#and believing i deserve for things to come easy to me

[geneviveleocardius]

i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

[mcrdvcks]

okay, here we go, part 2! (bear with me once again)

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she looked up, her eyes softening, almost as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. “Logan…” she said her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

how are you doing this?? 'cause this is something i would do. i've never had a guy interested in me, other than a casual friend, so i feel like if a guy was sending signals that he wanted more, i just wouldn't notice or believe it.

She bit her lip, looking down, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t see it because… why would I?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he had to lean in to catch the words. “I mean, look at you. You’re… you’re handsome. You could have anyone. And I’m just… me.” She let out a shaky laugh, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m quiet. I’m… awkward. I was rude to you half the time, and the other half I was too shy to even look you in the eye.”

chat this is getting too real

“Not with you,” he replied softly, his voice like a promise. “Never with you.”

ughhh, i love soft logan

“Tell me what you’re thinking, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice a rough murmur. He kept his gaze steady, trying not to let his need show too much. He wanted her—God, he needed her—but he knew better than to rush this.

consent, consent, consent!! that just makes him that much more attractive

The worst of it was a half-written document, clearly meant to be an exposé. She’d been planning to write everything down—publish everything. The paper was titled in bold at the top: The Hidden Faces of War: Secrets Behind Team X. And beneath the title, a line that made his blood run cold: “An unauthorized look into the men behind the missions, and the things they were never meant to remember.”

i knew it! i mean... oh no...

Wade sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, man. I’ll help you,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a note of real sincerity. “I don’t want her getting hurt, either. I’m not a monster. I know what Stryker will do if he gets his hands on her.” He paused, his gaze steady. “She doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”

the fact wade knows how much she means to logan is true friendship

“In a heartbeat,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’d leave it all if it meant keeping you safe. You think I care about Stryker? About Team X? That life’s got nothing for me. Not anymore.”

so cute 😭😭

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her words full of quiet sincerity as she tugged his jeans down his hips. Her eyes roamed over him, taking him in as if he were something precious. Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound rough and unpracticed. “Beautiful?” he echoed, a faint, self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. It was strange hearing that word directed at him—foreign in a way that made him feel both exposed and disarmed. “I’m looking at beautiful, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

ahhhhh

“Gotta say, little brother,” came the low, mocking drawl, “didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

no, not victor 😭

After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a slow smile breaking across his face. “All right, then,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guess I’d better get used to it.” She grinned, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to his lips, her laughter filling the room like sunlight. “Guess you’d better,” she teased, brushing a hand through his hair as she settled back in her chair.

the ending was so cute, and wade coming in at the end?? the three of them are adorable <3

okay but seriously, this was great, i enjoyed reading this so much. it's different from other things i read but still felt like it belonged in the x-men/wolverine universe. thank you for writing this! :)

Sanctuary - Part Two

Logan and Wade are sent by Stryker to find a journalist who has been digging around trying to expose Team X. Logan isn't prepared when he meets an intriguing neighbor causing him to question himself and the mission.

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - team x mission, shy reader, no y/n, she/her pronouns used instead of you, logan's pov, origins wade, awkwardness, guarded feelings, angst, AU, crushes, logan kinda being a stalker, stryker and victor cameos, fighting, cussing, wade being a good friend, reserved logan

apparently this is too long to post in one go so here's part one and here's part two

word count: 40k

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan knew he shouldn’t be jealous, but he couldn’t help it. Jared had started working his way into her life, filling the spaces Logan had been dancing around for weeks. Jared was walking her home after her shifts, casually showing up at the bar to chat with her, and Logan was pretty sure he’d seen him drop flowers off once. Every time he looked, Jared seemed to be there—closing in, leaving little room for Logan.

Wade, of course, was delighted by this turn of events and took every opportunity to dig the knife a little deeper.

"Guess the infamous Jared is busy tonight,” Wade quipped, glancing over to where she was wiping down glasses behind the bar, focused and oblivious to their presence. “Better get your ass over there, lover boy, before he shows up and sweeps her off her feet again.”

Logan shot him a glare, his jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but his eyes drifted back to her. She looked calm, and relaxed, humming to herself as she went about her work. The sight only made his chest ache more.

“Oh, come on,” Wade snickered, taking a sip of his beer. “Just admit it—you’re jealous.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his fists tightened on the table. He hated that Wade was right. The jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, dull ache that made him restless and irritable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her, and he hated that he wasn’t even sure he’d ever had her to begin with.

Before he could second-guess himself, Logan stood up, ignoring Wade’s raised eyebrow as he crossed the bar. She looked up as he approached, a small smile flickering across her lips.

“Hey, Logan,” she greeted him, her tone warm but casual like they were old friends—just friends.

Logan nodded, trying to keep his tone light. “Hey. Just… wanted to check in on you.” He hesitated, then added, “I saw Jared hasn’t been around tonight.”

She shrugged her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Guess he’s busy,” she said lightly, going back to drying the glass in her hands. She didn’t offer anymore, clearly brushing it off, but Logan couldn’t let it go.

“Do you… do you actually like the guy?” he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

She paused, glancing up at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “Why do you ask?”

Logan shifted, feeling foolish but unable to drop it. “Just… curious. Seems like he’s been around a lot lately. Walking you home, stopping by during your shifts…”

She let out a sigh, setting the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “Logan, what’s it to you?” she asked, a touch of frustration slipping into her voice. “I mean, I don’t ask about the women in your life.”

The remark stung, and Logan took a breath, struggling to keep his frustration in check. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for you,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not good enough? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to explain the knot of jealousy and protectiveness he felt without sounding… ridiculous. “I just don’t like the way he acts around you. Like he’s… entitled to your time.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation in her gaze. “Logan, he’s just a friend. If he wants to walk me home or drop by the bar, that’s his choice. It’s not… some grand conspiracy.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, growing increasingly frustrated. “Yeah, well, he’s not doing it just to be nice.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable, then let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Why do you even care so much? I don’t get it.” She paused, searching his face with a look of confusion. “Why are you acting like this? You’ve always been… protective, but this is different. I don’t understand.”

Logan felt his heart sink, a cold realization settling over him. She didn’t see it. She didn’t see him the way he saw her—didn’t even consider the possibility that he might want to be more than just a friend. Or maybe she just… couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine him as someone she could be with.

“Why am I acting like this?” he echoed, his voice low, bitter. He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching her eyes for any glimmer of understanding, but her expression was still clouded with confusion. “You really don’t know?”

She blinked, her brow furrowing, then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Logan, I…thought you were…you’re my friend. I mean, that’s what you’ve been, right? I don’t—” She broke off, biting her lip as if she didn’t know how to finish the thought.

Logan felt his chest tighten. There it was, plain as day. He’d been standing here, trying to protect her, trying to be someone she could rely on, someone she’d choose. But she couldn’t even see him like that. He was just Logan—the guy who watched out for her, the guy she talked to when she needed someone to listen. Nothing more.

“Right,” he said, his voice rough, barely masking the bitterness that threatened to spill over. “Just your friend.”

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she looked up, her eyes softening, almost as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. “Logan…” she said her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

Her eyes searched his face, a flicker of something close to regret passing over her expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, her shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to… hurt your feelings,” she murmured. “I just didn’t know. I thought—”

Logan took a step back, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a stone. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Forget I said anything.”

He turned, feeling her eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back. He didn’t want to see the pity in her gaze, the confusion, or worse—the faint flicker of understanding that came too late. He walked away, his chest tight. It was too late for that now. She’d seen him as a friend from the start, and no amount of jealous glances or awkward conversations was going to change that.

Logan pushed through the bar doors, letting the cool night air hit him like a slap. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him, the mix of frustration and hurt that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d thought he could handle her not seeing him that way, but hearing her say it out loud—just my friend—had cut deeper than he’d expected.

He barely made it a few steps when he heard her voice behind him.

“Logan, wait.”

He stopped, surprised, turning slowly. He hadn’t expected her to follow. She stood there in the doorway, her face lit by the neon bar sign, eyes wide and uncertain like she was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. She took a tentative step forward, wrapping her arms around herself, the vulnerability in her posture catching him off guard.

“Why did you…?” she began, then hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Say what? That I see you as more than just a friend? That every time I saw you with that guy, it felt like I was watching you slip away?” He shook his head, his voice rough. “I tried, but… you just didn’t see it.”

She bit her lip, looking down, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t see it because… why would I?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he had to lean in to catch the words. “I mean, look at you. You’re… you’re handsome. You could have anyone. And I’m just… me.” She let out a shaky laugh, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m quiet. I’m… awkward. I was rude to you half the time, and the other half I was too shy to even look you in the eye.”

Logan felt his chest tighten as he took in her words. He stepped closer, his voice gentle, almost pleading. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why.”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, confusion etched in her face.

“Look,” he continued, struggling to put into words everything he’d been feeling. “You’re real. You’re not trying to be anyone else, not putting on a show. You’re just… you. And yeah, you’re quiet, and maybe a little guarded, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s honest. You don’t let people in easily, and for some reason, that made me want to break through even more.”

She stared at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. He could see her struggling to hold them back, her fingers twisting anxiously at her sides.

“And when you let your guard down,” Logan continued, his voice softer now, “even for just a second… I see this side of you that’s so… warm. You’re thoughtful. Kind. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He took a breath, gathering the courage to say the rest. “You make me want to be better, just by being yourself.”

She blinked, her face crumpling slightly as a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, as if embarrassed, but more tears followed, spilling over in silent streams.

“I… I didn’t know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think anyone… saw me like that.”

He took another step forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, his gaze fixed on her face. “I see you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And not just the version of you from tonight, or the one from work. All of you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment she looked away as if trying to collect herself. Then, with a shaky exhale, she looked back at him, her gaze softer, more open than he’d ever seen it.

“Logan…” Her voice broke, and she let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, a mix of relief and release. She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. “I didn’t… I never thought…”

Before she could finish, Logan reached out, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, her body melting into his as she let herself be held, her arms slipping around his waist. He felt her relax against him, her head resting against his chest, her shoulders shaking as she allowed herself to cry freely.

Logan tightened his hold, one hand gently cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped securely around her back. He felt her tears soak into his shirt, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of her in his arms, the way she fit against him, like she’d belonged there all along.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let it out.”

She nodded against his chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as she cried. It wasn’t a sad cry—it was something deeper like she was finally letting go of something she’d held inside for too long. Logan stood there, holding her, letting her know with his presence that she didn’t have to be alone in it anymore.

After a while, her tears slowed, her breathing evening out as she relaxed in his arms. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, her eyes still wet but filled with quiet gratitude, a kind of wonder that took his breath away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw but steady. “For… seeing me. I don’t know how to explain it, but… no one’s ever really done that before.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and he brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to explain it,” he said gently. 

They stood there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, a fragile understanding settling between them. She didn’t look away, her gaze steady and unguarded, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly seeing her—no walls, no defenses, just her.

“Logan…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as if the weight of the moment had stolen her words. Her eyes searched his face, hesitant yet drawn in, and after a heartbeat, she lifted her hand, her fingers brushing softly against his cheek. The touch was tentative but unshakably real, grounding him, rooting him in the quiet intimacy between them.

Logan’s breath caught, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. Her fingertips were warm against his skin, tracing over the rough edges of his jaw, gentle but sure, like she was memorizing him. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud and insistent as if to remind him that this—she—was real.

“I see you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but he felt the words settle over him, softening something in him he hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. “I see all of you.”

Logan nodded, his voice thick. “I know, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking down as her hand trailed lower, her fingers grazing his cheekbone, then drifting to trace the outline of his bottom lip. His breath hitched, his skin electrified under her touch, and he found himself leaning closer, drawn in like a magnet. Her fingers lingered at the edge of his mouth, her touch featherlight, and for a moment he was utterly still, letting her explore this unguarded part of him.

A soft laugh escaped her, a quiet, wondrous sound as if seeing him this vulnerable under her touch was something she hadn’t quite expected. Her thumb brushed over his lip, and he felt the faintest tremble in her hand like she was as caught up in this as he was.

“Logan… I didn’t know…” she murmured, her voice trailing off, her eyes full of something like wonder. “I didn’t know you could be… like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice a low rasp, barely able to keep his focus as her fingers traced along his jaw.

“Soft,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his with a quiet, almost fragile honesty. “You’re always so… strong. Untouchable. But right now…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing, and he could see the vulnerability in her expression, the way she was opening up to him, bit by bit.

“Not with you,” he replied softly, his voice like a promise. “Never with you.”

He lifted his hand, covering hers against his cheek, pressing it gently, letting her know without words that he wanted her there—that he was letting her see this part of him because it was her. She wasn’t just any woman to him; she was the woman, the one who had slipped under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain.

Slowly, she moved closer, her breath mingling with his, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips like she was still wrapping her head around the idea that he could be hers, that he was this vulnerable for her alone.

“I…” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath as she leaned in, her lips brushing softly against his jaw. Her fingers still rested against his cheek, her touch featherlight, hesitant.

Logan’s heart pounded, every instinct urging him to close the distance, to kiss her and pull her into his arms. But he held back, waiting, sensing there was something she needed to say.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice a rough murmur. He kept his gaze steady, trying not to let his need show too much. He wanted her—God, he needed her—but he knew better than to rush this.

She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her as she leaned her forehead against his, her breath warm against his skin. “I want…” she started, her voice catching. She let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his. “I want you to hold me.”

Her words were quiet, almost shy, and he felt something shift in his chest, a tenderness he hadn’t known he could feel. She looked down, almost apologetic, her cheeks flushed as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m… sorry if that’s not what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. “I just… I’m not ready for more.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gently lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with a look of understanding. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice steady and warm. “You don’t have to apologize. I can wait.”

She blinked, her eyes filling with gratitude, a quiet vulnerability that made his heartache. “Really?” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.

He smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch. “Really,” he replied, his tone gentle but sure. “As long as it takes. Just… let me be here with you.”

She let out a shaky breath, and he could feel the tension ease from her shoulders as she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body pressed against his.

They stood like that in the quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. He could feel her relax in his embrace, letting go of the hesitation, the fear as if she’d finally found a place she could just… be.

“Thank you, Logan,” she whispered against his shirt, her voice muffled but filled with emotion. “For… for understanding.”

He held her a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, a promise in the gentle touch. “Always,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

It was late, and the apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. Logan had just settled on the couch, nursing a beer and trying to ignore Wade’s relentless teasing, when there was a soft knock at the door.

Logan’s brow furrowed. It was nearly midnight, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He stood up, crossing the small space and opening the door—only to find her standing there, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and uncertain.

For a second, they just stared at each other, and he could see the faint blush rising to her cheeks, the way she looked away, biting her lip as if second-guessing why she’d even come.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry, it’s… so late.”

Logan’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No problem,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell she was nervous—more nervous than usual, even. Her gaze darted from his face to the floor, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater as she shifted from one foot to the other. “I, um… I just…” She took a breath, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “I was wondering if… maybe you could come over? Just for a bit?”

Logan’s smile grew, and he nodded, his voice gentle. “Of course. Let me grab my jacket.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Wade, who was watching the scene unfold with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Finally got the girl to come to you, huh?” Wade drawled, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “About damn time.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, took me long enough,” he muttered.

Wade gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. “Is the big tough guy over here admitting I was right?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan grumbled, but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes as he closed the door behind him, leaving Wade’s laughter echoing down the hall.

When they reached her apartment, she opened the door and led him inside, glancing back at him nervously as if checking to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Her place was warm and inviting, the faint scent of vanilla in the air, and he could see a blanket draped over the back of her couch, and a book lying open on the coffee table. It felt like stepping into another world—a quiet sanctuary that was all hers.

She hesitated, looking back at him with a shy smile. “Sorry if this is… weird. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

Logan shook his head, his expression gentle. “Not weird at all,” he assured her. “I’m glad you asked.”

They settled onto the couch, her curled up at one end with a blanket wrapped around her, and Logan at the other, trying to ignore the subtle ache in his chest that urged him to reach out, to pull her close. Instead, he let her take the lead, watching as she relaxed, her guard slowly lowering in the quiet warmth of her apartment.

After a few minutes, she glanced over at him, her face softening. “You know, I don’t let a lot of people in here. It’s kind of… my space. Where I go when I need to recharge.”

Logan nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. “I figured,” he murmured. “Need a little peace and quiet to get your energy back.”

She laughed softly, tucking her legs up under herself. “Exactly. Sometimes I think people don’t get that. They think I’m being rude or closed off, but it’s not… It’s just how I am.”

Logan smiled, leaning back against the couch, feeling more comfortable here than he had in a long time. “Trust me, I know the feeling. People have been making assumptions about me my whole life.” He looked down, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

She seemed to absorb his words, her expression softening, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the quiet of the room settling over them like a warm blanket. Finally, she shifted a little closer, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket as if gathering the courage to say something.

“Could you… would you mind just holding me?” she asked softly, almost shyly. “I know it’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly,” he interrupted gently, already reaching out to pull her closer. She settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her body fitting perfectly against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her securely, feeling the soft warmth of her breath against his neck.

They sat like that in comfortable silence, her fingers tracing small, absent patterns on his arm, and he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known he was missing. After a while, he noticed her glancing at the book on the coffee table, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small, embarrassed smile.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

She chuckled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s… just an old favorite,” she said, her fingers brushing over the cover as if the book itself were a comfort. “I’ve read it a hundred times, but I keep coming back to it. I guess it’s like… a safe place, you know?”

Logan reached over, picking up the book, letting the pages fall open naturally to a passage she’d read often. His eyes skimmed the words, noticing they were carefully underlined in places, with faint notes scrawled in the margins. Some of the words jumped out at him—truth, deception, uncover. The kind of words that carried a weight he couldn’t quite place.

“You make notes in it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his thumb tracing over one of the handwritten lines in the margin.

She hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting on the edge of the blanket. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I… I tend to analyze things. Sometimes I think too much, but…” She shrugged, glancing up at him with a shy smile. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he flipped through a few more pages, noticing more annotations, small questions scribbled in her neat handwriting: What’s being hidden here? What’s the real story? It wasn’t the kind of casual note-taking he’d expect from someone reading for comfort. It felt… meticulous. Intentional.

“You really dig into things, huh?” he asked his tone light but laced with curiosity.

She let out a small, nervous laugh, looking down as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess so. I like… knowing things. Figuring out what’s beneath the surface. Sometimes I think it’s the only way I can make sense of the world.”

Logan’s smile faded slightly, an odd sense of familiarity tugging at him. Her words echoed something he’d heard Stryker say about the journalist they were after—a person who couldn’t leave things alone, who kept digging and prodding, pulling threads no one else had noticed until the whole web of secrets started to unravel. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. No, he thought. That’s ridiculous.

Still, he couldn’t shake a strange feeling, a quiet tension building in the back of his mind. He watched her as she curled up against him, her face soft and relaxed, so different from the hardened profile of a tenacious journalist. And yet…

“So,” he said slowly, turning the conversation a bit, “you said you’ve been working at the bar for… how long now?”

She looked up, blinking as if she hadn’t expected the question. “A few months,” she replied, her voice casual. “Needed a change of pace. City life, you know?”

He nodded, but something about her answer felt practiced. “What did you do before that?”

Her smile wavered, and she glanced away, tugging the blanket a little tighter around herself. “I, um… I did some freelance work. Writing, mostly. Articles, essays, that sort of thing.”

Logan felt his chest tighten, the pieces shifting uncomfortably into place. Freelance writing. It could mean anything… or it could mean everything. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, unwilling to let his suspicions show.

“Writing, huh?” he said, his voice carefully steady. “You must have a knack for it if you’re making a living off it.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands, her voice softening. “I like to dig into things. Tell stories that don’t get told. Sometimes people don’t appreciate that.” She glanced up at him, a small, frown tugging at her lips. “Guess I’ve made a few enemies along the way.”

Logan’s stomach twisted, his mind racing. He’d been chasing this journalist for weeks, tracking down scraps of information, hearing bits and pieces about someone who wouldn’t quit, who kept pushing no matter the consequences. And here she was, right in front of him, leaning against him with that soft, trusting smile. He felt a pang of guilt mixed with something he couldn’t quite name—something like dread, or realization.

“Guess you don’t mind getting into trouble, huh?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, almost teasing.

She laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I try not to, but… I don’t know. I just can’t let things go when I feel like there’s more to the story.” She looked up at him, her gaze holding his with a quiet intensity. “You get that, don’t you?”

He nodded, throat suddenly tight. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low. “I get that.”

They fell into silence, and she nestled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, unaware of the storm swirling in his mind. Logan tightened his arm around her, holding her close, feeling the weight of her trust in the way she settled against him. He wanted to shake off his suspicions, to tell himself he was reading too much into things. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces clicked into place.

He looked down at her, his gaze softening despite his racing thoughts. He could feel the warmth of her, her breath steady against his chest, her body relaxed and trusting in his arms. She was right here, with him, no walls, no defenses.

Maybe she was the person he’d been looking for all along. 

She had fallen asleep against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, her breathing soft and steady. Logan’s arm was still wrapped around her, but his mind was far from the peaceful quiet of the moment. His thoughts churned, circling back to everything Stryker had told him—and more importantly, everything Stryker hadn’t told him.

For weeks, they’d been tracking down whispers about a journalist who was digging too deep, getting too close to things they had no business knowing. Stryker had been vague about the details, only dropping hints about classified information being exposed, and names being uncovered. Hell, now that Logan thought about it, he realized Stryker hadn’t even specified if their target was a man or a woman. They’d just assumed.

A cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. Could it be her? he wondered, glancing down at her peaceful face, so trusting, so vulnerable in sleep. She’d let him into her world tonight, let him see the quiet, guarded person behind her walls. He’d felt closer to her than he had to anyone in years. But now… now he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been blind, missing clues that were right in front of him.

Silently, he cursed, gently easing her off him and onto the couch. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting slightly, but didn’t wake, sinking deeper into the cushions. Logan took a steadying breath, watching her for a moment, his heart aching with the conflict tearing him apart. What am I doing? he asked himself. But he knew he had to see this through.

His eyes scanned the room, his gaze landing on a small desk tucked in the corner by the window. He moved quietly, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the heater as he made his way over. The desk was neat, but he noticed a few loose papers sticking out of one of the drawers as if she’d shoved them in hurriedly, almost like she’d meant to hide them.

He hesitated, glancing back at her sleeping form, guilt gnawing at him. Just leave it alone, a part of him whispered. You know she’d never forgive you. But the doubt was too strong, the questions too sharp, cutting through his resolve. Slowly, he pulled open the drawer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached inside.

What he found stopped him cold.

Stacks of papers, notes scribbled in her handwriting, clippings from newspapers, and—his heart dropped—classified documents. Some were marked with the distinct insignia of military intelligence, others with the unmistakable logo of Team X. He sifted through them, his pulse racing as he took in the details. There were notes on most of the members of the team, pieces of their pasts pieced together like puzzle fragments. He found Stryker’s name circled in red ink, question marks, and hastily written notes scrawled next to it: Experimentation? Corruption? The truth?

The worst of it was a half-written document, clearly meant to be an exposé. She’d been planning to write everything down—publish everything. The paper was titled in bold at the top: The Hidden Faces of War: Secrets Behind Team X. And beneath the title, a line that made his blood run cold: “An unauthorized look into the men behind the missions, and the things they were never meant to remember.”

Logan’s stomach twisted, the betrayal sinking deep as he pieced it together. She knew about Team X. She’d known this entire time. All the while, she’d kept him close, drawn him in, let him think he was getting to know her, that he was helping her let her guard down. But maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe she’d been watching him, studying him.

No, he told himself, gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. That’s not her. It can’t be. He thought of the way she’d looked at him tonight, the way she’d opened up, let him see her vulnerability. She wasn’t faking that… was she?

He closed his eyes, a wave of regret and anger washing over him. He wanted to believe her, to believe that she hadn’t known who he was, that she hadn’t been playing him. But the evidence was here, right in front of him. She’d been planning to expose them—him—for God knows how long.

A soft sound made him look up. She was stirring on the couch, shifting under the blanket, her brow furrowing as if she could feel the tension radiating off him even in sleep. He shut the drawer quietly, his hands still shaking, and turned away, trying to pull himself together before she woke.

It was too late. Her eyes fluttered open, a soft, sleepy smile on her face as she blinked at him in the dim light. “Logan?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. “What… what’re you doing over there?”

He forced a smile, his heart a mess of anger and sorrow as he looked at her, standing in her cozy apartment that had, just minutes ago, felt like home. Now it felt like a stranger’s room, filled with shadows and secrets. “Just… looking around,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair, the gentle smile fading as she noticed the tension in his expression. “Is everything okay?”

He stared at her, searching her face for any hint of deception, any sign that she was lying to him. But all he saw was concern, confusion, and that same vulnerability that had drawn him to her in the first place. And suddenly, he felt like he was the one who was breaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, barely containing the hurt beneath it.

Her face went pale, her eyes widening. “What… what are you talking about?”

“Team X,” he said, the words heavy, almost accusing. “The documents. The notes. I saw them.” He gestured vaguely toward the desk, unable to stop the edge in his tone. “You’ve known about us this whole time, haven’t you?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Logan, I…” She took a shaky breath, her hands twisting together. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was… I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“Tell me?” he repeated, his voice a harsh whisper. “Tell me that you’re planning to expose everything? Stryker, Team X… me?”

She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her voice trembling. “It’s not like that,” she whispered. “I didn’t…wasn’t doing it to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted people to know the truth. About what Stryker was making you do, making all of you do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the betrayal sinking in, heavy and painful. “So that’s it? You’ve just been studying me this whole time? Waiting to get enough dirt to make a story out of it?”

“No!” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “Logan, I… I didn’t plan any of this. Meeting you, being with you… it wasn’t part of the story. That’s real. You have to believe me.”

Logan felt himself falter, his anger wavering as he looked into her eyes. They were wide and glassy, filled with a desperate sincerity that made his chest ache. “How am I supposed to believe you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, her voice raw, trembling. “I know… I know how it looks. But please, Logan, you have to understand—I never wanted to hurt you. Or anyone else.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down, clutching her hands together. “I gave up the story before you even came here. Some guy threatened me at work—when I was still working at the newspaper. Said I was poking around in places I didn’t belong.” She let out a shaky breath. “I got scared. Decided to quit and… and disappear.”

Logan closed his eyes, the ache in his chest tightening, almost unbearable. Part of him wanted to turn around, to walk away and never look back, to spare himself the mess of feelings clawing their way through him. But another part—the part that had been drawn to her since the beginning, the part that had found something like peace in her arms—couldn’t let go. Not yet.

He opened his eyes, studying her, searching for any hint of deception. “So you ran,” he said quietly, his voice edged with disbelief. “You just… left it all behind?”

She nodded, her gaze distant, as if caught in the memory. “I thought if I hid, maybe they’d forget about me. But I knew…” She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “I knew someone would come eventually. I couldn’t outrun it forever. I knew that… that I knew too much, even if I never published the story.”

She paused, then slowly rose to her feet, taking a step closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. “So when you and Wade showed up… I thought maybe that was it. That you were here to… finish the job.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and Logan saw the flash of fear in her eyes, the quiet acceptance beneath it that shook him to his core. “I accepted that.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a fresh wave of anger and confusion washing over him. “You thought we were here to kill you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “And you… you just accepted it?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to hold herself together. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t go to anyone. I couldn’t trust anyone. Not after the threats… after the people who went quiet when I tried to ask questions.” Her gaze dropped, and he could see her fighting to keep her composure. “But then you started hovering around me. I thought you knew right from the start and was just toying with me but then I got to know you. And I started hoping that maybe… maybe it didn’t have to end that way.”

Logan felt his anger dissolve, replaced by a deep, painful empathy he hadn’t expected. He could see it now, all of it—the fear she must have lived with, the constant worry that she’d made a mistake she couldn’t take back. She’d been alone, hiding, looking over her shoulder… and yet she’d let him in, despite all of it.

“But you still didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now, laced with hurt. “You let me get close to you, you let me… fall for you, and you didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”

Her face crumpled, another tear slipping down her cheek. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I thought… I thought if I told you, you’d leave. Or worse—that you’d confirm what I’d been afraid of. That you were here to… end things.”

He swallowed, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. “So you kept it hidden. Just like you’ve kept everything else.”

She took a step closer, reaching out tentatively, her hand hovering between them. “Logan, please,” she murmured, her eyes searching his, filled with raw, unguarded vulnerability. “I was scared. I’ve been scared this whole time. And then you came into my life, and for the first time… I didn’t feel alone.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought maybe I’d finally found someone I could trust.”

He looked down at her hand, so close yet hesitant, and he felt the weight of her words settle over him, tugging at something deep inside. She hadn’t just been hiding; she’d been surviving, barely holding on, and he could see the toll it had taken on her—the guardedness, the fear, the way she’d kept everyone at arm’s length.

Slowly, he reached out, closing the distance between them, his fingers brushing hers. Her hand was cold, trembling slightly, and he felt a surge of protectiveness rise in him, stronger than the hurt, stronger than the anger. He looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of deception, but all he saw was a woman standing on the edge, hoping someone would finally reach out and pull her back.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. “Not of me.”

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to hear that,” she whispered. She took another step closer, her hand slipping into his, her grip tentative but real. “I’m so sorry, Logan… for everything. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I just… I didn’t know how to stop being afraid.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, feeling the way she melted against him, finally letting herself be vulnerable, finally allowing herself to trust. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her hair. “You don’t have to explain.”

She clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest as if she were afraid to let go. He could feel her shaking, the quiet release of all the fear and tension she’d been holding for so long.

After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her gaze filled with a fragile kind of hope. “Do you… do you think you could ever forgive me?”

Logan looked down at her, his thumb brushing away the last of her tears. “I already have,” he said quietly. “But I need you to be honest with me. No more secrets. No more hiding.”

She nodded a new determination settling in her eyes. “No more secrets,” she promised. “I’ll tell you everything. Whatever you want to know.”

He felt the weight of her words, the sincerity woven through every syllable. She was laying it all bare, trusting him with the truth she’d kept hidden for so long. But he knew this wouldn’t be easy—that there was still so much they’d have to face. Stryker wouldn’t let something like this go. Logan knew him too well; once Stryker had a target, he didn’t back off. And as much as he trusted Wade on a good day, there was a flicker of doubt nagging at him. Wade might be unpredictable, even reckless, but loyalty to Stryker ran deep. Logan wasn’t sure he’d want to risk involving him in this… not yet.

He looked down at her, taking in the way she leaned into him, her fingers trembling slightly as they entwined with his. She was strong, maybe stronger than he’d given her credit for, but there was a fragility to her now, a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the mess he knew was waiting for them on the other side of this door.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low promise, rough but steady. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. I swear it.”

She nodded, her gaze steady on his, a glimmer of trust in her eyes mixed with the fear she couldn’t quite shake. Slowly, she leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his chest as if anchoring herself to him. Her fingers tightened around his, and he felt her take a shaky breath, steadying herself.

In the back of his mind, he knew the reality they’d soon have to face. Stryker wouldn’t back down, and the second he realized Logan was no longer his loyal soldier, he’d come after both of them with everything he had. Logan would have to be smart, and careful—because this wasn’t just his fight anymore. He was protecting her, and he’d go through hell before he let Stryker get his hands on her.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan reluctantly left her apartment in the early morning light, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He hadn’t slept, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her, how to find a way out of this mess. It had been two months since he and Wade had first arrived in this city, sent by Stryker on what had felt like a routine assignment. But now, everything was different. He wasn’t just hunting down a journalist anymore. He was trying to protect her, and the stakes felt higher than they’d ever been.

He walked down the hall to his apartment, already tense as he thought about facing Wade. Wade wasn’t stupid; he’d been watching Logan grow more distracted, more distant. Sooner or later, Wade would start asking questions.

Logan opened the door, expecting to find Wade sprawled on the couch in his usual state of early-morning oblivion. But instead, he froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

Wade was sitting upright, his expression oddly tight, watching as Stryker stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. And next to Stryker, like some silent shadow, was Victor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a feral smile playing on his lips.

Logan’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t a casual check-in. Stryker and Victor didn’t just drop by without a reason. And the fact that they were here, together, sent a clear message: Stryker was losing patience.

“There he is. The big guy,” Wade said with a forced smile, his eyes flicking over to Logan. “Been wondering where you got off to.”

Logan shot him a hard look, cutting off any more commentary. “Been following a lead,” he said, his tone clipped, hoping Wade would understand the warning. “Another dead end.”

Stryker turned, his gaze sharp and assessing, a faint smirk on his face as if he could see right through Logan’s words. “Seems like you’ve been running into a lot of those lately, Logan,” he said, voice cold and controlled. “It’s almost as if you’re not taking this mission seriously.”

Logan clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re the one who sent us out here with nothing but scraps to go on,” he replied, his voice edged with frustration. “If you want results, maybe you should’ve given us more than vague orders and a damn ghost to chase.”

Stryker’s smirk widened, but his eyes were steel. “Funny. I thought I gave two of my best men an easy task. Thought you’d be able to handle a simple journalist.” He let the word linger, his gaze narrowing. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Beside him, Victor let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound crawling up Logan’s spine. “Guess little brother’s gone soft,” Victor said, his grin sharp and predatory. “Maybe you need a little help… cleaning things up.”

Logan tensed, feeling the familiar pulse of anger at Victor’s taunt, but he held himself in check. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. “We don’t need your help,” he said flatly, his eyes locked on Stryker. “We’re close. Just need a little more time.”

Stryker raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Logan to Wade, lingering just long enough that Logan felt a flicker of unease. “Close?” he repeated, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Interesting, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re stalled. Distracted, even.”

Logan forced himself to stay calm, but he could feel the weight of Stryker’s scrutiny, the way his gaze seemed to strip away the layers, looking for cracks. He could only hope that his face betrayed nothing.

Stryker continued, his voice low, almost a murmur. “You know, I’ve heard some… interesting things about this journalist. Reserved. Guarded. Not the type to let things go. The kind who might blend in, fly under the radar.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive, refusing to give anything away. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wade’s expression shift slightly, a glimmer of realization in his gaze. Logan felt a jolt of alarm as he saw Wade put two and two together. But to his relief, Wade stayed quiet, his face carefully neutral.

Stryker’s gaze sharpened. “So, let me be clear. I don’t care how ‘close’ you think you are. If I don’t see results soon, I’ll send someone else to finish the job. Someone with… fewer sentimental attachments.”

Victor’s grin widened, his gaze fixed on Logan like a predator sizing up its prey. “Wouldn’t mind a shot at this mystery journalist myself,” he drawled, his tone laced with menace. “I’ve got a knack for finding people who don’t want to be found. And once I find them…” He flexed his fingers, his claws slipping out, gleaming under the dim light. “Well, let’s just say they don’t stay hidden for long.”

Logan forced himself to stay steady, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He knew exactly what Victor was capable of, and the thought of Victor tracking her down, getting his claws anywhere near her, made his stomach turn. He wanted to tear into Victor, to tell Stryker to back off, but he knew he couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not now. Not with her life on the line.

“Give us another week,” Logan said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of warning. “We’ll find them. You have my word.”

Stryker tilted his head, considering him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Then he gave a slow, cold smile. “Two days,” he said, holding Logan’s gaze with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t offering any second chances. “After that… well, let’s just say I don’t think Victor will have much trouble picking up where you left off.”

Logan gave a tight nod, refusing to look at Victor as he spoke. “Understood.”

Stryker’s smile widened, satisfied. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” He turned, gesturing for Victor to follow, but paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. “And Logan? Make sure your priorities are… clear. I’d hate to think you were letting personal feelings get in the way of your work.”

With that, he strode out, Victor trailing behind him with one last lingering look that sent a shiver down Logan’s spine.

The door closed, leaving Logan and Wade alone in heavy silence. Wade sat back, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied Logan.

“So,” Wade said slowly, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “The journalist. Guarded, quiet… maybe someone who likes books, keeps to herself. Ring any bells?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, refusing to meet Wade’s gaze. “Drop it.”

Wade didn’t. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Look, Logan, I get it. But if you’re gonna do this, you’d better be sure, because if Stryker finds out…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan closed his eyes for a brief second, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I know the risks,” he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not letting them touch her.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, and Logan could see the gears turning in his mind, the flicker of understanding mixed with reluctant respect. Finally, Wade leaned back, letting out a low sigh.

“Then we’d better make this convincing,” Wade muttered, his voice low, wary. “Because if Stryker or Victor get even a whiff of what’s going on, it’s over.”

Logan nodded, feeling his resolve harden into something sharp and unyielding. He knew what was at stake, knew the dangers that lurked in every step they took from here on out. Stryker had given him a week, but Logan didn’t trust him to keep that promise—not when he’d seen the glint in Victor’s eyes, the barely restrained hunger. Victor would do it in a heartbeat if he thought it’d get him back in Stryker’s good graces. Logan could practically feel the weight of the clock ticking down, and he knew he had to move fast.

“She didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade. “She just… she wanted to expose the system. Stryker. Everything he’s done to us.” His voice caught, the frustration and regret boiling beneath the surface. “She didn’t deserve this.”

Wade studied him quietly, a strange seriousness in his gaze. “Yeah, well, maybe she didn’t,” he replied, almost reluctantly. “You think I’m okay with half the things we’ve done? Or with the shit Stryker’s made us do? Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about getting out myself if I thought there was a real chance.”

Logan looked at him, surprised. Wade rarely let his guard down, especially when it came to their line of work. This was a side of him Logan hadn’t seen before—raw, unguarded.

Wade sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, man. I’ll help you,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a note of real sincerity. “I don’t want her getting hurt, either. I’m not a monster. I know what Stryker will do if he gets his hands on her.” He paused, his gaze steady. “She doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”

Logan swallowed, the weight of Wade’s words settling over him like a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile trust hanging between them.

Wade’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If we’re gonna keep her out of Stryker’s sights, we’re gonna need to make this whole thing look legit,” he said, his tone calculating. “Stryker thinks we’re fumbling around because we don’t have any real leads. What if we… create a lead?”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “You mean fake it? Give Stryker something to chase?”

“Exactly,” Wade replied, his lips curving into a sly grin. “We leak a location, a name—hell, we can even plant some fake documents somewhere. Make him think she skipped town, got scared, and ran. If he’s chasing a ghost, he won’t have time to look too closely at what’s right under his nose.”

Logan felt a surge of hope, a sliver of light cutting through the tension. “You think he’ll buy it?”

Wade shrugged. “Stryker’s not as sharp as he likes to think he is. He’ll buy it if we sell it right.” He paused, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes. “But you have to be careful. We make this move, and it’ll have to be airtight. Stryker doesn’t give second chances, especially not to his own men.”

Logan clenched his jaw, the gravity of Wade’s plan sinking in. It was risky. If Stryker suspected even for a second that they were feeding him false information, he’d come down on both of them—hard. But if it worked… it could buy them the time they needed.

“All right,” Logan said, his voice resolute. “We do this. We give him a trail to follow, keep him looking in the wrong places.”

Wade nodded, his expression grim but determined. “We’ll need to make it convincing. A name, maybe a fake contact, some breadcrumbs leading Stryker out of town.” He hesitated, then added, “And we’ll have to act like nothing’s changed. Like we’re still hunting her down.”

Logan felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He hated the idea of lying to her, of making her think he was still on Stryker’s leash. But he knew there was no other way. Stryker had eyes everywhere, and the slightest slip could put her life in even greater danger.

“We can’t tell her,” Logan murmured, more to himself than to Wade. “She can’t know we’re setting this up.”

Wade’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of sympathy in his usually sardonic eyes. “She doesn’t need to know,” he agreed. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Protects her, keeps her out of the crossfire.” He gave Logan a measured look. “Just… make sure she knows she can trust you. Because if she doesn’t, this whole thing falls apart.”

Logan nodded, steeling himself. “She’ll trust me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I won’t let her down.”

A tense silence fell over them, each of them lost in thought, running through the plan in their minds. Finally, Wade broke the quiet, his voice barely more than a murmur. “One more thing,” he said, his gaze flickering toward the door as if expecting Stryker or Victor to barge back in at any moment. “Victor’s already suspicious. I saw the way he was looking at you like he knew something was off. If he gets even a hint of what we’re doing…”

Logan’s face hardened a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll handle Victor.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. Then we’re doing this.” He clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, his tone a mix of seriousness and forced humor. “Look at us, playing the heroes. Who would’ve thought?”

Logan managed a tight smile, but his mind was already racing with what had to happen next. He’d have to lie to her, to keep her in the dark while they set up the fake trail. He’d have to act like nothing had changed like he was still hunting her down—even as he worked to protect her.

“Thanks, Wade,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

Wade shrugged, giving him a faint smirk. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get through this first.” He glanced over his shoulder, his expression turning grim again. “And let’s hope Stryker buys what we’re selling. Otherwise… this could get messy. Real fast.”

Logan nodded the weight of the plan settling on his shoulders. They had one shot to pull this off, to create a believable enough story to keep Stryker and Victor off her trail. He knew it was a gamble, but it was the only chance he had to protect her—to keep her out of Stryker’s reach.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan’s mind churned with the details Wade had suggested, the lies they’d need to tell to sell this deception. He’d be walking a razor-thin line, but he was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her. But as he made his way down the hall to her apartment, a faint sense of unease prickled in his chest, like he was already too late.

He paused at her door, listening, making sure the hallway was empty before he knocked. A few seconds passed, and then the door cracked open, her wary eyes peeking through. Relief softened her face when she saw him.

“Oh, hey,” she said quietly, pulling the door open wider to let him in.

Logan stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him and turning the lock, his eyes immediately scanning her small living space—a habit he’d developed since deciding to keep her safe. But something was different. There was an energy in the room, a tension he couldn’t quite place… until he noticed the duffle bag sitting on her couch, half-filled with clothes, a few books, and a stack of papers she’d been hastily shoving inside.

He froze, his stomach twisting. “Going somewhere?” he asked, trying to keep his tone steady.

She glanced at him, her expression conflicted. “Logan…” she started, her voice a mixture of determination and regret. She dropped another shirt into the bag, then zipped it up, her hands lingering on the worn fabric for a moment. “I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Logan’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to be proud of her for being so smart, so aware of the danger circling them. But a much larger part of him was panicking, scrambling for a way to keep her here, to keep her safe. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “You don’t have to run.”

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath as she straightened, her eyes meeting his with a fierce resolve. “Yes, I do, Logan. You know it as well as I do. You’re not the only one they’ll send after me. If you’re not going to… finish the job, someone else will.”

He clenched his fists, frustration, and fear tightening his throat. She was right, of course, and it made him want to tear down the entire system that had brought them to this point. But he couldn’t just let her walk away. “You think I can’t protect you?” he asked, his voice rough, almost a growl.

She softened, stepping closer to him, reaching up to place a gentle hand on his cheek. “I know you can,” she murmured. “If there’s anyone in this world I’d trust with my life, it’s you. But that’s exactly why I have to go. I can’t let you risk everything for me.”

Logan swallowed hard, his heart pounding at her touch, at the weight of her words. “I don’t care about the risks,” he whispered fiercely, covering her hand with his. “I’m not letting them touch you. Not Stryker, not Victor… no one.”

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability beneath her determination, the quiet fear she’d been trying so hard to hide. But she shook her head, pulling her hand back. “I won’t be the reason something happens to you. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“You’re not responsible for anything except staying safe,” he countered, his voice barely controlled. “I’ve got a plan. Wade and I, we’re gonna mislead Stryker, make him think you’re gone, that you’ve disappeared.”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering with hope before it dimmed again. “That’ll only work for so long. Sooner or later, Stryker will figure it out, and he’ll send someone else to hunt me down. You know that.”

Logan gritted his teeth, fighting the frustration boiling under his skin. “Then I’ll deal with it when that happens,” he said, his tone fierce, final. “I’m not letting you throw yourself out there, just waiting for them to find you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her voice trembling. “Logan, do you hear yourself? You’re talking about going up against Stryker, against Victor, against all of them. They’ll come after you, too. They’ll kill you. And I… I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Then don’t,” he shot back, taking a step closer, his gaze burning into hers. “Don’t put this all on you. I’m choosing this, understand? This isn’t about guilt or responsibility. It’s about me protecting the one good thing I’ve found in a long, damn time. And I’m not walking away from that. Not now.”

Her breath caught, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to touch his face again, her fingers trembling. “Logan… I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want you to get involved, to risk everything for me.”

“Too late,” he murmured, his voice softer now, filled with a raw honesty that he couldn’t hide. “I’m already involved. I’m not walking away.”

She stared at him, torn, her gaze searching his face as if looking for some reassurance, some certainty. Slowly, she lowered her hand, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Logan… if I stay, it’ll only make things worse. You and Wade might be able to mislead them for a little while, but eventually… eventually, they’ll catch up. And I can’t keep hiding, knowing that every second, you’re risking your life just to keep me safe.”

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady. He understood her fear, her need to run. But he couldn’t let her go. Not when he knew exactly what would happen if she faced Stryker’s men on her own. “Then let me come with you,” he said quietly. “We’ll disappear together. Start fresh somewhere. Somewhere they can’t find us.”

She looked at him, surprised, her eyes widening. “You’d… you’d leave everything behind?”

“In a heartbeat,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’d leave it all if it meant keeping you safe. You think I care about Stryker? About Team X? That life’s got nothing for me. Not anymore.”

Finally, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “If you do this… there’s no going back.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He took her hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. “But if it means keeping you safe, keeping you with me… then it’s worth it.”

After a moment, she squeezed his hand, nodding slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet resolve.

Logan pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly, as if he could shield her from every danger waiting outside her door. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and warm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Just trust me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but fierce. He needed her to believe him, to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She nodded against his chest, her face buried against him, her hands moving up and down his back in gentle, comforting circles. For a while, they stood there in silence, wrapped in each other, until she looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with something that went beyond fear—something softer, deeper.

“Logan,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She hesitated, searching his face. “Would you… kiss me?”

Her voice was fragile like she was afraid the question might break something between them. He looked down at her, taking in the delicate curve of her lips, the way they parted slightly as she spoke. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze open and vulnerable in a way that hit him like a punch to the gut.

He swallowed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, unsure if she truly wanted this or if it was just the adrenaline, the danger, that was pushing her toward him. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Is this… because of what’s happening? Or do you—”

But she silenced him by leaning in, her lips brushing softly against his. Her fingers slipped up to tangle in his hair. She kissed him like she was gathering her courage, like every fear, every doubt, was melting away with that one simple touch.

When she pulled back, her eyes met his, and he saw the truth there, raw and honest. “I’ve wanted this for a while,” she murmured, her voice steady, no hesitation left. “Hell, probably since that night at the club… but I was scared. Scared of what you might see if I let you in. Scared of getting close, because… because I thought I’d lose you, too.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’m not scared anymore.”

Logan felt his defenses crumble, the walls he’d built around himself falling away under the weight of her words. She wasn’t running, wasn’t hiding behind excuses or fear. She was standing there, bare and unguarded, and trusting him with her heart. His chest tightened, an ache spreading through him as he realized just how much he needed this—needed her.

He leaned down slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t move. Her gaze held his, steady and waiting, and he closed the remaining space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, he felt the intensity build, something raw and desperate spilling over between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips parting against his, and he deepened the kiss, pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into it. She tasted like warmth and hope and everything he’d thought he couldn’t have, everything he’d thought he’d lost. He held her close, his hands splaying across her back, anchoring her to him as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and fierce. “Not while I’m here.”

She smiled, her gaze soft yet intense, and he felt her hands drift to his chest, coming to rest just over his heart. Her touch was light but grounding, a steady warmth that seemed to settle him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “I know,” she whispered, her voice carrying a quiet certainty that made his heartache.

Her fingers moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the lines of his chest before they dipped down to the hem of his shirt. She hesitated, looking up at him for permission, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and need. Logan felt his breath hitch as she tugged gently at the fabric, her silent invitation hanging in the air between them.

For a moment, he froze, an instinctive caution holding him back. This was dangerous, selfish even. He knew he should be focusing on getting her to safety, on keeping his guard up. But with her here, looking at him like he was something more than a weapon, something worth risking everything for… he felt his resolve crumble. If this was the only chance they’d have to be together, then he couldn’t bring himself to turn it away. He needed her, needed this moment—something real and honest before everything went dark again.

With a quiet exhale, he lifted his arms, helping her pull his shirt over his head. Her fingers trailed against his skin as the fabric slipped away, leaving a faint trail of warmth in their wake. He could see the way she looked at him, her gaze softening as she took him in, the faint scars across his chest, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing under her touch.

Before he could say anything, she leaned up, pulling him into another kiss. This one was deeper, bolder, a raw edge of longing slipping into the gentle rhythm. Her hands moved up his chest, exploring the contours of his body with a quiet reverence that made him shiver. He wrapped his arms around her, guiding her backward, his hands steady on her waist as they sank onto the couch together.

They moved slowly, unhurried, as if savoring each touch, each shared breath. Her hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing the lines of muscle like she was memorizing him, piece by piece. There was a tenderness in her touch, a quiet understanding that made him feel seen, not just as Logan the soldier, the protector, but as something more—a man who had carried his pain, his regrets, and was finally allowing someone else in.

Her lips brushed along his jaw, down his neck, each touch light but deliberate, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, her breath warm against his skin, and the weight of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the quiet intimacy between them.

She pulled him closer, her fingers tracing along his shoulders. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and sure, grounding him in the moment. Every touch, every kiss was filled with a quiet urgency, an unspoken understanding that this might be all they had—a single, stolen night in a world that didn’t want them to exist together.

Her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, her fingertips trailing softly over his skin, and Logan shuddered under her touch. It wasn’t something he was used to—being touched like this, with care, with reverence—but he leaned into it, letting her pull him closer. His own hands moved instinctively, gliding down the curve of her back, mapping every line, every delicate angle as if trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her words full of quiet sincerity as she tugged his jeans down his hips. Her eyes roamed over him, taking him in as if he were something precious.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound rough and unpracticed. “Beautiful?” he echoed, a faint, self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. It was strange hearing that word directed at him—foreign in a way that made him feel both exposed and disarmed. “I’m looking at beautiful, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

She shook her head, a gentle smile softening her features. “You don’t see it, do you?” she said, her gaze steady and unwavering, as though daring him to believe her. Before he could respond, she leaned down, brushing her lips against his, silencing his doubts. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, and Logan felt the world narrow until it was just her—her hands, her lips, her warmth against him.

His hands moved to undress her in return, his touch deliberate and steady. He didn’t rush, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin, every sigh and soft laugh that escaped her lips as their barriers fell away, one by one, until there was nothing left between them.

Her body fit against his like it had always been meant to, her warmth grounding him as they moved together, finding a rhythm that felt both new and ancient, as if they’d known each other in a thousand lifetimes before this one. Logan let himself get lost in her—her touch, her scent, the quiet, breathless way she said his name like it was something sacred. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel fully present, fully alive.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in silence for a while, the room dark and still, their own private world created in the quiet spaces between breaths. Her head rested against his chest, her breath warm and steady, rising and falling in time with his. Logan ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, marveling at the softness of it, at how natural it felt to hold her like this. He felt her fingertips tracing lazy patterns along his side, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him entirely. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he’d protect her, that he’d find a way to keep her safe no matter what. But he knew that promises like that were fragile, easily broken.

Instead, he pulled her a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “No matter what happens tomorrow… tonight was real,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This—us—it’s real.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a quiet strength. “I know,” she whispered, her fingers tracing gentle circles on his chest. “You deserve this, Logan. You deserve to be seen…and to be loved.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word, but she didn’t look away. 

Those words hit harder than he’d ever admit. He swallowed thickly, his throat tight. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that he wasn’t worth all this. But the way she looked at him—steady, unflinching—made it impossible. She meant it. She saw all the broken, jagged pieces of him, and she wasn’t afraid of them.

He nodded once, unable to speak, and pulled her back down into his arms. She settled against him, her body curling naturally into his, and he let his hand trace down her back again, slow and deliberate. He closed his eyes, resting his chin against the top of her head. 

The apartment settled into quiet stillness, a fragile peace settling over them. They both knew the danger waiting just outside these walls, the fight that lay ahead was far from over. However, Logan knew he’d fight a thousand battles to keep this feeling, this moment. 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

A loud banging jolted Logan awake, dragging him out of a restless sleep. He shot upright, disoriented, the harsh sound echoing through the quiet apartment. In his confusion, he rolled off the couch, hitting the floor hard. He cursed under his breath, fumbling to pull on his jeans when a sick feeling settled in his gut.

She was gone.

His eyes darted around the room, his heart pounding as he took in the emptiness around him. Her coat was missing from the hook by the door, and the books and papers she’d been packing away last night were gone. The duffle bag she’d packed was gone. 

He rushed through the apartment, searching—her bedroom, the bathroom, every small corner where she might have left something behind. But it was empty. 

No, no, no, he thought, his chest tightening with a fierce, helpless frustration. She’d left without a word, without so much as a note. After everything they’d shared, after he’d sworn he’d keep her safe… she’d still chosen to leave.

The banging on the door grew louder, more insistent, accompanied by a voice muffled through the thin walls. “Logan! Open the damn door!” It was Wade, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t pull himself out of the numb shock settling over him. She was gone, and he didn’t know where. His promise to protect her felt hollow, empty.

He stood in the middle of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space as if hoping for some clue, something she’d left behind that would help him understand why she’d run. But there was nothing. Just the quiet, heavy emptiness where she’d been.

The banging turned into a relentless pounding. “Logan! For god’s sake, open up!” Wade’s voice was growing louder, more urgent.

Logan clenched his jaw, swallowing the knot in his throat. He headed toward the door with a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. When he opened it, Wade practically stumbled inside, his expression unusually serious.

“Finally,” Wade muttered, glancing over Logan’s shoulder as if expecting to see her. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been pounding on this door for ten minutes.”

Logan’s gaze was hard, distant. “She’s gone, Wade,” he said, his voice rough. “I woke up, and… she was just gone.”

Wade’s face twisted in a grimace, and he ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. She came by the apartment earlier. Banged on our door like her life depended on it. Woke me up.” He gave Logan a look that was half sympathy, half irritation. “She told me to tell you… she was sorry.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface. Sorry. She’d left him with nothing but an apology after he’d risked everything to protect her. After he’d trusted her, let her in… after he’d started to think they could build something together.

“Did she say anything else?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “Anything about where she was going?”

Wade shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. I’m sorry but it’s smart she got out of here.” He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “We’ve got a problem. I think Stryker’s onto us. He’s been sniffing around. I caught Victor hanging around across the street.” 

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. Of course, Stryker knew something was up. He should have expected this. The plan had always been risky, a desperate attempt to mislead a man who saw through lies like smoke. And now, with her gone, the whole thing was falling apart.

Wade leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. “Look, we need to move fast. Whatever you’re planning, we gotta do it now. If Stryker’s catching on, it’s only a matter of time before he comes after her for real. And if he finds her…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan’s heart hammered as he forced himself to focus, trying to pull his mind back from the raw edge of loss and anger. “She thinks she’s protecting me,” he said bitterly, more to himself than to Wade. “Running because she thinks I’ll be safer if she’s not here.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant sympathy. “Sounds like she’s smarter than the both of us. Hell, I’d run too if I thought it would keep me off Victor’s radar.”

Logan shot him a hard look, his fists clenching tighter. “She doesn’t know what she’s up against.”

“Maybe not,” Wade agreed, his tone unusually serious. “But she’s doing what she thinks is right. And for what it’s worth, I respect that. She’s not sitting around, waiting to be rescued. She’s trying to keep you out of this mess, and that’s… something.”

Logan felt a surge of frustration, the helplessness gnawing at him. “I don’t care what she thinks she’s doing. I’m not letting her face Stryker and Victor on her own.” His voice hardened, his resolve solidifying into something fierce and unbreakable. “I told her I’d protect her. And I damn well meant it.”

Wade looked at him, his gaze steady. “Then we’re gonna need to be smart about this,” he said, his voice low. “If she’s already on the move, there’s a good chance Stryker’s got eyes out for her. You need to get to her first before they do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he considered their options. “We can use the plan. Fake her trail, lead Stryker in the wrong direction. But if he’s already suspicious…”

Wade shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Then we make him more suspicious. Feed him a lead so juicy he won’t be able to resist it. We throw everything we’ve got into it. Make it big, make it messy. Enough to keep him off her back while we get her out of here for good.”

Logan nodded slowly, a grim determination settling over him. It was risky, and it would take every bit of their combined skills to pull it off. But if it meant keeping her safe—if it meant giving her a chance to disappear, to live her life free of Stryker’s shadow—then he’d do whatever it took.

“All right,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let’s get moving.”

Wade nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, his gaze sharp and focused. “You find her, I’ll handle the rest. Give me a few hours, and I’ll have Stryker running in circles.”

Logan looked at him, the unspoken gratitude clear in his eyes. “Thanks, Wade.”

Wade gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just don’t get yourself killed, all right? I’m not doing this solo.”

Logan managed a faint smirk, but his mind was already racing, already focused on one thing: finding her, convincing her that she didn’t have to run, that they could face this together.

He’d promised to protect her. No matter the cost, he was going to keep that promise.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan followed her scent for miles, his truck tearing down winding backroads, kicking up dust as he pushed it to the limit. Her trail was faint but steady, and he clung to it like a lifeline, refusing to let himself consider what would happen if he lost it. By the time he’d driven nearly thirty miles out of town, the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the dense trees that lined the road. He pulled into a tiny, near-deserted town nestled against the edge of a sprawling forest. It was the kind of place you could disappear in, where strangers barely looked at each other and the silence was thick, almost eerie.

He parked his truck just outside a rundown motel, the scent of pine and damp earth mixing with her faint trace. She was close—he could feel it. A flicker of relief spread through him, mingling with the desperation he’d been fighting back since he’d found her apartment empty. He started toward the motel, his mind racing with what he’d say to her, how he’d convince her to stop running, to trust him one last time.

Just as he stepped onto the gravel path, he felt it—a familiar, chilling presence. A dark shadow in the periphery, slipping out from behind the trees like a predator closing in on its prey.

Logan stopped, every muscle tensing. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Gotta say, little brother,” came the low, mocking drawl, “didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

Logan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Victor’s hulking figure. Victor leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, that twisted grin on his face, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“You really shouldn’t be here, Victor,” Logan said, his voice a low, deadly warning. “Walk away. This doesn’t concern you.”

Victor let out a harsh laugh, pushing himself off the tree and stepping closer, his gaze sharp, predatory. “Oh, but it does concern me,” he sneered. “Stryker sent me to clean up your mess, seeing as you’ve gone all soft on us. Figured if you weren’t gonna take care of business, I’d handle it myself.”

Logan felt a surge of rage, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re not touching her,” he growled. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

Victor smirked, cocking his head as he looked Logan up and down, clearly enjoying the fire in his brother’s eyes. “Funny. That’s not what she thought a few months ago.” He took another step closer, his gaze cold and unfeeling. “Didn’t tell you, did she? I was the one who had a little chat with her back then. Warned her to stay out of Stryker’s business. But she didn’t listen. Thought she could just run off and hide.” He shrugged a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Should’ve put her down right then and there.”

Logan’s heart pounded as the pieces finally snapped into place. It had been Victor all along. Victor was the one who’d made her life hell, who’d driven her to run, who’d forced her into the shadows with a constant, gnawing fear that never left her. And now he was here, ready to finish what he’d started.

“You threatened her,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low, each word laced with barely controlled fury. “That’s why she left her job. Why she has been looking over her shoulder this whole time? You’re the reason she’s running.”

Victor chuckled, a dark, twisted sound that only fueled Logan’s rage. “Yeah, she needed a little lesson in minding her own business,” he sneered, taking a slow, taunting step closer. “She was asking too many damn questions, poking her nose where it didn’t belong. Someone had to remind her there are places you don’t go unless you want trouble.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “And now, here you are, risking your neck for some nosy little journalist who should’ve known better. Makes me wonder if you’ve forgotten who you really are.”

Logan’s fists clenched, the muscles in his arms coiling like springs ready to snap. His knuckles were bone-white, barely containing the rage building inside him. “You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he spat, his voice cold, lethal.

Victor’s grin widened, his satisfaction evident in the cruel spark in his eyes. “Oh, I know enough. Enough to see she’s turned you soft.” He let the word hang, taunting. “The Logan I knew wouldn’t be wasting his time on some pathetic little tagalong. The Logan I knew would’ve put a claw through her throat the second she got too close.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, his voice dripping with venom. “But now? Now you’re just a lovesick fool.”

Logan took a step forward, his chest heaving, the air around him almost vibrating with barely restrained violence. His voice was low, and steady, each word sharp as a blade. “Call it whatever you want. But you lay one finger on her, and I’ll rip you apart.”

Victor’s expression darkened, his twisted smirk fading as he squared up to Logan, rolling his shoulders, his fists clenching in anticipation. “You really think you can protect her from me? From us?” he sneered. “She’s a loose end, and I don’t leave loose ends.”

Logan felt a familiar, white-hot fury boiling up inside him. It was all starting to make sense now—Stryker’s vague orders, the lack of intel. Stryker hadn’t known the journalist’s identity at first. He’d been kept in the dark, fed just enough information to justify sending Logan and Wade on this mission. Meanwhile, Victor, arrogant and reckless, had dismissed her as a minor annoyance… until Stryker finally connected the dots and ordered her elimination.

Now, with Stryker’s orders confirmed, Victor was out for blood. He didn’t just see her as a target—he saw her as a loose end he should have handled himself long ago. And in Victor’s world, there was no forgiveness for those kinds of mistakes.

Logan knew he should keep a clear head, and should think strategically. But hearing Victor talk about her like that—as if she were nothing as if she didn’t matter—sent a roar of anger through his veins, drowning out any restraint he’d managed to hold onto.

Logan bared his teeth, the raw anger coiled tight within him. “Let Stryker try,” he snarled. “I’ll take him down myself if I have to. And you? You’re gonna regret coming here.”

Victor let out a low, menacing laugh, shaking his head. “Always so dramatic.” He glanced toward the motel, a twisted gleam in his eyes. “You think she’s safe in there? Right now, hiding, waiting for you to come sweep her off her feet? She’s already dead, Logan. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Logan lunged forward, fists flying as he swung at Victor with everything he had. But Victor was ready, sidestepping and delivering a brutal punch to Logan’s ribs, sending him staggering back. Pain flared up his side, but Logan didn’t back down. He launched himself at Victor again, his claws slipping out.

They clashed in a blur of movement, snarling, claws slashing, each one trying to gain the upper hand. The forest echoed with the sounds of their struggle, leaves crunching underfoot as they grappled, neither willing to give an inch. Logan could feel the bruises forming, the sting of cuts across his skin, but he pushed it aside, focusing only on one thing: keeping Victor away from her.

Victor laughed, a cruel sound that grated against Logan’s ears. “You’re wasting your time, little brother,” he taunted, dodging another swing. “You can’t protect her from this. You’re only dragging it out, making it harder for her in the end.”

Logan’s vision blurred with rage, his mind flashing to her face, the way she’d looked at him last night with such trust, such faith. “I’ll protect her from you, from Stryker, from anyone who tries to hurt her,” he spat. “She’s not just some target.”

Victor’s grin faded, something dark flickering in his eyes as he lunged forward, their faces inches apart. “Then you’re as good as dead,” he whispered, his voice filled with cold certainty. “Because if you don’t kill her, I will.”

The words sliced through Logan, sharp and vicious, and he knew—this wasn’t just about her. This was about everything Victor and Stryker had made him into, everything he’d spent his life running from. And now, standing in the middle of this empty forest, he had a choice.

He drew back, chest heaving, glaring at Victor with a look of pure determination. “Not this time,” he growled. “You don’t get to take this from me.” 

Victor smirked, but there was something wary in his gaze now. “We were supposed to stay by each other.” 

Before Logan could respond, Victor backed away, his eyes never leaving Logan’s, a silent promise of the bloodshed to come. Logan watched him disappear into the trees, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. He knew Victor would be back. He knew Stryker wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

Logan understood why she’d run. He hated it, but he understood. He’d brought Victor here, right to her doorstep, and now she was in danger all over again. He felt a surge of frustration at himself, at the whole damn situation, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

He looked up at the rundown motel in front of him, its paint peeling and windows grimy, blending into the shadows of the forest like it had something to hide. Part of him knew he should keep his distance, and avoid drawing attention to her last known location. But he couldn’t just walk away, not without making sure she was okay.

Following her scent, he made his way down the narrow row of rooms until he stopped in front of one of the doors, his pulse pounding in his ears. Her scent lingered here, strong but fading. He knocked softly, hoping she was inside, praying she’d throw open the door and let him tell her that they could figure this out, that she didn’t have to run.

But there was only silence. The door creaked open under his touch, swinging inward with a quiet groan. Logan’s heart sank, dread clawing at him as he stepped inside. The room was empty.

Panic flared up in his chest, and for a split second, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. What if Victor had gotten here first? What if he’d taken her? Logan forced himself to breathe, to push the thought down. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

He took a few steps deeper into the room, eyes scanning every corner. Her scent was everywhere—lingering in the air, clinging to the worn bedspread, the nightstand, the small chair by the window. But she was gone, vanished like a ghost.

A wave of relief washed over him, mixed with an aching sense of loss. She’d left before Victor could get to her, no doubt trying to throw him off her trail. She was smarter than he’d ever given her credit for, brave enough to stay one step ahead. But that didn’t stop the hollow feeling settling in his chest as he realized she was truly gone.

Logan’s gaze drifted to the nightstand beside the bed, where the drawer was pulled slightly open. Something about it caught his eye, and he felt a strange, uneasy pull as he reached for the handle. He slid the drawer open, his heart pounding, and found a folded piece of paper inside.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the messy, hurried handwriting that was unmistakably hers.

Logan,

If you’re reading this, it means you found me. Or at least, you came close. I don’t know what I expected, thinking I could slip away from you. You’ve always been relentless, and maybe that’s part of why I…

He paused, his heart clenching as he read the next words, written in smaller, more delicate script.

…why I fell in love with you.

That’s exactly why I can’t stay. I know you’d do anything to protect me, but it’s too dangerous. You’ve already risked so much, and the last thing I want is to be the reason something happens to you. You have your own battles to fight, your own ghosts to face. I can’t be one more burden for you to carry.

I’m sorry for all of this. For dragging you into my mess, for making you feel like you had to choose between protecting me and yourself. You don’t deserve that.

This… us… it’s better this way. I’ll find a way to keep myself safe, and maybe someday, we’ll meet again under different circumstances. But for now, I need you to let me go. 

I’ll always remember you, Logan. The way you looked at me, the way you made me feel like I mattered in a world that had tried so hard to erase me. You gave me something I didn’t know I was missing, and I’ll be grateful for that, always.

Logan’s hand shook as he held the note, his breath catching in his throat. He read the words again, letting each one sink in like a dagger, twisting deeper with every line. She loved him. She loved him enough to let him go, to believe that leaving was the only way to protect him.

A raw ache spread through his chest, mingling with a fierce anger that he couldn’t direct at anyone but himself. She thought she was doing what was best, though she was sparing him somehow. But didn’t she understand? There was no protecting him from this. There was no way he could just let her walk out of his life.

Logan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could practically hear her voice in those words, feel her resolve, her heartbreak. She was trying to be strong, to be brave. But she was wrong if she thought he’d let her face this alone.

Logan stared down at the note, his hand shaking as he folded it carefully, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. Her words echoed in his mind, each line a quiet, devastating goodbye as if she thought he could just let her walk away and disappear without a fight. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—that there was no version of this world where he’d ever be able to let her go.

He slipped the note into his pocket, the weight of it settling against his heart like a brand, and took a final look around the empty motel room. The faded bedspread, the cracked mirror, the soft imprint of where she’d sat on the edge of the bed—it all seemed to echo with her presence, taunting him with the memory of how close she’d been, how real it had all felt. But now the silence was heavy, a hollow reminder of everything he’d lost, and the anger simmering inside him began to burn hotter.

His jaw tightened, a new determination hardening his features as he spoke softly into the empty room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with a dark promise. “But you don’t get to decide that for me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his footsteps heavy and sure. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, filling his lungs and sharpening his focus. The quiet town was bathed in moonlight, casting shadows across the deserted streets, and at that moment, Logan knew exactly what he had to do.

He couldn’t keep playing defense, couldn’t keep letting Stryker and Victor call the shots. If he wanted to protect her, to end this once and for all, he’d have to confront the very men who had made him into a weapon. And if they wanted him to be the monster, the animal they’d tried to create… then that’s exactly what he’d show them.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan made it back to the apartment just as dawn was breaking, the pale light casting long shadows across the empty streets. He hadn’t slept and hadn’t stopped moving since he’d left the motel. His mind was on a relentless loop, thinking of her, of Stryker, of the promises he’d made to protect her. But now, as he approached the bar’s entrance, he saw Wade waiting outside, slouched against the wall, a grim expression on his bruised face.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, taking in the fresh cuts and swelling around Wade’s left eye, the blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles were raw, split open like he’d been in a hell of a fight. Logan’s stomach twisted.

“What the hell happened?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Victor happened. Thought he could beat the crap out of me,” he replied, wiping a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I showed him, though. Stabbed him a few times.” He raised one of his katanas, the blade slick with blood that hadn’t yet dried.

Logan’s jaw clenched, his fists curling as he processed what this meant. “Victor was here?” he asked, barely controlling the fury simmering beneath his words.

Wade gave a tight nod, his expression turning serious. “Yeah. Came looking for answers shortly after you left. Seems he figured something was up, and started sniffing around. When I didn’t give him what he wanted, he got… persuasive.” Wade gestured to his bruised face, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t talk, but he knew enough to put two and two together.”

Logan cursed under his breath, pacing in a tight circle as he tried to keep his rage in check. “Did he go back to Stryker?” he demanded.

Wade nodded, wincing as he stretched a bruised shoulder. “Didn’t stick around long enough to ask him, but he took off right after he was done using me as a punching bag. If I had to guess, he’s already reported back to Stryker.”

The implications sank in like a stone. Stryker knew. They’d blown their cover, and it was only a matter of time before Stryker sent everything he had to hunt her down.

“Do you have any idea where they went?” Logan asked, his voice tight, barely controlled. He could feel the urgency gnawing at him, clawing up his spine, urging him to move, to find her before it was too late.

Wade shook his head, his expression frustrated. “No idea. But I did catch him muttering something about an island before he stormed off. Could be nothing… or it could be where Stryker’s holed up.”

“An island?” Logan’s mind raced, trying to connect the pieces. Stryker had always preferred remote locations, places that were hard to reach, and easy to defend. An island would be perfect for him, isolated and far from prying eyes. It would give him every advantage if he was planning to lay a trap.

Wade nodded, his gaze sharp. “Yeah. He didn’t say which one, but I did some digging after he left. There’s an old military facility about twenty miles off the coast. Rumor has it, Stryker’s been using it as a base for… whatever twisted shit he’s been up to lately.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, the pieces falling into place. “If Victor’s told him everything, Stryker will go straight for her. He’ll want answers, want to know how much she knows about Team X.” He didn’t say what they both knew Stryker would do to get those answers. Torture, interrogation… if Stryker got his hands on her, it wouldn’t end until she was broken.

Wade met his gaze, the usual sarcasm gone from his eyes. “Then we’d better move. If we’re gonna catch them, we can’t waste any more time.”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling the fire of determination settle into something ice-cold, something unbreakable. “You’re right. We get to that island, we take out Stryker, and we bring her back.”

Wade gave a grim nod, sheathing his katana with a sharp click. “Finally, something exciting,” he muttered, managing a smirk despite the bruises. “I was getting real tired of this babysitting gig. Let’s go cause some damage.”

Logan didn’t bother responding. His mind was already miles away, focused entirely on the mission ahead. He wouldn’t let Stryker get his hands on her. Not now, not ever. Stryker had taken enough from him, twisted enough lives. This was where it ended.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan and Wade moved through the dense jungle in silence, each step sinking into the thick, damp earth. Shadows clung to them, swallowing their movements in darkness, but Logan’s senses were sharp, honed. The night air was heavy with the scent of pine and saltwater, the distant crash of waves muted by the thick canopy above. Overhead, the moon cast a pale, silver glow, but it barely touched the ground through the dense branches, leaving them in near-total darkness.

They’d anchored the boat a mile offshore, slipping onto the island undetected, and now the fortress loomed ahead—a grim, sprawling structure hidden on the far edge of the island. Tall walls surrounded it, topped with barbed wire that glinted under the floodlights, which swung in sweeping arcs across the perimeter. The place was built like a prison, and somewhere inside, she was trapped.

Wade glanced over, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a focused, steely expression. “So,” he whispered, barely audible over the rustling leaves, “we going in loud, or are we keeping it quiet? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m itching to blow this place to hell.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fortress. “We ambush them,” he said, his voice low and hard. “Stay together unless they try to split us up. If Stryker tries to run, he’s yours. I’m going for Victor.”

Wade nodded, his eyes gleaming with a hint of wild excitement. “Copy that, boss. But just so we’re clear—if Stryker so much as breathes in my direction, he’s getting a bullet between the eyes.”

They crept to the edge of the outer fence, crouching low as they scanned the patrols circling the perimeter. Wade pulled a pair of wire cutters from his pack and looked at Logan, waiting for the signal. Logan gave a sharp nod, and Wade moved swiftly, slicing through the fence just enough for them to slip through. Together, they moved like shadows, weaving between patrols and ducking under cameras, their every movement silent and precise. They reached the main building, slipping inside just as a guard passed by, oblivious to the intruders in the night.

Inside, the facility was cold and dimly lit, a maze of concrete corridors that smelled of metal and stale air. The hum of machinery vibrated through the walls, punctuated by the distant footsteps of guards. Logan’s senses were on high alert, his every nerve tuned to the sounds around him. And then he heard it—a faint, familiar voice echoing somewhere deep in the building.

His heart twisted, his blood running cold. It was her.

He signaled to Wade, and they moved swiftly through the winding hallways, following the faint sounds of conversation and the occasional clang of metal. They passed locked rooms and sterile, empty cells, their shadows stretching long under the flickering fluorescent lights. Finally, they rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with a heavy metal door at the end of a narrow corridor. There, standing guard with his back to them, was one of Stryker’s men.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guard’s jaw before the man could react. The guard crumpled to the ground with a muffled grunt, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Wade grinned, crouching down to pick up the guard’s keycard. “See? I told you we make a good team.” He swiped the card against the reader, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

They slipped inside, weapons ready, and moved down a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end of it was a small room, and inside, Stryker waited.

He turned as they entered, a smug smile curling across his lips as if he’d been expecting them all along. His gaze flicked between Logan and Wade, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “Ah, Logan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mock warmth. “Right on time. I figured you’d come running. It’s almost… predictable.”

Logan’s fists clenched, his claws sliding out with a grinding schlikt. “Where is she?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous.

Stryker chuckled, his tone filled with cold amusement. “So protective. You know, I have to wonder—why are you so attached to this girl, Logan? Don’t tell me you actually care.”

Logan took a step forward, his gaze like steel. “Last chance, Stryker. Where. Is. She?”

Stryker held his ground, his expression unruffled. “You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, crossing his arms. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.” He tilted his head, studying Logan with a look of cold calculation. “Deep down, you knew exactly who she was from the moment you met her. Don’t try to deny it. Your instincts—the animal in you—knew she was the target. That’s why you found her so… intriguing.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes locked on Stryker with a deadly intensity.

Stryker smirked, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You’re just a weapon, Logan. A soldier. You may think you care about her, but let’s be honest—you’re only here because she was the job. It’s what you’re made for.”

The words twisted something inside Logan, old wounds reopening under Stryker’s taunts. But he forced himself to keep breathing, to keep control. Stryker was baiting him, trying to push him over the edge.

“Don’t pretend you’re anything more than the animal you are,” Stryker continued, his tone cold, dismissive. “She’s just a loose end, and you—well, you’re just the fool who thought he could be more.”

Logan’s vision went red. He surged forward, slamming Stryker against the wall, his claws hovering just inches from Stryker’s throat. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he snarled, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

Stryker laughed, even as Logan’s claws pressed dangerously close. “Go on, then. Prove me right. Kill me. Show me you’re exactly what I made you.”

For a moment, Logan’s grip tightened, his muscles coiled, every instinct screaming for him to end this, to make Stryker pay for every life he’d ruined. But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Wade step forward.

“Logan,” Wade said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. “He’s not worth it.”

Logan hesitated, the haze of rage clearing just enough for him to hear Wade’s words. Before he could react, Wade stepped forward, swinging the butt of his gun into Stryker’s temple. Stryker crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his mocking smile finally silenced.

Wade glanced at Logan, giving him a knowing look. “You don’t need to dirty your claws on him. Go find her.”

Logan took a steadying breath, his hands still trembling, his heart still pounding with fury. He forced himself to pull back, his gaze shifting away from Stryker and toward the door at the end of the hallway. He could feel her presence somewhere beyond it, faint but steady like a beacon pulling him forward.

“Go,” Wade repeated, nodding toward the door. “I’ll make sure this asshole doesn’t get back up.”

Logan nodded, giving Wade a look of gratitude. Without another glance at Stryker, he turned and strode down the hallway, his steps quickening as he neared the door. He pushed it open, his every sense alert, his every instinct focused on one thing: finding her, getting her out, and putting an end to this nightmare.

As he moved deeper into the facility, the walls seemed to close in around him, the smell of metal and cold concrete sharp in the air. But he didn’t stop. He could feel her, close now, her heartbeat faint but steady, guiding him through the darkness.

He reached the final door and Logan knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t leave this island without her.

Logan pushed open the door and slipped inside, his movements fluid and silent. The room was dim, lit by a single harsh light overhead, casting long shadows across the cold concrete floor. There, tied to a chair in the center of the room, was her—face bruised, her wrists bound, her gaze defiant despite the fear lingering in her eyes.

Victor stood beside her, one hand gripping her shoulder, his claws extended just enough to graze her skin. He was watching her with a twisted, mocking smile, completely oblivious to Logan’s presence.

Logan’s chest heaved, the sight of her—wounded, terrified, but still holding her ground—igniting something fierce and uncontrollable inside him.

Victor chuckled, still oblivious, his voice dripping with disdain. “You thought you could get away, didn’t you? Thought someone was gonna save you?” He leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I hope he gets here in time, sweetheart.”

Logan took a single, slow step forward, his voice a low, menacing growl that filled the room. “Let her go.”

Victor froze, his body going tense before he slowly turned to face Logan. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by that familiar, twisted grin. “There you are, little brother. Took you long enough.”

Logan’s claws slid out with a grinding schlikt, the sound sharp in the stillness. “You wanted me here. Well, here I am.”

Victor laughed, a cold, mocking sound. “You know, you’re just proving my point, Logan. She’s made you weak. Look at you, risking everything for this pathetic little journalist.”

Logan’s gaze flickered to her for a moment, her eyes meeting his, wide and filled with relief. He felt the fury simmering inside him sharpen, and solidify. “Call it whatever you want. I’m done talking.”

Victor’s smirk faded, replaced with a cold, calculating look. “Oh, little brother,” he said, releasing her and stepping forward, flexing his own claws. “But let’s be honest—you’re not gonna win this fight.”

For a split second, something flickered in Victor’s expression, something almost… conflicted. It was as if he was wrestling with a thought, a shadow of doubt crossing his face before his jaw tightened, and the hardness returned to his eyes.

Victor glanced back at her, and for a moment, Logan thought he might waver, might change his mind. But then Victor’s face twisted into a sneer, and he shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t leave loose ends. Not for anyone.”

With that, he lunged.

They clashed in a blur of movement, claws flashing, each strike more vicious than the last. Logan’s world narrowed to the raw, brutal fight in front of him, the air filled with the sound of claws slicing through flesh, the impact of fists and bodies against concrete. Victor fought with a brutal edge, his strikes fueled by years of resentment, rivalry, of a twisted sense of superiority.

Logan had something Victor didn’t—a reason to fight beyond pride. He had someone to protect, someone whose life mattered more than his own. That gave him strength, an unbreakable resolve that kept him going even when the pain threatened to pull him under.

At some point during the fight, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching, her gaze locked on him, her lips parted in a silent plea. It was all he needed.

With a roar, Logan tackled Victor to the ground, pinning him with one knee against his chest, his claws poised at Victor’s throat. “You’re done,” Logan growled, his voice filled with a quiet, deadly finality. “You’re done trying to control my life.”

Victor sneered up at him, defiant even in defeat. “You really think this changes anything? Stryker will come for her. And when he does, you won’t be there to protect her.”

Logan pressed his claws just a little closer, his voice a low, furious whisper. “Then he’ll get the same welcome you did.”

Victor’s eyes flashed with fear or the faintest glimmer of respect—but before he could respond, Logan brought his fist down, slamming Victor’s head against the concrete. Victor’s body went slack, unconscious, and Logan wasted no time turning back to her.

She was still in the chair, her hands bound, her face pale but determined. He crossed the room in two quick strides, his hands already working on the ropes around her wrists.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle.

She nodded, her gaze steady as she looked up at him. “I am now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, relief flooding through him. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a familiar voice. Wade slipped into the room, grinning as he wiped blood from his knuckles. “Stryker’s not gonna be a problem. Let’s just say he and I had a little… conversation.”

Logan nodded, his hand slipping into hers as he helped her to her feet. “Good. Then let’s get off this damn island.”

They moved quickly, with Wade leading the way back through the facility, every step taking them further from the nightmare they’d escaped. As they reached the edge of the island, the boat waiting for them on the shore, Logan held her close, his hand never leaving hers.

This time, he promised himself, he’d keep her safe—for good.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across the little cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. Birds chattered in the trees, and the steady murmur of a nearby creek filled the air with a peaceful hum. It was a quiet spot, secluded and off the grid, miles away from the life they’d left behind. And that was exactly how Logan liked it.

Inside the cabin, Logan was standing at the kitchen counter, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to peel potatoes with a knife far too sharp for the job. His large hands weren’t exactly suited to delicate work, and he muttered under his breath as the potato slipped from his grip for the third time.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him with a soft smile tugging at her lips. It had been months since they’d escaped Stryker’s grasp, since that night on the island, and she still wasn’t used to seeing Logan like this—shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from a shower, wrestling with a kitchen task like he was facing down an enemy.

“Need some help, chef?” she teased, crossing the room and taking the knife from him before he could protest.

He grunted, folding his arms and pretending to look annoyed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You think you can do better?” he asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes, deftly peeling the potato with a few smooth strokes. “I’m just saying, I’m trying to avoid a trip to the hospital. With the way you were holding that knife, I’d have to stitch you up by dinnertime.”

He let out a low chuckle, watching her with a look that was almost… awestruck. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was here, in this cabin they’d built together, her laughter filling the air, her hands moving with easy familiarity in their shared kitchen.

She finished peeling the potato and handed it to him with a little flourish, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smile. “There. Now maybe I’ll let you handle the boiling part. Think you can manage that?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Keep talkin’, and I might just make you do all the work tonight.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. 

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll let you cook… if you can keep that smart mouth of yours quiet for five minutes.”

She laughed, the sound filling the cabin, and Logan felt something settle in his chest, a quiet contentment he hadn’t known he could feel. She nudged him with her elbow and turned back to the counter, slicing the potatoes with practiced ease, her hair falling softly over her shoulder.

Logan watched her, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He’d never thought he could have this—a life so normal, so simple, filled with nothing but quiet, ordinary moments. It was strange, the way he felt more himself here, peeling potatoes and teasing her over burnt toast, than he ever had in all the years he’d spent fighting, running, surviving.

He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She looked up, surprised by the softness in his gaze.

“What?”

He shook his head, his thumb lingering on her cheek for a moment longer than necessary. “Nothing. Just… I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was low, almost rough, like he wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud.

Her face softened, her hand coming up to rest over his, her fingers warm and gentle. “Me too,” she said quietly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

They stood there for a moment, her hand resting on his, the world around them fading into a warm, comfortable silence. Then, with a little smirk, she nudged his hand away and turned back to the potatoes.

“Now,” she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes, “unless you’re planning on staring at me all evening, maybe you could make yourself useful and grab the salt.”

Logan huffed, grumbling under his breath, but he moved to grab the salt shaker from the cupboard, fighting the smile that kept creeping onto his face. He handed it to her, and she gave him a playful wink, her fingers brushing his as she took it.

They worked side by side in the kitchen, moving around each other with a practiced ease, like they’d been doing this for years. Now and then, their hands would brush, or she’d catch him watching her out of the corner of his eye, and he’d look away, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Later, as they sat down at the little table by the window, the last light of the sunset spilling across the room, she reached across the table and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Logan looked down at their joined hands, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his chest, a quiet happiness he still wasn’t used to.

She caught his eye, smiling softly, a playful spark in her gaze. “Logan… I love you, but you’ve gotta stop staring at me like that. You’re making me blush.”

Logan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as if memorizing the feel of her hand in his. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost hesitant. “I keep thinking… this is all a dream. Like I’m gonna wake up, and you’ll be gone, and I’ll be right back where I started.”

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the little touches she’d added—a vase of wildflowers on the windowsill, her favorite books stacked messily on the coffee table, a soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. The cabin felt like a home now, filled with reminders of her presence, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

She squeezed his hand, her fingers steady and warm. “Logan,” she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked back at her, his expression softening as he let her words sink in. “You promise?”

She smiled, a warmth in her eyes that made his heart feel like it might break, just from the sheer vulnerability of it all. “I promise,” she said, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he felt some of the tension he’d been holding finally release. “Good,” he said, his voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “Because I don’t think I’d know what to do without you now.”

She tilted her head, studying him with that soft, patient look that always seemed to cut right through his defenses. “You don’t have to worry, Logan.”

He didn’t respond right away, just nodded, letting her words settle over him like a blanket, warm and reassuring. It was such a simple promise, but it held a weight he hadn’t known he needed. She was here, with him, and for the first time, he actually believed she would be—today, tomorrow, as long as he could hold onto her.

After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a slow smile breaking across his face. “All right, then,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guess I’d better get used to it.”

She grinned, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to his lips, her laughter filling the room like sunlight. “Guess you’d better,” she teased, brushing a hand through his hair as she settled back in her chair.

Bonus Scene

Inside, the cabin was cozy and warm, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Logan sat at the small kitchen table, a newspaper spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading it. His eyes kept drifting over to her, watching as she moved around the kitchen, humming softly to herself. She was cooking breakfast—eggs sizzling in the pan, a pot of tea steeping on the counter. It was a simple morning, ordinary in every way, and that was what made it so perfect.

Logan leaned back, a rare, soft smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace.

Then, a loud, obnoxious honk shattered the quiet, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing look with him. Only one person would make that kind of entrance in the middle of nowhere.

“Great,” Logan muttered, pushing himself up from the table. “Just when things were getting quiet.”

He opened the cabin door, stepping outside just as a beat-up old pickup truck pulled up, kicking up a cloud of dust. Wade grinned from the driver’s seat, his sunglasses crooked, his arm slung casually out the window. He looked as out of place in the peaceful setting as a wolf in a field of lambs.

“Logan!” Wade called, climbing out of the truck and stretching his arms overhead like he’d just driven across the country. “Nice little place you got here. Very… rustic.” He looked around, taking in the trees and the clear blue sky. “I see you’ve gone full mountain man.”

Logan folded his arms, fighting the urge to smile. “What are you doing here, Wade?”

Wade shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite grumpy Canadian in the middle of nowhere? I was in the neighborhood.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “The nearest town is fifty miles away.”

Wade shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well, I heard there was good coffee around here. And maybe I missed the two of you. But don’t go getting all sentimental on me. It’s just a temporary lapse.”

She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and smiling despite herself. “Hi, Wade. You hungry?”

Wade’s face lit up, his gaze flicking from her to the warm, inviting cabin. “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, grinning. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside. “Logan’s been chopping enough firewood to heat the whole forest, so I think we’ll be warm enough.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Wade said as he stepped inside, glancing around the cozy cabin with a touch of surprise. “This guy’s a softie at heart. First, it’s firewood and breakfast in bed. Next thing you know, he’s knitting sweaters and taking up bird-watching.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. He shut the door behind them, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, watching Wade settle in as if he belonged there. Despite the sarcasm and theatrics, Logan could see it in Wade’s eyes—the genuine relief that they were all still standing, that the worst was behind them.

“So,” Wade said, taking a seat at the table and eyeing the spread of food appreciatively. “How’s life in the woods treating you two? Getting used to all this fresh air?”

She chuckled, pouring coffee into a mug and setting it in front of him. “It’s… peaceful,” she said, glancing at Logan with a soft smile. “Exactly what we needed.”

Wade’s expression softened for a moment, his usual sarcasm slipping away. “Yeah, I bet. You two deserve it. God knows you’ve been through enough.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as they sat around the table, eating breakfast and enjoying the warmth of the cabin. Wade filled them in on the latest gossip from town, spinning tales of bar fights and questionable characters that made her laugh, and even Logan couldn’t hide a smirk or two. It was like a glimpse of the world they’d left behind but without any of the darkness or danger that had once haunted them.

Finally, as they finished eating, Wade leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, this was nice. A little slice of domestic bliss.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at Logan. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Logan snorted, his tone dry. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” Wade said, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyes as he looked between them. “I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to your wilderness honeymoon.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she gathered the plates. “Thanks for stopping by, Wade. Really.”

He got up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Anytime. Someone’s gotta check in on you two, make sure you’re not turning into total recluses.” He paused, looking at Logan with a hint of something unspoken. “Take care of each other, yeah?”

Logan gave a curt nod, but his expression softened, and he clasped Wade’s shoulder, a rare show of gratitude. “You know we will.”

Wade grinned, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Good. And hey, don’t be strangers. You know where to find me.”

With one last nod, Wade stepped out of the cabin, heading back to his truck. They watched as he climbed inside, giving a quick wave before driving off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

As the truck disappeared down the dirt road, she turned to Logan, slipping her hand into his. They stood together in the doorway, watching the dust settle, feeling the quiet of the woods close in around them once more.

Logan looked down at her, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. “Guess we’re really out here now,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice.

She smiled, leaning into him, her gaze soft. “Yeah. Just us.”

[strawberrystepmom]

hello kendy! hope you're having a wonderful day! i love reading your selfship posts so much, it's so refreshing to see someone loving themselves and others the way you do!

i have a bit of lack of confidence when it comes to my body, sometimes i'm self conscious that i'm bigger than my f/os and i'm shy to even share stuff about it, how do you get past that? i would like to be more confident in myself😭

hello friend <333 thank you so much the sweet words. i'm a certified lover girl it's the only thing besides breathing i'm naturally good at so it's very affirming that the behavior resonates with someone somewhere lmao

so this is a complex feeling and i understand. it's really easy for me to sit here and say "just imagine that you're beautiful and believe it <3" but that is like distinctly unhelpful even though it is advice that i think everyone should take to heart. beauty is in the eye of the beholder. there is no one way to be beautiful but the most surefire way is to start with appreciating the stuff you're made of. your heart, soul, and mind. that's where love radiates from.

but i will say as far as physical beauty goes, it's difficult sometimes when you're in a head space of thinking like man i'm not good enough for this person, they wouldn't want me, etc. it hurts but i want you to, every time you think that, to imagine saying that aloud about yourself to your fav - a person who loves you. imagine saying i'm too x. i'm ugly. i'm stupid. i'm lame. imagine their reaction to that, how upset they'd be to hear it. a person who loves you will never ever ever want to hear you say that about you because they'd never believe it no matter how you look. we are always far more cruel towards ourselves than we deserve and someone who cares about you is going to love all of you and not zero in on the flaws you see as unable to be ignored.

your fav loves your smile. your cheeks. your arms and legs and lips. the way you sigh when you're bored, the way you style your hair. the way you dress, smell, and make yourself feel beautiful when you need the boost. they see the things about you that you take for granted - the way your eyes sparkle and you gnaw your lip and even something as small as the way you pop your fingers.

you wanna know how i know that? because you love those things about them too. that's what love is. seeing every little thing about someone and helping them embrace it enough to love it too.

[purpleeivy]

I've been watching Dimension 20 Fantasy High recently, and having now gotten to Junior Year.

First of all wow, it's amazing.

But the most impactful moment for me so far (I'm up to Stress Testers) was Kristen's phone call with Tracker.

I can't remember the exact quote, but it was roughly "I think on some level you believe you deserve things to be easy." and essentially Tracker forcing Kristen to confront the fact that she isn't willing to put effort into doing a lot of things, and if something is hard she just moves onto something else. This really heavily resonates with me, especially since Kristen is an ex-gifted kid with severe burnout and undiagnosed Adhd, and I just. That hurt so much lol. I relate to that so so deeply. I'm not healed/healthy yet, I will still take the easy path and run away or ignore it if things get hard because I don't know how to do anything else. I don't want to be like this, I want to put effort into things but I just. Don't know HOW to. Kristen never needed to work hard at her cleric stuff because she was literally Helio's chosen. She never had to work hard and then a part of her internalised that and led her to avoid anything that wasn't like that, so if she has to work hard at something she should just give up and move to something else. She literally killed YES! because it was too hard to find more followers and she wasn't able to stay devout because of her adhd/inattentiveness and flickering hyperfixations.

[butchsophiewalten]

iirc you said martin apologized for the edited alcala picture in the past. was it via the twf discord or something? i believe he'll likely retcon it but it still troubles me a lot. i know one could argue if he just replaced it in the reupload it would or wouldn't have "fixed" things but idk i really wish he did. keeping it in mind is far from a problem but it's frustrating. not something you can really help me with, i'd just like to hear another fan's opinion on the situation

I actually don't recall him ever directly apologizing for the Rodney Alcala thing, but when I was checking the discord server just to see if I could find anything for you, I did see a secondhand account mentioning Bravvy saying something about how Martin did not know who Rodney Alcala was when he created Jack's missing poster in TWF1. Which I obviously can't verify in any meaningful way, so make of that what you will. (But I don't think it's an unreasonable claim to make. Martin isn't even American, I don't expect him to have an encyclopedic knowledge of American serial killers, even though I don't think ignorance necessarily excuses him of any judgement here.)

That said, Martin has talked before about wanting to broach topics related to real-world tragedy sensitively in The Walten Files, so I don't think this is something he'd like, dismiss as not being a big deal, even if he's never gone out of his way to bring him up. But I absolutely agree with you about wishing he had replaced it in the Company Introductory Tape reupload. I was honestly really expecting him too? And it left a pretty bad taste in my mouth that he didn't

[starrbucky]

.

[marzipanandminutiae]

the original post is exaggerated obviously, but after I posted it, OP reblogged the post it was about with my reply and was like "well actually-" and proceeded to try and refute it. and one of their points was "I have a post about this already!" and they linked the post

and it was. ALL. Ways To Avoid Needing Constant Reassurance

not word one about Ways To Avoid Not Being Able To Tell People You're Not Up To Talking Right Now

both of these things are problems, but only one of them is being treated like a problem. and it's incredibly wearing when you're someone who has The Bad Problem(TM)

(also everyone in the notes is talking about how being friends with people who "argue against OP" must be "actual hell" or that we're making it all about us. I found someone invoking "hit dog will holler," which apparently means someone getting offended because they do the thing discussed. which like...yes? I have had that problem? I have been the "it's been two hours with no message back; they must hate me and I'm going to bombard them with messages" person, which is bad, and which I try very hard not to do anymore? that's the whole point?)

(I have a problem, and I try really hard to overcome that problem! which I do need to do! my problem is not anyone else's problem! but there seems to be NO similar emphasis on people with the opposite problem to work on their own issues)

(and it feels like being constantly told that it's all on me and I can't expect any kind of grace, compromise, help, or understanding from others. because I'm on The Bad Side)

tumblr when mental illness makes you withdraw from company: nobody has the right to expect anything of you! take care of yourself! if they don't forgive you and act like nothing happened when you come back into the world, it's on them, not you! it's so very kind of you if you deign to try and overcome this for the sake of those annoying, awful people, but you don't have to if you don't want to! poor lamb!

tumblr when mental illness makes you need reassurance that people don't hate you: you should work on that. you should learn to compromise. expecting anyone on the other side to expend even a little bit of effort to help you is selfish and horrible. maybe just die actually

(NOTE: THE POINT HERE IS THAT BOTH SIDES DESERVE A DEGREE OF GRACE FROM OTHERS AND BOTH SIDES SHOULD WORK ON THEIR ISSUES. I hate that I have to explain it, but this is the Piss on the Poor website, so...)

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e.��Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

PART 1

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company. 

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands over his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

NEXT PART | PART ONE

MORE

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

[satorusugurugurl]

Spot the Difference

Summary: You claim that you can tell whose who between your boyfriends. They decide to put you to the test.

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, bondage, restraints, blindfold, oral sex (male receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, language

Word Count: 3,868

A/N: just a drabble! 💚

Several benefits come along with dating your best friends. Conversations were easy to have. Things were barely weird or awkward, and you knew each other like the back of your hand, from how you liked your coffee to your favorite snacks and meals. You knew your boyfriend so well, it was easy for you to tell them apart, even when you weren’t looking at them. That’s how close the three of you were.

“There’s no way you can tell them apart without seeing them,” Shoko called out as the four of you sat around the apartment.

“Yes, I can.”

“Both of them are muscular and over 6 feet tall. You think I believe you?”

“I’ll show you!” You grab one of Gojo’s blindfolds off the coffee table with your back turned to the group. “You two go to the kitchen and come back one at a time, and I’ll tell you who is who.”

Your partners were intrigued to see if you could tell them apart without looking at them. So they played along. Satoru was the first to come up behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist, gently squeezing you as he pulled you closer into his chest. While Suguru trailed his hands over your shoulders before gently running up and down your arms before they slid down to interlace with your fingers. The entire time he caressed you, his lips pressed gently against your temple. Once they each had a turn, they were back in their respective seats. You pulled the blindfold, tossing it onto the coffee table, and triumph

“Toru was the first, and Suguru was the second.”

Everyone stared at you long before Shoko scoffed, “I bet you could smell their cologne!” Both Satoru and Suguru exchanged looks with each other. Neither of them was wearing anything remotely close to that.

“Say what you want, but I know my boyfriends.”

Did you really know them? After that night, the duo made it their goal to see if you knew who was who and when your back was turned.

Geto snuck into the shower with you as you washed your face. His hands wrapped around you like Satoru had done the night before. With a grin, you lean back into his chest as you rinse the suds off your face. “Hi, Sugu.” While Satoru crawled into bed with you while you were napping, purposely laying on Suguru’s side, he pulled you close, careful not to say anything as you hummed, rubbing your hand over his arm wrapped around your waist. “Welcome home, Toru.”

They kept their antics up for over a week. Gently touching you from behind, snuggling, calling texting hell, they even switch their body wash and colognes around, and every time you knew who was who without hesitation, it was almost flattering to know you knew both of them so well. Still, it also made them curious to see to what extent you knew them.

Which was how you ended up, blindfolded, hands tied behind your back as you lay on the bed. Your arms were tied to each bed while you spread your legs as wide as possible. Your boyfriend stood at the head of the bed, taking your naked body sprawled out before them.

“Is there an early Christmas present in June?” You squirmed in anticipation, pressing your thighs together as you felt the bed dip as they both crawled near you. “Lucky me!”

“Nah, this is more of an experiment.”

“Oooh, kinky!”

Suguru scoffed, ruffling the top of your head. “Not like that; we wanted to play a guessing game saying that you know us so well.” You cooed, squirming a bit more.

“Still kinky.”

“We’re going to take turns fucking you, and you can guess who’s who by how we feel inside of you,” Satoru whispered in your ear.

“Pfft, easy money. What do I get if I win?”

“Uh, you get to cum.”

“Nah, fuck that, I know you guys have been testing me all week. I think I deserve more than an orgasm as a prize.”

Your partners hum, thinking for a moment before Suguru pulls his hand away from the top of your head. “How about we take you on a trip to Okinawa? I’ll book us at that resort we stayed in before.” Both you and Satoru nodded with excitement.

“Now that’s a reward!”

“A reward you’ll get if you can tell us apart.”

Satoru is the first to move, positioning himself between your legs as he slides the tip of his cock inside. You whine, arching your back as he continues pushing inside of you until he bottoms out. Suguru’s eyes are dark between both his partners, his cock throbbing as he wraps his hand around it, gently stroking it. The white-haired man is breathing, trying to make a sound so you don’t know that it’s him on top of you. But you seem so out of it, the loss of your side to enhancing the pleasure of gently into your cunt. His thrusts are sharp and deep, making sure to hit your g-spot with each drag of his velvety smooth shaft.

You moan lips, parting in a string of whispers as Toru grips your hips and one hand while the other covers his mouth as he fucks into you faster. You’re the only one moaning out as partners try to make it impossible for you to tell who is who. And listening to your moans and your moans alone makes the room hotter.

Your white-haired boyfriend is pulling all the way out before his hips forward. The wet squelching sounds of your pussy, join the sweet whines of your pleasure, making the erotic moment even sexier. While you lose yourself in the sensation of one of your boyfriends fucking into you, you never seem to notice them subtly changing position. Satoru is off to the side, groaning into his hand as Suguru picks up where his boyfriend left off.

The rough change of pace has your mouth falling. Your fingers try to grip the sheets underneath you, but you can’t reach them, so you dig your heels into the mattress, your toes curling. Seeing you lose control over yourself has Suguru covering his mouth with his elbow as his hand gropes your right breast, needing the soft flesh while his thumb rubs circles over your nipple.

“Nnngh!” You whimper, lifting your head, licking your side, searching for someone in the darkness. “Come back, I need you.” You beg into the room at Satoru, who is furiously jerking off at the sight of Suguru slamming his cock so deep into your tight cunt. “Oooh f—god! Fuck me, come back please!”

Satoru moves quietly, putting his cock next to your mouth. You jump at first, shocked by the warmth of the dribbling wet tip, probing at your lips. But you eagerly open your mouth, allowing it to slide in. Subaru dark brows knit together as he groans loudly into his elbow at the sight of Satoru biting down on his hand to prevent himself from moaning.

Both men aren’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The pleasure and eroticism of the whole situation are making their cocks throb as you gag and cry out around both of them as they fuck your pussy and your mouth as hard as they can. Both were chasing their orgasms while dragging you to the edge of your own with them.

Neither of them wants to stop, but they do. You gently tap his leg with your foot. He stops grabbing Satoru by his shoulder, pulling him back enough for his cock to pop out of your mouth. Both pant as you lick your lips, your chest heaving as you giggle breathlessly.

“As fun as this is, I want to hear your voices. So Satoru fuck my throat some more, and Suguru, go faster and harder.” As fast as they stopped, they picked up the pace even faster. They went back to filling both of your pretty wet holes.

Satoru is a whining mess. His cock is shoved down your throat while Sugueu is grabbing your hips fucking into your cervix as hard as he can. God, you were so good to them; you honestly did know them, and if that in itself wasn’t fucking hot, your crying out was even hotter!

“Haaah shit, fuck, you take it so good look how hot you are, sweetheart, choking on my cock. You’re gonna be a good girl. You’re gonna swallow every drop?”

“God, you’re so fucking hot, and you’re so fucking tight. My cock feels so good.” Hissing through his teeth, he brushes with his index finger. “Y-You’re convulsing, gripping my cock so tight, come on baby, you’re so close, cum for us!”

Between the friction and their nasty words, you cum, moaning around Satoru’s cock as you clench and twitch around Suguru’s. Your moans and trembling body have both your boyfriends cumming with you. Statoru’s cock is buried down your throat as his cum slides down it, causing tears to prick your eyes. While Suguru's hips buck faster and harder, ropes of his cum fill to the brim. But he doesn’t stop until his cock is over-sensitive, and he’s spent collapsing on top of you as Satoru pulls out, allowing you to breathe freely.

Swallow the cum; you pull away, gasping down air like it was water. You sigh in relief as Satoru unclasps the restraints around your wrists. The second you’re free, you yank Satoru down to snuggle with you and the still-recovering Suguru. Your hands gently play with both their heads. Fingers twirling around strands of white and black, winning groans of pleasure from both men. Only when Suguru feels like his soul has safely returned to his body does he lift his head to stare into your sleepy, spent eyes.

“How the hell were you able to tell who was who?”

“I just know my boys!” You giggle as he rolls his eyes, resting his head back on your bare breasts. “So, about that resort trip!”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

[ilyrafe]

𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!

word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)

a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!

it’s almost like a sixth sense.

rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved. 

when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.

“where were you? why did you leave me here?”

he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.

even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.

“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.

his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.

“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.

“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.

he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.

“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”

“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”

is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?

“you can read on the bed.”

“you won’t mind the lamp on?”

“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”

you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.

while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.

every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.

sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.

deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.

being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.

when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.

“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.

“it’s almost four.”

“and you’re going to sleep now?”

“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.

(...)

rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.

your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.

he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).

you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.

“go back to sleep.” he whispers.

“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”

“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.

“i’m okay, rafey.”

rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.

“you’re gonna be tired.”

“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”

rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.

“you have insomnia?”

“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”

you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.

after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.

“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”

“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.

“well, i’m just one call away.”

you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.

silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.

he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.

(...)

only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.

rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?

you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.

impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.

“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m studying for my exams.”

“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”

“i’d love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”

“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.

“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.

“y/n, please go to sleep.”

something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.

“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”

before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.

as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.

the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.

he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.

“what are you doing here, rafe?”

“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”

“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”

“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”

“i don’t wanna have sex.”

“i’m not talking about sex.”

oh.

“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”

“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”

you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?

“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”

“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”

it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.

“okay.”

rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.

you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.

the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.

you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.

the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.

“are your parents home?” he asks.

“no, why?”

“so i could have come through the door, huh.”

“yeah.” you laugh.

a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.

rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.

“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.

your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.

thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.

“nothin’. close your eyes.”

you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer. 

why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.

that tried to drown his own sister.

why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?

probably.

(...)

as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.

when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.

the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.

when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.

he didn’t leave?

it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.

“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.

“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”

you laugh.

“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”

“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”

you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.

for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

[feirceangel]

Okay so you’ve written protective/possessive Feyd—what about protective Paul seeing his wife badly hurt or narrowly escaping an attack? I live for the “who did this to you” trope, got me weak at the knees 🥹

I sorta missed the whole wife part, whoops! But I hope you still like it!!

Imagine | Beloved (Paul Atreides)

Word Count: 1,820

Warnings: reader is harassed, I invented an OC to be the antagonist, protective! Paul, hurt/comfort

The halls of Castle Caladan are cold tonight.

Goosebumps are already forming on your arms as you walk through the dark.

Perhaps going for a late night stroll wasn't the best idea, but you just couldn't sleep tonight.

So you stroll instead, peering out of the windows to observe the rain clouds forming.

Castle Caladan has been your home for ages, even though you are not an Atreides. You've lived alongside House Caladan, having come from one of the lesser houses in an attempt to give you a better standing in society.

You're not angry about it.

In fact, you're grateful to live on this oceanic planet. And, you're happy to be alongside your best friend, Paul Atreides.

There weren't any others your age in Castle Caladan, so naturally you sought each other out early on.

Being friends came easily.

Paul has always been sweet, adventurous, friendly - and you are much the same.

Of course, you both had different teachings and priorities, but you always found each other whenever possible.

There was no greater joy than racing through the castle and playing near the waves alongside the boy with dark hair.

And now you're both older.

Life has intruded upon those times of peaceful play and brought forth more schoolings and politics that the young aren't susceptible to.

Although he has a higher standing in society, Paul always manages to remember you, make time for you. He vowed to never abandon you.

And you believe him.

But the subtle glares that Lady Jessica sends your way are not easy to ignore, nor are the signs that others in the castle are uncomfortable with the situation.

You try not to dwell on those things. Because the only thing that matters is being there for Paul. He deserves to have a friend that isn't a mentor or a parental figure.

As you walk though the sleeping palace, your find your mind troubled. Maybe that's why you can't sleep tonight.

Footsteps silent on the stone floor, you arrive before Paul's chambers. You hadn't realized you were walking here. Unconsciously, you sought him out in your time of uncertainty.

Resting your palm on the door, you close your eyes and sigh. You wouldn't disturb him at this hour- you know how bad it would look.

Before you can continue on your way, a voice calls out from the shadows.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

It's a male's voice, one that you wish was unfamiliar.

"I didn't realize I couldn't roam as I please, Aric," you reply comply to the guard who walks closer.

His grin is wolffish, "I didn't realize you were stupid enough to come to him after dark."

"I was not going to disturb him."

"Oh no, I imagine he'd be excited to see you at this late hour."

"I don't like what you're insinuating," you start to walk away, hearing him continue after you.

He is right beside you, “I meant no insult, I assure you.”

“Your assurances are as empty as your head,” you retort, not even giving him a glance.

You’ve never liked Aric, so you see no reason to be civil with him. He’s always been an ass to you, finding any reason to make your life a bit more miserable.

“That was uncalled for,” he growls, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away.

You fix him with an unimpressed stare.

“What do you want, Aric? It seems like you’re always following me,” you say calmly as he releases you.

He regains his composure, “I want you.”

You blink at him.

“I’m serious, I want you to stop fawning over Paul and turn to me instead,” his whisper is harsh and grating to your ears. “Be my wife. You’re of age now and I know you have no other offers.”

You can’t help but scoff. Stepping back from him, you cross your arms, “I do not fawn over Paul, and I am certainly not fond of you. I will do is both a favour and pretend you never asked.”

Rage lights up his features, his hand forming a fist at his side.

“I could give you everything you could ask for.”

“And you would take everything from me in the meantime. I know you, Aric. You are not kind,” you hiss, stepping back while he steps forward.

“Kindness gets you nowhere in this life.”

You shake your head, “Your actions in this life determine the outcome. And so far your actions are untoward. Cornering me at this time of night?”

“Paul will never marry you, you know,” he changes tactics.

You roll your eyes, “Admit defeat, Aric. I will never be yours.”

Suddenly, he is right in your face, sneering down at you, “I can take what I want. Like you said, it’s late, no one is here.”

“I will not let you.”

He laughs, grabbing your arm in a bruising grip once again. He wrenches you forward but you twist out of his grip and shove him into the wall.

He groans and recovers quickly, shoving you violently. You hit a corner and collapse on the ground, your arm dripping crimson.

Infuriated, you stand and glare at the smug bastard.

“Leave now,” you command him, using the Voice. You’re not a master at it, by any means, but you’re trained enough to get this brute to back down.

He leaves without a word, and you realize that you should have done that right away.

You grasp your arm and walk back to your chambers. Luckily, the wound isn’t deep and you’re finally able to sleep.

~~~

The next day commences as normal.

That is, until Paul appears next to you as you walk down the beach.

“I was looking for you,” he grins as he approaches.

His smile could brighten the darkest corner of space. His eyes are piercing and perceptive, you fear you could drown in their depths.

You smile back at him, “You found me.”

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, has everything been alright?”

That’s Paul, always so considerate of you and your wellbeing. The reminder of his care brings a softer smile to your face.

“I’m fine, just been tired lately.”

“Why?”

“Sleep’s been evading me,” you chuckle, bending to pick up a stone near your feet. “I’ll catch it eventually.”

A sudden tension fills the air, bringing you upright immediately. You look at Paul and see his gaze fixed on your bandaged arm.

“What happened?” He asks, concern dripping from his words like rain.

You move your arm from his direct view, “Nothing, it was an accident.”

His eyes flicker up to yours.

“You’re lying.”

You curse his Bene Gesserit training which makes it so easy for him to read you.

“I told you it’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, you would’ve already launched into how it happened,” he points out. “Like that time you scraped your knee when you tripped down the stairs.”

You groan at the reminder, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

“Tell me what happened,” he reaches out to gently take your arm in his hands.

He examines the clean bandage before beginning to unwrap it. You shake your head but his eyes are pleading.

“Please.”

You sigh, unable to resist. He doesn’t even need to use the Voice on you, he controls you with his words, his eyes, his hands. You would give him everything if he simply asked for it.

He’d do the same for you.

“It was Aric,” you say, as Paul stares at the small cut on your bruised arm. “He got angry that I would never marry him in a million years.”

Paul’s expression goes dark, any mirth he might have had leaving him in an instant.

“Aric asked you to wed him?”

You nod.

“Then he did this?”

“Pushed me into the wall,” you confess. “I had ti use the Voice to get him to leave.”

You watch as Paul tenderly presses his lips to your arm, the contact warm and sweet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You can’t be with me all the time, silly.”

He shakes his dark hair, “I promise, he won’t do this to you ever again.”

“How-“

Paul turns in a flurry, stalking back towards the castle. You race after him, suddenly unsure.

You knew you shouldn’t have told him what happened. This isn’t the Paul you know, this is someone else.

“Paul!” You shout as you run after him.

He’s too fast, storming to where Aric stands in the hall. Before Aric even notices his presence, Paul has punched him clear across the face.

Stunned, Aric stumbles back with a curse.

Paul doesn’t give him time to recover, kneeing him in the stomach so that he bends over in pain. You watch as Paul kicks him down to the ground, standing over him with a furious expression.

“I heard what you did last night, Aric.”

Aric groans in response.

Paul continues, “I know you tried to harm my beloved, tried to belittle her. Did you think you wouldn’t be punished?”

“Paul, I think he’s learnt his lesson,” you try to calm him.

“No, no he hasn’t.”

Paul watches as Aric rises to his feet, mouth bloodied.

“I should’ve known that whore would snitch.”

You wince, not at the intended insult, but at the fury blazing in Paul’s eyes. This isn’t going to end well.

“Stop talking,” Paul uses the Voice, before punching him once again.

“Get on your knees.”

You watch as Aric drops to the floor.

“Beg for her forgiveness and I’ll let you walk away,” Paul says casually. “If you don’t, I think you know what’ll happen.”

Watching with a flicker of amusement, you incline your head, “Go on.”

Aric grits his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t good enough,” Paul seethes, “Do it better!”

Aric slams his head on the floor, “Please, please, don’t let him kill me. I won’t ever speak to you again!”

“I know you won’t,” you nod at Paul. “I think all is well now.”

“Get up Aric,” Paul commands. “I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”

Aric nods and retreats with a burning face.

You turn to Paul, crossing your arms, “Beloved, huh?”

He rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Paul, hearing you call me that fills my heart to the brim. Your my beloved as well, you know.”

Paul bridges the space between you, clasping the back of your head and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t think I could ever be without you. Even the thought of someone trying to take you from me, turn you against me…”

“Don’t worry, Paul,” you ghost your lips across his. “That will never happen, not as long as I have breath in my lungs.”

He wraps his arms around you, “I’ll cherish you always, protect you always.”

“I know.”

[A/n - It’s my first time writing Paul so I hope I did ok!]

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[hotshotsxyz]

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can��t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ monster trio & kissing

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, fluff?, what constitutes as fluff idk girl, established relationship w/ zoro and sanji, luffy is a secret third thing i guess?, stray 'kms' threat in sanji's part

from vyon. big up to alex turner and no. 1 party anthem; luffy's is marginally longer because he's my most specialiest boy and he deserves special treatment and i struggled way too hard with characterising sanji in a relationship aside from all the embarrassing simping stuff, he's just amazingly pathetic, i don't wna talk about it, the main star here is luffy

like a lot of other things, kissing comes easy to luffy. though he's never had any couples around him as he grew up, he's been on enough adventures to catch a number of couples share a few quick pecks here and there. sabo's once mentioned kissing as well— a sort of distant memory that comes back when your lips first land on his cheek on your supposed first date. it might be sabo's fault, or his parents, that luffy believes kissing to be bleugh before he's tried it. though in sabo's defence, there wasn't a child in the world that would want to see their parents kissing. still, it isn't as bad as sabo made it out to be, luffy thinks as his wide–eyed gaze follows you back onto the sunny. there's something in the shape of your lips sunburnt onto his cheek, crisp just underneath the scar he'd gotten as a child.

the old scar is a smudge between a burning hypersensitivity and a cold unfeeling stretch of skin; your lips brush against the scar and it tingles itself into simultaneous death and rebirth. burning, melting— luffy presses a hand against his cheek and feels full. then his lips pull into a grin and the burn of your lips spreads out, pushing through every fold of skin as his hand reaches out for the sunny and he flings himself into the air, allowing the feeling to crawl through sinew.

luffy is no stranger to touching— he does it in painstaking excess, but there's a childhood teaching in him that kissing is not the same as touching. he stares at nami for a while, wondering if the instinct to feel her is the same as it is for you; she gets annoyed by his unwavering stare and swats at his head. he decides it's a no.

kissing is meant to be con... consumption? conservative— constellation? no, it's one of those 'c' words that he doesn't really remember, but he knows that he's supposed to ask you if you want him to kiss you. he doesn't understand the idea of waiting for permission but he'd really hate it if you were grossed out, like ace once told him would happen if kissing happened unconventionally(?) (that's not right he thinks), so he asks you one day.

as simple as he gets, luffy comes up to you and asks. "do you want me to kiss you?"

you splutter in shock and you hear movements on the deck still. luffy thinks he'd maybe forgotten something that the people in foosa village taught him but he waits for you to answer anyways. it doesn't come because sanji is aiming a kick at his head and shouting at him about the delicate intricacies of romance and courting. through all the dizzying flips of colour as he jumped away from sanji's attack, a kaleidoscope of the things he loves the most (the sea, his ship, his crew) in his eyes, he sees the hesitant embarrassment that colours your cheeks in. the burn that you've placed in him sparking up a fuse between the two of you at the slip of his tongue against gums and he laughs, swinging away and crash landing on whatever usopp was building out of sticks.

you return to him at a more private time, slip up next to him wordlessly— he doesn't say anything so you fear that he'd forgotten.

"do you still mean it?" your shoulder knocks against his.

"mean what?"

you turn to look at him, your eyes flickering down. "when you asked if i wanted you to kiss me."

that gets his attention, his head turns to you with a flexibility only he has— his eyes blinking at you carefully. "i did, did you make up your mind?" his lips pulled up into a grin, "you want me to kiss you now?"

you wish he had a less abrasive way of asking, but the answer is the same regardless. you nod and luffy takes.

you're not sure what you're expecting at this point. you know how luffy is about psychical touch, he's no stranger to it— everything he's ever known, he's ran his hands over. the amount of times you've been knocked down to his reckless habit of flinging himself into your back, you expect the same thing here.

luffy inspects you for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling down before twitching into a pout, "it's not gonna hurt, silly, why'd you look like that?" he shifts his body to face yours, his knees knocking against yours as he pushes his face closer.

then, his lips stretch outwards— his damn devil fruit— and it's so comical how his puckered lips pulled towards you to press gently against your cheek that you're laughing when it snaps back into place. luffy laughs along with you for a moment. a gooey comfort strained inside of you, your hands pressed against his cheeks— you find a simple joy in pulling his face, and then you find a better joy in leaning yourself closer to press your lips against his.

you're giving so luffy takes. he shifts onto his knees for better leverage to lean into you— the movements are stiff and careless. he's less kissing you and more just pushing his face into yours but you can feel the strain of his smile against your lips so no matter. being luffy, he pushes and he pushes greedily until your hands move from his face to the deck to keep yourself from falling.

it's so stupid how, even though this sucks, you want to make an occupation of kissing him.

it becomes a habit for him to kiss you no matter how far away you are by taking advantage of his devil fruit. eventually, he does get better; you realise why after a pointed comment from robin that hints to the fact that he'd asked her for kissing tips.

zoro is all lingering touch, heated spaces, and fizzling affection. it's not often that he gives you the pleasure of being skin close with him— not that you mind. he's eye candy enough, grunting and sweating in a handstand with barbells methodically placed on his feet and boxes of miscellaneous supplies for added weight. he's never been the type to need the world in his life; everything he's done has always been to prove a sick something to himself, to his strength.

his devotion is similar. there's no place for prying eyes in your relationship when there's you, the fulfilling adoration, and zoro. sometimes, there is also his swords and other times, there is an overwhelming luffy (who knows no boundaries).

he's always more forgiving with you, but he draws the line at excessive pda and you respect that boundary. fleeting contact has never been zoro's strong suit, he's an all or nothing soldier so when it comes to kissing, he likes the ready privacy that allows him to indulge. so he ignores the pointed staring, how you've made yourself comfortable on the benches in the crow's nest; your body sprawled out following the curve of the seats as your face turns red from how you have your head hanging off the cushioned planks.

he grunted, turning his head back down to the floor before he loses his balance.

you start counting, "one, two, three." he's well past those measly numbers but he lets you do as you please. "four, five, one, three, sixty–five, twelve, two, negative five, twenty, fourteen, nine—"

he folds his legs down against his chest, letting the weights fall to the floor with a thud. "alright," he straightened up, "you've made your point." an unimpressed look crosses his face.

your lips curled up into a grin and then you pull yourself up, throwing his towel at him. he takes the hit to the face and presses his hand over the fabric to wipe away the sweat and falls next to you, sliding his body down for his head to lay on your thigh.

"ewwww," your face scrunched up, "you're sticking to me." his hair is clinging to his forehead, interrupted strokes of green paint against his temple.

"shut it."

a laugh is quiet on your lips as zoro falls into the comfort of the moment, his eye closing. you trace over his face and then you crane yourself down, ignoring the ache in your spine and neck, your lips fall onto his forehead, "one." you counted. then onto the space between his furrowed brows, "two," his nose, "three". over his eye, "four." you pull back just in time to feel his lashes scratch over your lips.

a heavy judgement in his eye, stern and serious— he curls an arm up to press against your nape and pulls you down. there's a weight that's tethering you to the moment in the curves of his arm and a light–headedness that makes the stillness burst at the seams as zoro ignites everything alive. it's a slow and careful thing, how his head rises to meets yours and then how it tilts so he can slide his lips onto yours.

his arm drags across your neck until you feel moisture in the contour of his calloused hand, fingers pushes into your hair as zoro leans back from your lips, humming. "five." he says, a whisper of a smirk on his lips. a flicker of tender violence in how he fists your hair at its base and pulls your head back to give himself access to your neck. all or nothing, you're reminded, he drags this kind of simple affection into long, several moments.

he continues counting, picking up where you left off until you both hear luffy calling for zoro to help him fish and your relationship mellows back down, protected in loud secrecy.

there's always a strange line to tread when it comes to sharing intimacy with sanji. he's the quickest to melt when it's passing pecks, a second touch of your chapped lips against his cheek.

it depends on the atmosphere of the moment. just as quick as you can puppeteer him to pliant stuttering, sanji is more than capable of wearing you down to your barest core with his appreciative methodical gestures.

what everyone else is most familiar with are the fast moments of sanji softening when you offhandedly touch him. a simple smile on your lips as he gracefully sets your plate down in front of you, ease in the way your head turns to face him and you give his cheek a grateful peck, a quick kiss against his lips when you're splitting ways upon docking on a new island. it's enough of a spectacle that luffy makes the same laughing racket when you kiss sanji casually to see him twirl with new founded energy and hearts in his eyes; that zoro has a trademarked insult ready on his lips whenever it happens; that nami owns a jar that sanji has to put money into whenever he starts his weird dance.

it's almost easy to forget how sanji reciprocates. love has always been a second language to him— it's burrowed in his every unhurried moment when cooking, it's a burn that drove an abscess in him when he was younger, it's straightened postures and the clean lines of his stature for every perverted thought that plagues him. his every move carries an echo, a drumming confession that rings i love you, i love you, i love you until the words are bleeding raw into each other and you feel undeserving in his passion that stinks of cigarette smoke.

the disturbance of the lit end against a clear canvas of blue skies, his arms folded over the handrails of the sunny, the strokes of grey smoke that taints the pristine clouds that rest languidly; a rigid lock on his features until you're brought to his attention with your shoes clicking against the deck. his face shifts into something more delicate— full of feeling that's different from his usual excitable manner.

"bad for you," you begin with a light–hearted scold, plucking the cigarette away from his lips. he turns to you, his back against the handrails.

his restless hands search for touch and find an answering comfort on your skin, turning up and down over the shape of your hips until his thumbs dig into the waistband of your bottoms. "don't," he pleads, "you know it kills me when you're disappointed."

your lips turn upwards, "should i cry?"

"please." his voice wavers between a weak warning and aching desperation as his head falls onto your shoulder, pulling you closer.

the smell of smoke is cauterised into his skin— you don't mind it and you don't mind him smoking, but you think it's funny to act like you do if it has sanji like this. his hair scratches against your skin, tickling an itch he'd placed in you long ago and you thread your straying hand into the strands as his fingers press demandingly into your hips. following your motion, sanji turns his head to look up at you.

a furrow in his brows and a plea in his eyes.

"you know i'm teasing," you lean down, pressing a kiss against his lips as an attempt to appease him, "but you know i'll have to kill myself if chopper comes and redirects his disappointment at me again." you sigh, weary at just the topic. "i mean seriously, he looks at me like i'm the one shoving cigarettes into your mouth and forcing you to inhale."

sanji tries to focus on your words but your lips have left him cold when you pull away; suddenly, being skin to skin isn't enough and he's trying to placate the greed that is curdling inside of him. it works for the better half of a second, his thumbs pull out of your waistband and his arms wrapped around you, one around your waist and the other dressed against your back.

he ducks his head down and settles his craving.

sanji is gentle all around, careful to make even his affections palatable. he starts slow, testing waters that he's skinny dipped in previously and when he finds no rejection, he moves in deeper. he's a lifelong hunger that can never hope to be satiated when close to you, unwavering in a promise that has wedding bells ringing deep in your bones.

there's a new memory of a life he wishes for you, brought to life and fed by the taste of you. for now, he has to pull away as the ship rocks into a tempestuous sea and panicked feet disrupt the echo of the bells. nami starts to shout orders. he pulls away. his heart stutters in time with the unpredictable storm. sanji trips over his feet on his way to pull up the sails and he starts twirling when it makes you laugh.