#Truck Door Repair and Replace

[lubdubology]

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 

God, this was embarrassing. 

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 

And that attraction terrifies you. 

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 

And you don’t know why. 

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 

God, you hope he does. 

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don’t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 

“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[rileyslibrary]

Here’s a rose, now piss off.

Summary: Ghost threw out his back, and the medics forbade him from going on a mission. So he’s been assigned by HR to hand out flowers for Women’s Day.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,094

Notes: 

I'll keep putting Mr Riley in the most awkward situations possible until I run out of ideas. When will that be? *fist punches the table* NEVAH!

Platonic fluff. 🌸

Want more?

———————————————————————

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the 10th time someone has asked to see you since this morning, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. Soldiers are coming in and out of the garage. All. The. Time. They want you to modify their equipment, repair their trucks, replace their firearms, and sync their walkie-talkies. And, as if you’re a genie in a bottle, they expect their wishes to be granted “stat.”

“Come in!” you say, turning towards the door to see your subordinate looking like he was asked to solve world hunger. 

“Boss!” he exclaims, looking down at his clipboard. “Have you seen the Humvee that arrived today?” 

“No, soldier,” you mutter. “What about it?” 

“W-well,” he begins, pausing briefly to look at you. “It’s got holes all over it, boss.”

“Holes?” you ask with raised eyebrows. 

"Y-yeah," he stammers. “Like from bullets and stuff.” 

When you hear the words “and stuff,” a smile forms at the corners of your mouth. It’s not one of amusement. Instead, it’s a tired smile that signals the start of something far more sinister that is about to happen if people continue to bother you with such trivial “stuff.” 

“What do we do in situations like these, soldier?” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “what did I teach you to do?” 

“Patch’ er up, boss!” He responds with pride. 

“And what happens if that doesn’t work?” 

“Make a pasta strainer with it, boss.”

“But?” 

“But welding always works for patching up holes, boss!” 

“Very well done!” you utter. “Now go and weld the shit out of it,” you shoo him with your hand, “the operators will likely need the car right away for their next mission.” 

He salutes and walks away six feet taller as if he’s figured out how to solve the Collatz conjecture. You must retrain them so they don’t come to you seeking advice for the tiniest “stuff”. 

Another person enters as your subordinate walks out; an American holding an annihilated walkie-talkie. 

“What is it this time, Philip?” you ask, noticeably bored. 

“It got wet,” he says, handing you the equipment piece by piece. “And then it stopped working.” 

“Graves!” you yell, swinging the poor thing by its cables. This one was already dead. Done. Caput. “Is this what you call ‘wet’ in the States?”

He chuckles but then stops when he sees your stunned expression. He gives a shrug. 

You sigh and toss the walkie-talkie on top of a pile of wrecked equipment, wishing your patience was as large as that heap. You choose another that you fixed earlier, synchronise it, and hand it over to him. 

“Please take better care of your belongings,” you beg. “All of you.” 

He nods and leaves the room, waving the small equipment as if to thank you.

As much as you get angry at them, you can’t help but sympathise and understand their situation. They are soldiers. To successfully complete a mission, they must enter dangerous territories and battlefields. They should submerge themselves and everything they hold in water if necessary. They must use that equipment to the best of their capabilities to free prisoners, rescue civilians, and capture terrorists. Your responsibility is to repair and maintain that equipment, so it is always in good working order and ready to use whenever they need them. Your role might not be as critical as that of a medic, but you, too, are required to ensure their missions’ success.

A cough behind you causes you to throw your hands to your sides and lift your head as if praying to God to end this ordeal. 

“What is it n-” you pause and turn to look at Ghost, holding a covered bucket in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. 

“Let me guess,” you say. “There’s a dead drone in there,” you say, pointing to the bucket, “and you managed to save some of its parts in that cup.” 

But he gives you a threatening stare. He appears to be as fed up as you are. 

He sets the bucket down and lifts up the cover. There is no drone in it. It’s filled with vibrant roses wrapped in pretty paper, standing upright.

“I’m a mechanic, not a botanist, Ghost.” 

“It’s for Women’s Day,” he says, his face as expressionless as when he first entered the room. “I have to distribute these to all the women-” 

You burst out laughing, and he immediately gets angry. He was anticipating that reaction. 

“This isn’t funny, you little shit,” he spits. “I threw my back out, and now HR is making me hand out flowers like I’m fucking Zorro instead of going on the mission.” 

You hold back your laughter and wipe the tears of joy from your cheeks. “At least you have the mask, Lt.,” you try to comfort him, and he turns away in embarrassment. 

“Well, Lt., I’m afraid I’m not a flower person-” 

“I don’t care; you have to choose one.” He says, motioning to the bucket. “And hurry up; I have to go to the ladies at the registrations as well.” 

“No.” You refuse and smirk as you lean against the shelf. “You choose one for me.” 

“Listen up, you motherf-” 

“Hey now, it’s Women’s Day.” You remind him, looking at your nails. 

He sighs as he kneels down with difficulty, shuffling through roses. His hand first grasps a red one, then a pink one, before finally deciding on a yellow rose with red wrapping paper. 

He stands up, supporting his weight on his thigh, that cup still in his hands, and offers you the flower.

“Why yellow?” You ask as you accept the rose. 

“I’m saving the pretty ones for those who actually like flowers,” he explains. 

You widen your eyes and tilt your head to the side. “Is that so, Mr Riley?” You ask.

But he doesn’t give in to your trap. He reaches out his other arm and hands you the cup he held. “Here,” he says, “I know you like coffee.” 

This is far too entertaining for you to give up on. 

“You got me coffee?” You ask with a smile. “You’re such a sweetheart, Simon.” 

He mutters something under his breath, picks up the bucket and begins his way to the ‘registration ladies’.

“Do you need help with that, Lt.?” You ask, and he extends his middle finger without turning around. 

“Thanks for the coffee!” you shout, and you notice his middle finger tucking into his palm, giving way to his thumb as if to say, “you’re welcome.”

———————————————————————

[sturnioz]

hey

wait

what about

mechanic!matt…………..he been told you to get rid of your car but you don’t have the money for it, the uni semester has already been off to a chaotic start, and PLUS it was a gift from your grandpa on your 18th :(

i lowkey kinda fucked up this req and changed it a bit cos i struggled to write it :| i wrote meeting mechanic!matt for the first time instead my bad my bad my bad.

you're freaking out.

you're freaking out so bad you're teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown, overwhelmed by a storm of emotions as you stand in the middle of the auto repair shop.

you've been so stressed; your new semester had a chaotic start, your classes keeping you unbelievably busy. to make matters worse, you've also had a painful falling out with your best friend, the kind of rift that feels like a gaping wound. on top of that, you recent breakup still fucking stings and you feel like you're going to throw up every time you cross paths.

and now, as if the universe is conspiring against you, your car has betrayed you, refusing to start in the middle of the road when you were on your way home. (the embarrassment of having to call a tow truck had only made it worse).

the constant sounds of clanging metal and the low hum of machinery surrounds you, gnawing at your nerves, overstimulating you. you close your eyes and rub your temples, desperately trying to block out the flickering overhead lights that create disorientating flashes behind your eyelids.

the air was thick too, heavy with the scent of motor oil and burnt rubber, a pungent reminder of your current predicament that makes your stomach churn with nausea, and you feel an overwhelming urge to escape, to bolt out the fucking door and leave this place behind.

but you can't.

you can't abandon your car — your baby, a precious gift from your grandpa.

with a deep breath, you peel your eyes open, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as you scan the bustling shop for the beefy man who greeted you when you first arrived. you're desperate for answers, anxious to find out if your car is truly fucked.

oh god, you wanted to cry. the thought of the repair costs makes you stomach twist. how much money will you have to spend? money that you don't even have. panic instantly washes over you.

you're screwed. you're done. you're hopeless. you're—

"hey," a voice jolts you from your spiralling thoughts, and you snap around, bracing yourself to confront the man you were searching for, but instead, you're taken aback by someone completely different.

he stands before you, hair tousled, strands falling over his light blue eyes. he's wearing a snug black tank top and dark blue overalls, the sleeves casually wrapped around his slim waist, showcasing a patchwork tattooed arm. his hands are smeared with grease and oil, evidence of a long day spent working on cars, and he nonchalantly twirls a wrench around his finger while chewing gum, casualness radiating from him as he stares at you.

"how bad is she?" you dare to ask, your voice trembles slightly, a mix of fear and hope surfacing in your chest.

the corner of his lips twitches slightly at your words before he begins. "she's not doin' too good." your heart sinks, a lump forming in your throat as you brace yourself for what's coming. "for starters, your battery is dead, but there's some damage done to the ignition system too... s'likely that the stater's shot, and the alternator needs replacing too."

you swallow hard, the reality of the situation hits you like a punch in the gut, and the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. "how... how much are we talking?"

"could be a couple hundred for the battery 'n starter, maybe more dependin' on what else i find when i dig deeper," his fingers rhythmically tap against the wrench in his hands, chewing his gum slowly as he admits, "not gonna lie t'you, sweetheart — s'not gonna be cheap."

"fuck," another wave of panic rises within you, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. you feel so helpless. "i uh, i don't, i.. i can't, i—"

"hey," he says again, his voice steady and soothing as he gets your attention. your watery eyes snap to his when you feel his hand touch your shoulder gently. you don't even care about the grease and oil staining your shirt right now. "take a deep breathe, yeah? in and out. eeeeasy."

you nod quickly, following his instructions, inhaling deeply through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, trying to regain control over the rapid beating of your heart. your skin feels clammy, and your head is fuzzy, but his calm demeanour seems to help anchor you.

"there we go.. that's it," he hums softly, squeezing your arm as he nods in approval. "now, talk t'me. slowly."

"i... i can't afford it," you whisper defeatedly. "i don't have a job right now, i can't. i don't know how i'm going to pay for all this."

he studies you quietly for a moment, his gaze shifting from concern to something more contemplative. "we can figure somethin' out... sellin' the parts might be—"

"no!" you blurt out, shaking your head sharply. the suddenness of your response catches him off guard, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise at your defiance. "i'm sorry, i... i can't sell it."

he lifts his hand to scratch at his cheek, squinting his eyes as he processes your reaction. "you uh, y'not makin' this easy, sweetheart—"

"i know, but i can't sell it," you insist with a soft sigh. "it means a lot to me.. please? is there another way?"

he studies you again, standing in silence, and you hold his gaze, hoping he'll come up with a solution. you watch as he takes a step closer, lowering his voice as if he's sharing a secret.

"what if.. we work somethin' out?" he suggests. "i'll uh, i'll fix your car for cheap — maybe for nothin' if you do somethin' for me?"

"what are you suggesting?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

he grins, revealing his pearly whites as he chews his gum, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as if he hadn't just proposed something so serious and sudden. he doesn't answer you, which makes you prompt the question again, and he keeps the grin on his face as he turns and walks further into the shop, casting a glance over his shoulder at you, a silent invitation to follow him.

[gardens-light]

On The Run

After discovering Optimus Prime in your family barn, normality seemed to briefly throw itself out of the window.

The leader of the Autobots couldn't be anymore in your debt. For as you spend every waking moment putting him back together- repairing and replacing parts of him to the best of your skill.

Admittedly, he almost gave up on humanity. As time seemed to prove itself that they would always look after their own, and protect what's theirs- no matter the cost. Betrayal unleashed it's ugly face to him multiple times, slapping him with the reality that Earth may not be safe for him and his Autobots anymore.

Yet here you stand before him. A warm smile with an aura of glittering hope, burning away his darkness of doubt. It was as though the Universe itself spoke through you, giving Optimus a warmth he thought was forgotten long ago. But he cannot help wander... how far could his trust in you really go...?

Content: Mild coarse language. Events takes place in Transformers- Age of Extinction. (Minor spoilers.) Mention of weaponry. Reader insert.

Word count- 2,800k

Sparkmate Series: Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 (End)

"Don't move like that."

Your hands pressed against Optimus' chest plate as you stood upon the scaffolding.

"The welds are still fresh. Transforming back into your truck form could ruin them- it would be like undoing stitches on a wound."

His Spark burst like small firecrackers as your delicate fingers brushed across his chassis. Jolts of electricity rush through his wires, as your touch run up towards his neck. Heat swept through his metal plates, as you reached up towards his cheek.

"You still need to heal, Big Guy. You of all people should know these things takes time..."

Optimus' optics snapped open. Your touch still lingering upon his chest plate like a ghostly inferred sensation. The memory of the previous hours of the day, playing on repeat within his processors. The haze of sleepiness soon rubbed off, his surroundings becoming faminular again.

His optics scanned the barn, the nocturnal wildlife outside disturbed the still night air. Your small whimpers of your voice caught his attention, Optimus' spark gave a warming glow as he looked down at you.

Engine grease staining your hands, as you curled up upon an old couch. Sleeping peacefully on your side, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

Optimus' servo touched his lower abdomen, his digits feeling a fresh weld stretching up his side. A gentle sigh left him.

She must of pulled another all nighter.

Grabbing a blanket with his free servo, Optimus carefully draped it along your body. Allowing the tip of his index finger to trace your curves.

His Spark hummed, filling his chest with gentle warmth. Optimus quickly pulled away from you, placing his servo over his Spark.

No. Closing his optics, a heavy sigh left his mouth. Shaking his helm before the thought could permanently fixed itself to his processors. Nothing like that exists. It's just a romanticide idea...

---

"Y/N!" Tessa's voice shouted from the porch.

Stopping mid-weld upon Optimus' side. Gently tapping on the metal sheet, signaling for the Autobot to hold it in place while you pulled down your goggles around your neck.

"I don't like the tone of her voice..." you looked up at Optimus. He saw the worry shining in your eyes. "Hold that tightly, it's only half welded. Hide in there."

His optics followed your pointed finger, "go underneath the floorboards. It might be cramped for you, but it keep you be safe. Don't come out till I say."

Quickly leaving the barn and closing the door behind you. Swallowing down your nerves, as the sight of multiple black cars parked all across the gravel driveway and front lawn. Followed by your dad's truck.

"Oh no..."

A helicopter hovered a few meters away from the house. Disturbing the still air. As soon as the black vehicles parked, multiple heavy armoured individuals got out and scouted the farm.

A man wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses approached you, as your dad came to your side.

"Sweetie..?"

"I donno, Dad-"

"Mr Cade Yeager, my name is James Savoy. I'm a federal agent." Savoy took a look around the property. "My men and I are trying to track down an abandoned truck."

You watched one of the men walk past Tessa. Her eyes staring something in her hands, her fingers playing with the object. You saw her adjusting her breath to a calm rhythm, before looking up in your direction.

"It's a nice spread you've got here." Your attention turned back to Savoy. "Too bad she's up for sale."

"Thanks, and she's not." Cade boldly spoke. "And do you mean that truck?" he pointed to an vintage ute covered in rust, the grass and flowers started to reclaim it for many years now.

"Afraid not... y'know Mr Yeager. We received a call from someone whom is concerned about this truck. That wasn't you?"

You briefly glanced daggers to Tessa's direction. She quickly shook her head rapidly, using her index finger to draw a cross over her heart.

"The only thing I'm concerned about is you being on my property without permission."

Savoy scoffed at your dad's words.

"You know, there's a rule about people messing with people from Texas-"

"And we don't know what truck you're talking about."

Savoy took a step towards you, taking off his sunglasses allowing his narrowed stare to burn into your eyes. "The kind that cost American lives!... Ma'am..."

Savoy studied your firm expression before turning back to his men, "search the property!"

"What? What you mean 'search the property'? You don't have a warrant!" Cade protested.

Savoy glared at him, stepping into Cade's personal space. "My face is my warrant"

You swallowed nervously, trying to keep steady shallow breaths as you watched the men move throughout the farm. Roaming into the house and approaching the barn. Voices scratched over their radios, as the buzz of drones flew above.

Cade turned and looked at you, "what is going on Y/N?-"

"I don't know, Dad..."

His brown eyes studied you, "you sure?... I'm happy to vouch for you but I need to know what it is."

You hesitated before speaking, " I. Don't. Know..."

---

"The fuck is all this junk?"

"A hoarder's yard. That's what."

Optimus looked up at the floorboards, hearing voices and footsteps of the agents entering the barn. Trying to lower himself further down in the cramped floor space, his face wincing in pain as the half welded sheet dug into his thighs. Automatically covering it up with his servo.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

A groan escaped from an agent's lips. His footsteps retreating back to the barn doors, "there's no signs. We've got nothing."

Optimus rested his helm against the dirt wall.

"Sir! We have a live armed missile in the trash!"

The Autobot's wide optics quickly glanced up back up.

Oh no... Y/N!!

---

"Shit..." you hissed under your breath. Feeling Cade's questioning daggers immediately turning your way.

"I-I thought it was a dud." You lowly admitted. Hands clenched into fists.

Savoy's glaze switched between you and Cade.

"Look! Okay, yes. Yes, I found a truck. All right!" you admitted.

Tessa kept shaking her head. Cade leaned towards you, muttering your name.

"I towed it back for the parts, and left it here on the driveway last night. This morning it was gone." You gazed at Savoy. "When? Where? I don't know- I swear to God. That's as much as I know about him!"

You tried to approach Tessa. Eyes staring at the ground, Cade's voice shouted questions at you as he followed. But Savoy grabbed your arm.

"Ma'am-"

"What?-"

"You just said 'him'." Savoy smiled as your terrified expression told him everything. "Take them down!"

Your heart jumped into your throat. Fear running up your spine, as the agents forcefully grabbed Cade and Tessa, throwing them down against the grass.

"They don't know about the truck!" you protested. "I know! I know about it! Please, let them go!"

Savoy grabbed your jaw, forcefully making you look at him. "What kind of woman betrays her flesh-and-blood brethren, for some alien metal?"

"He's more human than you ever be!"

He groaned, wiping your spit away from his face. Savoy's fist made contact with your face, two agents restrained you by the arms holding you up. As Savoy grabbed your jaw again.

Clicking his fingers, the agents restraining Cade and Tessa pulled out their weapons. Clocking the gun and removing the safety.

"You'd kill my family?!-"

"If I have to. You've got ten seconds to tell me where the truck is."

Cade fought against the agent whom knelt against his back. "Don't you fucking dare touch my daughters! Hurt them and I'll kill you!"

Tears ran down Tessa's face as she yelled out for you and Cade. The sound of a gunshot made you flinch.

"Next one will go through your father's head." Savoy warned. "Now, the truck-"

"I've told you everything I know!" you protested. "He was here, and now he's gone! That's all I swear!"

---

"I'm telling you the truth!" your voice cried. Hearing the pain in your tone made Optimus' Spark weep. "He's not here! I swear! He's not here!"

"Tell your men to back off! Don't you dare fucking shoot my daughters!"

"Y/N! Y/N! Please!"

The cries from you and your family wurld around Optimus' head. Hearing Savoy countdown from ten, as he continued yelling his demands at you.

Optimus withdraw his cannon from his back plates. Clocking it, allowing the weapon to light up and wurl. Allowing his face guard to untuck from his faceplate and cover his mouth.

Let's roll!

Erupting from underground, Optimus opened fire at his enemies. Blowing them out of the way, and reducing the barn to splinters.

"Here I am!" his machical voice roared, standing at his full height. Allowing all to see him.

His Spark pulsating fast as his optics laid on you. Rage filled him as he changed the output of his cannon, firing non-lethal EMP's in your direction.

"Stay away from her!"

You knelt to the ground, using your arms to shield you from the blast as the agents flew away from you. Tessa and Cade quickly rushed to your side.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cade yelled over the comotion.

"Run Y/N!" you looked up at Optimus as his cannon returned to deadly rounds. "They're going to kill you! Get out of here!"

Heeding the Autobot's warning, grabbing your sister and dad by their hands. Running towards the wheatfield on the left of the farm. Two missiles came from above. Turning your once family home into nothing but rubble.

Without warning the sound of a car engine roared in the air, quickly stopping at the bottom of the wheatfield. As a white Hatchback raced down the hill, and came skidding to a halt before the three of you.

The passenger door flew open. "Hurry! Get in the car!" the male driver yelled.

"Daddy! Y/N! Get in the car!" Tessa shouted. Shoving your dad into the front passenger seat, and trying to pull you into the back with her.

"What about Optimus? We can't just leave him!-"

"Stop protesting, Y/N! And get in the car!"

"Perimeter! Optimus moving your way!" Savoy yelled into the receiver of his radio.

Optimus looked ahead. Breathing a little easier, once his scanners assured him you were at a safe distance. Seeing the Hatchback race down the road, a low groan escaped Optimus' mouth as he crouched down. Forcing his metal plates to shift, loud churning noises rumbled throughout his mechanical body, as he transformed back into a truck.

You and Tessa clung onto the roll cage for dear life, as the hatchback raced down the open fields.

"What's happening, baby? Who are these guys?" the male driver asked Tessa, looking at her reflection through the rearview mirror.

"It's the truck!" she yelled over the engine. "They want my sister's truck!-"

"Truck?! What truck?!" Cade looked at you over his shoulder. He turned to Tess, "who are 'they'?" his attention fell back onto the male driver. "Who are you? And who the hell are you calling, 'baby?'-"

Tessa and the driver paused.

"I know you heard me!-"

"He's Tessa's boyfriend!" you cried out.

Cade's eyes widened, "what?-"

"His name is Shane! I saw him leaving Tessa's room in his underwear!"

"What?!-"

Tessa punched your arm, "well Y/N brought home a Transformer!"

You punched her back. "If you're going to tell a secret. At least get it right! Optimus was already in the barn!"

"At least I tried to keep your secret!-"

"If we survive this. You two girls have a lot of explaining to do!" Cade shouted.

You and Tessa slouched back in the rear seats.

Shane bit his lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Mr Yeager, this was not how I wanted us to meet ok?-"

"Introduction later!" Cade yelled. "Just shut up and drive the car!"

Two black cars appeared in Shane's rearview mirror. Putting the accelerator closer to the ground, the Hatchback raced through the neighboring paddocks.

"I'm going to try and lose them in the cornfield!" Shane spoke over the roaring engine, as he took a sharp right turn. Driving down a dirt road, kicking up dust and dirt behind him.

A scream left your mouth, as your wide-eyed gaze saw one of the black cars quickly emerging from the tall corn. "Watch out!-"

"Brace for impact!"

Heeding Shane's warning, you and Tessa grabbed hold of the handles above the passenger door. Reaching out for one another, as the car t-boned into the side of Shane.

Screams filled the car, as everyone tried to shield their eyes from the rain of glass. Forcing the Hatchback off the dirt track and into the tall field, Shane kept surprising control of the car. The vehicle swerved in and out of trees.

The speed chase continued onto the main road. Shane weaved in and out of oncoming traffic, effortlessly changing lanes and avoiding pedestrians. Other drivers bleeped their horns and flashed their headlights.

Tessa scrunched up her face, as the sound of crashing cars piled up behind as Shane drove through red lights. And sped through traffic.

Your heart beat hard against your ribcage. Anxiety and adrenaline raced through your veins. Closing your eyes and placing a hand over your stomach as Shane drifted around a corner.

"Great! Now they're firing at us!" Tessa said as bullets ricocheted off the Hatchback.

You and her quickly braced yourselves against the driver and front passenger seat.

"Man! I don't know how I'm driving so good!" Shane exclaimed with a smile. "It's like, today I've gone to a whole other level-"

"Road! Focus!" Cade shouted.

"Shane! Look out!" he drifted around another corner as Tessa's warning came to him.

Your stomach turned into a sickening knot, "I honestly don't know how long I can hold myself together-"

"Y/N! If you throw up on my jeans. I will never forgive you!"

You looked up at Tessa, giving her questioning eyes. "That's your concern right now?!-"

"Hang on!" Shane momentarily stopped the car. Skidding to the side, before putting his foot down on the pedal again and crashing through an empty cafe.

Exiting through the back alley and down an old, forgotten road.

"Lose them through the factory, Shane!"

"You got it, Babe!"

Racing around the empty car park of an abandoned factory. Swerving around corners and driving through large gaps in the building.

"I thought you knew how to drive this thing!" you shouted, as it appeared nothing Shane did was working in losing the tail chasers.

Optimus' Spark raced through his wires, as he drifted and turned through the factory. His scanners having a hard time keeping track of the little Hatchback. Metal plates shifted and groaned as he unleashed his full height, jumping from roof to roof of the factory in an attempt to keep up with you.

You quickly looked out the back window, as Optimus' voice called out for you. Your eyes widening as he rolled in the way of the black cars, causing them to slam into him and setting alight upon collision.

"Take them upstairs!" Tessa pointed from the backseat.

"We're gonna lose them on the fifth floor!" Shane agreed.

The knot in your stomach tightened as the Hatchback entered a multi-story car park. Your skin turned pale, bracing yourself against the back of your dad's seat, as the car drifted around corners and moved up the levels.

"Do that thing, Shane!"

"You know it-"

"What? What thing?" your panicky tone questioned.

"What we're about to do is gonna be kinda scary." Somehow Shane's tone didn't sound much of a warning, as he failed to hide the excitement in his tone.

Pressing the accelerator fully against the floor, Shane looked at Tessa through the rearview mirror. "Ready, Babe?"

"Got it" she said, leaning as far forward as she could. Grabbing onto the handbrake.

"Three. Two. One.. Pull!"

At Shane's command, Tessa pulled the handbrake as hard as she could. Causing the car to sharply stop, then turn right and continue racing towards a ramp that hung out of a window.

"No! No! No!" Cade cried.

The pit of your stomach lifted during the brief seconds of weightlessness. Until it dropped hard once gravity pulled you back down. A high pitch scream left your mouth, hands clutching into the back of Cade's seat, ripping the fabric. As you closed your eyes tightly.

By some miracle the Hatchback roughly landed on a ramp upon the ground. The two black cars behind you wasn't so lucky.

"You two girls are so grounded!" Cade shouted, as Shane drifted around one more corner.

Churning and clunking noises begun to erupt from the engine. The car finally came to an abrupt halt, as Shane slammed on the breaks.

Smoke begun to leak out of the hood.

"Shit! We gotta go!"

Shane and Cade quickly got out of the Hatchback. Optimus blared his horn, rolling up a few feet behind.

"Optimus!" you shouted as Cade helped you get out of the car.

The four of you ran towards the rusty truck. Quickly dodging the rain of bullets from above. Once safely inside, the Autobot sped out of the car park and raced towards the entrance to the highway.

[writeforfandoms]

Fast Car 1

Find my Ghost masterlist

My second submission for the Ghost Challenge hosted by @glitterypirateduck

You can't believe your luck when you find what looks like a functional car, an excellent way to repair your own car. Turns out you were right not to trust your luck. The truck has owners, and those owners are not happy to find you rummaging around. Oops?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

For this one, I used a few different prompts through the whole fic - have fun finding each of them! #'s 3, 9, 14, 18, 27

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, light violence, swearing, zombie au, mention of cannibals.

You slowed when you spotted the truck. The truck itself wasn't that unusual - they existed aplenty out here in the country, away from the remains of civilization. 

But this one had fresh tire tracks behind it, the ground still a little soft with the rains from last night. 

You hadn't seen a working vehicle in… months. Maybe a year. 

Of course, you could have a working vehicle of you could find a replacement part. 

Maybe you'd take a look. Real quiet and sneaky like. Just a little look. Just in case you could find a complementary part. 

You weren't stupid, though. You looked around carefully, checked the footprints around the truck. Checked for any movement. Listened hard too. 

But there was nothing. Whoever had come in the truck was long gone, but could be back any time. If you wanted to try grabbing the part, the time was now. 

The doors were unlocked, half luck and half the times. No need to lock the doors when there was nobody around to rob you blind. It was easy to pop the hood. One more look around showed that the coast was still clear. 

So you pushed the hood open to investigate, humming to yourself. 

“You need a tune up,” you muttered to the truck with sympathy. “I can tell. Too bad I'm not sticking around to help.” 

You patted the headlight but continued to look. You needed to hurry up now. 

You spied what you needed and smiled. Close enough to work. 

“Hey!”

The shout made you jump and very nearly bang your head on the hood, and you jerked around to spot someone walking towards the truck quickly, long strides eating up the distance. 

You took off. No way you were sticking around to get in an argument with the owner. Or skip straight to getting killed. 

You didn't get very far before someone grabbed your arm, nearly wrenching it with the force of his yank. You yelped, the sudden pain startling, and swung around with his pull. 

The man was huge, not just tall but broad. Dark makeup smeared around his eyes made him even more imposing. 

“Let go!” You kicked out at him, clumsy but determined. 

He moved out of the way easily, not even shifting his grip. One more tug sent you off-balance, and he twisted your arm behind you and up, your breath hitching in your throat. 

“Stop struggling.” The rough words made you pause, swallowing hard against the noise of pain that wanted to escape. 

The one approaching the two of you seemed in less of a hurry now that you were subdued, adjusting his hat as he eyed the two of you. Mainly you, probably. You narrowed your eyes at him, tempted to bare your teeth. 

“What were you doing, eh?” He stopped, one hand planted on his hip, the other holding his gun. 

Well. You'd survived two years of fucking zombies and zealots and shit, only to get killed because of a car. Seemed fitting. 

“Looking for a snack,” you drawled, wincing when the man behind you tugged your arm a little higher. 

The hatted one eyed you, shrewd and cold, calculating. A sudden, terrible thought made you swallow hard. 

“Promise I'm not a good snack, though,” you said, going up onto your toes to try to alleviate some of the ache in your arm and shoulder. “Definitely not edible.” 

The man in front of you blinked, apparently caught off guard. 

“You sayin’ you've run into cannibals?” The man behind you asked, incredulous. His grip didn't waver. 

“Well, I ran away from them,” you pointed out, very reasonably. “Does that mean you're not interested in eating me?”

“Not even close.” The one in front of you snorted, stepping closer so he could look down at you. “Why were you poking around in the car?” 

“Looking for kittens,” you snarked, even as pain tightened your voice. “They like warm spots, you know.” 

You yelped as your arm wrenched higher, shoulder straining against the pressure. Tears sprang to your eyes, unbidden and unwanted. 

“Got any friends hiding out?” The hatted one didn't change his tone, still watching you. 

Sure, you could keep mouthing off. But your shoulder ached now, and you were worried they'd dislocate it and then leave you. That would be a death sentence, just a slow one. 

“No,” you grumbled, head dropping. “It's just me. Just been me for a while.” 

To your surprise, the man behind you dropped your arm and stepped back. You stumbled from the sudden release, quickly pulling your arm in to your chest. The throbbing hadn't stopped yet, but at least it didn't hurt so badly. 

“What did you do to the car?” Though there was no visible change to the two men, you didn't doubt they'd grab you again if needed. Being released was a reward for honesty, leaving you with a choice to make. 

“Nothing.” Sulking just a little, you crossed your arms over your chest. “I was looking for a part, but I didn't get a chance to grab it. The car is fine.”

“Hm.” He tipped his head, studying you more closely now. “You a mechanic?”

“I was,” you said, a little wry. “Not much to work on anymore, with most of my customers dead or worse.” 

The big guy made a soft noise of amusement. You eyed him for a moment before returning your focus to the hatted man. 

He nodded once, slowly, gaze still focused on you. “Looking for somewhere to settle, then?”

You shrugged, feeling a little squirrelly now. “Haven't decided.” 

“Tell you what.” He shifted his weight forward, arms crossing over his chest. “We've got a safe place. A town.” 

“Do you?” You didn't bother to keep the skepticism from your voice, even as you rocked back on your heels. “Heard that one before.” 

“If you're really a mechanic, you're welcome in town.” He continued as if you hadn't spoken. “Your choice. Think about it. If you want to come with, meet us there.” He nodded at the decrepit gas station not far from where you all stood. “Tomorrow morning, an hour after sunrise.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. It could be a trick still, a way to get you to lower your guard. It could also be legit. Maybe. Possibly. The chance was very low… but not zero. 

Neither of them moved when you took a careful step back, then another. 

“Tomorrow morning,” the one reminded you, gaze fixed on you still, far too intense for your liking. 

“I'll think about it.” You hadn't really meant to say that, but, well… oh well. You backed away to a safe distance before you turned and walked away. 

You listened for footsteps behind you, and took the long route back to where you'd stashed your things for the day. You even paused multiple times to check behind you and around you. 

And not just to check for zombies, either. 

You didn't trust them, not even a little. The ache in your shoulder hadn't gone away yet, either. 

But… if they were telling the truth… Safety was the rarest commodity nowadays. 

You hadn't been kidding when you'd mentioned running away from cannibals. 

You settled back in a corner, pack held between your knees as you rummaged around for something to eat. You couldn't lie, the idea of somewhere safe to stay, at least for a while, was tempting. 

If you went, it sounded like you'd be stuck in the car with the big guy who'd grabbed you. Eh. You'd just not sit next to him, and undoubtedly once you were in town, it would be easy to avoid him. You didn't have to like him, just tolerate him enough to get in. 

And then avoid him like… Well, like a zombie.

You snickered at your own humor. 

Mind more or less made up, you settled in to have your dinner and rest for the night. You'd already blockaded yourself in pretty well. No zombies were getting in while you slept. 

And tomorrow you'd see if they really had a safe town.

[whohasthecards]

Hangster AU -- Firefighter Bradley & Best Buy Employee/Aviator Jake

AU where Bradley is a firefighter and Jake is still an aviator. Jake is on a long leave, probably because of the mission, and he takes another job to pass the time. He works at Best Buy.

Bradley comes to Best Buy to buy something, he's still in uniform, so Jake knows where he works at. And they snark at one another, but Jake manages to throw the box of what Bradley needs at him, smirking all the time.

---

"Can we stop debating the merits of 10 different wires and connectors and just give me the box, please," Bradley said exasperated as he held a hand out for the box this Ken doll was holding.

"Sure, here, catch," Jake said shrugging throwing the box lightly at him. "No need to get as red as your fire truck."

Bradley groans, rolls his eyes, and walks away. He was never wearing his fire department shirt in public ever again.

---

Bradley put his keys on in his bronco. And turn it. Engine sputtering.

"Oh come on," Bradley muttered, moustache twitching.

He stepped down again on the brake and clutch, twisting the key. Nada. Bradley groaned and hit his head on the steering wheel wondering who the fuck to call.

He jumped when he heard a knock at the window, seeing Ken doll, looking sympathetic.

He opened the door.

"Need a jump?" Ken-doll asked.

Bradley, sighed, "Yes please."

"Give me a sec to bring my car over."

"Thank you." ---

"Man, you've been having issues with the lights and radio, too? But you just replaced the bulbs, right?"

Bradley deeply sighed and rubbed the space between his eyes, "Yeah."

"That's fucked up, man, good luck, better bring it to the shop for the wiring."

"No comment on the wires on this one?"

"Car wiring is a whole another thing I ain't gonna touch, too much of a headache for me," Ken-doll said, flicking the toothpick in his mouth to the side.

"How do you know so much about wires, anyways? You work with it a lot at Best Buy?" Bradley said going back inside his truck to try to start it.

"Nah, not really, I studied engineering, and my other job. You pick some stuff up along the way."

"You studied engineering and you work at Best Buy!?" Bradley said fingers slipping from the ignition.

"Anything wrong with that?" Ken-doll said, raising a brow.

"No, I mean-- Oh look the car's starting," Bradley said flustered. "Thank you, man, I'm Bradley Bradshaw by the way, incase you need anything, I'm by the fire station." Bradley said holding out his hand.

"It's Jake, and if you need anything from electronic goods to repair, come to Best Buy for a wonderful service," Jake said shaking his hand and winking.

"Should add auto-repair to that slogan."

---

A series of events caused them to meet again. And they hit it off, go one dates and all that.

Jake likes listening to Bradley's stories about his job, and Jake tells him about some crazy customers he had to deal with.

Bradley never asked about Jake's previous job/other job, and Jake,,, forgot.

---

One day, Bradley's station gets a call for a jet having to do an emergency crash landing. And they have to make sure that the area is clear and be prepared for anything that might happen. If the pilot gets stuck or something gets lit on fire.

And they're listening in on the radio with the pilot and pilot's instructor telling him what to do. Calm, steady, smooth, and knowledgeable.

Familiar.

They arrive on scene, get the pilot out, and the instructor comes eventually in a rush.

"Is my pilot, okay?" A familiar voice asked.

"Yeah, we're getting him checked out at the hospital, nothing severe."

He hears the man sigh, "Good."

The man turns the corner, and his eyes flickered to Bradley for a moment, before focusing back on the fire captain.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Seresin, thank you for helping during this incident."

---

"You work in the Navy!?"

"Yeaahhh--"

"You didn't tell me!?"

"I forgot!"

A pause.

"Also does the team know we're dating?"

"The station? No, why?"

"Wanna mess with them?"

"I'm listening."

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man, Part 3 - Structure

Summary: Andrea moves into Bucky’s apartment with the help of two of his guys, Clint and Scott. Steve and Sam prepare for their double date with Natasha and a friend.

Length: 4.2 K

Characters: Bucky, Andrea, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, Sam, Steve.

Warnings: Some assumptions made about why Bucky’s helping Andrea. Some slight jealousy on his part, and a brief moment of panic when he sees something.

Author notes: Some more back story about Bucky.

<<Part 2

Part 3

The following day, Andrea and Lily moved to Bucky’s apartment. He assigned Clint and Scott to the truck, telling them to take whatever furniture Miss Hart wanted to take with her, while he helped her with her personal possessions. There was a moment when he looked at both men with a degree of exasperation when he told them to get a third man to help them when they returned the following day for the rest of her furniture.

“Which fence are we using?” asked Clint, assuming the furniture was stolen.

“No fence,” replied Bucky. “It’s going into my personal storage locker at SHIELD Storage.”

The two men looked at each other. “Boss, we’re not fencing this stuff?”

“No, this is a legit job, boys,” he said. “We’re going to move all her furniture, rewire her house, do some demolition to uncover some leaks and repair them, replace her roof and two windows. We’ll see what else needs doing as we go along. Then, when we’re finished, we’re moving her furniture back.”

“I don’t think I’ve done a legit job for you in the two years since I got out of prison,” said Scott. “What gives?”

Andrea appeared then, with a box from her bathroom, startling Bucky. “Where do you want me to put the things that are going to the apartment?” she asked.

“Right here is fine,” smiled Clint, who was quicker to catch on than Scott when he noticed how his boss reacted. “Why don’t you show me your daughter’s room, so I know which furniture pieces to take.”

“Sure, follow me,” she smiled.

Bucky waited until they were out of earshot. “She doesn’t know about the other things my company does. She’s had a tough break and I’m helping her out with fixing her place up because the bank wouldn’t give her the money to do it.”

“Ah, I get it,” said Scott, nodding his head. “Higher interest rate for the “loan” and if she doesn’t come through with the payments, then you put her to work. She’s cute; could bring in some coin with the right customers. Unless you want her for yourself.”

“No, it’s not like that, Scott,” sighed Bucky. “I don’t do things like that. You know what? Just move her things like I told you. Keep your mouth shut and don’t talk about being in prison. Tell Luis as well. I’m assuming you’re going to ask him to help move the rest of her things to the storage locker.” Scott shrugged then nodded. “Fine, but just don’t let on to her what my company really does. She’s a nice lady.”

“You got it.”

Scott picked up the box Andrea just brought out and took it out to the truck. When he got back Clint called him into the baby’s room where he had already partially taken apart the crib. Being a father himself he knew how to do it and had a zip lock bag for all the screws that would be needed to reassemble it. The two men spoke quietly about their boss doing a favour for this admittedly nice lady, mostly wondering what was in it for him. It was most unusual.

In Andrea’s room, Bucky was helping her pack clothing, then taking the suitcases and boxes out to the truck. They didn’t talk much but they were very much aware of each other. Helping her pack was a benign activity, but he found himself actually enjoying it. With her, he wasn’t Boss, the owner of a general contracting company that did a lot of side jobs for the mob, and other criminals. He was just Bucky, a regular guy. Lily, who was on the bed, sat happily watching them both. When she became hungry and began fussing, he excused himself, closing the door so Andrea could nurse her. Even that felt natural, giving her space to be a mother.

Clint and Scott were carrying the small dresser / change table from the baby’s room down the hallway. He went in, saw the crib mattress was still there and carried that out to the truck. Just a few more boxes would finish that room. Looking at how full the truck was Bucky wondered where it would all fit at his place. How could a baby have this much stuff? Clint saw where he was looking and grinned as Scott returned to the house.

“Babies need a lot,” he commented. “When Laura and I had our first we lived in a small one-bedroom flat. It was tight but we made it work. Of course, when she got pregnant again, we needed to move somewhere bigger.” Bucky smiled slightly but Clint could tell the man was worried. “Buck, who is she?”

“Rumlow’s ex-girlfriend. The baby is his daughter. She wants nothing to do with him.”

“Can’t say I blame her. He’s a real piece of work. Is she your girlfriend now? Is that why she’s moving in with you?”

“No. She had nowhere to live while I fix her house, so I offered my place to her.”

He gave his boss an appraising look, then patted him warmly on the arm and returned to the house. Bucky liked that about his guys. Without an exception they were decent guys at a basic level. Although many of his employees had served time for one thing or another, he never hired anyone who had committed a violent offence. No murderers, no rapists, or anyone that had assaulted a person during a crime. Hurting women, children, or senior citizens was seen by all of them as being the mark of an animal. About half of his employees, like Clint, were married family men. Unable to get a decent job that allowed them to support their families, with Barnes Contracting they had work that was usually manual labour but occasionally involved other illegal activities, mostly transporting stolen goods as needed by various criminal groups. Bucky drew the line at any violent crime, not taking any jobs that involved murder, assault, or kidnapping. Hydra Contracting didn’t have such morals and the owner’s nephew, Brock Rumlow, could be a very violent man.

An hour later they were packed up and on their way to the apartment. Bucky, who came with Clint and Scott in the truck, rode back with Andrea in her car. He had already arranged for the two men to use the service dock and elevator for the truck contents, but he directed Andrea to the regular parking garage door. Pulling a card out of his wallet, he handed it to her, gesturing for her to hold it over the sensor so the door opened.

“This is yours,” he said. “I have two spots but only use one. Don’t leave it in the car if you go out. If someone steals it, they can access the building.”

“Do I get my own keys?” she asked, as she entered the large space.

“Of course,” he answered. “They’re at security.”

He directed her to the parking spot and got out of the car. She came around to the passenger side back door and opened it, undoing the restraints on the baby carrier that Lily was in. Bucky took a couple of suitcases from the car and waited for her to join him at the elevator lobby.

“There are four resident elevators,” he explained. “Four suites per floor, except for the penthouse which has its own private access. You need the key card to slide into the reader and it takes you directly to the suite. Visitors have to be admitted by security and only after the resident has confirmed that they can come up. You can lock down the elevator door into the suite if you want to prevent anyone from entering that manages to get to the floor.”

“Is everyone who lives here paranoid, or something?” she asked, amused.

“Something like that,” he answered, his face serious. “Let’s just say we paid a lot of money for this type of security, and we all have a reason for it. We have to make a stop at the security desk so they can take your picture and Lily’s. Only they can issue an elevator key card.”

Her face dropped a little at that bit of news, but she followed him onto the elevator. After the brief ascent, the doors opened, and he escorted her into a richly appointed lobby area. Nodding his head at the guard on duty, Bucky presented his resident’s card.

“I need to register Miss Hart and her daughter as living with me for the next three months,” he said. “I have given her one of the two garage cards in my possession for the parking garage. She needs an elevator card. The truck with her possessions should be arriving at the service dock within minutes. The two men bringing her things are already registered with you.”

He gave the man Clint and Scott’s name, then signed several forms as Andrea watched, somewhat concerned at all the formalities. She was told to stand in front of a small digital camera and stand still for a moment without smiling. Lily had to come out of her carrier and held up for the same thing but at least they didn’t try to stop her from having a happy face. Several minutes later Andrea received the elevator card, and both her and Lily’s resident card. From there, they could finally ascend to the 21st floor where the elevator opened directly into Bucky’s apartment, a bright and modern space.

“This is it,” he said. “Three bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, plus there is a powder room for visitors. I’ve made the third bedroom into a home gym since I usually don’t have the inclination to go to the one on site. Feel free to use either.” He gestured towards the large wall of windows that were very visible from where they stood. “It’s open plan, combined living / dining, and kitchen. Come on, I’ll show you where you and Lily can sleep.”

He led her down a short hallway, stopping to show her the home gym. Next to it was a large bedroom with a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, a walk-in closet with built in drawers, a small seating area, and a wall-mounted TV. Like the open plan area, the exterior wall was all glass, giving an impressive view of the city. Placing the suitcases on the bed he stood there, watching Andrea’s reaction to everything.

“It’s really nice,” she said, looking back at him from where she stood in front of the window. “Are the rooms soundproofed? I won’t hear you using your gym or if you have an overnight guest, will I?”

“I don’t date,” he answered, feeling his cheeks become warm. “My room is on the other side of the apartment. The rooms are very well soundproofed but if you hear anything from the gym, please let me know. I don’t have to be in there in the middle of the night.”

He wanted to walk over to where Andrea was standing and take in the view with her, but he heard the indicator of the elevator arriving and left her there. It was Clint and Scott, bringing up the change table and crib pieces on a flatbed dolly. They had been at his place before, and he told them to take everything except the food to the guest bedroom. The food would go into the kitchen to be added to his own supply. Returning down to the parking garage, Bucky retrieved everything that was packed in her vehicle, including the stroller. As he went up the elevator with it, he couldn’t help but picture himself going for walks with Andrea and Lily. It brought a smile to his face that he still had when the elevator doors opened.

“Good, you’re back,” said Scott, who was waiting for the elevator. “Clint is assembling the crib, so I need help for the rest of the stuff.”

It made sense that Clint would take on that task, but Bucky felt a small sense of jealousy of not being the one to assemble it. He already felt a sense of responsibility for Andrea and Lily; the thought of another man doing something that he wanted to do bothered him. Being bothered by it bothered him. For the next while he helped Scott unload the truck. On several of the returns he found Clint and Andrea just standing there, talking, and laughing. What is he doing? Is he flirting with her? He’s a married man. His temper became shorter with each trip, until he dropped the final box of clothing with a thud on the floor of the guest bedroom, startling both of them. Even Lily, sitting on a blanket in front of the window, jumped.

“Are you done here?” he asked Clint. “Scott needs help bringing the food from the pantry and fridge.”

“Yeah, Boss,” smiled the older man. “We were just sharing baby stories. It’s been a while since I was around a six-month old. The things that she’s gonna do in the next year are going to blow Andrea’s mind.”

They’re on a first-name basis? Jesus fucking ….

Recognizing the look that was forming on Bucky’s face, Clint said his goodbyes to Andrea and left. She seemed oblivious to Bucky’s mood, ignoring how tense he seemed.

“He’s so nice,” she said, as she unpacked a box of clothing onto the bed, sorting it. “Thinks the world of you, Steve, and Sam. Said you helped him through a tough time. I guess you really are one of the good ones.”

Shit, why did he have to say that to her? Just when he was building up a good mad at Clint.

“I’m not really but I try to treat people fairly.” That was lame. “Do you need help unpacking?”

“Sure, just grab a suitcase and open it. I can tell you where I want the contents to go. It sure is nice having built-in cabinetry in the closet. Without dressers in here the room is plenty big enough for the crib and change table.”

He opened a suitcase then closed it again, quickly. It was the one with her lingerie in it. He couldn’t handle those items, not without …. Shit, shit, fuck, fuck. Why did I think of that? Andrea looked over at him, frowning, then reached over and opened it. A small smile on her face was the only sign she understood his reaction.

“Why don’t I handle the clothing, and you go start unpacking the food boxes?” she suggested.

Only too happy to take Andrea’s suggestion, Bucky went to the kitchen, where a couple of boxes waited to be opened. He took everything out, assembling it on the large kitchen island, then began transferring them to his mostly bare pantry. By then Scott and Clint came up with a fully loaded dolly and brought it into the kitchen, stacking the boxes on the counter.

“That’s it, boss,” said Clint. “You need us to help unpack this lot?”

He glanced at the pair and shook his head. “No, you’ve done enough.” Realizing that sounded petty he stopped what he was doing. “Thanks for coming out. You’ll be at Andrea’s place tomorrow with Luis for the rest?”

“Could we have another person?” asked Clint. “Some of her furniture is older stuff that she inherited from her grandmother. That stuff was built to last and is a lot heavier than the newer things.”

“Sure, see who’s in the warehouse tomorrow morning and take your pick,” answered Bucky. “Do you want to be on the general construction crew for her renovation? Clint, you’ve done renovations before, right?”

“Yeah, I've done roofing, finishing, drywall, and painting, too. Maybe we should get more of the guys used to doing real work. Give them a taste of how the rest of the world makes a living.”

“Probably a good idea,” said Bucky. “Get an idea of who’s interested. I have to do some exploratory work first on the areas she wants done and submit plans to the borough for the permits.” The other two men looked at each other. Bucky was getting permits for this renovation? Bucky looked up again. “Are we good here? See you tomorrow when I stop by the house.”

With a nod and a quick stop to say goodbye to Andrea the two men left and went down the elevator. It didn’t need a card to descend but they still stopped at the security desk to say they had finished and were leaving the loading dock. Not much was said between them on the drive back, then just before Clint pulled into the street where the warehouse was Scott cleared his throat.

“Do you think Bucky is thinking of going legit?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Clint, although he had been thinking it the entire trip over.

“No fence for the furniture, he’s doing a legal renovation, no cutting corners, and he gives this woman and her baby a place to stay while he’s working on her place. At first, I thought it was a play to get into her pants or turn her into a working girl, but he shot that down pretty fast.”

“You ever been in love, real love?” Clint looked at Scott as they waited for someone to remote open the gate into the warehouse yard. Scott shook his head. “Take it from me. He’s got it bad for her. He got hurt bad a few years ago by his girlfriend at the time. I didn’t think he would ever trust another woman again, but this one has got under his skin and to be honest, I think it’s a good thing. I think being around her makes him want to be a better man.” He pulled into the yard and backed up into a parking spot before turning off the ignition and sitting there. “If he goes legit, I’m staying with him. You won’t find many better bosses than Bucky Barnes, legit or not.”

“You’re right there,” agreed Scott. He looked towards the security door into the warehouse which had just opened to show Sam waiting for them. “Looks like someone wants to talk to us.”

“Everything go, okay?” asked Sam, as they approached the door into the warehouse.

“Yeah,” replied Clint. “We’re taking Luis and someone else with us tomorrow to move her furniture into storage. Boss said he’ll drop by Andrea’s house then.”

“Good, good,” said Sam, as they walked past several rows of shelving with assorted merchandise on them. “We’ve got a couple of shipments to make tomorrow, but we should have enough trucks and guys to handle it. He’s not coming back tonight, is he?”

“No, he was helping her unpack at his place,” said Clint.

“Good,” said Sam, again, then he stopped at a desk and picked up a box, handing it to Clint. “Your oldest needs one of these for school, right?”

The older man looked at the tablet computer box and smiled. “You remembered. Thanks.”

“No problem. Mrs. Parker has already deleted the serial number from the theft report so it should register properly when your son sets it up. If you two want to call it for the day you can. There’s nothing pressing here.”

Both men picked up their car keys and left. As Sam headed to the hallway that connected the warehouse to the office, he looked at his watch. Steve had called that Natasha woman to set something up for the pair of them tonight and he had an hour to get ready, if he could get out of here now. Without Bucky brooding behind his desk in his office, that was more likely to happen. He came out to the quiet space, noting Mrs. Parker was also gone. The lights were mostly off, leaving only his and Steve’s offices illuminated. Leaning against the door frame of Steve’s office, he watched for a moment as the man finished something on his computer.

“Everything go okay with the move?” he asked, glancing at the standing man.

“Yup, and he’s staying home to help her unpack,” said Sam. “You almost done?”

“Yeah, just gotta dot a couple of more i’s and cross a few t’s.” With a flourish, he saved the work he was doing and logged out, then turned his computer off, swivelling his chair towards Sam. “You ready to go?”

“Yup, just need to know where we’re going so that I can dress appropriately.”

“Barcelona Tapas Bar,” said Steve. “We’re meeting them there at 7:30. Dancing starts at 9, and then you’re on your own.”

“Nice, how did you manage to score reservations there?”

“Promised the manager a crate of Cartizze Prosecco,” said Steve. Sam made a face as it was a premium brand with a big price tag. “I called in some favours. It was delivered this afternoon, and he confirmed our reservations a few minutes later.”

“Rogers, you never cease to amaze me,” smiled Sam. “Shall I pick you up or are we meeting each other there?”

“Meet there.”

With a wave, Sam grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, leaving Steve to finish locking up. He took a good look at the premises, making sure no one was lurking anywhere, and all the doors were locked properly. Then he turned off his office lights, set the alarm system and stepped out, locking the front door. Tonight was going to be a great night.

🍕 🍕

At Bucky’s apartment, he had finally finished putting all the food away that was brought from Andrea’s house. He was about to check on her when she came out of the hallway of her bedroom.

“Well, I fed her and got her down,” she said, approaching the kitchen island. “Can’t believe she hardly slept for most of the day. Maybe I’ll be lucky, and she’ll sleep through the night. If she does, I’ll have to get up and express some milk. You’re okay if I put expressed milk in the freezer, right? It’s handy to have on hand.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he replied. “You okay if I order in some food? I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel much like cooking.”

“Sure, is pizza alright? Ham and mushroom are my favourite toppings.”

“I like loaded but we can get a half and half,” said Bucky, pulling his phone out. Using the app, he placed the order. “It’ll be here in half an hour.”

They were quiet then both began to talk. Bucky gestured to her to go ahead.

“I don’t know much about you, but something you said stuck with me,” she began. “Why don’t you date?”

Bucky let out an audible breath, then walked over to the couch, gesturing to her to sit.

“I had a girlfriend, Dot, who I really loved. Wanted to marry her. Thought she was the one. You know, all that stuff that you’re supposed to feel when you decide you want to share your life with someone. You see my place here. It’s a nice place and the company made enough money for me to buy it, outright. She really liked this modern style of finishing. I brought her here, intending to propose right in front of these windows. She said no; said I wasn’t enough for her and this place wasn’t enough for her to live in. I guess she was expecting a different lifestyle; something grander, more expensive, flashier. You already know me enough to know that’s not me. I was never into the bar or nightclub scene. To me, the perfect life is a family and a quiet corner of the world to be with them. She took the elevator down and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve heard she’s hooked up with some mobster who gives her whatever she wants. So, I figured it was better not to date and be disappointed again.”

“That’s awfully lonely,” commented Andrea.

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. Then you walked into my life. “Maybe someday I’ll get up the courage to try again.”

When the pizza arrived, Bucky put a movie on, and they each curled up on a corner of the couch. It was a pleasant and quiet way to spend the evening. Andrea received a text message from Natasha, telling her about the double date she was on, and how much fun she was having. She didn’t name names, but she hinted that both men were known to Andrea. She was glad Natasha was having a good time, wondering who else went with her. None of her returned texts were answered so she decided to leave it until the next day before she phoned her best friend. The movie ended about 9:30 and both called it a night, having worked hard the entire day.

Part 4>>

Series Masterlist

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[in1-nutshell]

Hello, Another Part of this TFA Request, Bot Buddy as Wasp's twin sibling who takes his place

Where Bot Buddy, who disguised as Wasp, became a broken bot, and that now speaks like how Wasp do. She somehow escap from Autobots and didn't held a grudge of that 'incident'

Buddy came to Earth and meet the team prime (if Wasp's in Repair crew, a reunion happens between him and Buddy), also Buddy (and Wasp) reveal their true selves

I have a feeling we are going to see this Buddy a bit more in the future.

Hope you enjoy!

Wasp Twin sister meets Team Prime

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Mention of injury but nothing graphic, Cybertronain reader

TFA

Time didn’t seem to exist within the walls of the stockades.

Half of the time W-2 didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

It was better that way.

Her name was even changed while being in there, she had to constantly remind herself that she was still had a name… but even that was slowly being replaced by the shorten nickname given to her.

2.

Just plain ol’ 2.

She rarely talked anymore and when she did, it was mainly to herself.

The guards made fun of her speech whenever they had the chance to do it.

One night 2 woke up to find the door of her cell wide open.

Thinking this was another trick, she waited a bit.

When nothing happened, she bolted out of the cell and straight to the memorized exits.

She remembered running and running until she reached the local spacebridge.

She punched in random coordinates as the blaring sounds of the alarms shrieked.

2 instinctively tried to transform, but the inhibitor claw on her back prevented her from doing so.

As soon as the bridge turned on, she leaped in, not caring now where it could lead her.

All 2 knew was that she couldn’t stand another day in the walls of the stockade.

She was free falling when she appeared on the other side.

2 landed on a pile of trash.

2 rubs her helm while throwing a greasy banana peel off her helm.

“Ow! Stinky garbage hurt 2.”--2

The garbage bot starts collecting the garbage including her.

It starts compacting.

2 starts clawing fruitlessly at the wall and screaming.

“NO, NO, NO! 2 DON’T WANT TO GO! 2 DON’T WANT TO GO!”--2

SLICE!

The machine had been sliced in half thanks to the quick thinking of Optimus Prime.

He had just been in the area when he heard a bunch of screaming coming from the garbage bot.

He thought it was a couple of humans caught, he was not expecting a bot that looked a little bit like Bumblebee to spill out. The bot in question looked at him and scurried into a corner in the alley and placed her servos on her helm, shaking like a leaf.

Optimus carefully approaches her slowly putting his axe down and getting on his knees.

“Hello.”--Optimus

The bot looks up a bit but keeps quiet.

“My name is Optimus Prime—”--Optimus

The bot curls up even more.

“Like Sentinel bot?”—2

Optimus shakes his helm.

“No, I’m not like or am Sentinel. How do you know who Sentinel is?”--Optimus

The bot shaking lessens.

“Truck bot save 2. 2 like nice Truck bot.”—2

“Your name is 2?”—Optimus

2 nods.

“Just 2.”--2

Optimus smiles before noticing her pede sparking.

“You’re hurt.”--Optimus

She looks down at the injury, wincing a bit as the spark grew a bit.

“Oh… 2 hurt...”--2

“Listen 2, I have a field tech back on my base—”—Optimus

2 looks at him in panic.

“No!”--2

“No?”--Optimus

“Truck bot take 2 to get arrested! 2 not go back to stockades! Not go back!”—2

She tries to get up but yelps when the pain shoots up and crumbles.

Optimus catches her.

“Listen 2, your injured, I promise whatever this is about the stockades won’t happen because you get arrested when the other first see you. You have my word.”—Optimus

2 looks at him in fear and uncertainty.

“2… not get arrested on sight? Truck bot promise?”--2

“Yes. You have my word.”—Optimus

He holds out his servo for 2 to take it.

She does hesitantly.

Optimus carefully carries 2 in his arms.

2 freezes a bit before relaxing in his arms.

This… this felt nice…

Optimus sends a message to Ratchet to get the med bay ready and to prep everyone for someone’s arrival.

2 just clinging on the only source of positive touch she had received in what seemed like millennia.

She doesn’t see the bots due to her slightly buried helm in Optimus’s chassis.

She gets set on the med slab and that’s when her optics zero in on Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

“Is that W-2?!”--Bulkhead

2 starts clinging on Optimus arm shaking furious.

“Prime! You brought a spy to our base!”--Bumblebee

“2 not spy. 2 is just 2.”--2

“What happen to your voice?”—Bulkhead

Bumblebee gets up in 2’s face with an angry expression on his face.

“And why are you here traitor?! You’re ready to try and con us too?!”--Bumblebee

THUD!

2 passes out on the med slab.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead explain their history with 2 in their early days in the boot camp.

After she was taken away, many things were no longer the same.

Bumblebee and Bulkhead couldn’t believe that she was the spy all along. She didn’t look like a spy or acted like one, but maybe that was the whole point.

Her arrest took the biggest toll on Wasp.

The bot was fighting any bot that got on his nerve and was nearly expelled from boot camp if he suddenly didn’t stop.

His overall mood and attitude did change a bit.

He could still be insensitive and play pranks, but they were significantly fewer than before. Wasp even became good acquaintances with Bumblebee at one point.

It was thanks to Wasp’s recommendation that he and Bulkhead were partnered in the same space bridge repair crew when he moved a bit through the ranks.

Ratchet, meanwhile, is mentally taking note of some injuries that had been untreated in a while.

It was clear that wherever this bot came from, it wasn’t a good place.

Especially when he saw the damage made to her voice box. That explained the rough speech.

When Bee and Bulkhead are done with the story, it leaves some questions and mixed feelings about the bot.

“There is still something off about all of this.”--Optimus

“Like what?”--Sari

“You told us she admitted to being the spy when Wasp was being taken away right?”--Prowl

“Yeah?”--Bumblebee

“No spy in their right processor would through themselves under the bus for one bot, family or not. Just me kid, I’ve met plenty of spies in my lifetime. She is not spy material.”—Ratchet

“But then…”--Bumblebee

“Do you mean…”--Bulkhead

“I don’t think 2 is a spy.”--Optimus

Bee and Bulkhead share a look.

If she wasn’t the spy… then who was?

She comes around and starts to shake seeing bee and bulk

Optimus carefully moves in front of her to not let her see Bumblebee and Bulkhead.

“2 don’t want to go back!”--2

2 tries to get off the med slab but Prowl and Ratchet hold her down.

“No one is taking you back 2.”—Prowl

2 stops abruptly.

“2 not?”--2

Prowl sits down next to her.

“We have a feeling you’re not really the spy, but we can only confirm it if we hear your truth. Can you do that?”--Prowl

2 looks down shaking her helm.

“Are you trying to protect someone?”--Prowl

2 freezes and refuses to look anyone in the optic.

Sari comes next to her putting both of her hands in hers.

“Hi. My name is Sari, Sari Sumdac.”--Sari

“S-Sari?”--2

“Yeah, I really want to be your friend 2. You look like a nice bot to be friends with.”--Sari

2 looks at her with wide optics.

“Sari… want be friends with 2?”—2

Sari nods.

“But we can’t if we don’t know what happened. Don’t you want to tell someone?”--Sari

2 nods her helm weakly.

Sari squeezes her hands a bit.

“Nothings going to happen to you if you tell us.”--Sari

“Promise?”--2

“Pinky promise!”--Sari

2 tells them about how scared she felt when she saw her twin being wheeled out after an accusation that should have had more evidence.

She took the blame to save him.

Everything she said on the spot was false and she had hoped that Sentinel was dumb enough to take the bait and take her instead.

At that moment she didn’t care how it made her look, she was worried for her twin’s safety.

She is crying and refuses to look at anyone in the optic.

Sari give 2 a hug around her neck cables.

“You did a good job 2.”

2 shakingly reaches to gently hug Sari back as the tears in her optics make everything look blurry.

She feels someone sitting next to her and a servo pulling her into a side hug.

The blob on yellow is all she needs to know who it is.

“I’m sorry for calling you a spy 2… do you think—”

2 puts her helm on his shoulder trying to stifle another sob.

The message is clear.

Bulkhead starts to pat her helm making her cry even more.

Sari pulls away and looks at 2.

“Sari?”--2

“I don’t like 2. You need a new name.”--Sari

2 points at herself.

“New name?”--2

Sari nods and smiles.

“And I know just the name, Buddy!”--Sari

She tilts her helm a bit.

“Buddy?”—Bumblebee, Bulkhead and 2

Then she starts to smile.

“Buddy! Buddy like name. Buddy is new name. Buddy thank Sari. Sari, Sari, Sari!”—Buddy

Bulkhead pulls the entire team in for a group hug.

Buddy is in the center of it spilling some tears.

For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.

Buddy was finally safe…

[praxcrown5]

Carstober Prompt 21: Crash

Trigger warning: harassment, attempted suicide

Excerpt from my fanfic. Year is 1937, and Doc's mom, Annette, isn't dealing with life very well.

Annette left home quietly, not even bothering to close the garage door. 

Sam was still asleep after their most recent siring attempt; the act taking a lot more out of him than usual…which was surprising since she was, once again, leaving his side with an empty plasma condenser. 

Ahhh yes, her husband: the largest, strongest truck this side of the Mississippi.  He could carry loads all across the country, but he could never seem to drive one home.

She snarled at her own, bitter wit and coasted to the end of the driveway. 

It was late in the evening, and the moon was just starting to crest the pines.  Despite it being fall, there was a wintery chill in the air.

She took a deep breath, letting the cool air cycle through her TR system.

What now…?  She thought, sadly.  She had already tried talking Sam around to visiting the clinic and, when that didn’t work, bringing up the topic to her in-laws.

After that…the harassment got worse.  Most of the Longhauler women wouldn’t talk to her.  The men were more sympathetic…mostly on account of her being a damn-good mechanic—you didn’t want to offend the person changing out your piston belts, after all.  But, even so, they only made small talk. Her mother-in-law had become especially cruel, gossiping about Annette to anyone who’d listen, slapping Annette with snide, degrading comments when they were alone, introducing Annette at parties and social gatherings as her “barren” daughter-in-law. 

Despite all of this, Annette had tried her best to remain positive.  She forced herself to get up every morning…with no partner to snuggle against, sang to herself at dinner to beat back the oppressive silence of their empty home, cleaned and tended the garden to keep herself busy when she wasn’t working and did her best to smile and give her clients the best automotive care possible…despite hearing them call her things like “gold-digger” behind her boot. 

She’d been maintaining, thanks mostly to her father and brothers.  Her father, especially, did everything that he could to make her feel loved and appreciated…but, ultimately, he couldn’t solve her problems.  He couldn’t make Sam get his siring cable repaired.  He couldn’t stop Claire from spreading gossip to the rest of the townsfolk.  At the end of the day, the best he could do was lean against her and tell her that it would get better. 

Somehow.

Someday.

Tears started pooling in the corner of her eyes.  She had been clinging to this notion, whispering it to herself like a personal mantra whenever doubt began to rear its ugly head. 

It’ll get better.  It’ll get better.  Someday, It’ll get better...

Will it, though?

Annette gritted her teeth and started her engine to try to banish the thought from her mind…but it clung to her like cheap grease.  Will things actually get better? 

Her fuel pump squeezed painfully, fearfully and she gunned her engine, kicking up gravel and dust as she turned out onto the road, heading south, flicking on her headlights only as an afterthought.

Annette and Sam lived in a large, converted barn about fifteen minutes from town.  As she sped down the old logging road, the terrain grew more rugged, with tall black pine and oak replacing the smaller saplings from the reclaimed Dawson Woods.  The road began to switchback, ducking around steep exposures of sedimentary rock, but always gaining in elevation.

She was driving more recklessly than she probably should have been…but she couldn’t help it.

For years she had successfully managed use the “it’ll get better” mantra as a wall to block out any thoughts that might argue otherwise.  Working long hours at the shop and taking on extra work from the clinic helped to reinforce it. 

And up until tonight, the integrity of said wall had never been undermined.

Annette reached the top of a prominent, east-west trending hill that the locals called Oracle ridge and paused to catch her breath.

You’re not sure…are you?

Annette closed her eyes, fighting back tears.

Sam was only home for a week this time, so Annette wasn’t expecting much, surely not another siring attempt.  But…he offered…because he knew that having a child meant the world to his wife, and he was willing to keep trying in the hopes that they’d somehow be successful.  It was the first time in their two years of marriage that he’d done something like that, made an effort to show her that he cared, a rare expression of vulnerability when he had always been forced to be “strong” and “fearless.” She eagerly accepted his offer, and as they made love, the hope that she saw in his eyes and the compassion that she felt in his touch rejuvenated her, made her think that there was still a chance.  That the planets and the stars would align just for them and they could have their happy ending. 

And then she waited. Hours and hours of waiting with giddy anticipation, faithfully hoping for a factory notification.

She was going to be a mother! It was going to happen this time!

But…it didn’t. 

And, for the first time in her life, the voices on the other side of the wall began to make themselves known, hissing and spitting at her through a spiderweb of newly formed cracks.

Wiper fluid was leaking freely down her fenders and her breath came in ragged sobs. 

It’s not going to get better.

Annette shook her front end, trying to dislodge the thought.

It’s NOT going to get better.

Her eyes shot open and she revved her engine.  It will!  It HAS to! 

Sam won’t go to the doctor.  His parents won’t force him to go because they believe that you and your father are lying to them.  So, logically, every future siring attempt will fail…and your life will always be just miserable as it is at present.  It’s an exercise in futility if there ever was one.

No… No it’s not… Annette’s throat constricted

It’s hopeless.

Annette froze. 

Hopeless.

The wall shattered.  All the rogue thoughts that she’d tried to keep bottled up broke free and surged through her brain with the force of a tidal wave. 

If nothing is going to change, what’s the point in trying?  In caring?  You care so much about other people…but they don’t seem to care much for you, do they?

Panicking, Annette gunned her engine and tore down the ridge.  Her model wasn’t particularly fast on account of its weight, but the steep slope combined with her Cadillac standard V8 made sure that when she hit the first switchback, her tires had to really scrabble for traction.  She cleared the curve, but just barely. 

You’re pathetic.  A waste of metal desperately clinging to false hopes and yearning for a life that you’ll never have.

The ghostly outlines of trees blurred in her peripheral vision.  Another switchback ahead, not as sharp as the first one, but even so she could feel the literal edge of the road under her rear tires, the loose scree falling away to tumble down into the river below.  

Really, is running all you can do? 

Her eyes narrowed.  Another switchback.  Another close call, though this one came with a jolt of pain and a loud snap as she clipped a rock with her left back tire.  The snap must have been her coil spring, because from that moment onward, her body seemed to list to that side and she’d bottom out on every dip and rise in the road. 

A Sudden dip.  Something large and sharp caught her undercarriage and tore the metal; the pain made her eyes water, but rather than slow down, she gunned it harder.  Red line.  Her engine was straining under the stress, and she was starting to feel nauseous as the hot metal began to effect nearby systems.

Annette, you’re a coward.  You always have been.  You could have stood up to your in-laws, but instead you kept your chassis low.  You’re pathetic.  So pathetic, that your family just stood by in silence while you suffered.

No!  My father stood up for me!

Your father stood up for the Glenrunner name.  Not you.

Annette counter steered the last curve, almost skidding into the river, but her flattening left rear tire helped keep her on the road.  There was another sharp pain, this time further up into the axle; she could feel hydraulic fluid running down the inside of the tire.

She was on a straightaway, now, heading for Timing-Belt Bridge. There was a sharp turn on the other side, the sort of turn you had to make at less than twenty miles per hour, otherwise you’d end up hitting a wall of limestone.

Time seemed to slow as a deadly realization sunk its claws into her brain.

By the time her tires tore into the concrete of the bridge, she had reached sixty miles per hour.  Even with her left rear tire about to give out, she would still be doing sixty as she hit the curve on the other side. 

No. More. Pain.

Her engine screamed.  Her vision was blacking out and she was starting to taste oil and other vital fluids in her mouth… 

And then…the lights.  Right in front of her.  Head-on.

Instinct kicked in.  She slammed on her brakes, but her momentum kept her going forward.

[elsfleur]

⋆·˚ ༘ * WHERE THE FLOWERS BLOOM | 0.1

ellie williams x reader x abby anderson

summary: the small tight knit city of jackson anticipates scandal in the arrival of brooding newcomer ellie williams who finds herself drawn to local flower shop girl, though she is not the only one.

content warning: this is a rewrite for something on my old account if it seems familiar, lightly nsfw content, modern!au and presence of original characters for the sake of world building. this is a slow burn fanfiction but hopefully worth the wait.

word count: 1,684

🪷 ʾ ⠀

you exchanged glances across the room as though sharing a secret in code neither of you fully understood but remained too stubborn to demand translation. abby, your abby, if you could call her that, was always the one to break eye contact first, a sip of her drink, a rub of her eyelids. months have passed since she had been truly vulnerable with you, a wretched mess of pouts and tears– the way she had arrived drenched by the rain, nearly falling against herself at your doorstep, begging for kindness, left you imagining terror scenarios for weeks. you held her till the shivers stopped and the sobs softened, dragged her muscular figure onto your bathtub and undressed her into the warm bubbly water.

and you felt sixteen again, caring for the girl who would not hold your hand in public but melt at your fingertips behind closed doors, she who was jackson high school’s basketball captain and miss all star in all her glory, she the daughter of a prestigious surgeon destined for great things and ivy leagues, she who dated owen from soccer but you the girl she truly wished to kiss.

she would call you her little secret as though it was endearing, a pet name, and it drove you sick to your stomach but you were down at your knees with her thighs pressing your cheeks and the moaning echoing louder than the wetness of your tongue by her clit– whenever she would brush the hair away from your face coo you pretty girl with her fingers down your slits you convinced yourself there were worse things to be than hidden, for starters: not hers.

dina caught on to your staring game, clearing her throat as she poured you a second drink in raised eyebrows and suggestiveness. your best friend and her unacquaintance of subtlety had stained your relationship with abby beyond repair, acting as though one trustworthy person having conscience of your affair was equivalent to a stab in the back, you remembered the way she’d screamed at you: i’m not gay! i just… i just liked you. just you. that doesn’t make me anything we are not the same! there were hardly excuses to be made, there were no repairs possibly done. you were an average nobody doomed to jackson and girls forever, whilst she was abigail anderson, trademarked by standing ovations, promising rising star.

you bitterly guessed her ego bested her once the injury happened, stealing away an nba future and a full ride ivy league sports scholarship until all that remained of her was the same honey blonde braid and a new pair of uniforms to replace the basketball jersey, sheriff slacks. abigal anderson, an average nobody doomed to jackson and girls forever, just with an added layer of self hatred on top. you dismissed both your old lover’s and best friend’s stare.

“i hope whoever rented the shop is nicer than flora was”

“i don’t mind either way as long as they’re as hot as flora is to make up for it–“ dina answered with a side smirk retorted by her on and off boyfriend eavesdropping a few tables away with a glare “you know anything about them, anderson?”

the entire town of jackson had stopped on its tracks to peek into the blacked out windows of what used to be flora’s bakery, an exciting guessing game at every arrival of trucks unloading black leather chairs and tall unopened boxes that according to jesse made heavy noises to the shake. the owner, whoever they may be, haven’t made their way to the building yet, and all pointed towards a newcomer. jackson wasn’t used to those.

abby licked her whiskey coated lips before speaking “didn’t take you for a gossip, dina”

“we both know you did”

her eyes were on you again, pale blue like a stormfront, searching your expression. abby anderson was a different kind of beauty, ragged around the edges, rough and sharpened. everyone guessed college would straighten that out of her, ivy league with the rich and powerful far enough from jackson you’d think nostalgia was a disease amongst the trophies and gpas. the cowards wouldn’t look her in the eye since the return, stamping failure further into her skull. she just drank.

“you should get them flowers” jesse cut the tension “from your shop, like a welcome to the neighborhood sorta of thing”

a silly game blossomed into your heart years ago, the inspiration for your flower shop really: how everyone you meet could be described by the floral language. dina thought hers too common, but it was your favorite, a daisy, standing for loyal love and “i’ll never tell”. jesse, a white jasmin, sweet love, amiability. even abby, forget-me-nots. you hoped to see the newcomer before blessing their arrival, if not, daffodils. new beginnings. a safe choice.

“i doubt they will like them” abby scoffed “it’s gonna be a tattoo shop, the owner, ellie, doesn’t really seem like the flowers and sunshine type of girl”

“tattoo shop” dina mused “hot”

🪷 ʾ ⠀

…and she was. the week had ran through you like water between your fingers and with daffodils in hand you were ready, flipping away the open sign from your shop and skipping towards your neighbor. hands busy with the plant pot, you pressed your face against the tinted glass windows as to search for the newcomers who had just hours prior been described to you over the phone with multiple flamable metaphors.

“are you looking for something?”

you were startled, nearly knocking down the vase in your hands and you understood, dina’s voice echoing gasoline, fondue, forest fire, cinnamon liquor through your brain to the point it fogged your response and reactions. freckles like starry war paint, eyebrow scar, pale green iris, peach pink lips, auburn hair gently brushing her shoulder at length. breathtaking, you immediately named the feeling, but she looked worn, tossed around. you blamed it on the lightly bruised eye she carried, caught onto sky grey vibes. you damned the daffodils, immediately thinking of something better: without knowing a single trait, you saw red carnations grow behind her in the way spiritualists would claim to see auras. red carnations; “my heart aches”.

she caught your eye for a second while awaiting your response, taking you in under her shuddering gaze in such precise detail you were sure all the lines and dots connected into the paiting of your face had made themselves a maze under microscope. she searched for something in you, a reaction, you barely even noticed how your breath had hitched until you ran out of air. her hand slowly reached towards your face in what appeared at first to be a cheek caress, before she tugged a leaf from behind your ear, stuck to your hair.

“uh yes! you! hi i’m your neighbor, the flower shop girl” you commented embarrassingly quiet, nodding your head at the leaf and the bouquet as though a flustered explanation.

“hi flower shop girl, i’m ellie”

ellie. you tasted her name on your tongue and melted into the feeling before she took the gift from you, arms extended. the heightened sleeve of her grey t-shirt exposed a beaming sun by her bicep, detailed sad expression in black ink across its center. you took notice of everything. ferns and a moth grew from her hand to the very end of her forearm and covered scars you could only assume to have been self inflicted. a sword pierced through the spare space of skin next to a phoenix and finally angel wings alongside a well hidden initial: J. you wouldn’t ask, but you wanted to.

“welcome to the neighborhood” you finally managed to say “those are daffodils, the flowers for new beginnings so i figured it fit”

“they’re beautiful, thank you” she answered, clearing her throat in uncertainty “anyways i have a tattoo appointment to get to in a couple of minutes, but it was nice meeting you”

“oh! yeah! of course! nice meeting you too, ellie”

you planned out your next meeting in your head, showing up with cookies as they do in the movies, catching glimpses of her sketches on the wall, giving them backstories to fill the gaps. it wasn’t so strange to be eager as you were taking into consideration how rare these opportunities had presented themselves: you never left jackson, not even on vacation. the world was meant to turn on its axis but you were destined to stay still, an agoraphobia rooted into your veins like movement would burst your chest open, bloody and broken. the flowers had been a therapist’s idea: to take care of something innocent as a purpose, exist outside the shell of a body you painfully cared for in pure obligation. your personal garden arsenal though, had meaning. yellow tulips, that’s what you were. the flower for unrequited love. the one tattooed by ellie’s hipbone you were yet to see.

too busy watching ellie walk away you barely caught abby’s gaze from the corner of your eye, her patrolling uniform perfectly neat and spotless in the same way she pretended to be, you too enthralled in the newcomer to watch her jaw clench. the return to your shop was hasty, the same daily people in line for a new centrepiece bouquet until the pleasantries and weather talk went quiet, jackson preparing itself for early slumber with the sunset.

🪷 ʾ ⠀

you were about to head up to your apartment when she opened the glass door, bells echoing out throughout the store “we’re closed” you called out, not turning around from your position rearranging pots until the heavy breathing made itself known to you, not following any steps towards the exit, the anxiety suddenly sending you shivers before your eyes could meet the entryway and harden at abby.

“we have to stop meeting like this-“

“shut up” she stopped you bluntly, in a stride finding her way towards your body and pressing it against the counter with her hips and grabbing your neck in a chokehold before rushing her lips against yours in a breathless sloppy kiss.

[outcastpack]

I wanna drown in an ocean of you.

The birthday present moodboard

I'm also using this as a mini celebration for 200 followers because I only just realised I had hit it 😅🤣

Theo entered the garage, following Jenna in as she turns the lights on.

The women immediately went ahead to start routing through the boxes that surrounded the room to begin looking for the photo albums, but Theo's attention was pulled towards something else, in the centre of the garage sat a large sheet covering something- specifically a car if the outline was anything to go by.

"Whats that?" He asks Jenna, pointing at the covered vehicle when she turns to face him. The women instantly looks at the car fondly. "That was my father's car before he passed it on to me." Jenna stands to her feet moving towards the vehicle motioning for Theo to help her.

Together they pull the sheet off the vehicle. Theo's eyes widen as the car is revealed.

A 1970s Ford Mustang.

The vehicle is in definite need of repair and restoration. His eyes skimming over the cars black exterior.

Jenna has moved. Walking along the car stroking her hand over the hood. "I used to drive this car everywhere, even Liam grew up with me driving it." Theo moves along the car looking through the drivers door window.

As expected the interior was in need of help. New seats needed and potentially a new steering wheel not even counting if the car would even start up.

"I wanted to pass it on to Liam one day, but the old girl was damaged and her parts are hard to come by, if not impossible. " Jenna is motioning towards the front of the car now where the front bumper and hood were damaged leading up to the passenger side.

"I couldn't bare the thought of being rid of her though. She was my own father's and is one of the last things I have of him." Jenna’s voice cracks a little as she speaks. Theo turns back to face Jenna seeing the slight wetness in her eyes as she reminisces over the vehicle.

"Does it start?" He asks her. Eyeing the car with interest. A small idea forming in his head.

Jenna turns towards the wall where a rack of keys hangs off it. Pulling out a set and motioning towards the vehicle. She opens the drivers door- ignoring the dust that comes away.

She puts the key in the ignition turning it to try and start the vehicle.

Nothing happens

She tries again- and again.

The engine roars a little before dieing, immediately shutting off.

The women sighs climbing out. Eyeing the vehicle with sadness. "She has been sat here for years now." She sighs sounding a little dejected turning put the key back on the rack.

Theo reachs out, taking the key slowly out her hands. Walking around the car.

Theo stays silent as his gaze returns solely back to the car.

He imagines a younger Jenna driving the car for the first time, to a young Liam sat on her knee holding the wheel while he tries to reach the peddles.

He imagines a 19 year old Liam driving this car.

It being parked outside the beach house or Theo's apartment next to Theo's own truck.

A checklist forming in his head over what the car needs.

New bumper and hood, the interior needing to be restored, issue with the engine needing to be fixed, potentially a full replacement of it, and the exterior needing a complete respray to make it look new along with other things.

Jenna was right. Parts like what it would need would be rare to come by.

Luckily Theo knew just the man that had the contacts they would need. Who had restored other older models before. Theo was sure with his dad's helped, they could both get the Mustang running again.

Theo smiles at Jenna, tapping his hand along the top of the car. "I'm gonna need to borrow her for awhile." The women eyes her sons boyfriend with confusion while Theo's grin just widens.

[gamertales]

Gotham, July 30th, 2024.

Hey, over here. Youre that blogger lady, right? Looking for info on the supposed ring of collectors of objects belonging to the Bat clan? We talked...well texted a bunch recently about the market.

Hah. Well i cant speak to this supposed ring, but i can show you my own personal collection. Sure its secured, i get a lot of people sniffing around so i try to keep it locked up, but im not stupid. No point tryin to hide from the Bats or what have you, this is just for the schmucks and their bosses. Hah.

Alright, if you follow me into my van.

Oh, yeah, i get that a lot. But look, im 52, i havent got the energy to flirt with 40 year old tired house moms. Kidnapping sounds like a lot of work.

Bit of a shocker compared to the outside, huh? Yeah, I had the interior and body upgraded a few years ago, added comfort and protection,still kept the rough looking exterior tho, keeps attention down.

Yep. Glass repair, window replacement, skylights. Heh. Youd be surprised to know how many small contractors making a living cleaning up qfter the Bat clan. Lotta companies downtown cant get insurance for windows, doors, ventilation systems. Gives us smaller guys a little more space to play.

After that throw down between Nightwing and Riddlers goons across from the Bank of Gotham last week, i managed to get in quick, and lock down the window contract.

This parts important, first crew on the scene gets to move in after the cops move out. Now Gothams finest do their best, but the number of small things they miss...

Take this for example, its a section of Nightwings glove with those fancy little spike things on them. Found it in the rubble under the skylight. Along with some mooks hand. Turned the hand in of course.

What? Oh its an informal alliance, but we keep each other in the loop, and let each other know when shits going down near em. If I cant make it across town, i'll send a text to the crews closest.

The goggles? Harley quinn dropped them a couple years ago, found them in the bushes outside the Exchange. Thats not the prize piece.

This. Two Batarangs from the Bat himself. To be fair i didnt really have to go far to find them. Summer of '19 the big guy landed on my roof. Hard. Dropped, rolled, and started running down the alleyway. Now i was dozing at the time, and that startled the literal shit out me. Cue the clown goons jumping on my truck to give chase. Big threw four of these beauties, making them scatter, and doing more damage to the van.

Four batarangs tho? I sold 2 of them to my buyer in the city. A collector of this stuff. He calls it "pretentious peacocking for poorly adjusted prats." Yeah, Mr Wayne is different enough. Only met him the one time, but he was very affable, even hired me to do the new windows for his guest house.

Made enough to upgrade ole Greaser here to their current condition. And a little.

Other than Mr Wayne? Im afraid i only deal with Mr Wayne; he pays fair, promptly, and usually sends a gift basket. No, i go thru his Butler now.

Right? A Butler. In 2024. Still, he seems harmless enough, spends all his time at charities i hear.

The Ring again? Look, im serious i have nothing to do with that side of the market.

...if you are really determined tho, contact Marc Belvedere, if anyone i know knows about this, itll be Marc.

Listen, i have toinstall some skylights at the City Hall in an hour, so i gotta get moving. Yeah, tell your friends Karl Aleksev is The Window guy when in a pinch.

By the way, what was your name again? Barbara Gordon? Like the Gordon Gordon? Your his daughter? Well, good luck, and be careful, theres a lot of money in this business, and money gets people killed.

Yeah. I guess you didnt really need that advice, huh.

Maybe we will cross paths again.

[badpancakelol]

There are people moving in to the trailer across from him. It shouldn’t come as a surprise — what with the amount of people all across Hawkins who have decided to snap up new houses and better job offers in the shadow of the townspeople’s deaths, but it does. Eddie doesn’t really know why people would willingly come to live here, not if they had any other option, but to each their own, he guesses.

The people moving in are, well, noiseless, he supposes. If it weren’t for the rumble and crunch of gravel that signalled a moving truck, he wouldn’t have noticed that someone had left, that someone had moved in, at all. There isn’t the telltale noises of shouting or fighting or complaining that is usually a mark of the housing situation around him. They’re just… quiet.

Maybe that’s the reason that Wayne all but shoves him out the door, a container of cookies in his hands. They never greeted, did the whole housewarming, welcome to the neighbourhood thing, with any of the other neighbours.

Eddie stalks across the small distance, looking to the small scattered boxes that are littered around the meagre driveway (if you can even call it that). Boxes marked with clothes and kitchen and schoolbooks has him a little interested.

With a swift knock, Eddie waits by the door. The fly screen is rickety in the same way his own is — worn in, never replaced. He thinks that the last time someone came to do repairs was when the old man down the street had complained about his water pressure so much he was causing a stink within the community. 

“You’re back earl—”

“Hi.” Eddie says. Looks down towards the little redhead, the child in front of him. There’s something familiar about her that he can’t place. Something that he feels like is probably important. It’s like with Robin all over again — like he’s skipped over a chapter, and is left floundering.

“Hi?” She says.

Right. “I’m your neighbour, just, right over there—” he throws his hand back towards where his trailer is, not even a minute down the road. “Just, ya know, wanted to say hi. We made cookies?”

“Why does that sound like a question?” She sniffs, but takes the container from his outstretched arms. “I’m Max.”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He swoops down into an overly exaggerated bow. It feels good to posture around like this, to maybe make a fool of himself every once and a while, because there’s something in Max’s eyes that says that she needs it. She shuffles from leg to leg, antsy in a way that is signalling him to leave. 

“Anyway I should—”

“Do you want to—”

Eddie smiles. “Sorry — you go first.”

Max clears her throat, grips the cookie container tighter. “I was wondering if you could help me move some of the boxes in? They’re kind of heavy, and my mum isn’t gonna be back ‘till—”

“Sure,” Eddie says, stops her ramble. “Just the ones out here?”

She nods, and walks down the steps, lifting each box slightly off the ground, or other boxes, to try and see which one is the lightest. Max grabs one that is labelled with her own name, in all capitals, scraggly and scribbled in a way that displays so many more emotions than he can even start to pinpoint.

Eddie looks at the pile around him, sighs. He doesn’t really know why he agreed to help. Or, he does, but he doesn’t want to admit it. Instead, he goes to the box that Max seemed to struggle with the most, labelled Susan which Eddie guesses is her mum. He asks in quiet question where he should put this box, to be directed to the bare room of her mother.

She barely talks throughout it. Max picks up her boxes, sometimes quietly directing Eddie to place something in a room, or asking him to move furniture. It’s easy work, and Max is good company, but still, there’s something there, something off about her. 

He tries to fill the trailer with noise, even if it is the sound of his own voice. What’s your favourite song? You excited to go to high school? I like your braid — will you teach me sometime? Eddie knows the look of grief on someone’s face, tries to steer clear of topics he thinks might be the cause.

They do this for a while. Max deciding which box is the weakest, while Eddie takes whichever one is furtherest away from the trailer. He reads through the labels of living room, lights, shoes, and other mundane items, before there is a name that he is familiar with that he is tasked with carrying.

Billy.

His box is lighter than the others that he’s been carrying — light enough for Max to carry. He almost calls out to her to give her this one, to let her take this box while he goes for the ones with more weight, until he sees her face. Guarded and absent, hollow and gaunt, just like Robin’s, and it is then that Eddie realises that this box is heavier than any of the others.

Billy Hargrove is dead. 

It is a fact known to many, to all who had watched the announcement video that plagued everyone’s minds. Billy Hargrove is dead, and, while nobody was outwardly happy, it was as if the high school population had collectively sighed a breath of relief. Eddie tries not to think about he had reacted: elated for a second, thinking about everything that he’d done — the people that he’d hurt — and then, as if he had slapped himself, he had felt sick. Because it wasn’t as if he had graduated and moved away. He was dead.

And he had left behind Max. 

From there, it doesn’t take much for Eddie to realise why Max and her mum are moving in to the trailer park. He doesn’t speak a word about the box, or about Billy. Eddie doesn’t have any nice stories to tell, anything to say about him that isn’t he was an asshole, he made my friend’s lives a living hell, he beat the shit out of people, and so he doesn’t speak a word. It isn’t meant to be a grand gesture, just common decency, and yet when the box is placed in Max’s room, she gives him a gentle smile that breaks his heart.

Once all the boxes are moved, they have cookies and tea, coffee for Eddie, which makes Max scrunch up her face in disgust. It reminds him of himself for a brief moment, but then it is gone, and he is making his way across the gravel road, into his trailer, and the night has descended.

aka: VACANCY

[nananamunsons]

Bills to pay.

Summary: When you carry with the pain that actions you always knew they were wrong left inside of you.

pairing: Eddie Munson & Fem!reader.

words: 5783 ;(^__^)

CW: Mentions of smoking, Mechanic!Eddie, mentions of depression, anxiety, doubting yourself, teenagep pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, young single mother mentions, reader is (very) forgiving, crying.

Notes: I was really wondering if i should start posting the things i write to myself and one singular friend lolol, so this is really just a test on how to post in tumblr ahaha

Chapter 1: Unattended and untouched.

Eddie covers with one hand the cigarrete that was sustained on his lips, hoping the winter cold will allow him to turn it on.

It was normal for him to wait outside the cafè for his black coffee on his breaks, the workers there already assumed he was gonna be a regular to do that behavior so he will stay on the door after ordering until a sweet girl hands him the cup from inside the shop.

Winters made him depressed, he was totally honest with himself about it as well, the white skies, white floors, cold air and humidity on his hair, it was too much for him to handle, for him to be okay with. Winters also felt nostalgic, in a way that left his walking back at work such a bother, leaving him alone with his loud thoughts.

throwing half done bud to the snow, he was welcomed back by the warmth of the repair shop, listening to the commercial music that his boss made him play for the clients in the waiting room.

“Munson, you’re back so soon?” a coworker of him asks behind him as Eddie takes off his jacket. “It is hell outside right?”

“I don’t get how we still get clients, man.” he chuckles, grabbing his cup again to finally take a sip. “What do we have today?”

“We are almost done for the day really, just the old truck again… The old man refuses to let it go but it just means more money for us, right?”

Eddie shook his head, he hated how much the company robbed that man but again, he was stubborn as hell so there was not much to convince him about. “What is it this time?”

the coworker puts his hands on his hips “I’m not even sure at this point, dude… Could be all at once if you ask me.”

“I’ll handle it… What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow… Elise, did we get any calls for tomorrow?”

the two guys turn to see the receptionist on Eddie’s left, a small blonde who in Eddie’s head she just ‘was too much, another tammy thompson on his life’ The woman checks her notes for a solid minute “There’s…” she dances the words around the air with her southern accent. “We have an Oxygen Sensor replacement without an assigned worker for tomorrow, client said it was urgent.”

“I’ll take it.” Eddie spat before the other man took it, such an easy job was commonly fighted around, easy money. “At what hour should the client be here?”

“Night shift.”

“That’s fine then, you can count me on nightshift for the rest of the week, Elise.”

The woman rolls her eyes in annoyance “Our hero.”

Drinking his full cup of coffee in one sit, he throws the cup on the trashcan before comforting the old man with his old and barely alive truck, knowing that after that, he will be allowed to go home.

Eddie was living fine on his own, after getting his own trailer next to Wayne’s he did his best to mantain himself up, getting the shifts that will pay him more, doing his own grocery shopping, cooking… He wanted to prove to Wayne he can be by himself, something that (not so) surprisingly Wayne doubted about him. Of course living on his own means getting back home to an empty bed, empty kitchen, empty livingroom. He could get pretty lonely some days, some others it will be him and his thoughts and regretful actions from the past that kept him awake at night. But other than that, Eddie felt okay living by himself.

That shift got him army crawling his way home, even his arms felt heavy as he drove his sweetheart back to the trailer park, he walks his way to the porch to see several bills discarted on his floor, from his rent to medical bills Wayne could not longer take care of amd just a bunch of another bullshit. He sighs looking at each one before tossing them on the table, taking his boots off and the hairtie that was almost tangled to death on his curls.

“For fucks sake.” He groans, pulling out several hairs out of his head with the baby blue tie. “This is fucking stupid.”

There are knocks in his door that interrupts his cursing to himself, he knew it was Wayne that he didn’t even bothered to walk through the door when the old man walks inside. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

“You had dinner?” the old man puts a tupperware on the same table with the bills.

the younger chuckles “no, i just got home… What is it?”

“Don’t ask, just eat it boy.”

The men had dinner together, in silence, it has been years that there was no words to share, it was just awkward now, it was not like they outgrew eachother, Wayne still loved his son but he also knew he has done stuff that does not agree with his lifestyle, Wayne can’t even hide it the longer the time passes without Eddie fixin’ what he broke.

the metalhead wanted to deny that he was hurt by the coldness of his uncle, but he was, his chest ached everytime he sees the man avoiding eye contact or when he clearly wants to say something but keeps it to himself. Eddie regrets a lot of stuff, he for sure regrets letting his relationship with Wayne walk in a thing thread, knowing that one day, maybe today, tomorrow or in years but one day, the older will leave him on his own.

When Wayne leaves the trailer, Eddie finally takes in the deepest breath has ever took today, his palms rubbing against his tired face, taking a good feel to his hard leather skin and big eyebags. He wishes life was different, he didn’t liked how he grew, the person he has become and how easy was for him to mask everything to others.

Eddie was supposed to be the other way around, always unafraid to show who he was, not comforming to be what others wanted him to be, not hiding or running away and sadly he cannot ask himself what went wrong because he knew exactly what he did to deserve everything he has right now.

He deserves his own voice echoes around the trailer that lacked that spark that made it a ‘home’ for him. He deserves waking up cold in an empty bed, by the sound of his alarm, he deserves realizing he ran out of shampoo because he forgot to write it on his list last sunday.

He deserves every little thing that went wrong.

And you deserve the world. You with the brightest smile and the soft touch, You with warmth and love that you had to offer. You with those fat tears in your eyes the last time he saw you. His heart ached to only remember, because he did, every single time he closed his eyes he could see the tears and the redness of your face.

He deserves nothing and you deserve everything, wherever you are, he hopes you are in a better place than he was.

His dreams were always filled with you that sometimes felt like nightmares, a sick trick his brain played to remind him how much of a fucking idiot he was, coordinating with his heart to bring him the worst life possible just because he let you go. He let you go with the stupidest excuse ever and now he cannot see the end of it.

But at the next morning he knew that everything was done, you probably didn’t even wanted his help and to be fair he doesn’t really know how to help so he begins his own routine all over again.

Shower, blow dry his hair like you said he needed to, breakfast and usually work. But today he doesn’t have work until late at night, he had at least 8 hours to spare.

8 hours of him basically drowning himself in the emptyness of his home.

Shit.

“Shit indeed.” he answers to his own head in a sigh. “Maybe i should do my groceries early, what do you think jr.?” he asks to the panda bear sitting on his sofa. How ironic to call Jr. to a panda you gave to him years ago, it’s like even himself LOVES to annoy himself.

“Yeah, maybe i should.” he rolls his eyes to grab his keys, ignoring the letters that still sat on the table, putting his snow boots on amd the long black jacket, aware of the coldest morning ever was right behind his front door. He knows he shouldn’t drive in snow, Eddie has been warned thousands times that his wreckless driving in the iced streets could cause death amd for some reason that never made him afraid. Not when his mom warned him, not when Wayne did and probably not when you did. Well that was a lie. Back then he did worried to get into an accident, leaving you alone in the cruel highschool world.

Something that was the same level of ironic as Jr. who sat on his sofa.

But you were away now, he doesn’t have to worry for something that already happened years ago.

It tormented him the rest of those 8 hours he waited for to start, the shortest shift even. At 6PM he arrived to the shop, hanging his keys on the reception and taking off his jacket. “Hello, Elise.” he teases the woman.

“Munson.” She responds dry as always. “Your client just arrived 5 minutes ago and it’s waiting on the children cubicle.”

“What, am i fixing a toy car?”

“You are such a comedy genius, Edward.” She rolls her eyes “Hurry up before i even regret putting you to this shift.”

“Have a good night, Elise.” The man winks at the woman who was already bagging everything she owns for the end of her own shift and turns his back at ger, sighing as loud as he could and walking to the kid’s cubicle, a cublicle that was only recently added in suggestion of his coworker Mark who has toddler to take care of, he knows where is at but doesn’t really pass through it, he hasn’t heard of clients using it until tonight. “Excuse me m’am, do you have the keys to your car so i can start with the–“

Tension grows when he opens the door to the cubicle, both heads snap to see him standing there and the woman who was in her knees in front of a baby groans. “Fucking great.”

Eddie tries to process how was it even possible to see you in his own workspace, how was possible that you didn’t aged a single bit but he probably looked like two truck ran over him. He watched you stand up from your knees and he realized that he was not breathing at all. “You’re… The mechanic here, of course you are.”

“I’m sorry… Yeah i just–“

“It’s fine, listen is just a check up… it should be an easy job, after that i can go again.”

his hands reached for the keys that you dangled close to his face and he cursed that he even followed your actions, his heart swells by the sight of you and your cold face. “I’ll work right up, feel comfortable and– yeah…”

You simply nod at him, even the dryness of your nod made him want to just dig a hole and jump straight down to it. So he turns half a circle and leaves to where your car was and he jumped right on the driver seat, taking a deep breath at the smell of that sick, disgusting cherry perfume women always chose for their cars, somehow you weren’t the exception to his personal rule this time.

He wonders more about you, what is your job, where do you live, how do you live? why are you here? It was like his switch detected something that made him remember every single thing about you and it was like you never left. But you did, the picture behind your steering wheel made him clear that you did left. The baby seat on the backseat, the toys in the passenger seat, the backpack next to the toys.

You left, you kept the kid amd you had your life away from him and it was clearly something that hurts him. Because back then he swore he will never regret the choice he made.

And he did.

He regrets screaming at you, making you cry, not answering your calls, disappearing when you needed him the most. He knocked you up and ghosted the shit out of you that same year, being so scared, furious and confused. How was he supposed to explain that to Wayne? how was he supposed to explain that he got his sweetheart pregnant at the young age of 19 when he was about to turn 21 and still sold Rick’s cheap stuff that barely made enough for the two of them on weekends? It wasn’t like he didn’t wanted a kid, he wasn’t sure at the moment but he was completely sure that it was not something he wanted at that moment.

So he told you exactly how he felt.

He remembers the exact words that made your heart take a leap from a bridge, how could he not? he remember regretting them as soon as they left his mouth but he also was too much of a hubristic to even allow him to take it back.

“Hey.” an echoe interrupted him. “Where’s the bathroom to this place?”

“What?”

“Bathroom.” You repeat. “Esther really needs to go.” to Eddie it looks like you hugged yourself but processing the unknown name he could just assume you totally meant the 5 year old behind you.

“Oh!” he reacts, getting out of your car. “Well– the actual bathrooms are not– not childproof so i’ll let you use the office’s place instead, follow me.”

“How can a bathroom be childproof?” you follow his steps, confused at his behavior. “And why is the office’s bathroom is childproof and the clients one not?”

“Because clients don’t take their kids to the repair shop.” he grabs the keys from the wall. “But a coworker does take care of his kids here every 2 weeks, you’ll be amazed how determined he is to childpoorf everything in this office.”

“Oh yeah, i can– yeah it shows.”

Eddie turns for a second to look at the five years old next to you and his sweat ran cold again.

If only.

If only the kid wasn’t an exact copy of his mother he could go on with life and pretend it isn’t his. But she looks just like a Munson. Too much for his liking.

“Listen, just flicker the switch twice before turning it on, we are mechanics not electricians so there’s some issues around the place but… Its way better than the one outside, you know how social levels work.”

“Right.”

“Sure.” he sighs. “I’ll go and check your car, anything else just tell me.”

Another dry nod from you and he consider himself dead, it was more the embarrassment than anything at all, being only the three of you in the building shouldn’t be an issue, he was distracted with the car anyways. He had to be honest, it was a shit ton of work what he had in his hands, the car was just like he expects a woman that doesn’t know anything about cars to be like and it was more work than what any of them expected, whoever tested the vehicle did not found all the issues.

“Great.” He mutters to himself before turning on the car lift and walk his way back to the kids cubicle and knocks three times before opening the door. “Would you mind following me for a bit?”

“Safe to leave her alone?”

He looks around the place and behind him before shaking his head. No he does not trust a kid away from her mother in such a place, he could not see the light of day if the kid scrapped her knee or something worse. “Is just about the diagnosis of the car… She won’t get dirty or anything.”

“Fine.” You whisper, following his steps with the kid in hand.

“So– You remember who did your initial diagnosis? any name or… appearance?”

“Yes!” you straighten your back “His name was… Richard, i believe.”

“Of course.” his head falls backwards. “So, there’s more than just the replacement they told you about… You need an oil change and just a bunch other stuff to fix, all quick fixes but all of them together may take us… 5 days? at max, it all depends on how well your car behaves.”

“What? Eddie i need this car for Nancy’s wedding this friday.”

“I’m working as fast as i could, sweetheart.” He groans, looking up to the car. “I’m sorry to ruin any plans but– it’s that or a car accident on the way.”

“Is there really not option then?”

The man turns to press the button on the lift, bringing the car down to the ground “The only option is to slave me away and work in this car without breaks and you’re not the only one going to Nance’s wedding.”

You laugh to yourself. “You owe me such thing but i guess not.”

“Good call.”

“Man so i don’t have a car for the rest of the week?”

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart.”

He felt guilty by calling you such name, he feel like you would cuzz him out if he kept going but you didn’t. You let him call you like that, Eddie can’t figure it out why.

You called him by his name why can’t he bring the same emergy to you? even when he wanted, he tried to… But only ‘sweetheart’ came out of his mouth. “Well, i should keep working on this one, but if you want a ride home just tell me, no issues.”

You wanted to deny the offer, you really did but yout yawning 5 y/o was begging to be somewhere except an old leather sofa right now. “Can i take the baby seat to your van first?”

“Feel free.” he says, reaching for his keys. “Not changing the music tho.”

“Of course you’re not.” You laugh like it was something natural. Like you laughed all the time in front of him, like anything ever happened.

And as much as he hates to repeat everything, it’s pain. Pain like he never felt before, not even when you left, not even when he heard from Nancy that your kid was having complications when she was born, not even when he heard nothing else from that.

the pain came from the fact that you’re back, you’re here in front of him and you look happier than ever.

Healthy, well put together and emotionally there for everyone and he is not, he is a mess. He can’t even see his uncle in the eyes because it hurts too much to be reminded that the moment he left you was the moment his uncle was first disappointed in him.

“Done.” You simply say. “Should we go?”

Eddie nods, turning off the lights of the place and closing all doors. He could deal with the car tomorrow if he wants to, today was enough of a burden for him to keep going in that cold place all night, so as soon as he turns to see you inside his van, he locka the place.

“Where to.” He asks, turning on his van. “Can do several trips if you need, i’m a personal taxi today.”

“Wayne changed his shift right?”

“3 years ago, yeah.” he starts to exit the place.

You humm at first “Maybe i should visit him before going back to the apartment, is it a problem?”

“What? no, it’s fine uh�� the old man and i live in different places now so you can visit him at any point you want now, feel free… We don’t– we are not that close anymore.”

“Really? What changed?”

You, is what he wanted to say, he wanted to tell you so bad how much his life went downhill since he said those things to you. But you didn’t deserved that, you don’t deserve to carry the guilt of his life, he did. After all he was the one that chose to run away.

“Oh you know…” he whinces, was he gonna lie to you? “I uhh–“

“I get it.” you interrupt him.

“Yeah.” Eddie sighs. “Listen… I think it comes without a say that– Sweetheart, i’m sorry i did this to you.”

“You don’t.” You could only laugh, rolling your eyes to look at the wet and dark street

“I do… I shouldn’t have said those things, i shouldn’t have leave you and work with this on your own.”

“You shouldn’t but you did.” Those words echoes more than he wanted, it bounced in his head for seconds and will probably haunt them all night. “If you know you shouldn’t why you did it?”

Eddie turns left to enter Forest Hills, he didn’t had the courage to face you or answer right now, he couldn’t admit how much of a fuck up he is and will be.

And when he parks in front of Wayne’s he sighs, knowing the man will come out any minute now to tell him to park in front of his trailer. So as soon as the old man opens the door he raises his hands up in the air. “Someone wanted to see you, okay? i’ll move in a minute.” he declared and you get out of the van, like it was a signal he asked you, an entrance.

The old man’s eyes softened at the sight of you, oh how he missed to see your face full of youth and happiness. “Hi, Wayne…” you whisper, walking closer to Eddie instead. “Hey i– Esther fell asleep in the chair and…”

“Oh! yeah i’ll– should i let her sleep at my place? is this one right next to Wayne’s”

“Oh don’t worry i just–“

“Let him.” Wayne interrupts. “Is the least he could do.”

Eddie shrunk in his place by the coldness of Wayne’s voice, you could see the shine in your eyes disappearing when the man looked at him and like a robot he turns towards the van from your seat, unbuckling your kid and lift her up without a struggle. “I’ll just take her. don’t worry.” he looks at you with a tired face and walks to his trailer.

Eddie felt knifes punching his guts with every step he took, feeling the heavy figure in his arms made it even more harder. He tried to ignore that she was right next to you in every move, even when she had the most prettiest doe eyes he has ever seen, even when she looks like those pictures Wayne had of his childhood where his mother smiled wide at the camera… He tried so hard to ignore the fact that you named her Esther like his mother even when you knew she will never know about that.

He carefully placed her on the black satin sheets and took an actual look at the toddler.

She also had features that resembled you so well. Your nose was clearly there, his freckles, your long eyelashes… It pained him so much to see how she was a perfect mixture of both of you.

When he gets out of the room, leaving her there, he knew you were there, he felt you follow from behind. “I was scared.” he said, looking down at his feet. “i was scared that my best wasn’t good enough for one, how could it be enough for two? it scared me that i would do more damage to the kid than i will do them good, i was so scared to be like my dad and just– just fuck up everything and it turns out i was right, see? i fuck everything up.”

“Eddie…”

“I thought about you, when i graduated, when i gave up corroded coffin, when i started working in that place… I thought of you when Nance told Robin that the kid was still in the NICU, i somehow wanted to blame me for everything and i should, because i left you and you struggled… i heard what happened with your mom and that you left hawkins and i just– i’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You sigh, looking at nothing and everything at once, you heard every single word that came out of his mouth and you waited until he was done for you to speak “she had a resuscitation in the delivery room.” you started heavy. “She wasn’t breathing well because she was too small for her gestational age, that happens a lot of times for babies, it has nothing to do wit you.” you explain. “My mother? yeah she did kicked me out of the house but– that was way before the whole– the whole pregnant issue. That was on me, it was because of you but it was my choice… My choice to date you, right?”

He didn’t said a word.

“It is a lot, i did struggle, i thought about not having her but also– even when you didn’t said a thing, when you left, when you screamed at me… i knew it was correct for me to have her… I was going to do this with or without you, Eddie…”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Eddie then looks your way, with regret he looks in your eyes that started filling with tears at same time as him. Neither of you thought this moment was gonna happen, it didn’t felt real. And Eddie regretted everything, he regretted to ever break your heart.

“She doesn’t have to be yours if you don’t want to, i more than everything know how hard is to carry with a kid… But i do have one question.”

Eddie nods slightly.

“If the circumstances were different– if we weren’t as young as we were… you wouldn’t leave?”

Eddie thinks for a minute, part of him think he will always be scared to ruin a life like his father did but that was also the part that kept him from not running, he doesn’t trust that part of him one bit. “I wouldn’t.” he answers.

He was honest, if the circumstances were different he would have adored you, the kid, he would have been the same eddie he was in highschool, the one that pampered you with kissed and hugs around the halls and took you to dates ever single sunday. “Then what stops you now?”

“I’m afraid i’m too late.” he admits again. “That no matter what i do… i would never forgive myself for what i did to you.”

“You don’t know that, Eddie.”

“There are thing we can’t fix anymore, sweetheart… I’m afraid to admit that what we had before is ome of those things… I promised you the moon but i will never reach those expectations for you, i failed you once, you shouldn’t trust that i will not do it again.”

His truth was loud, just like the silence that came after that, Eddie looks at his table instead, looking at the bills that were left unattended and untouched. The envelopes were still closed, waiting for him to open and be paid, to assume his responsibilities once more. ironic.

“I can’t forget about you, sweetheart.” he adds. “You were my everything… if i did that to you, how am i deserved of a second chance?”

“You don’t get to tell me who to give a second chance to, man.” You whine. “The fact that i saw you after years of trying to avoid you makes me feel like– like we have stuff to finish together… Don’t let her be another Munson with a shitty dad, be there for her, make her have what you didn’t.”

“You say that but–“

“We don’t have to be together for you to be her dad if you don’t want to, you don’t have to love me or even stand me… But i want her to be happy.”

Eddie then breaks, he sobs under his hands, he never noticed when but those rubbed his face with his salty tears. “But i do.”

“Eddie.”

“I still love you, princess… I didn’t knew i was until i saw you again, i don’t want to love you the way i do but how can i not? you still wear your heart on your sleeve even to white trash like me, makes me wish that you hated me, why can’t you hate me?” he cries, his breath became unsteady as you approached even more to him, trying to hold his hands but getting a hold of his wrist, your touch made him feel weak on his knees.

“I hate you.” You whisper, burrying youself in his arms. “I hate your stupid big brown eyes, i hate your fucking long hair and your big shoulders.” he keeps crying, but his arms moved to hug you, his face now hidding itself in your hair. “I hated you when you left me… If it makes you feel better, i also hate how right you are, we cannot fix us anymore.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be.” your hand rubs his back. “Come on, big man, you’re gonna make me cry too.” you only chuckle to avoid the tears. “Fuck you know i hate to see you cry.”

Eddie kept muttering sorry’s in your neck as he kept crying and they started to feel like he had them saved for you, for this specific moment of his life.

“Look at us… we grow up too fast didn’t we?” You break the hug, palms on each side of his face who was red and wet from tears, he nods, ashamed of his feelings. “Eddie i promise you that Esther doesn’t have to be a mistake to you, we can do this… for her.”

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Then we can say that we tried.” you shrug your shoulders. “I really doubt that would happen though.”

Eddie looks at your face, you really didn’t changed one single bit, your eyes were as kind as he could remember and your cheeks were always rose pink. It made him cry even more.

You stay untouched by time while he felt like his body was rotting from the inside and the outside. He wanted to dig a hole and jump to never get out of there. But instead he got a warm kiss on his right cheek, a soft and short one that was enough for him to kneel in front of you. Knees touching the wood hard enough that it stings but his hands huggimg your waist still.

“Get up, you silly man.” You laugh.

“I’m so sorry, please… Please forgive me, sweetheart.”

“Eddie you don’t have to do that! get up!” you keep laughing. “Hey, look at me.” He searches for your eyes above him. “Let’s give this conversation a rest, should we? i wanted to visit Wayne.”

“Don’t worry, i’m here okay?” Wayne opens the door with a firm step. “It’s a great moment for us to talk, isn’t it?– get up from the floor, boy.”

Eddie got up from his knees, cleanning his own tears with his black sweater and you nod, looking at Wayne with the most serious face you have seen ever in your life.

You cannot help but wonder if this was the look he gave to Eddie since you left and how much have it hurt to the boy. You can’t really imagine, Wayne adored his boy, that was his son…

“Wayne–“

“Save it boy… I’d like to say something i have been saving for years now if it doesn’t bother you.” The old man points at the sofa behind him and both of you walk to sit down, facing him. “I don’t want to know how or why you suddenly are face to face but i think it comes without a word that both of you are worked out about all of this, you both are adults, we have certain maturity already to understand this is more than just a cry and a hug.” Eddie nods, leaning foward to rest elbows on his knees, head hung low and already tired. “There has always been a life between you two, that kid right there deserves more than your wity cries and misserable aura, boy.” Wayne points at Eddie’s room. “it’s either you grow out of it or rest a case for her, you are already 25, act like it.”

Wayne has maybe seen the way you furrow your eyebrows because he sighs deeply before talking again, of course you didn’t agree with those words, even when they were directed at Eddie you felt them too, word you heard everytime rang in your mind.

“Is she healthy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Happy?”

“I’d like to think so, sir.” you nod. “She’s the prettiest, sir.”

“i bet she is, kid.” he nods before rubbing his temple. “I do agree with one thing you said… You grew up too fast, this wasn’t meant to be an easy task, you two created a whole human, do you know how heavy is that shit?”

Wayne cursing was definitely what made both the young adults stiffen in their seats, looking at eachother in fear. “We know Wayne…”

“Do you, boy?” the man raises a brow. “Have you known that for 5 years or did it just hit you?”

“I know, okay? i always knew how impactful this was, Wayne, i am a fucking moron i know, you remind me every day, everyone fucking does!” Eddie stands up from his seat, he didn’t want to raise his voice at all, the kid was sleeping on the room next to him. “I regretted every single second of my life these 5 years and i thought about stuff, everything was just way too much at the moment i completely blacked out of my mind! i was fucking 19, Wayne! She was 18 and i completely fucked her life with my own shit! don’t you think i have given myself hell for it?”

You look up at him, the tears were back and they rolled stronger than ever on his cheeks, too much emotion, too much feeling.

“I know you are disappointed as fuck with me and i know i was an asshole to her but come on! you don’t have to bring her into this shithole when you kept everything quiet for years! specially not now with the kid sleeping in the other room.” Eddie takes a big breath. “I’m fixing her car this week, please give me time.”

You can’t help but to smile at his words, it was the bare minimum but still made you feel like not everything was lost… Maybe you did had a chance to give to him and he was just scared to accept it.

Wayne saw it too. “Boy–“

“Mr. Munson– if… i can have a word i would just like to say” You interrupt the older man, standing up from your place. “Eddie was the first one to bring up the issue– i know that i shouldn’t be that easily forgetfull of the struggles i’ve been to but– if you don’t mind… i would like Esther to have a father to look up to.”

The man softened his gaze at the sound of the kid’s name, oh how much he wishes his sister was there for her boy, maybe if she was still alive this issue wouldn’t have been a problem, his parenting was not as perfect as hers after all. “Are you sure, kid?”

“Only if Eddie wants to.” you smile. “He also deserves a choice.”

[primroseprime2019]

Spirit of the Wolf- Chapter Two: The Stranger

Fallon was cleaning his hands with a rag as he stood beside an old car, a 1969 Chevy Camaro. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the garage windows highlighted the dusty motes dancing around him. He'd just finished replacing the car's timing belt and was taking a moment to admire his handiwork.

'No doubt the owner's gonna be thrilled,' he thought with a soft chuckle. A gruff redhead man walked over and Fallon looked at him.

It was Joe McKinney. He nodded in approval and patted Fallon's back. The boy smiled and he looked back at the Camaro.

Just then, a brunette girl poked her head out from under the hood of a nearby car, her hair tied back in a ponytail, her face smudged with grime. "Hey, Fallon, can you take a look at this engine? I'm stumped," she sighed.

Fallon grinned, "sure thing, Em. Let's take a look." As he walked over to Emily's workstation, he noticed a brunette man, Lou, tinkering with a vintage motorcycle in the corner of the garage, his face hidden behind a pair of goggles. Mac was nowhere to be seen, most likely out on a parts run or grabbing a snack from the vending machine.

Emily gestured to the engine, "I've tried everything, but I can't figure out why it's overheating. I've checked the coolant, the radiator, everything."

Fallon leaned in, his eyes scanning the engine. He traced the hoses, checked the water pump and examined the cylinder head. Then he spotted something peculiar.

"Em, did you notice this?" He asked, pointing to a small crack in the engine block. Emily peered closer, her brow furrowed, "no. I missed that. What does it mean?"

Fallon's eyes narrowed. "It means we've got a serious problem. This engine needs some serious work."

A strawberry blonde man, Mac, walked into the garage, chowing down on some Doritos. "Hey, guys. What engine?"

"Impeccable timing as always, Mac," Fallon chuckled, "Emily's got an overheating issue, and I just found a crack in the engine block."

Mac's eyes widened, his mouth still full of Doritos. "Whoa, that's not good. You're gonna need some serious magic to fix that one, Fallon," he said, his voice muffled by chips.

Emily rolled her eyes good-naturedly and she playfully nudged him with her elbow, "hey, watch it, Mac. Fallon's a master mechanic. Not a magician."

Fallon shook his head with a chuckle. "Actually, I think I've got an idea. Mac, can you grab me that new welding torch we just got in?" He asked, his mind already racing with the repair. Mac nodded, still munching on his snack, and headed to the storage room.

As Mac walked away, Emily turned to Fallon, her expression curious. "What've you got in mind, Fallon?"

"I think I can weld a patch in there, reinforce the block. It'll take some finesse, but I think we can save this engine."

Emily nodded, impressed. "You're a genius, Fallon. Let's get to work!" Mac walked over with the welding torch.

Then a blue truck drove up to the property. Fallon, Emily, Mac and Lou looked over at it.

"Whose truck is that?" Fallon asked curiously. "Oh, you haven't seen him before," Lou replied, "that's John Otto's truck. He's one of Joe's friends. I think he's also some kind of hunter."

"Hunter?" Fallon repeated, furrowing his eyebrows. Lou shrugged, "I saw a crossbow strapped to his back last I saw him."

The truck door opened and a twenty-two year old man stepped out. He had black hair and deep blue eyes. He was wearing hunter gear.

Joe emerged from his office, a warm smile on his face. "John! Good to see you, my friend." He walked towards the truck, extending a hand. John Otto shook it firmly, his deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

"Joe, it's been too long," John said, his voice low and smooth. "I see you're still keeping busy with the garage."

Joe nodded, gesturing towards the building. "You know it. Can't let these young folks get all the work done without me." He winked at Fallon, Emily, Mac, and Lou, who were watching the exchange with interest.

John's gaze flicked over to them, his eyes lingering on Fallon for a moment before returning to Joe. "I see you've got some new faces around here."

Joe nodded, clapping John on the back. "Yeah, let me introduce you. But first, come on into my office. We've got some catching up to do."

As Joe and John walked towards the office, Fallon felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about John that made him uneasy, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Alright, Em, let's get back to work on that engine."

Emily nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I wonder what John's doing here."

Mac leaned in, his voice low. "I heard he's some kind of werewolf hunter."

Fallon's eyes widened, his heart racing. Werewolf hunter? What did that even mean? He shook his head, despite the uneasiness settling in his gut.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Joe and John emerged from the office, their conversation wrapping up. Joe clapped John on the back, and they exchanged a nod before John headed back to his truck.

"Alright, folks! Closing time!" Joe announced, his voice carrying across the garage. "Great work today, everyone. Let's get cleaned up and head on out."

Fallon, Emily, Mac, and Lou began wrapping up their tasks, putting away tools and covering the cars. Fallon couldn't help but sneak a glance at John's truck as he drove away, wondering what had brought him to the garage.

"Any of you got any plans?" Mac asked. "I've got to head to my second job tonight," Lou replied.

"I'm just heading home," Fallon replied, trying to ignore the sense of unease that lingered in the back of his mind.

"Hey, Em, want to grab some dinner at the diner?" Mac asked, breaking the silence. Emily nodded, and they started walking towards the diner, the evening air crisp and cool. Fallon fell into step beside them, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Why did it feel like they were being watched?

"So Fallon! How's your brother? I haven't seen him since he was, what, fourteen?" Fallon asked curiously. Fallon looked at her and chuckled, "he's sixteen now. He's in RPHS."

"Damn, really?" Mac whistled, astonished and he smiled, "that's great, Fallon. How's your mom?"

"She's alright," Fallon chuckled, "she's been doing pretty good for the past few days. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"See ya, man!" Mac chirped happily and Emily waved. Fallon walked down the street, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made a beeline towards his family's house.

He sighed heavily before he saw Phelan sitting on the porch steps.

"Hey, little brother," he greeted, "everything alright?" "Yeah," Phelan looked at him, "I told Mom that my class was going on a field trip to the forest."

Fallon cocked an eyebrow, "really? And what'd she say?" "She said to be careful," Phelan chuckled, "and to have fun." He rested his head on Fallon's shoulder, "wish you could come with."

"Heh, I know," Fallon sighed, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders. Phelan smiled.

Summer looked over at them from the kitchen and she smiled softly. She walked to her room and she went inside. She walked over to the dresser and when she opened the top drawer, she took out a picture of her and a man in his forties. The two of them were in their wedding attire.

Summer's eyes saddened and she ran her thumb over the man's face. "I wish you could watch your sons grow, Conan. I... I want so badly to tell them but... I can't. I'm sorry but I can't," she whispered, resting her head on her arm, a small tear running down her cheek.

In the forest, a seven foot tall Gray Wolf walked through down a path. The sounds of crickets filled the air but the wolf ignored the noise as it walked to a large house. The bricks were painted dark blue and the roof was golden. There was a moon symbol on the center of it.

The wolf walked into it before it transformed into Timber. He walked over to a statue of a woman who was holding a moon above her head and wolf-like statues were sitting around her, staring at her.

He knelt down in front of it. "...Lady Lunaris," he murmured, "the time is coming. Fallon and Phelan are going to end up in the middle of this. In a world of werewolves. I fear that they aren't ready yet."

There wasn't an answer, not that he expected one of course. He pursed his lips into a tight line and he let out a heavy sigh.

"I know you're there, guys," he said. A sixteen year old boy and a nineteen year old girl walked into the house.

"So... I heard you ran into Phelan," the girl, Paige, started, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"Yeah," Timber sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, "Tala was with him." "Why does she never tell us these things?" The boy, Shade, frowned.

"I don't know," Timber replied. And frankly, he was too tired to really care. "Let's go back," he said, "I'll tell the leaders."

Paige and Shade nodded before the three walked out of the house and into the darkness of the forest.