
You wait till your door is shut to let out the long breath you feel like youâve been holding this whole time. The familiar thumping in your chest returns ten fold. Heâs in your living room. Â
You try not to think too much about the yoga shorts and oversized shirt you change into, especially when your muscles relax, no longer strained by the tight nylon material dress. Allowing a single once over in your long mirror, you force yourself back out, the creak of your door alerting him of your return. His stare makes goosebumps dance across sticky skin in a battle with the air conditioning.
âDo you want some water?â You try to sound casual when you ask, keeping your back to him so he canât see the way youâre still buying time.
âS- sure,â he stutters out, a cough following and you hear the way the cushions respond to his weight as he tries leaning forward.Â
Now it's the whirr of your a/c and the grumbling of the ice machine that silences the unspoken feelings that are begging to come out. Scratching and clawing their way to the surface, the cracks in your facade start getting deeper the longer you stay quiet.
Steve breaks first.
âI think thereâs a conversation we should have.â He pauses before starting over, âThereâs a conversation I want to have.â
You freeze when the realization of where you left the watering can smacks you right in the face.
âSteve-â you start, unable to meet his eyes and heâs quick to cut you off.
âListen, I have some things I need to say and you should at least let me get it off my chest if youâre just going to pretend I donât exist now.â His words make you realize the selfishness that hides under your insecurities of not being good enough for someone like him.Â
He stands up when you turn around, both of you staying on opposite sides of the room. He takes a shaky breath before dragging his fingers through his hair.
âI didnât think Iâd ever feel these things again with anyone else, I was sure of it actually and then you showed up in your horribly packed moving truck.â He laughs a little like heâs still wrapping his head around all of it, and he knows if the situation was any different youâd roll your eyes at him for the teasing jab.
âYou brought all of these things out of me that I thought Iâd lost for good. Like, I canât remember the last time I cared about what I was wearing when I left the house, but the past month Iâve been obsessed about it. Like what if sheâs outside? What if sheâs looking out her window? What if she wants to talk to me?â The veins in his neck show themselves as he gets more worked up but heâs not done yet.
âThen last week when you showed up at my front gate, looking even prettier than the last time I saw you, because you do that somehow, I couldnât help myself around you anymore. The fact that you were actually going to kiss me back after I put the worst moves on you made me feel like I won the lottery or something.â His gaze meets yours to make sure he isnât scaring you off before taking a deep breath.
âAnd then, and then you just - you just left without so much as a reason why. It was pretty clear though when I got home, and maybe thatâs my fault because I feel like Iâm doing this all backwards but you didnât give us a chance to even talk about it.â
Steve looks like his world is falling apart, and the things heâs saying make you feel like anything but a second choice. You wish you could go back to that rainy day at his house and do things over again.
âI wasnât given the shot at a fair fight the first time something special was taken from me, but I have one now and Iâm not walking away unless you kick me out.â He straightens his shoulders a little before another anxious hand runs through his wild hair. His chest heaves as he finally gets out whatâs been sitting just below the surface the whole time, his fears revealing themselves behind flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.Â
The feeling like youâre slighting another woman who isnât here is hard to navigate. It makes your own eyes sting but you donât let the tears fall. Not when heâs handing his heart to you like he means it.
âIâd never kick you out,â your words come out quiet - soft, a stark contrast to the way his boomed loud with conviction, but he doesnât miss them.
Hope starts to sprout deep in his chest for the first time in years.
âNever?â He breathes, relief relaxing the hard lines on his face while he looks at you from under his lashes.
His feet take him those few steps closer and when you make no moves to tell him to stop he keeps going. The sadness that plagues his handsome features slowly starts to fade and the bags under his eyes become more obvious. You want to kiss them.
Your hand extends, fingers reaching out for his. His eyes follow your movements, taking in what youâre offering and he doesnât hesitate anymore, interlocking them like when he walked you to your front door. You watch the way his shoulders give the moment they touch and his eyes close as he relishes in the feel of it. Of you.Â
Your back hits the edge of your kitchen sink when he crowds your space a little more, your fingers playing songs on imaginary strings together. Memorizing he dips between each one. His nose skims across your forehead making your own eyes close. How could you ever stay away from him?
âNever.âÂ
He hums at your confession, squeezing your hand gently before pulling back. He takes his time admiring your face from this close. He missed you so much, he actually thinks itâs kind of crazy. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. He loves the way you lean into it. You missed him too.
âCan we have that conversation now?âÂ
All you can do is nod, tears still threatening to spill out but now a different kind.
The two of you sit on your couch for hours, worn in cushions pushing you close together. Your head rests on his arm thatâs draped along the back of it, your socked feet in his lap. He tells you how he met Emma through his high school sweetheart Nancy. The ex that turned him into a man as he put it, the one that made him really think about the kind of person he wanted to be. Even going as far to say Emma would have never given him the time of day if it wasnât for her. Nancy was the Managing Editor of The Chicago Tribune and Emma was her Editor in Chief.
After being introduced by Nancy at a sports gala, Steve pursued her hard, especially because she said no the first three times he asked her out. It makes you giggle when he laughs about it. He said he knew he wanted to marry her after the first date and a year later he proposed to her on a group vacation with Eddie, Robin, Nancy and a few other friends in Mexico. The picture you saw was taken right after she said yes.
The wedding was small, just a few of their closest friends at The Chicago Botanical Gardens, and a dinner at Smith & Wollensky next to the river after. He told you how Eddie pretended to be mad the whole night becauseSteve made Robin his best man instead. They both moved into Steveâs apartment near Wrigley Field after a honeymoon in Italy. He said it was some of the best years of his life with her there, young and in love in one of the liveliest neighborhoods in the city. Then a few years passed and both their careers started taking off and they started wanting more as they got older. A family.
Thatâs when they started to invest in renovating this fixer upper of a house in a less nightlife oriented neighborhood. The house you live next door to. Between busy work schedules and dealing with contractors when the symptoms first started, they didnât think anything of it. They chalked it up to exhaustion until she fainted in her office a few months later, then they finally saw a doctor. Another month later after multiple tests and hospital visits Emma was diagnosed with ALS.
âIâve never seen something debilitate someone so fast, and Emma, god Emma was so strong. Seeing her like that at the end, it fucking broke me.â Steveâs voice cracks, a silent stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.
Your heart breaks for them, the tragedy of watching the person you love fall apart with nothing to do to stop it. An entire life you had planned ripped out from under you with zero warning or mercy. A cruel joke.
You reach up, using the back of your knuckles to wipe away his tears. He leans in your touch, his gaze meeting yours with so many emotions inside of them, you think you might drown.
âWe decided to stay in our apartment when she couldnât walk anymore, with the rate it was moving she didnât want me to live in this big new house meant for our new beginning and have herâŚhave her die in it,â the last part comes out in just above a whisper, stopping to collect his thoughts. His brows furrow together and his fingers search for yours again. You give them to him without question.Â
âWe checked her into hospice a month after that, Eddie flew in the day she chose to get off assistance. She was surrounded by the people she loved the most those last days.â He takes another deep breath before he continues, it shakes just like his hands.
âThat was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I donât know how someone is supposed to go through that kind of pain and move on from it. Be a person again after it.â He takes another pause and he pulls you closer. His anchor.
âI donât know if Iâd still be here if it wasnât for Eddie moving into the house with me those first three months, if Iâm being totally honest with you.â He sniffs, his gaze falls to his lap to try and hide the shame at the thought, and you squeeze his hand a little bit harder.
âIâm so sorry Steve.â Your voice cracks at the weight of everything heâs been carrying around. The gravity of the way you left him tightens in your throat.
The tears youâd been holding back break free, making his eyes snap to yours. He lets your hand go to wipe your cheeks with gentle fingers like you did to his just moments before. He knows you're apologizing for more than just his bad luck.
âHey, hey, itâs okay. Iâm okay now,â he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The tips of your noses touch, tears mixing and dripping down the ends of them. You keep your eyes closed in hopes that if you focus hard enough, maybe you could take away some of his pain. Even if itâs just a little bit. âWeâre okay now.â
You donât know how long the two of you sit like this together, not speaking, letting wandering hands memorize faces and fingertips. Your breathing falls in time while your cheeks start to dry. Puffy red eyes stay closed while your muscles finally relax. His nose rubs small circles against yours that make smiles neither of you can see stretch across tear streaked faces.
When you finally open your eyes, heâs already looking at you, something brighter inside of his now like he just let go of a big secret. He doesnât have to hide anymore.
Itâs you that finally works up the strength to pull away enough to really see his whole face after depriving yourself of it for so long.
âI actually kinda feel like she sent you here, despite me,â he admits, laughing nervously, breaking the silence, âShe made me promise her that Iâd try and find love again when the time was right, I eventually said yes after she asked me at least a dozen times, but I never actually intended on it.âÂ
Steve stops for a second to brush some of your mascara that smudged, holding your eyes in the forest of his.
âThen five years later, this tough girl tries moving an entire apartmentâs worth of stuff by herself next door. I mean, you practically did.â He smiles at how proud you look of yourself, âI knew I was screwed when Bandit sniffed you out.â
You giggle like you're just as love sick as him and he wishes he could play it on a loop whenever heâs sad.Â
âShe was probably laughing at how bad I was at trying to flirt with you.â His ears turn cherry red while he tries to hide his very real embarrassment.
âYou did run away from me for like a solid week after we met the first time if you remember,â you tease, making his eyebrows raise in challenge. You werenât supposed to roast him too.
âI guess weâre even then arenât we?â He counters, smirking when you scoff, wrapping his arm around you so you canât move away like you try to in fake protest.
Your legs end up draped over the tops of his thighs, fitting snug into his side. The warmth of his body makes your eyelids droopy. The cedar undertones he always carries calms all of your nerves.
âShe was beautiful Steve,â you whisper, playing with the chain that dangles off his neck before looking up at him with a smile, âAnd maybe even a little too cool for you if I dare say.â Itâs genuine when it comes out of your mouth, no hidden insecurities, an understanding that he wasnât settling for you and it makes Steve want to kiss you even more.Â
âShe would have thought you were way too cool for me too.â He laughs, tracing the side of your face with his fingertips. You want to look away from the intensity of it all but you force yourself to hold his stare, keeping yourself open for him. Itâs quiet for a few minutes, letting everything that was shared tonight really sink in. That stray you missed so much makes an appearance and you finally get to be the one that pushes it back, and his hair is just as soft as you imagined.
âWhat are you doing on the fourth, pretty girl?â The new nickname makes you shift in your seat, the hint of a smug smirk begs to break across his face when he catches it. Maybe heâs still got it.
âNothing, I got the day off.â You hate that his question is enough to make you shy.
Itâs too hard to hold his gaze this time, but he doesnât let that slide. His fingers hook under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. Noses brushing, your lips just inches apart like this.
âBe my date to the block party?â He whispers, whiskey and tobacco still lingering on his breath.Â
You smile, nudging your nose against his in a dare.
âIâd love to Steve.â His name comes out around strawberry chapstick lips, they brush with his feeling like velvet and it makes his nostrils flare.
He dips his head with a groan kissing the corner of mouth instead, before placing one on both your cheeks and another, a lingering one, against your forehead.Â
âIn honor of not doing things backwards, Iâm going to wait until Iâve taken you out. The way it should happen. The way someone like you deserves.â
Steve wants to make you feel special too.
It's hard for you to feel rejected with his reasoning and seeing the clock on your stove read in bright red numbers - 2:46am. The fourth was only three days away now.
You play it off with a roll of your eyes and a dramatic âfineâ that makes him really laugh for the first time all night, giving you another kiss on the cheek. This one a little wet. He canât get enough of the way you canât look at him after.
Itâs another thirty minutes before he decides itâs time to go home when your yawn is too loud to hide and your head presses harder into his chest. He wishes he could stay, and one night he knows he will.
You both linger in the doorway with fingers wrapped up tight, neither one of you ready to let go. He just wants to stare at you, but he knows the alarm stuffed in his pocket is going to make his life miserable in three hours.
Instead, he gives you another kiss on the forehead telling you heâll text in the morning, and he wishes he could have a picture of the smile you give him when you promise to text back.
betaâd by @superblysubpar
dividers by @newlips
older!steve edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple
đ -> chapter eight
#my wriitng#all i really want is you series#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#steve harrington slow burn#steve harrington series#steve harrington fanfiction#older!steve#older!steve harrington
909 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 12
Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancĂŠe. She turned his world upside down.
The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi đđť
Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. â¤ď¸
It canât happen again!
Thatâs what Bucky kept thinking as he froze, watching you being dragged away by the bad guy. His mind was paralyzed with fear, reliving the trauma of his past. He bit his tongue hard, trying to snap himself out of it.
When the other abductor tried to silence him, something inside Bucky clicked. He entered defense mode, years of training kicking in. âWake up, Bucky, you have to save her,â he murmured to himself.
As the abductor reached for him, Bucky made a lightning-fast move, grabbing the man's throat and choking him. He lifted the abductor effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing, and threw him aside like a bag of garbage.
âI donât get paid enough for this,â another abductor yelled, struggling to get you into the SUV.
Bucky sprinted to the car, his heart pounding. He leaped through the air and delivered a powerful kick to the abductor through the car window, shattering the glass. The abductor stumbled back, stunned.
You watched in awe as Buckyâs movements were swift and precise, each one a product of years of training. He grabbed the abductor by the collar and yanked him out of the car, slamming him to the ground with a thud. The abductor tried to fight back, but Bucky blocked every punch with ease.
The abductor threw a desperate punch at Bucky, but he dodged it effortlessly. With a quick, fluid motion, Bucky delivered a powerful blow to the abductorâs midsection, causing him to double over in pain. Bucky didnât give him a chance to recover; he followed up with a swift uppercut that sent the abductor sprawling to the ground, unconscious.
After Bucky made sure the abductor was unconscious, he rushed over to you. âAre you alright? Did he hurt you?â he asked, his voice filled with concern.
You were still speechless, struggling to process what had just happened. You thought you were strong, but facing this type of danger left you paralyzed with fear. If it werenât for Bucky, you might have been taken.
Bucky noticed your unfocused eyes, recognizing the look from his own past experiences. He gently pulled you into his arms. This time, it was his turn to save you.
Your breath hitched as he hugged you suddenly. It was unexpected, but it felt right. You needed this. You tightened your grip around him, realizing you were safe now.
Buckyâs jaw tightened. âI will find out who ordered these two,â he said, his voice low and angry. He didnât know why, but he had a short list of suspects who could be behind this. His protective instinct was in overdrive, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
đđđđ
At the press release, all the journalists and fashion critics had been waiting for you for an hour. Andrea and the rest of the team were already on edge. They had been trying to call you and were running out of excuses for your tardiness.
âCan you call her again?â Andrea asked her assistant, her voice tight with worry.
Her assistant shook her head, letting out a disappointed sigh. âNo luck,â she replied.
Andrea clasped her hands together, silently praying for your arrival.
While the new team wondered where you were, Victoria watched from the backstage with a smug smile.
Genevieve glanced at her daughter. âLate to your first press release and making the magazine editors wait? Good luck recovering from that.â
Victoria smirked. âShe won't be coming.â
âWhat do you mean?â Genevieve asked, her eyes narrowing.
Suddenly, the sound of police sirens filled the air. No one gave much thought to the police car stopping in front of the Velari building until they saw you and Bucky step out.
The journalists' cameras flashed incessantly, capturing every moment as they bombarded you and Bucky with questions about your delay and disheveled appearance.
Andrea and the others sighed in relief at your arrival, but Victoria's face went pale as snow. Her nervousness did not escape her motherâs notice.
Genevieve turned to Victoria, her eyes narrowing. âWhat did you do?â
Victoria remained silent, trembling visibly.
âYouâŚ!â Genevieve gritted her teeth, furious at her daughter's recklessness.
âTap. Tap.â
The sound of your heels echoed as you walked up to the podium, your face set with determination. You glanced at Andrea, who gave you a reassuring nod, and then faced the crowd. Bucky stood close by, his presence a silent support.
Genevieve clenched her fists, trying to control her anger, while Victoriaâs eyes darted nervously, unable to hide her fear.
With a deep breath, you began, âThank you all for your patience. I apologize for the delay. We faced an unexpected situation, but weâre here now to share some exciting news about Velariâs future.â
The room quieted, every eye on you, as you began to outline the new direction for Velari, with Buckyâs steady gaze lending you strength.
âMay I ask what happened to you?â one of the journalists inquired.
You cleared your throat, a confident smile playing on your lips. âWell, when life gives you lemons, squeeze them into the eyes of your enemies. That's how Iâd describe what happened to me today.â
The crowd chuckled, and even Bucky couldnât help but smile. He then noticed Victoria and Genevieve trying to sneak out through the backdoor. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
Your answer left the room momentarily stunned. The journalists exchanged glances, intrigued and curious about the kind of new leadership Velari was under.
You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and began your speech. âLadies and gentlemen, esteemed critics, and valued partners of Velari, today marks a new chapter for us. Velari was built on the dreams and designs of my grandmother, Cassandra, and my mother, Ophelia. Their vision and passion created a legacy that has inspired countless people. It is time to return to those roots, to honor their memory by bringing back the essence of what made Velari great.â
You paused, looking around the room, making eye contact with as many people as possible. âWe will be reintroducing classic designs with a modern twist, focusing on quality craftsmanship and timeless elegance. Our goal is to make Velari not just a brand, but a symbol of enduring style and grace.â
You could see heads nodding in agreement, the journalists scribbling notes furiously. Your confidence grew.
âWe will also be launching a new line dedicated to sustainability, reflecting our commitment to the environment and ethical fashion. This isn't just about looking good; it's about feeling good, knowing that our choices make a positive impact on the world.â
You noticed some magazine editors smiling, clearly impressed. Andrea was beaming with pride, and even Bucky looked at you with admiration.
âOur journey will not be easy, and there will be challenges ahead. But with your support and our shared dedication, I believe we can elevate Velari to new heights. Together, we can revive the heart and soul of this fashion house.â
The room erupted in applause. Some of the magazine editors even stood up, clapping their hands enthusiastically. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful that your vision resonated with them.
Bucky gave you a reassuring nod, and Andrea looked like she could burst with pride. Meanwhile, Victoria and Genevieve, still trying to slip away unnoticed, froze momentarily at the sound of the applause.
You stepped back from the podium, your heart pounding but filled with hope. âThank you all for believing in Velari,â you concluded, âand for being part of this incredible journey.â
As the applause continued, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. You were ready to lead Velari into a brighter future, no matter the obstacles.
đđđđđ
âSlap!â
Victoria's cheek stung sharply from the blow. She touched her reddening skin, eyes wide with shock. It had been years since her mother had slapped her. Memories of Genevieve hitting her for failing to surpass you in school flooded back. No matter how hard Victoria tried, you were always number one.
Genevieve glared at her, seething with anger. âAre you stupid? Why the hell would you try to kidnap her in broad daylight, with Bucky there too?â
âI just⌠I'm sorry, Mother,â Victoria stammered, her voice trembling. She knew it was useless to offer excuses; Genevieve was never one to accept them.
Genevieve sighed deeply, shaking her head in frustration. âAt least you shouldâve hired professionals, not those two amateurs. If you want to scare someone, make it count. One hit should be enough to terrify your enemies.â She had learned this from Jonathan, whose success was partly due to his brutal methods. If persuasion failed, he resorted to fists rather than words.
She sighed again, her frustration palpable. âIf your father knew about this, he would be disappointed.â She grabbed her phone and started typing furiously.
âMom, are you going to tell Dad?â Victoria's voice was laced with fear.
âNo way. He would be angry at me too. Be quiet. Iâm going to hire someone to clean up your mess,â Genevieve replied curtly.
Victoria's heart raced. âWhat do you mean?â
Genevieve didnât look up from her phone, her fingers tapping rapidly. âI mean, Iâm going to fix this. Properly.â She glanced at her daughter, her eyes cold and calculating. âAnd next time, think before you act. One more mistake like this, and I might not be able to protect you.â
đđđđđ
After the success and the warm welcome from the fashion world, Bucky insists on taking you to the hospital for a check-up.
âIâm fine, really,â you reassure him for the umpteenth time. âNothingâs broken. Iâm just a bit shaken.â
But Bucky remains adamant. âI already called the best doctor to check on you,â he says, his voice firm.
The doctorâs examination confirms your words. âYouâre perfectly fine, just a bit of shock,â the doctor says with a smile.
Bucky finally relaxes, albeit reluctantly. âAlright, if the doctor says youâre fineâŚâ
You smile, touched by his protectiveness. âThank you, Bucky.â
Suddenly, his phone buzzes, and he answers it. âAre you alright? Why didnât you tell us? Your mom is panicking right now,â Rowanâs voice comes through, laced with worry.
âIâm fine,â Bucky replies, trying to sound reassuring.
Rowan sounds frustrated. âYouâre so stubborn. Fine, if you insist. By the way, someone wants to see you and Y/N.â
âWho?â Bucky raises his eyebrows. Itâs unusual for his father to ask him to meet someone, especially along with you.
âAn old friend of mine,â Rowan says cryptically.
Bucky sighs and looks at you. âMy father wants us to meet someone.â
âWho?â you ask, curiosity piqued.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I asked the same thing."
So, both of you arrive at the big mansion. Itâs beautiful, reminiscent of Buckyâs place. You canât help but ask, âIs this your other house?â
Bucky shakes his head. âNo, it belongs to my dadâs friend.â
When you arrive, a butler is already waiting and opens the door. âWelcome.â
Rowan is there, waiting. âCome here,â he says, guiding both of you inside. As you walk, you notice the house is filled with antiques, like the interior of a castle.
âWho is this person youâre going to introduce us to?â Bucky asks his dad.
Rowan responds, âAn old friend of mine. He just got back from Europe and is interested in investing in Velari.â
The mention of Velari catches your attention.
âWhatâs his name?â Bucky asks.
âPatrick Beaumont,â Rowan replies.
The name 'Patrick' makes you and Bucky exchange glances.
Finally, you stop at the living room. Standing near the fireplace is a man whose presence is strikingly similar to Buckyâs dad. A successful man. Well, it's evident from the big mansion.
Rowan gestures towards him. âPatrick, here they are.â Rowan continues, âthis is Bucky and Y/N. Theyâre leading the new direction for Velari.â
The man who called himself Patrick turned around and smiled warmly at you and Bucky. He was handsome, tall, and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. Despite being in his 50s, he exuded an air of vitality and sophistication.
Patrick approached you, and you felt an unexpected wave of emotion from him. There was a subtle sadness in his eyes that made you pause.
While you were trying to read Patrickâs expression, Bucky stood close by, his jaw tightening. He didn't like it when another man looked at you for too long.
Patrickâs voice was soft and tinged with longing. âYou look so much like Ophelia.â
Your eyes widened in surprise. Buckyâs did, too. Was this the Patrick your grandma had often mentioned? And why did he mention your motherâs name?
Taglist:
@thezombieprostitute
@thetravelingtyper
@scott-loki-barnes
@mostlymarvelgirl
@chemtrails-club
@dexter99
@seresingirlie
@missvelvetsstuff
@kjah97
@tfatwsoldir
@itsteambarnes
@toldyouitwasamelodrama
@sapphirebarnes
@thedonswife13
@angelbabyyy99
@cjand10
@esposadomd
@buckitostan
@wh0reforbucknasty
@bada-lee-ily
@evie-119
@mrsstuckyboo
@ghalouha
@iamasimpingh0e
@loki-laufeyson68
@buckybarnessimpp
@milllieeee
@stormy-stardust
@ashdoctor
@mushycore
@anehkael
Author Note: Hey friends,
If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.
Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.
Only if you feel like it!
Here's the link: Ko-fi
Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky barnes au#james bucky buchanan barnes#buckybarnes#james bucky barnes#ceo!bucky barnes#ceo!bucky#bucky x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes fandom#bucky barnes fanfiction#sebastian stant character#marvel au#the winter soldier#james buchanan barnes
195 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Chapter 10: How Did It End Up Like This?
Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV
Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things canât stay hidden and starts to question whatâs real and whatâs fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter ten of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)
Word Count: 6K
Warnings: References to sex, Kind of depressing, Cursing, Drinking, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, this one is really sad y'all, like REALLY sad, I'm serious this one is really sad.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you donât like, donât read, but if you do like, youâre my favorite!
Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
1980
âBen, stop.â You shout.
âMove damn it!â Benâs eyes blaze a dark green sending a tremor down your spine, but you donât budge.
âNo.â
âGet the fuck out of my way.â He snarls louder.
You stand defiantly in front of him, where he towers over you, eyes narrowed, and shoulders tensed. His broad shoulders block the fluorescent lights that hang overhead and illuminate the gym, dramatizing his imposing figure.
âIâm not going to. So youâre either going to have to move me yourself or you can go cool off.â Your retort your voice icy.
The heat from Benâs anger vibrated through the air between you, but you werenât going to move. Not when he was being ridiculous.
Noir was angry, angry that Ben took a movie role that he wanted. In hindsight you also thought it was ridiculous that Ben needed to star in all the movies. He was already Americaâs First Superhero and the Golden Boy and Americaâs Sweetheart, but it wasn't enough for him for some reason. You often thought his obsession with fame had something to do with his dad. Ben had a lot of problems when it came to his father, all of which made Ben compensate other ways, such as, feeling the need to be in charge, feeling the need to be loved and accepted by others he didnât know, being unable to express his emotions, and the current problem which was feeling the need to claim the dominant role as most popular superhero.
Aka when he turned into Captain Toxic Masculinity.
Honestly, you were exhausted. All of this was exhausting. Ben was exhausting. As someone whoâd loved him this long you couldnât help but see the shift from the boy you used to know into something unrecognizable. Occasionally you could see Ben, the old Ben, your Ben, who laughed with you, but those moments were few and certainly didnât happen in public.
You shoulders tense with the force of your own anger and frustration, standing tall between Ben and Noir who lays on the ground behind you. Noir hadn't made an effort to get up, still stunned from the blows he took from Ben. The first few punches you hadnât stopped, but it was when Ben felt the need to continue despite Noirâs pleas to stop that you had to step in.
You didnât know where that came from, Benâs need to beat people who were conceding. When he was younger you'd seen Ben get in a fight before, but those few times he hadn't continued to beat the other person when they gave up. The smell of whiskey and reefer floats off his clothes and you wonder how much heâs had to drink. Ben had two moods when he was drunk angry or clingy, and right now the anger was winning. You could hear the mad pump of his blood through his body and you wonder what else he might have taken today.
Because whiskey and reefer isn't enough? If he wasn't so damn indestructible he'd probably be dead from overdose.
Benâs lip is curled back in a sneer, eyes flashing from where Noir lays on the ground then back to you. You know that he's ten seconds away from ripping Noir in half, and that's why you don't move. Noir didn't deserve that.
The way Ben's eyes burn through the space between you is hauntingly familiar as the memory of the night you hid Ben from his father settled over your mind. You fight the shudder at the comparison.
Ben wasnât anything like his father. The thought is immediate, but then the memory of the past forty years begins to settle over your mind. Or maybe he was.
âFucking pussy. Having a woman stand up for you.â Ben snaps at Noir.
Ben leans around you to spit at him, then raises his gaze back to you one more time before he stomps off, slamming the door of the gym so hard that it breaks the glass.
You let out the breath you didnât know you were holding. Everyone on Payback was watching you like you were crazy and you partly were. Getting in between Ben and someone else was beyond stupid. It wasnât the first time, but you knew that you were the only person that could do it. If Countess or Gunpowder had stepped in Ben would not have relented. It had to be you. It always had to be you.
And you hated the weight of that burden on your shoulders.
You turn towards Noir, holding out a hand to help him up. âAre you okay?â
âYeah.â He sighs taking it . âYou didnât have to do that.â
âHeâs just being⌠well. Him.â You mutter.
You hated that this was the new harsh reality, the new Ben that was born when he took the serum and became Americaâs First Superhero.
âIt was incredibly stupid.â Countess sniffs from where she stands with the TNT Twins. Gunpowder is leaning back against the outer ring with Mindstorm who stares unblinkingly at you.
âWell, guess I took a page out of your book then.â You say, narrowing your eyes at her.
You couldnât stand her. Ever since she joined Payback all sheâd done was try to catch Benâs eye and get between the two of you, but he never gave her the time of day. She had quickly won the favor of everyone else on Payback, which only made you even more angry because it always seemed like you were the odd one out wherever you went.
Countess only sneers back in response, flipping her red hair over her shoulders. Despite Ben's exit the tension in the room is almost choking. Your so-called team was watching you with unreadable expressions and you suddenly got the impression that you were trespassing or interrupting. It had happened before, when you came to a training session early and you walked in on the rest of the team, sans Ben, talking in hushed tones and they immediately broke apart when you appeared.
You couldnât shake the feeling that despite the fact you stood between Ben and Noir, the rest of the team still didnât like having you there. Probably because they associated you with Ben. It made you uneasy.
Because despite Stanâs efforts to keep you all together Ben's continuous outbursts drove you all further and further apart. And you worried what would happen the day when the shoe finally dropped.
One look at the clock on your wall showed that it was almost one in the morning, but you weren't tired. All you could think about is what almost happened to Noir. It wasn't that you particularly liked anyone on Payback other than Ben, honestly the whole superhero thing was getting tedious and you had considered more than once getting out.
But you couldn't. Sometimes you felt responsible for Ben, like you were the only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow. Of course every single damn day that road was getting narrower and narrower and now it was more like a balance beam than a two way street.
Ben's new outlook on life that revolved around drugs, women, more drugs, and more women didn't make it easier.Â
You frown at your sketchpad remembering when Ben founded Herogasm. You'd gone the first time, regretted walking through the door, stayed ten minutes, and then left.
Sex without feelings never appealed to you, but that wasn't why you left, it was watching Ben with other women that hurt you. You could barely get through it when he mentioned something in passing, but watching him there with them made you uncontrollably angry and not to mention frustrated. You didn't understand him, couldn't understand why Ben was different around you. Didn't know why whenever you were alone he would give you hope, just to take it all away again.
How could so much change? How could everything go to shit so quickly?
You think of all the years that followed the night that Ben asked you to come with him, how you thought that Ben was telling you that he loved you in his own way. But he didnât. You were realizing that now, as painful as it was to admit to yourself, Ben only saw you as a friend, would only ever see you as a friend.
When you decided to come with him you thought that the change would be your friendship into something else, but it never came, the only thing that changed was Ben.
A loud banging at your door makes your entire apartment shudder and pulls you out of your memories of the past.
There's only one person who can do that.
Your home was a small two-bedroom apartment in New York City, but you loved it. It was quaint and comfortable and each time you came home you felt relaxed because you were able to shut out the life you lived everyday. The small kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in, but it made it more intimate and cozy. The living room had a soft leather couch, but no tv despite Benâs complaints that you should get one. He hated that you couldnât watch his films when he came over. You liked listening to music more anyway. Your collection of vinyl lined the living room wall in clean bookcases next to a small record player. The spare bedroom served as your studio, not that you were trying to sell your art, but because you needed a place to exist where you weren't a supe and where you weren't in love with Ben. There were stacks of sketchbooks in the studio closet from when you were a child, but you couldn't bear to get rid of them. Sometimes you imagined living here with Ben, cooking in the small kitchen while he read the newspaper, lounging on the couch and listening to music together, and falling asleep on his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you.
You sigh, pushing away the warmth of the thought, and wave your hand to telekinetically unlock the front door behind you. The familiar purple glow from your abilities fills the apartment. Ben had a key, but you figured he just wanted to make an entrance.
Always the drama queen.
âGot anything to drink?â He asks as he enters the living room.
You glance over the back of the couch to look at him. He's more casually dressed now, wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt the same color of his suit.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âThought Iâd stop by, see if youâre still pissed.â
âAs I recall it was you that was pissed.â You roll your eyes at him.
âOnly because you were getting in my way Sweetheartâ The way he says your nickname is harsh and mocking, so different than the way the old Ben used to say it. When it sounded genuine, caring, almost special.
âBecause you were about to rip Noir apart!â You gesture with the pencil in your hand, snapping your sketchpad shut.
âThat pussy deserved it. Thinking he was better than me. Iâm fucking Soldier Boy and heâs nothing more than a-â Ben scoffs rolling his eyes.
âBen I canât do this if youâre gonna be like this right now.â You interrupt pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingertips, still annoyed from earlier. You hated that he did that, when he made you feel like his babysitter, when he made you feel like you had to make apologies for him.
âLike what?â
âHigh, drunk, acting crazy-â
âIâm not acting fucking crazy!â He snaps.
âBen-â You begin with a sigh.
âFine.â He spits. âWe donât have to fucking talk about it if you donât want to.â
âThank you.â You wave a hand haphazardly towards the kitchen. âThere should be some whiskey in there somewhere. Though I donât think you need anything else to drink.â Your nose wrinkles as you inhale, the smell of stale alcohol wafting back, followed by the unmistakable scent of perfume and sweat.
The super senses really sucked sometimes. Smelling the women that Ben had sex with was an unfortunate skill you had acquired.
âFuck off.â He rolls his eyes, but waits for a minute eyeing you. âYouâre not going to get it for me?â
You ignore his sharp tone and turn back to your sketchpad. âNope. I donât want to enable you.â
Ben stomps into your kitchen. It's immediately followed by the loud banging of him searching the cabinets for booze.
He should know where it is, spends enough time here.
âIf you break anything, youâre going to fix it.â You shout opening your sketchbook back to the page you were on. You were drawing the Philadelphia of your youth, the familiar streets, the cars, and the women dressed in beautiful outfits.
âMy hands are better suited for other things Sweetheart.â You hear him mutter under his breath and you try not to snap your pencil in half. His taunt made you think about Herogasm and the scent of perfume on his skin, and that was the last thing you wanted to think about.
Ben comes back and slumps onto the couch beside you, a large whiskey gripped in his hand. He sighs loudly to get your attention when you don't look up from your drawing.
"Alright, what is it?â You ask continuing to draw.
"Nothing.â He grumbles drinking from his glass.
âBen, Iâve known you for over fifty years I can tell when youâre upset.â
âIâm not upset.â
âWell I doubt itâs over what you said or did to Noir today. So what is it? What are you not upset about?â
"I just thought it would be different." Ben swirls the glass in his hands.
"What?"
"Being on Payback."
"What do you mean?" You continue to sketch the shape of a woman walking down the streets.
"When I first started doing all this fucking superhero shit it was different. Felt like I was promoting something, now it kinda feels like Iâm just here. And no one respects me.â
âTheyâre not going to respect you if you keep threatening them and beating up whoever pisses you off.â You mutter.
âThey might.â He snaps.
They won't.
"Well the way things are going with Russia Iâm sure there will be another war." You sigh, thinking about the recent newspaper headlines. Everything was devoted to the Cold War, everyone was afraid of what Russia was doing or what they were planning. Stan Edgar and Legend were talking about some Anti-Communist campaign videos and posters that they wanted you to pose for, but you weren't sure you wanted to.
"You think so?" He sounds optimistic.
"Iâm not gonna hope for one, but probably. I get it though. Youâre doing all those movies and premieres and photo shoots, it doesn't feel real."
It was exactly how you felt. You felt that all this supe shit was coming to a head and what did you have to show for it? A few pictures of you holding up a car or a painted caricature of you on the side of a jet or a short film with stupid prerecorded lines that made no sense and even more ridiculous outfits that Legend tried to get you to wear. When you got the serum with Ben you thought youâd be contributing something to society, but no. It was just like when you were a child, dressed up like a China doll, made to be looked at but never used.
"I like those movies."
"Iâve noticed." You breathe remembering earlier when Ben almost killed Noir over the movie role.
Noir technically started that, but Ben just took it way too far.
"What about you?"
The question catches you off guard. âWhat about me?â
"You havenât done any movies lately. Legend said that you turned down a few films." Ben takes a swig from the glass in his hand.
"Arenât you afraid that Iâll steal some of your thunder Soldier Boy?â Your taunt. âBecause I already saw what you tried to do to Noir today. And Iâd rather you not beat me to a pulp-â
âYouâre not like Noir. Youâre different.â
âMhmm. Sure.â You sigh rolling your eyes at him.
Ben sits there for a minute. You can feel his gaze on you. âIâd never hurt you y/n.â
The softer cadence of his voice makes you pause your pencil against the page. You knew it was true. Even when Ben was pissed off it was the line he never crossed. Ben never touched you when he was angry, but it never made it any easier to deal with him.
âHey.â Ben whispers to get your attention, but you continue to look down at your paper. âLook at me.â His thumb comes under you chin to lift your eyes to his.
âYou know that right?â Benâs gaze is soft, you hadnât expected it to be given the way he entered you apartment and his sullen mood. âYou know that Iâd never hurt you?â
The look in his eyes makes your throat tight, makes you see the Ben you used to know, who promised to look out for you and who promised to be strong for the both of you. And it hurts more than you thought it would, because you weren't sure that boy was still there.
âYeah. I know.â You nod, but you donât smile. You knew it was what he wanted to hear. âYouâve been talking to Legend about me?â You say to make the warm feeling of his touch fade.
He shrugs satisfied with your response, the softness fading from his eyes as he drops his hand. âI was worried.â
You fold your legs up under you. âI donât know, I didn't love any of the scripts. And Iâve been thinking about getting out. Iâve been doing this so long-"
It was the first time you'd said it aloud to Ben. You'd mentioned it once to Legend and then made sure he never said anything about it. You weren't sure how Ben would react to you leaving.
"What?" Ben's eyes widen in surprise.
"Come on Ben, youâre telling me that you donât want to have a normal life? Meet someone, have some kids, settle down? Weâve been doing this shit for years. Doesnât get any easier."
"Sometimes.â He smirks at you. âSo whoâs the guy?â
âWhat?â You raise your eyebrows in confusion.
âThe guy youâre going to settle down with.â
âWhat makes you assume that Iâve met him?â
âI mean, Iâve never seen you with anyone. And Iâve never walked in on you fucking anyone. Plus, you never come to Herogasm-â Ben pauses. âItâs not Noir is it? Is that why you were protecting him today?â
âNo.â You scoff, shading the side of a building to avoid his gaze, because how do you tell him that you met the only person youâd ever wanted when you were 8 years old?
âGood.â Ben drinks from his glass. âI do think about it sometimes.â He says it quietly.
âHuh?â
âThe house, having a few rugrats.â He shrugs. âMight be nice.â
âYeah.â Your throat is tight imagining Ben with someone else like Countess, sitting at his wedding, watching him say those vows to someone else. You didn't think you'd be able to just sit there if it came to that.
âHow about you and I get married?â He says it nonchalantly.
You roll your eyes. You knew he didnât mean it. He was just saying it to joke with you like always. Ben never saw you that way, you were realizing that more and more each day, even though it hurt to think it.
âWeâd kill each other before we say I do.â You quip staring down at the page.
âMaybe. But really, weâve known each other long enough-â
âThatâs not a reason to get married. Plus, we both know that youâre not a one woman kind of guy and if you're actually being serious about this it would mean that you would have to change-â
You think about it. If Ben actually did want to commit, could he do it? His wandering eyes and hands would drive you crazy if he finally did want to start a relationship. You definitely did not want an open relationship. You wanted Ben to be wholly yours as much as you would be his, because you knew that if you devoted yourself to Ben, he would probably cheat, but then be furious if you spent any amount of time with someone else. You remembered all the ways he acted around Howard. Ben was crazy around him, and you and Ben hadnât been together.
Imagine what he would do to someone else if we were.
âI can be a one woman kind of guy-â Ben scoffs. âI can do anything.â
âUh-huh. Sure.â You mutter, but you know he can hear you.
Ben puts down his glass on your coffee table before his hand lays on top of yours against the sketchpad in you lap.
âY/n.â He whispers. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, but you donât look up at him, you canât. Because you know as soon as you look into his eyes youâll do whatever he wants.
But you didnât want to be his consolation prize. You didnât want Ben to marry you because he was bored, drunk, and he thought he might as well marry you. You wanted Ben to marry you because he was 100% head over heels for you as much as you were for him.
He tilts your chin upwards to look at him. Electricity thrums in your veins when you lock eyes, the look in his gaze is open, gentle, almost tender.
It reminds you of the boy you used to know. Lately you hadnât seen him. If you were being honest, you hadnât seen him much since the night he came to ask you to come with him, before the serum, when you thought he finally realized that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.
The only time youâd see the real Ben was when it was just the two of you, not the angry, macho, vengeful fighter for justice that he put on whenever he was in front of the team or in front of the cameras. You didnât understand that. He said that showing emotions made him less of a man, but he never seemed to have a problem being different when it was just the two of you.
You hated that. In those quiet moments you felt your heart clench tight in your chest because each time you thought that he would finally admit that he loved you, that after all these years you were the one.
But he never did.
âI could change.â Ben whispers. âI could be with one woman.âÂ
âBen.â You take in a deep breath to clear your head, fighting the ball of emotion that has begun to burn at the back of your throat. âYouâre drunk.â You breathe.
He blinks a few times as if he canât comprehend what you're saying.
âYou always get like this when youâre drunk. You know?â You pull back from where his hand rests on your chin. âBut you can stay if you want. Thereâs some pizza in the fridge and Iâm gonna take a shower and go to bed.â You stand and step around him, the urge to cry building in your chest.
âOkay.â Ben whispers to the air, because you're already gone, fleeing down the hallway before he can see you cry.
When you step into the shower you allow yourself to break. The soft sobs drowned out by the sound of running water. You wished you could move past this, all of this and more importantly you wished that you hadnât fallen in love with him.Â
Memories of the past lodge themselves in the back of your throat. You remember the day he begged you to come with him to get the Compound V injection, when you left your life behind and chose him. You thought that was his way of saying he loved you, that he couldnât live without you. You were wrong. It hurt to admit that, but you were wrong. Ben didnât try to build on the relationship you had, he kept it the same, the friendly banter, the hugs, hanging around with you whenever he couldnât stand to be alone. He still slept over, but thatâs all that happened. You thought that day meant something, that it was the beginning of something, some wonderful romanticized future filled with warmth and love.
You never thought it would be like this.
You didnât regret going with him often, but on nights like this when it was late and Ben was drunk and he acted differently you did. Because it made you think that there was a chance of a future with him, but then when he woke up the next day sober, it started all over again with him being short tempered and a dick to everyone who was around him.
It was exhausting. And you didnât know how much more of it you could take.
The only thing you regretted about the serum was that it made you immortal, invulnerable, and that meant whoever you decided to make a life with would die. There was only a handful of others like you and you hadnât liked any of them except Ben. You wondered if this was your penance for saying no to Howard, your mother's last laugh when she said that Ben would never choose you and now you had to go on like this forever.
You remember the fear that you would be trapped in a marriage with Howard, you never thought that you'd feel trapped with Ben.
But nowâŚ
When you walk back into your bedroom, Benâs already in your bed, laying on his back, smoking a blunt and looking at the ceiling. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants, that you bought him forever ago so he didn't have to sleep in his jeans, and the same t-shirt as before.
âWhat did I say about smoking those in here?â You sigh, getting into bed beside him, but being careful as to not touch even though itâs all you want.
âItâs a free country doll.â Ben mutters, but he puts it out in the ashtray that you left for him on the bedside table. Because you knew that he would continue to do it even when you told him not to.
The amount of times he ended up here at night always surprised you. Ben might have been bed hopping, snorting, and drinking himself into a stupor but the amount of times you woke up with him in bed next to you was astounding. Heâd let himself in with the key you made him for emergencies while you were asleep. It was almost like he didnât sleep in his apartment anymore and you hated how much you depended on him being there in the morning when you woke up. But the truth was, Ben was all you had, and the thought of losing him scared you. Which meant you continued to put up with the man he became, trying to hold tight to the image of the boy he used to be.
You lay on your back beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The inch of space between your bodies is almost too obvious. âIâm going to go to Philadelphia for a few days.â You breathe.
âWhy?â
âMy brother isnât doing too well. His son called.â You say, your throat thick. âHe said he thinks that itâs time.â
Your parents had passed a few years ago and Ben had gone to the funerals with you. When Benâs father had passed, he hadnât gone to the funeral, heâd drowned himself in the 21st annual Herogasm. And after he showed up on your doorstep smelling like sweat, drugs, booze, and cheap perfume. Youâd made him take a shower before getting into bed. The next morning you had woken up in his arms, but more surprising was the fact that he had woken up before you and hadn't pushed you away, in fact he had held you closer to him. You figured that he needed someone there with him. His father had done and said horrible things to Ben, and you kept him company if thatâs what he wanted, but couldnât admit it.
âIâm sorry.â His hand finds yours on the bed. The gesture surprises you.
âYeah. But thatâs the way it is now, I guess.â You whisper, squeezing it.
âWhat do you mean?â
âWe donât age. Everyone else does. Means that weâll always just see everyone else go.â
âBut not us.â Ben says it like heâs trying to cheer you up.
âYeah.â You sigh.
Does that mean itâs always going to be like this? Me waiting for him to come here after a 24 hour non stop orgy or after heâs had one two many? Just because he canât stand the thought of being alone?
You didnât want that future. You knew that he wanted to be there with you, but it wasnât enough and it wasnât the same thing you wanted.
Maybe getting out of this would be good. Put some distance between me and him, let me try to find me again.
Ben is quiet for a minute, the only sound you hear is the thrum of the blood in his veins and his heart steadily pumping it.
âDo you want me to come?â He says it slowly, his thumb rubs against the back of your hand in a soothing motion.Â
The question breaks something inside of you, because you wanted nothing more than to have him there with you, but you didnât want the version of Ben who was Soldier Boy, the loud, angry, short tempered version who was always high or drunk. The one that you felt that you needed to apologize for.
âNah. Itâll be okay. Iâll get to see my great nephew. Heâs supposed to be walking now.â You try to force cheeriness into your tone, but it doesnât stick.
âOkay.â
You canât help but wonder if Ben is hurt by your rejection. You did not often say no to him.
He doesnât let go of your hand though, in fact he brings it up against his chest while he looks at the ceiling.
"Do you regret it?â Ben says in almost a whisper
"Hmm?â
âComing with me.â
You pause for a second and think about lying, but finally settle on the truth. âSometimes."
"Why?â Ben's voice rumbles against where your hand lays against his chest, and for a second you think he sounds almost pained.
"Weâve changed so much than who we were back then. Sometimes I donât recognize myself.â
You didnât want to say that it was him you didnât recognize. Or that it always felt that you were running after the boy he used to be. The one that made you feel safe, comforted, made it feel like home.
"I donât think change is a bad thing."
Of course you don't.
"It is if itâs in the wrong direction.â You whisper, but know he can hear you.
âSo thatâs why you want out? Because you donât recognize yourself? Seems like a shitty reason."
âI just think it might be nice to try something new. Iâve been doing this for such a long time-â
âThatâs why the films would be a good idea. If you want I can talk to the director about you being a co-star in the one we start filming next week. He won't say no to me-â It was the closest youâd ever heard him come to pleading, besides the night he asked you to come with him to get the serum.
But why? Was it his way of keeping me with him? Was it because he didnât want me to leave because he wanted me here? Or was it because he just wanted someone there to sit with when the silence was too much? The silence that seems to follow when he's not with me.
âBen Iâm okay. Itâs okay I just want something different.â
âLike what?â You hand is still clutched in his where it rests over his chest and you can't help but wonder why. It was surprising. Sure Ben tolerated the occasional hug, but holding your hand for this long was unusual. You attributed it to the booze. When Ben got drunk he tended to be more clingy, he never admitted that, but you saw it.
âI donât know. I just want a family again-â
âYou have a family. You said youâre going to see your great nephew-" Ben says it like he doesn't want you to leave and it breaks something inside you.
How can he not admit that he cares about me? That he loves me? He has to after all these years doesn't he?
âI know. I mean I want a family. Someone to come home to every night, someone I love, someone who loves me-â You fight to keep the frustrated tears from falling. The dream of him and you inhabiting your apartment together washes back over your mind in shades of gray. You wanted that so badly.
âOh.â
âYou donât want that?â Itâs taking everything for you not to tell Ben that you want it to be him, that you always wanted it to be him.
âMaybe.â
The silence grows between the two of you as you lay there and Ben still hasn't let go of your hand.
âDid you want to marry him?â He says after a few minutes.
âWhat?â You look at him confused. Ben isn't looking at the ceiling like you thought, he's looking at you. He almost looks, sorry. And you wonder again how much he's had to drink.
âThat asshole." He clarifies.
"Howard?"
"Yeah."
âItâs been 40 years-â You sigh as if it doesnât matter. But it does. You chose Ben that night and you thought that him asking you to come with him meant that he was choosing you as well.
âCome on.â Ben squeezes the hand that rests against his chest.
âWhy does it matter?"
âBecause youâre saying you wanted a family. Someone to come home to and that pussy would have given it to you.â
You pause for a second trying to read his expression. âI like the idea of marriage. Of saying those vows to someone else.â You say slowly. âBut I didnât want to say them to Howard.â You donât say that you wanted to say them to Ben, donât say that the night he told you not to marry Howard you thought he was trying to tell you that he wanted to marry you instead.
âSo you want to say them to someone?â
âYeah. One day.â You frown, turning back to look at the ceiling. âYou never want to say them to someone?â
Ben doesnât answer immediately. âMaybe.â
Probably Liberty.
You sigh to yourself thinking about one of your least favorite supes that youâd come across. She wasnât terrible, just pushy and into supes being united together. You also didnât like that she felt that supes deserved to be worshiped, that supes were gods, but you knew you weren't. The powers were not random, the gifts were not given by God, they were given by the devil and all those deals came with a price. Even if you tired to walk away, you wondered if Vought would let you go. You also hated how much time Ben spent with her.
The thought of her leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and despite how good it feels, you pull your hand free from Ben's grasp and turn your back to him, cuddling into your pillow. Your grip is so tight on fluffy material you wonder how it hasn't ripped, but you need to stop talking to him. Talking to him when he was like this made it harder and right now it was taking everything not to cry again.
And you were just so tired of everything. You wondered if one day it would be different.
âGoodnight Ben.â You whisper.
âGoodnight.â
And just as you drift into a dreamless sleep, you think you feel him put his arm around your waist and pull your back into his chest, but when you wake up the next day you forget and Ben is gone.
n/a: Yeah, this chapter is really sad. And I wish that I could say it gets better, but honestly, it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. đđđ
Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know :)
Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303
@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs
@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts
@onlyangel-444
#soldier boy x you#jensen ackles soldier boy#soldier boy#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy/ben#the boys amazon#the boys fanfic#jensen ackles#soldier boy fanfiction#soldier boy x y/n#the boys#the boys series#the boys tv#soldier boy fic#jackles#the boys season 3#the boys s3
364 notes
¡
View notes