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lambilegs · 2 days ago

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does it happen in a season? (part four: SUMMER - iii)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter: (SUMMER ii)

soundtrack: seasons - wave to earth; video games - lana del rey; well I wonder - the smiths; good old-fashioned loverboy - queen; black is the colour - cara dillon; my love mine all mine - mitski; there is a light that never goes out - the smiths

(contains: 21K words, final part of the fic ;-;, college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, discussions of trauma, depictions of anxiety, ptsd and hoarding, familial strain and issues, internalized homophobia, graphic sexual content, reader receiving strap, lee receiving oral, switchy lee + reader, kinks include: dirty talk, spanking, breeding (lee thinking about it + wishing the strap could be a real body part of hers), slight humiliation, reader is called a "good girl," reader's body referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "cunt," "tits," "breasts," "clit")

important note about sexual content: the start of sexual content will be marked by ✩ (bolded green-coloured star) and the end of it will be marked by ✩ (bolded red-coloured star). minors, and anyone who doesn't desire to read nsfw content, please use these markers in order to skip nsfw content.

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SUMMER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

it takes lee about three weeks before she seats the two of you on her bed, ready to tell you everything. before the argument, she was certain that she would barely speak to you about her mother for what would most likely be several more months. and she never imagined that if she did confide in you, it’d be through the process of sharing everything at once. if it had been up to her, she’d have most likely continued just as she was before – dropping a random assortment of details and information from time to time, and hoping you one day can put it all together on your own. but, the hard words exchanged between you two had proven to her that that way of doing things wasn’t beneficial. at least not anymore.

besides, upon some self-reflection, she’s realized that figuring it out on your own isn’t exactly a fair thing to expect of you. especially considering that everytime she had shared something with you these past few months, there was always a tug of resistance she gave into, which would pull her back from divulging anything too revealing. which probably made it impossible for you to truly piece together any of this on your own.

and so, it seemed that details, and the act of unveiling them, were necessary steps lee had to take all on her own in order for you to truly understand this part of her. but, to play such an active role like that felt overbearing, even if it were for her own secrets.

but, ever since you had cried, and spoken of your hurt while lee had knelt by your bed, feeling like she was doing confession, she was gnawed with the knowledge of how little you really know. before, she had been content with ignoring the fact that her opening up was rare and far in between. but, hearing the hitches in your breath, seeing the way you crumbled – it forced to the forefront of her mind that she had known you for nearly a year, and you knew barely anything about her past. at least, when it came to the things that really mattered. and usually, that kind of stuff didn’t bother lee. there had been several people in her life who she knew longterm and still shared virtually nothing with. but, with you, it feels wrong. not because you two are partners, but because the only reason you two had reached this point was because of trust and sharing. and lee didn’t want to break that. she couldn’t. not after the removal of sharing had damaged one bond in her life already.

a bond that she tentatively brings up on a thursday afternoon. it feels like winter again, the stormy clouds of late july shadowing her bedroom with a grey light. but, your skin, brushing against hers, is warm, and she uses that to anchor herself when she says, “I’m ready to talk to you. about it all.”

lee has never been one for words – of that, she is certain. she spent the first decade of her life often lapsing into days or weeks of silence, and even as an adult, she finds herself preferring to avoid conversation as best as she can. lest for a few exceptions.

it makes it particularly difficult in moments like these. where her words carry a weight she can’t ignore, where they possess the sole responsibility to speak on something important. it provides her with a newfound pressure that’s a bit heavier than the already tense relationship she has with speaking. her words are all she has now, really. she knows her words will never fully convey what she’s felt all these years. but, at least it’s a good step.

“like you know, it’s always just been my mom and I. she was, um… cut off. when I was born. because she had me out of wedlock.” her stomach churns in guilt at exposing her mom’s secret like this. she’s just as private as lee is, if not even moreso.

“because of that, she became more religious, more worried over the idea of sinning. her family reached out years later, but she refused to see them and let them visit. because she had become less trusting. towards the world, everyone. she preferred it’d be just her and I. I think she was scared someone would hurt us again.” growing up, it was easy to take notice of how alone her mother was. barely any friends, no dates, no social outings. usually, the reasons lee had to be babysat were purely aligned to her mom’s working hours, rather than anything social or purely enjoyable. lee and work were really the only things her mom seemed to center her life on. as a kid, lee leaned into the attention and affection, her mom her only friend. but, the older she got, the more stifling it was to be the person whose existence her mother’s life revolved around. now that she’s moved away, that feeling has simmered, but as lee recounts these things to you, she can’t help but feel a sudden tightening of guilt in her stomach. there was so much her mom sacrificed for her, so much she had lost and kept pushed away. both for the sake of protecting the two of them and because it seemed like nothing else truly mattered all that much to her. it’s almost like she had been content to forgo her identity if it meant being a mother.

but, the older she got, the more aware lee became about the lack. she never got to be familiar with the feeling of several relatives in a warm home. she never had anyone to run to when she fought with her mom. there was never anyone there to reveal more about her mom. anything ruth harker decided to hide remained hidden, for she was all lee could depend on to know her own mother.

keeping her eyes pinned to the floor, she means to continue. but, her chest suddenly feels gripped with an invisible hand, the pressure surging in making her swallow a heavy breath, fingers tightening against her knees. her lips part and she shuts her eyes, trying to inhale and release steadying breaths to release the tension eating away at her.

in an instant, your hand, warm and grounding, is on her lower back, rubbing easy circles. “take your time.”

she sucks in a sharp breath, then forces the words out in a quiet slew. she just wants it over, to be done with and spat out. “when I was nine, something happened. I don’t know what, I…” she closes her eyes, frustration running through her body. she’s always hated unsolved mysteries, to not know the answer to something, for the questions to be too far from her grasp to truly conclude. but, of all the unknowns in the world, this is the one that haunts her the most. “all I know is that a car came to our house. and people had come before, yes, people who knew it was just us. but, this was the first time something…” she pauses to clear her throat, feeling it tighten as the dread of the memory curls and twists in her relentlessly. “something actually happened. I don’t know what, she’s never told me. and the entire night is hard for me to remember. but, it was bad enough that she called the police.” her lips purse tightly together, and her nails dig harder into her skin. it helps in a way, drawing her back to the present and out of the endless loop she’s spent too many years in, trying again and again to reach out for what happened that night. if she heard or saw anything.

“after that, my mom was different. she became less direct. more like… I don’t know. a shadow.” her voice cracks on the last word and she winces. “she became more lost, and it got worse the older I got. and she started hoarding.” she shifts, a feeling of disgust churning in her stomach at remembering the filth of her mother’s home when she had last visited. she knows it’s not her mom’s fault. she knows that better than anyone. but, she can’t help it. she hates what their home has become, she can barely look at it without feeling dread creep into her.

she can’t bear to look at you. it’s odd, because it’s out of her control, what’s happened to her home. but, it’s almost like she’s so tethered to her mom, and the space they raised each other in, that she can’t help but feel partially responsible. especially considering the fact that maybe if things had been different. maybe if she had heard something sooner, or had been more aware of her surroundings, what happened on january thirteenth wouldn’t have happened. maybe she could’ve saved her mother, her family, her home. broken as it was already, at least it wasn’t destitute before that day.

“she became more paranoid, too. she already didn’t really trust anyone, but what happened made it worse. she clung onto me. a lot. maybe she was scared something would happen again.” she pauses to gulp, the possibility hanging off her tongue filling her mind with a dark cloud, expanding and filling her mind with a dizzying panic. “the older I got, and the more I wanted to have some space, the worse she got. more hoarding, more worrying, more paranoia.” a pierce of guilt stabs through her, and she rushes to add, “I know it’s not her fault. but, between the hoarding, her worries and control, the religious stuff, it became too much. as soon as I graduated, I left." she can't even say with total certainty that her mom's faith is fully in tact anymore, a topic she often wonders about. if her mom, after all the things she's been through, truly rests her hope in god, or just stays with him out of comfort or fear for what will happen if she don't.

she sighs. she finished faster than she thought. but, it hasn’t eased the shame spreading through lee, aching and curling in all the wrong spots. she feels despicable, admitting to having left her mom after all that happened. and she is, isn’t she? she doesn’t even know what her mom went through, the horrors she dealt with that night. and still, she left her. still, she moved to an entirely different state even though she knew her mother would refuse to ever leave. because she was so selfish as to want to escape just for herself. even if it meant her mom was going to be left back, all alone, with no one to protect her anymore. and maybe it was wrong of her to seek protection in lee, she doesn’t know. but, still, lee was a daughter before she was anything else in the world. that meant something to her, meant something to the woman who raised her. she could’ve at least returned the protection her mother had bestowed upon her for years. and she did – she tried, all throughout her teenage years, to do so. working more shifts than any of her peers so that her mom wouldn’t have to undergo the struggle of heading to work. being the one to take care of her mother’s eating and sleeping habits. letting her mom hold her at night even when all she wanted was to be alone. she had tried.

but, what does it matter if she ran away, anyways? and if she’s most likely going to continue to stay away. it doesn’t change the fact that she’s now physically abandoning her mother. and sure, maybe her mom is the one who left first, in more ways than one. but, lee should’ve stayed to anchor her. she should have.

she’s tense, her body stiff, bracing itself for your contempt, your disapproval.

“why does she hoard?”

lee flinches at the sound of your voice. once the question gets absorbed in her mind, she clears her throat, trying to remain levelled. “I don’t know. my guesses are to get back to how things were before what happened, or to maybe have a feeling of control.” she knows her mother wouldn’t like being pitied, but she can’t help the feeling from worming its way through her, throbbing and potent. “she won’t tell me. she doesn’t tell me anything, really. about what happened that night, how it affected her.” her teeth clench so hard that a blast of pain stabs through her jaw. “I… I hate that she doesn’t. I think she wants to protect me, but… it’s just made things worse.”

the avoidance, the secrecy – it’s the reason why this wedge between them exists. yeah, other stuff, like her paranoia and the religion carved the path and buried the first bouts of guilt and shame, but ultimately, it was the lack of understanding that set it all into stone. lee never got to find out what happened, and so, she never knew what her mom needed or how to help her. and so, she was forced to reckon with the changes of her mother, with neither of them prepared or in grasp of the knowledge needed to understand them.

lee flinches when she feels you kiss her shoulder, and she hates herself for it, but she shifts away from you. “I don’t… I can’t.” she feels the same way as she did in the subway with you, stifled and mind faltering from all she’s saying. and you touching her is only making her feel more overwhelmed. her mind feels like it’s on overrun, crumbling under the racing thoughts.

“okay, okay.”

she keeps her distance on the bed, nails digging in so hard her thighs are starting to ache. anything to distract herself.

“lee, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that happened to you and your mom. it’s terrible that she went through that, and that it caused so much damage. lee, I…” you pause to suck in a sharp breath, and lee wishes she could read your mind to know if this has burdened you at all. “I’m so sorry.”

your tone is soft, and lee can imagine how you look right now – concerned, worried. it just adds to her discomfort. it makes her feel pitied, and right now, she isn’t the one who deserves that. her mother does. and you sympathizing with her just drags to her conscience that this situation is one worth sympathizing with. which, logically, she knows it is. she would also feel concerned if someone she cared for told such a story. but, to face another person’s sympathy head on, to deal with it outside of the rationality of just identifying it as a concerning, to have another person’s worried reaction be thrusted at her like this – it makes her stomach churn. she’d rather forget it all. but, hearing your gentle words, feeling your light touch, it just reminds her of how bad it all is. and that’s something she usually tries to ignore, for she can barely handle acknowledging it. both in general, and how bad it is for herself specifically. she doesn’t like thinking of herself as a victim of something, but when you talk to her like that, she feels that way – like something terrible happened to her. and that makes it harder to ignore the weight of it all.

“I…” she chokes on the word, tears beginning to spill out. fuck, this is the last thing she wanted. she lifts her hands to her face, covering her wet cheeks. she wishes the ground could just swallow her whole. the last thing she wanted was to deliver this in any way that wasn’t fast, to-the-point and quickly done with. she feels like a child again. just as lost, just as unsteady in grasping her emotions or stopping them from overflowing.

“you what?” and now, your voice is shaky too. but, lee can’t focus on that now. she can’t focus on anything.

“I wish things were different. I wish my mom and I were different.” her words tremble as she speaks, littered with small, weak sobs she can’t hold in. they sound so squeaky, so meek. lee didn’t want it to happen this way, she wanted to be in control during this.

but, she can’t stop crying. her palms are moist with the tears, her mouth salty and wet. her and her mom will never get better. and that’s what hurts the most. that no matter how many christmas trees lee puts up with her, no matter how often she calls, no matter how many times lee plays pretend, there’ll always exist this strain now. it’s binding, and it’ll always be like this. forever shifted from what they once had.

she wipes her wrist at her nose, sloppy and dripping into her mouth. she hates being in this state. it’s been hard enough crying in front of you the first two times, but this feels less quiet, less calm – the bubbling hiccups, the shaking of her body, the way her nose can’t stop running. it feels so much more messy, completely and utterly ripped out of her control and stabilization. she doesn’t like this feeling, doesn’t want to feel out of control. but, this no longer feels like a mere sting of hurt or sadness. this is a tight, choking sort of regret and devastation surging through her body. maybe this is why people say to not repress things. lee did, and now that it’s unravelled within her, she feels as though she’ll never be the same again with how much it’s eating at her from the inside out, ripping every bit of flesh and bone of her until she’s a crumbled mess.

if the suppression didn’t work in her favour, maybe the intentional isolating wouldn’t either. at least not this time, when things had reached this level.

just to at least try, lee mutters, her breaths squeezing and high, “please… I need…” she can’t even finish, just leaning in your direction.

you clutch onto her immediately, almost as though you needed this as badly as her – though, lee can’t guess if that’s true for the life of her. she’s been so caught up in her own thoughts she nearly forgot she wasn’t alone. she’s not sure if that’s selfish. but, maybe just tonight, she can let herself be a little selfish. she doesn’t think you’ll mind.

you two say nothing else for the remainder of the evening, remaining in that position until lee falls asleep, body sagged and depleted, with her face pressed into the safety of your neck.

maybe this is why her mom always held her. it’s a bit easier to pretend things are okay when all you can feel is the weight of someone else against you.

–

when you wake up alone in lee’s bed, you’re immediately shooting up, concern twisting in your stomach. you turn her alarm clock to you. it’s 6:33AM. she’s probably on one of her runs. that makes you feel a bit more relieved, though the knot in your stomach remains wrapped tightly. why would she go on a run after all that happened last night? couldn’t she ever give herself a break?

you flop back onto her bed, massaging your temple. lee had meekly asked you to spend the night, requesting that you two just lie in silence. in that moment, you would’ve quieted the entire world for her.

after she had fallen asleep, her face so soft and tear-streaked, you had wept quietly next to her, body aching with all she had told you. you still feel it, really. you had always known lee went through something, but never would’ve guessed this of all things. you went in knowing this much – lee has a controlling mom who is religious and not doing well, lee hates going back home, lee’s mom was cut off. all those things had been delivered by lee rather straightforwardly, so you knew whatever she had to be keeping from you regarding her mother was something a bit different from those things, a bit harder to swallow. part of you had been anticipating that the secret in question would encapsulate the usual trajectory most people faced – a relationship that was strained due to differences that revealed themselves in adulthood, and the harsh fights ignited by that, the wounds that still can’t be healed. but, a night with the police called, a mother becoming a stranger, lee having to take care of that mother for years. you hadn’t expected those things. and it had shaken you more than you expected.

you had never seen her so utterly despaired, so entirely hopeless and devastated. the way her body moved as she sobbed looked so unnatural to lee – lee, who is always so poised and stiff and straight. lee, your girlfriend who is always steady and prepared for anything, looked like her entire world was shattered last night. it made you feel so stupid, so confused, because you didn’t know how to handle a version of lee this distraught, this twisted and wracked by her emotions.

how she kept her shit together for this long, you don’t even know. a night she can’t remember the contents of, a mother who may have been harmed in ways she isn’t even certain of, a relationship that became filled with estrangement and unexplainable behaviours. it’s something almost out of fiction. most people you know are aware of exactly why and how their family’s dynamics are fucked up. but, lee doesn’t even know what the fuck happened to her family. she’s been dragged and entrapped in a black hole of lost memories and secrets for over a decade now. you couldn’t handle such a thing. it’d haunt you every fucking day.

and maybe it does with lee.

you shakily tuck the blanket up to your chest, trying to calm yourself down. you need to keep your shit together. you can’t let her trauma fuck you up so much that she spends the morning comforting you when she’s the one who needs it. especially after she’s spent enough years taking care of someone else.

but, that someone else is her mother. of course lee took care of her.

precious lee, everlastingly good lee.

and speaking of her mother, the revelation of what’s happened has left you with just as many questions as lee. how does her mother act now? what does the haze lee spoke of entail? how often does she seem grounded and real, and how often is she a half-present stranger to lee? the questions do nothing to quell your sense of unease and shock at all that lee has told you. you’ve never met someone whose parent became a shell of themself, whose ongoings of their own home are so unknown they don’t even know what aroused such a change. the gaps and holes of the situation gnaw at you, with each question bringing a wave of secondhand anxiety, discomfort and curiosity. it makes your stomach turn – what happened to lee’s mom to cause all of this?

the possibilities make you nauseated with the range of brutality your mind skims along. and you’re just a stranger to lee’s mom. how must lee feel?

when the front door creaks open a half hour lately, you yank the blanket off, rushing to meet lee in the kitchen.

she’s in a t-shirt and jogging pants, panting lightly. when she spots you, she quietly takes off her headphones and sets her walkman on the counter. “hey.”

“hi.” you want to hold her so bad, protect her from everything bad in the world. but, you know better. lee doesn’t need protection, she’s more than capable. but, still, if there was a way to guarantee she never had to feel another ounce of pain, you’d gladly make any sacrifice necessary for it.

you resist touching her, the memory of how she recoiled last night still fresh. it had stung, but you reminded yourself it was only a testimony to the great pain she was in. it wasn’t fair to dictate her lack of desire for touch as being anything but.

but, not touching means you two stand there awkwardly for a few moments, simply staring.

lee breaks it first, eyes darting to the ground and remaining there. “I just needed to clear my head. sorry I didn’t wake you before leaving.”

“no, no, it’s okay!” you rush to reassure, wincing at how your voice flicks to a higher pitch. “seriously, it’s okay, I know you probably needed that.”

“you don’t need to make leniencies for me just because of last night. it’s okay if you’re upset.”

you frown. “I’m not, lee. I’m not excusing it just because of last night, I understand it because of last night. that’s not cutting you slack, it’s just acknowledging you went through something hard.”

her jaw clenches. “but, I don’t want things to be different now.”

“they’re not,” you say with a shake of your hand. it feels like a lie, considering this morning definitely feels different to any other you two have shared – more tender, more sensitive to how you react or behave. but, you don’t expect it’ll remain like this forever, nor that any permanent, strong changes will happen. so, things really won’t be different. . and even if you do make a few adjustments to try to avoid reminding her of her trauma, it’s not such a big difference, is it? it’s understandable, you don’t want to yank her back into such a dark place. “I just mean that, you know, you had a rough night, and because of that, things may not go as smoothly this morning as they usually do. but, I get it, you’re drained and it’s understandable it’d cause, you know, some changes to our routine today.”

lee breathes in a deep breath, her fingers rolled into tight fists. “I don’t want you to expect changes, though. I don’t want you to just let things slide because you pity me.”

“I don’t pity you, lee.” your voice nearly cracks, beginning to weaken under the lack of sleep and the sense of helplessness beginning to creep in you. “I just feel for you, and I’m sorry for all that happened. and I know bringing it all up last night must’ve been a lot, so I know things may be a bit different today because of how draining it was, and–”

“you don’t need to do all that.” her voice is firm, and still, she doesn’t look at you.

a sharp scoff flies from your lips. you regret it immediately, knowing she doesn’t deserve your anger right now. but, before this gets worse, you say, “fine, okay,” then turn, heading into the bathroom.

when you’re brushing your teeth, on the brink of tears, a knock comes to the door.

“it’s occupied,” you say, words muffled from the froth in your mouth. for once, you don’t want to talk to her.

lee sighs on the other end. “I know. can I come in?”

“later, lee.”

“okay.” the word sounds forced, hardened by an intentional push. you can tell she wants to stay.

after spending twenty minutes sitting on the toilet, trying to gather up and straighten your emotions into something more orderly than an overtired, blubbering mess, you head into the living room.

lee is standing by the tree, carefully re-arranging one of the ornaments. when it drops to the table’s surface, she bites her lip, tenderly cradling it up and hooking it back on. the sight only makes you feel even more sensitive to tears.

you warily call out, “hey.”

lee’s head whips to you, and immediately, she paces over. when she reaches you, her arms lift before quickly flinching back into their resting position at her sides. you gulp hard at the motion – to see her being the one hesitating to touch feels wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, fingers stretching at her thighs. “that wasn’t right.”

“no, it wasn’t.”

the corner of her lip twitches and she nods slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“I just…” you gulp, feeling your eyes beginning to burn. since morning time, your emotions have already felt extra sensitive and prickly from lack of sleep and the weight of last night’s conversation. and that makes it all too easy for lee’s earlier words to have pierced through you, leaving a burn of hurt. maybe you had no right to have required anything of her this morning – comfort, softness, talking. after all, it’s her who had shared something of note last night, not you. but, you had at least hoped that she’d let you in this morning, and allow you to support her and give her some love. “that hurt.” your voice falters, and you draw in a shaky breath to level it. “I just wanted to be there for you, lee. and help you, and make you feel better after last night. but, you made it sound like it’s terrible to do that.”

“it’s not,” she softly interjects, shaking her head. “it’s not. I just – I got scared that what happened last night, and what I told you, would make things different. and that you’d change how you treat me because of it. the idea of favours, it makes me uncomfortable.”

you nearly cringe at the words. the knowledge that your care made her feel uncomfortable is borderline humiliating. “uncomfortable because how I was treating you was, I don’t know, too much?”

“no.” she swallows, her throat bobbing. “it just made me feel like you now see me as, I don’t know, different, or pitiful.”

“but, I’ve given you this kind of treatment before. you know, like, trying to understand things may be different the day after something intense.”

“I know. but, with this situation, I…” her voice lowers, eyebrows scrunching in what feels awfully close to shame. “I already feel weak regarding it. not remembering anything, not being able to figure it out. and I just, I don’t want you to see me like how I see myself.” her mouth twists in something sorrowful, her eyes lowering.

“but, I don’t, though.” your voice breaks, and you immediately clamp your mouth shut. you don’t want to make this about yourself or your hurt.

but, lee catches it immediately, her eyes widening and raising to you. her mouth flutters open and shut, and she takes a tentative step forward, fingertips ghosting along your wrist. “I know.”

“I see you as strong, honestly. you’ve been dealing with so much, and you hold yourself together despite it all.”

“I don’t hold it together well. I–”

“lee, look at yourself!” you nearly cry out, the power of the shock at what she had been through pushing you forward to try to shake her into realizing what’s crystal clear to you. “you built an entire life, independently, for yourself. despite having an entire night you don’t remember, one that made things so different for you and your mom. and despite all that happened, you still care for her, without falter or hesitation. you’re a great person, a great daughter, despite it all.”

her fingers wrap firmly around your wrist. “I don’t – you don’t need to tell me all of this.”

“I don’t need to do anything, you’re right. I want to, though, because it’s the truth.”

she shakes her head slowly. “I’m just doing what I need to do.”

you draw your hand from her grip, cupping her face, pressing in close. “you’re doing things that take a lot of strength, and a lot of consideration for your mom.” you lean your head against hers. “don’t diminish it.”

“I’m not,” she weakly protests, her voice low. “it’s just not a big deal.”

“it is, lee.”

she shakily sighs, as though she can’t handle the amount of praise you’re laying onto her. “I just – I only wanted to apologize, okay? for me, at least in this situation, I usually avoid talking about it and want things to immediately go back to exactly how they were before. but, I can’t ask that of you. for you, it’ll be different. I know that.”

her understanding words have your shoulders easing in relief, for to think of moving on without acknowledging all that occurred last night feels impossible. “yeah, it’s just – it was a lot. not in a bad way, of course,” you speedily add, eyes widening to search hers for any sign of hurt that could’ve resulted from your words. “I just mean, I think I would’ve struggled to have just let it go this morning.”

“and I shouldn’t have expected you to.”

you hum quietly. “thanks.” when she says nothing, dark orbs resting on you, carefully studying, you gulp, something else still gnawing at your mind. “lee?”

“hm?”

you start with, “nothing between us will change. and I don’t see you as pitiful, okay?”

she eyes you with furrowed eyebrows, her stare wary. “okay.”

“but, you know, you’re allowed to feel bad for yourself, babe. sympathetic with yourself, your past self, and all they’ve both been through. it’s okay for other people to feel bad for you, too. and for them to comfort you. it doesn’t mean they think you’re pitiful. it just means they care about and love you and are just sad you dealt with something so hard.”

her lips pinch together, chest heaving with a heavy breath. “I know, but people feeling bad for me, or comforting me – it makes me feel small, especially considering how… I can barely manage the situation as is.” she rubs a hand on her face, and your chest snaps at the sight of her clear distress. lee in general doesn’t like unanswered questions – even with movies, whenever you guys saw one with an ambiguous ending, she would spend hours afterwards cracking the code of it. if something as inconsequential as that can gnaw at her mind, what would it feel like for her to face a mystery embedded within her own life, centering on someone she loves? probably terrifying, you suspect. “and I just don’t like to think about what happened with my mom. but, being comforted pushes me to think about it and everything that happened. that’s why I’d rather things go back to normal after I talk about it. not only because the alternative makes me feel pitied. but, because it also forces me to think about what happened.”

“but, does not thinking about it really help at all?”

“I…” she pauses, the firmness of her jaw seeming to deflate as she quietly ponders on your question. “I don’t know. I used to think about it more, but now, I just avoid it. it won’t go anywhere and it’s too much.”

at the vulnerable opening, you tread across the threshold carefully, not wanting to push her too fast. “but, is not acknowledging it, and how it’s affected you, really helping?”

“I–I don’t know.”

she looks so fragile, her face tense and avoidant, ducked down and shying away from your gaze. you can tell the possibility of thinking on it more, lingering on the horrors of it, is overwhelming for her, so you try to quiet your tone. “I – just think on it, okay? I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”

her throat rolls under the skin as she gulps. “okay.”

“I–” god, you want to say it so fucking bad. but, not now. not like this, when she’s clearly already stressed.

“you what?”

“I’m here for you, okay?” you hesitate, then move forward to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “I don’t pity you, or see you as weak. but, I feel bad for what happened, lee, because it is hard what you guys went through. and I know me feeling bad for you makes you feel like I’m pitying you, or seeing you differently. but, I don’t. I’m just sad you went through this. and I just want to support you.” another kiss. “if you’ll let me, I just want to care for you.”

a small noise comes from the back of lee’s throat. you can’t see her, your cheek pressed to hers, so you wait patiently to hear her answer.

when she sags against you, arms tightly clutching on, you have it.

–

lee jerks in surprise when two arms wrap around her from behind. her head flies back, body relaxing a bit when she sees your crinkled, happy eyes, mouth twisted in amusement.

“‘hi’ works, too,” she mutters, very much not pulling away. her body is still tense, but after hours apart, she craves this.

“yes, but where’s the element of surprise in that?”

“not every greeting requires that, you know,” she deadpans, a twinge of disappointment flicking in her when you let go, standing by her side.

“well, I’m just happy to see you,” you whine, bottom lip jutting out. “but, I guess if that’s how you feel…” you turn away, releasing an exaggerated, whooshing breath.

lee’s mouth tingles as she bites back a smile. she wryly glances at you, hoping you’re not actually hurt beneath all the jokes. after a moment of scanning you, she shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you so that your hip is flushed to hers.

“oh, so, now you want to hold me.”

she snorts. “I always do.”

“sure,” you drawl, rolling your eyes.

“I do. do I need to prove that to you?”

“here?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. “didn’t know public play was your thing, harker.”

when lee spots a couple flashing you two alarmed looks, she internally winces. “baby, we’re in public.”

“yeah, I know, that’s what public play is, loser.”

she tightens her grip on your hip, leaning into your ear to murmur, “no, I mean we’re in public, so please, stop talking about the… public play.”

you bite your lip, following her nervous glances to the couple near you two. “did they hear us?”

“yes, they did.”

“oh.” you laugh, nuzzling your face against her shoulder. “my bad.”

she sighs, eyes darting to the nearby couple again. “just order, then let’s go.”

you slip from her grasp, peering into the plane of glass, eagerly taking in the colourful stamps on the other side. “what flavour will you get?”

she hums thoughtfully, looking at all the special flavours set for summer. while they look nice, she isn’t really up for trying anything new. “just vanilla.”

you cock your head at her with what can only be described as a pleading look. “c’mon, be more adventurous than that.”

her eyes carefully rove along the small, yellow shop, ensuring no one is in earshot before muttering against your ear, “this is the last vanilla thing I have since dating you, so let me keep it.”

you nod along to her words, and after a few moments, you start, your head whipping to her. “wait, what the fuck?” your face crumbles into a loud round of laughter, and a warm sense of pride flitters through her stomach. “wow, you’re funny!”

lee rolls her eyes, sniggering. “don’t sound so surprised.” despite her outward indifference, the compliments do stroke her ego a bit. she’s never seen herself as being funny, or charming, and she’s certain no one else has either. but, you have a way of so easily flashing her smiles and tossing her compliments that she can’t help but feel that at least you see her in that way. and though she’d never admit it, she’s glad to know you do.

after the ice cream is secured, you two sit on the park bench, one of your legs laying languidly upon hers. lee likes it, this easy intimacy, and she lets her fingers rub along your shin as she takes observations. there’s a woman playing frisbee with her dog, a group of students sitting on a picnic blanket, some children playing, well, a frankly poor attempt of baseball (and lee isn’t even a fan of baseball), and several other such groupings. lee wonders what any of them would think upon seeing you or her. would they see two friends, or a couple?

as lee hears the slippery noises of you happily eating your ice cream, she can’t help but feel she’d like them to think the second. you’re hers, and ever since your discussion at the pride march, she’s wanted to try to be more intentional.

she lowers her head, kissing your knee softly. when she raises up to continue eating her ice cream, the side of her head practically burns from your unfaltering gaze.

glancing at you tentatively, she asks, “what?”

“what was the kiss for?”

she shrugs, brushing her thumb over the spot, still slick from her saliva. “no reason.”

“mm, no reason my ass.”

she continues eating her ice cream, her body afloat in what’s finally a sense of peace. she’s been waiting for it, hoping for it. ever since she confided in you about her childhood, she can tell that you’ve grown a bit more hesitant, or at least delicate, with her. you’ve been lavishing touches on her more frequently, leaving the room when she talks to her mom, or on some occasions, staying and then hugging her silently right after. you now pause for longer beats before asking her about her childhood. she knows you’re not doing it to make her feel uncomfortable – if anything, it’s just evidence of how jilted you were from the recollection she delivered to you. and she can’t blame you for that – she lived through it, and even she can barely stomach it on most days. and knowing you, you’re probably just trying to avoid tipping her into another breakdown. which she’d like to avoid too, but not because of an evident barrier within every moment that vaguely connects to her mother or childhood.

she spoke to you about it two days ago, focused on softening her tone, a practice she rarely ever engaged in. but, after what happened last time, she wanted to be careful. at the end of it, you promised to try to not be so awkward about things. lee hadn’t told you then, but part of her also wanted the hesitancy to diminish because she thought about what you said to her last week. a lot. and she decided that she does want to try thinking about the past, talking about it, letting herself feel for it, just as you said. you were right. the silence with her mom is what shattered what they had – what if her own silence on this matter one day breaks her too?

at least now, things seem more normal. she feels less frightened about any sort of permanent change, for your questions are now laced with less pauses and wary gazes. you still seem a bit more tender than usual, but lee’s accepted that maybe that’s just a natural part of confiding in someone who feels this way about her. maybe part of acknowledging how… hard the situation was (she still winces to think of it that way) is allowing you to give her proportionate care for it. at least, well, what feels “proportionate” for you. she still struggles to think of herself as needing that much.

she watches you as you smile up at the tree shadowing you two, which is lime under the golden sunlight peeking through. “do you… do you like this area?”

the location of your university has left you no choice but to live in this kind of area, and lee itches to know what you would choose if it were up to you. both out of curiosity’s sake, and to, secretly, use your answer to adjust her envisionment of the future.

“I do.” you release a sigh, eyes scanning your surroundings. “it has nice parks, the subway makes it easy to reach deeper parts of this city, but, our place’s neighbourhood is still quiet enough to be more… serene.”

she hums, nodding. she had presumed as much, based on the way your eyes lingered on the flowers filling the lawns of neighbourhood homes, and how you sometimes stuck your head out the window of her room to look at the kids playing on the streets.

you love her window. it makes her a bit regrettable – she hadn’t cared much about the window apart from it making her bedroom feel a bit less closed in and a bit more breathable. but, apart from that, she had only chosen that room for herself because it was the smaller one and would force her to set a desk out in the open. which she didn’t like, but she had done it so things could at least be a bit easier for you. she didn’t want to be a selfish roommate.

“you?”

the answer is immediate, months of reflection bringing her right to it. “I could live somewhere more isolated.”

“oh?”

she eyes you hesitantly, hoping her answer doesn’t dissuade you in any kind of form. “like, a cottage. in a forest.”

your eyes bulge out. “damn, that sounds… isolated, indeed.”

she fidgets, feeling slightly self-conscious. “in a bad way?”

“no, no, I mean, it makes sense, considering you like your solitude. but, you’d be comfortable being that isolated?”

I wouldn’t be alone. her mouth twists at the thought, stomach tightening over the fact that your phrasing makes it sound like you expect her to be there alone. do you not envision a future with her? she tries to shake off the thought, focusing on what you asked.

but, the truth is, yes, she would be that comfortable. more than. “probably. I don’t mind being physically alone. it makes me feel at ease.”

“but, you wouldn’t be nervous? scared?”

“by the time I could afford anything like that, I will have completed my training.” she shrugs, stroking your knee. “so, I could defend myself.”

“plus, you’d…” when you pause, lee’s hand stills, awaiting your next words. “you’d, I don’t know, maybe have me?”

lee nearly exhales a deep breath of relief, just barely refraining. it’s been prickling at her mind – the possibility that you may not want to share a home with her. it’s a foreign thing for her to worry over, and ironic, in all honesty. she’s spent most of her life anticipating the day she gets to be alone, on her own, with no one but herself to account for. and now, right when she’s on the precipice of having that, she finds herself wanting nothing more than to stay here with you. maybe it had always been less about wanting to be by herself, but wanting to be somewhere where she’s understood, and having felt convinced for most of her life that she was the only one who could give herself that fully.

“yeah,” she mumbles, unable to resist the small smile that tilts her lips up. something had been gnawing at her mind for two days now, but the topic of conversation, as well as your confession, pushes her on now to voice it. “listen… the landlord told me two days ago we have three weeks to decide if we want to up the lease. I want to. but, if you don’t, you can tell me. it’s okay.” direct, straight-to-the-point, and done with.

when you say nothing, lee forces her eyes to you. your lips are parted, and you resemble an owl with how you stare at her.

“what?” she quietly prods.

“well, I just– you don’t want to leave here after grad? maybe explore somewhere else.”

lee blinks at you. she had never been one particularly excited at the idea of exploring new places, often too comfortable in her surroundings to stray. and graduation, finding a job, having a partner – those are enough changes as is. she hadn’t been eager to seek out more. “no, not really. I’m not in a rush to leave. I wouldn’t mind staying till I need to go to virginia.” she shifts slightly, suddenly wishing you two had discussed this before now. “I– do you want to stay?”

“I do.”

“do you want to stay with me?” it’s the question that really matters.

your face becomes a beam of light when you smile, and lee turns away, her breath hitching when you say, “do you even need to ask?”

lee breathes in a shuddering breath, taken aback by just how… happy your words make her. she wasn’t even half-ready to let go of this yet – the home you two have built the past year. it’s been an entire year, but she feels like she’s only had the briefest taste of it. she’d like to indulge in at least a bit more before whatever comes next – whether it be the two of you moving somewhere else together, moving to virginia together or even being apart during her time at the academy. it’d be hard, sure, but she knows the two of you can handle it.

when the feeling of overwhelming lightness settles down, she releases a puff of air. “well, of course, I need to. can’t up it without asking you.”

“yeah, you’d be a tad creepy for doing that, huh?”

she snickers. “just a tad.”

when the two of you wander through the farmer’s market taking place on the outskirts of the park, you loop your arm through hers. she tenses automatically from the public display of affection before easing up. even though she wants to be more open, she still can’t help but immediately tighten in tension when you do these things. she supposes it’s just a matter of adjusting.

“so, three days.” you pout, leaning on her shoulder.

lee gives you a small nod. three days until she goes back home. it’s not an entirely welcome thought, considering how uncomfortable it makes her to think of how long the two of you will be apart. but, part of her has been wanting to see her mom since she confided in you. something about speaking so unabashedly of their bond, and all her mom did for her, has her longing to see her again. though, she’s certain that in a week, she’ll be desperate to leave the house, for upon each visit, the hoarding gets more stifling, more treacherous.

“are you… nervous?”

she shrugs. “a bit. just about how much worse things have gotten regarding her behaviour, the house…” it’s an anxiety she’s grown accustomed to, one that visits and makes a home in her body, feet tossed up and all, everytime she’s anticipating a visit to her mom’s. “I can manage.”

you hum in thought and plant a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I just – I wish I knew how to grapple with the kind of things she says. I usually just stay quiet.”

after pausing for a moment, nothing surrounding you two but the soft cacophony of the crowd’s conversations and purchases, you quietly say, “maybe all you can do is tell her that when she’s ready, she can talk to you, or, you know, use your help to get help. but, other than that, just try to be there.”

“I’ve always been there.” sometimes, lee hates that she’s been. since childhood, her mother forced her into a box, with just them, content to keep herself and lee hidden from the rest of the world’s company. the wariness of the world, the protection of lee – it never truly waned. as lee got older, it only fused with other things – like her mom’s inability to do certain things around the house, and her increased paranoia of lee leaving and the resulting hesitation for whenever lee had to go to work or even school.

her responsibility made her both grow up too fast and too little. she had acquired the necessary skills of survival, like cooking and managing money, but little of what was needed for actually living. her mother had been absent for many of lee’s most formative experiences – her first love, first heartache, first friendships. and while some of those things had been hidden away for privacy’s sake or out of fear of her mother’s disapproval, there was always a gnawing voice at the back of her mind reminding her that her mother wouldn’t be fully present even if lee did reach out. she would maybe give lee some comfort and advice, but it would only be a matter of time before she said something else that’d unnerve lee. so, lee avoided it.

and as a result, lee had to learn a lot, maybe too much, on her own once she slowly came to realize just how stilted she was emotionally. it came from careful observation, and an embarrassing amount of self-help books.

though, she can’t help it. part of her still stings with bitterness at how much she had to train herself for because her mother wasn’t there to help her. at least not as much as lee wished for her to be.

“I know,” you softly sigh, rubbing her back. “it’s okay to sometimes want a break, you know? you don’t have to put it all on yourself.”

“she doesn’t have anyone else.” lee feels an odd kick of protectiveness. it’s strange – she doesn’t enjoy visiting most of the time, but she’d never give it up. not when her mom is so alone. in a way, it’s a duty she’s caged into, but she can’t imagine escaping it even if she had the key. both out of obligation and due to the fact that when she spends enough time away, she usually winds up craving the comfort of her mother, anyways. visiting is a way to replenish that in a sense, as well as check in and help. “besides, I owe her this. I already keep so much distance as is.”

“do you think that’ll… change anytime soon? like, her maybe living with you?”

“no.” lee doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but the question is one she’s thought of before, while the answer is engraved in her mind. “I spent too long looking after her, and being scared, and I can’t– I, yeah.”

you squeeze her forearm gently, and lee peers at you, shame coursing through her. will you look down at her for being such a bad daughter?

you’re watching her with eyebrows drawn in, mouth pinched together. she anxiously wonders if it’s disappointment until you squeeze her arm again and say, “I understand. you already spent so many years looking after her, making sacrifices, feeling uncomfortable. you’re not wrong to not want that again. your visits are more than enough.”

she looks down. “thanks.” she certainly doesn’t feel like her visits are enough, but it’s really all she can manage. and it helps, somewhat, to hear you all acknowledge all she’s done. it eases the guilt somewhat, at least in this moment.

“and if you feel anxious there, or want to rant, call me, okay?”

“like a hotline?” she mutters, her lips tickling with the urge to smile. despite the joking words, she feels more than touched by your kindness. it’s nice – that you know about her mom now. at least the explanation is done with, so she can talk about these things without tiptoeing the line between what you know and what else she can reveal.

“oh, yeah,” you snicker. “if you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get one of those 1-900 ones.”

lee casts you a sidelong glance, curiosity bubbling within her. in all honesty, she’s glad for the chance to discuss something else, feeling worn out from the talk of her impending visit. “did you ever call one of those?”

“yeah,” you giggle, leaning into her conspiratorially. “at, like, fifteen, I think, some of my friends and I brought a bunch of quarters so we could get at least five minutes on the phone with the girl on the other end. honestly, it’s probably what prompted my sexual awakening.” you shoot her a mischievous grin, and lee feels her neck burning. “did you?”

“no.” religious shame, innate discomfort with intimacy and a sheltered upbringing didn’t exactly make for a good combination to be sexually rebellious as a teenager. “I heard people talk about it, though.”

“eh, wasn’t really worth the anticipation. I mean, back then, it was – a woman’s ankle would’ve probably had me frothing at the mouth. but, now?” you shrug, idly brushing your fingers through a bouquet of flowers being sold at one stall. “the real thing is better.”

lee feels her face warming up more, your low tone making it evident what you mean. she can’t help but take a bit of pride in your words – logically, she knows it’s not that much of an accomplishment, but considering how much practice she committed to talking explicitly in her freshman year, it feels like one.

“once,” you continue, cheeks lifting as you laugh, shining with a thin sheen of sweat, “a guy told me I had the voice of the speaker on 1-900-SPANK-ME.”

her mouth clamps together, feeling a whirring mix of surprise and embarrassment on your behalf. “that’s… unexpected.”

“yeah, I know! I think he liked me or something, but like, a mixtape would’ve sufficed.”

“yeah. do you like mixtapes?” she asks, hoping to sound discreet.

“yeah, it’s like what I said – homemade stuff is always so thoughtful. I would’ve loved one back then. plus, romance-wise, it’s better than being compared to some girl he heard who said, ‘I want you on top of me so bad.’”

✩

the way you imitate the caller, raising your voice and making it sound more seductive, has lee shifting her shoulders, suddenly keenly aware of just how effortlessly you slid into that role.

“um, well, what did the person say when you called that one time?”

you seem to hesitate for a second, casting her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. whatever you seem to find on her face, though, seems to earn you a boost of confidence, for you then hover your mouth near her ear, quietly answering with a giggle. “oh, you know, something along the lines of, ‘oh, welcome to 1-900-whatever-whatever, where girls with the wettest, juiciest pussies are just aching to talk to you.’”

lee gulps, her abdomen beginning to sizzle with something warm at hearing you say something so filthy. the few times you had uttered such words during sex made her feel swept from under her feet, light-headed and flung somewhere else mentally. there was something about how your voice got huskier in its teasing tone, or higher in shy humiliation, that made her feel totally broken in any reservations, wanting nothing more to drink in all the telltale signs of how you’re feeling and figure it all out like her own special puzzle.

“I see,” she says through gritted teeth, hoping you don’t notice any signs of her sudden arousal.

when your teeth flash at her, her hope cracks a bit, but it feels nice.

you have her so worked up that that night, you two finally try lee’s toy. lying on your sides, face to face, she nearly comes undone at the sight of your mouth falling open, eyes screwed shut, as she spreads you open with her cock. you ask her to let it rest inside you for a few minutes, and for that time, lee rubs soothingly on your clit, kissing you languidly and murmuring how you’re taking her so well. words that made her feel so embarrassed the first time she uttered them, but now, slip from her mouth without an ounce of hesitation. for doing so is only made easier by the way you gasp at the words, your hips twitching. as lee plays with different parts of your body, wanting to spend the night worshipping it as though every inch is a sacred artefact, she wishes she could feel how your pussy wraps around her. how it’s tightening when she gently pinches your nipples or sinks her teeth into your collarbone.

when you adjust, lee has you on your back minutes later, burying her face in your neck as she slowly thrusts in and out. she’s sucking the sweat off your skin, lapping at the tangy taste of it, feeling close to addiction with the way you wrap your legs around her, clawing at her back.

the sting of it has her panting, “you like that, don’t you?”

you tug on her hair, raising her to a messy kiss. “god, I love it.”

she thrusts harder into you, one thumb flicking over your budded clit, her mouth relentless on your neck. with your hands on her back, your hair plastered to your forehead, you come just like that, body arching against her, chests rubbing together. lee wishes so bad she could feel the way your pussy flutters around her cock, how you clench so hard and latch onto her.

the second time you get back on it that night, you’re riding her. every bounce you take on the strap has the harness pressing against lee’s clit, and she bites her lip to hold back her whimpers. there’s something undeniably attractive about you on top of her like this, tits bouncing, nipples hard, your entire body shaking. you’re struggling so much to keep going, and lee can’t help but wring pleasure out of that, leaning back on her headboard and watching you as you grasp at her stomach with needy hands.

when it gets too hard, you curl your fingers around her neck, panting out, “please, baby, please – ah.”

your words break into a long whine when lee wraps her arms around your torso, holding you flush to her body as she jerks her cock into you, her hips furiously jutting up. the sound of skin smacking rings through lee’s room, and it makes her hole clench in desire.

“couldn’t do it on your own, huh?” she mutters against your ear, her breath hot and moist as she laps at the shell of it. “you just need someone to do all the work for you.”

“no, no, I can do it, I–” your stubborn whines break into a long moan when lee’s hand comes down on your ass, slapping it hard. she relishes in how your skin gets warm to the touch from it, murmuring against your cool, wet skin, “not so mouthy now.”

that only makes your hips jerk harder, and the unexpected motion of it has lee crying out, her eyes tensing shut for a second.

“oh?” you mutter, pressing your hips back down again, smiling when lee shivers, her hips bucking up. “does that feel good, baby?”

lee’s breath hitches as the pressure of the dildo’s base again pushes against her clit, sending streams of pleasure through her center. she grits her teeth, rasping out, “yeah.”

“poor baby,” you coo, ducking down to process sloppy kisses down her cheek. “feels good to split me open? c’mon, move harder, for both of us.”

“ah, okay,” she brokenly moans, bracing her feet down on the mattress and using the leverage to thrust her hips up.

you keen at the deeper thrusts, and jesus, lee wishes she could feel the way the silicone tip rubs against your g-spot, prodding and pushing the spongy texture of it. how she’d love to just feel your hot, drenched walls clamped up on her, squeezing and gripping, and begging for her to release inside you.

“fuck, feels so nice,” you whine, wrapping your arms around her neck, combing your fingers through her hair. “you’re doing so good.”

the praise has lee burning with pride. it eggs her on, pushing her to arch her hips up more. she grabs your breasts with her hands, pushing her face into them, lips moving without thought. she laps her tongue around the curve of them, nose fetching deep breaths of your scent.

your grasp on her hair tightens. “such a good girl. fuck, please, my nipples, baby.”

your voice feels like seduction personified, low and heady and making lee’s head spin with the way you’re guiding her. you use your hands to keep her arms locked in around your waist, almost as though you’re silently demanding her to help you. and lee is seized by the switch in dynamics whole-heartedly, the sight of you being pleasured and staying in control making her throb with want. there’s something almost relieving about being the one without the reigns. she’s so accustomed to having her fingers sunk deep into every situation regarding herself, wanting to weave and structure it according to the rules. but, giving herself over to you like this means that for once, her control, her decisions – it’s all tossed out the window. usually, she hates that, but with you, someone she trusts. it feels good, it feels like she can commit herself to letting go for once.

and so, lee obeys without a second thought, her mouth wrapping around your perked nipple and sucking it into her mouth, the stiff texture of it against her tongue making her groan. her fingers work diligently on the other one, flicking her thumb over it, then lightly rolling.

your hips buck harder through it, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. lee takes the opportunity immediately, lifting her head up to draw your tongue into her mouth, eyes closing as she sucks and licks at the soft, pink muscle.

“mm,” you whine against her sloppy kisses, “you’re such a good girl. filling me up like this.”

lee hisses, the praise driving her to push into you even harder.

and you sit there, on her cock, taking it so well. just remaining wrapped up in her arms, tightly clutching on, as it rams into you over and over again. lee sinks her teeth into your shoulder, the wet squelches ringing through the room making her squeeze down on nothing. with the mix of lube, spit and juices lathered on your folds, you sound like a mess. god, she wishes she could add to it, wishes this silicone could be real and she could send spurt after spurt of her seed into you. she wants to claim you in every way.

and it seems you feel the same way, your mouth desperate and quick on her neck, sucking dark marks into her skin. lee’s so sensitive that she feels like every patch you give attention to is made of needles, prickling, skimming and stinging as you nip and mark her up.

when you pull away, your lips turn up in a wide smile. you mutter, lips ghosting hers, “you’re all mine, okay?”

lee bites her lip, arousal coursing through her from the words. since you guys got together, it’s been clear you have a possessive streak to your affection. usually, lee wouldn’t like the idea of someone staking any sort of claim on her. but, with you, there’s something sweet about it, how badly you want her to be only yours. it also amuses her, since she’s been yours for months, and there’s no way she’d leave you – so, this side of is less than reasonable to her.

but, your jealousy has never caused any dire sort of situation in your guys’ relationship, so as of now, the little showings of it are something she allows herself to find pleasure in, both from how endearing you are when it happens and from how it makes her feel to be so wholeheartedly desired.

besides, she’s not much better than you in that regard. maybe some, but not a lot.

“I’m yours.”

“good, good,” you moan, dragging her back in for a long kiss, your tongue clumsily swirling around hers.

minutes later, you whimper, your voice timid when you mumble, “lee, my thighs… they hurt.”

lee laughs lightly against your lips, feeling heat pool in her stomach from your confession. wordlessly, she eases you off her cock, relishing in the moan you release when she slips out fully. she pushes you gently onto your stomach, nearly gasping at how good you look like this. your back’s fully exposed, sweat shining the skin, and your ass has lee’s fingers twitching with how badly she wants to hit it. she runs her fingers along your thighs, stopping to grip your hips tightly and tug you up so that your ass is in the air. you whine at the change of position, rubbing back against her bobbing, sopping dildo.

lee grits her teeth, taking in a deep breath before she starts.

once you’ve adjusted, she doesn’t falter, her hips snapping against you without a moment of slowing down. you bury your face into her pillow, incomprehensible words flowing from your mouth, muffled against the fabric. her nails dig so hard into your flesh that she leaves crescent-shaped marks, and she can’t help but fondle with the skin there, groping and pinching as she pumps in.

“can you spank me?” you whine, biting into the pillowcase.

lee doesn’t respond, but her hand immediately plants a firm swat on your ass, teeth clenching at the way you rock back against her from the impact. at this angle, she can see the way the rim to your hole stretches over her, latching onto her cock and keeping her locked in. she brushes her thumb against it, breaths heaving at the way your arousal sometimes drips when she pulls out.

later, you come with lee still behind you, your front pressed against her headboard, back flush to her breasts as she encircles you in her arms. her mouth feels practically ravenous, hungry kisses littered over your neck as she rubs at your clit and mumbles, “so tight for me, so good. I can’t wait to see you come for me like this.”

you cry out, clutching onto her arms. “I need it so bad.”

“yeah?” she snickers, an idea stirring in her mind.

a moment later, her thrusts slow, finger circling your clit with enough pressure to get you twitching, but light enough that any orgasm drawn from it would be so far from satisfying.

“beg,” she murmurs, pinching your nipple hard.

your entire body writhes, head falling against her shoulder as you cry out. “but, but, it’s embarrassing–”

“I don’t care,” lee cuts in, stiff as she tries to keep her voice calm and removed from the trembles and heavy breathing that results from her arousal. “if you beg, I’ll make you feel good. otherwise, you can get yourself off.”

“lee!” you moan in protest. “that’s so mean–mmph!”

she shuts you up with a hard kiss, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip. “I don’t care. do it.”

“I–I…” your words falter, before a quiet string of them fall from your lips. “please, lee, I need it so bad.”

“you can do better than that,” she whispers. there’s something about dominating like this that’s also relieving in its own right. she gets to focus solely on guiding and directing you through a series of steps – something she’s good. in addition to that, she can’t help but feel her mind go a bit slack at just how eager you are to follow directions, just how much of a control she has over you.

despite all the progress she made since the start of university, it still makes her feel a bit guilty, to thrive off of that. but, she tries not to pay it mind in this moment, when your moans and cries are clear indicators that you’re enjoying this too.

“fine, I– please, please, please, lee! I need it so bad, need to come so bad, I’m aching for it, and I promise I’ll be good, and–” your words break off into a stifled noise as she starts working her way into you again, hips slamming vigorously.

you come just like that, body squirming, lips hovering against hers as you softly wail into the small space of her bedroom. your hips flinch all the way through it, and lee needs to press her arms into you to keep you still. lee hearing and witnessing the evidence of your pleasure has her taut with tension and arousal. you look perfect like this – sweaty, exhausted, and thoroughly taken care of.

post-cuddles, when lee tosses the strap onto the towel on the floor, she immediately flushes at the downright evil giggle you release at seeing her grey boxers soaked through.

“now, what do we have here?” you drawl, fingers slipping down the waistband and drawing them down. when you spread her thighs out, eyes immediately flicking to the spot between them, lee feels heat run up her neck from the way you smile, eyes crinkling in sheer satisfaction. “such a mess, baby.”

she swallows hard. “I– it’s not my fault.”

“oh, I know, I know,” you gently soothe, shifting down her bed to get your head lower. “you poor thing, you just couldn’t help it, could you?”

your tone, so sweet, so patronizing, has her hips shifting, a mix of embarrassment and arousal whirling through her.

when you keep staring at her, clearly awaiting an answer, she rolls her eyes, though her hips stutter. “no, I couldn’t.”

“you know, I’d usually make you wait longer for this kind of attitude.” you bat your lashes at her, and lee feels her clit throb when you flatten your tongue along her inner thigh and stroke along it slowly. “but, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

lee’s bucking into your face a few moments later, her entire pussy aching with the way you devour her, starting off with slow, open-mouth kisses along her folds and lips, pausing to draw different spots into your mouth and tug on them until she hisses in protest. you lave your tongue all over her, tracing and slipping, as though you’re starving and eager to drink up everything she has to offer. the thought itself is enough to make lee squirm.

when you get to her clit, you keep the point of your tongue stroking along the hood, not directly on the bud just yet but toying at the sides. lee’s fingers tighten onto the sheets, her patience waning.

“please, I need more,” she gasps out, her long-awaiting arousal snatching her of any reservations.

“awe, but you sound so cute like this.” your words are punctuated with a delicate kiss to her clit, and lee releases a choked out gasp.

after a few more small, wet kisses peppered over the length of her, you finally round your lips around her clit, sucking it in with fluid motions. everytime your lips tighten around her, the ache in her clit deepens, and lee’s head falls against her pillow, mouth hanging open as a velvety, warm surges through her.

with two fingers buried in her deep, your mouth is relentless in your attempt to draw out pleasure from her, moving from slow, patient sucks and kisses to your tongue flattening and running up and down her clit. the firm, steady rolls of your tongue have her teetering on the edge of climax, . it only worsens when you lift your thumb up, and start flicking the bottom of her clit, your tongue moving in quick, hard motions against the rest.

without meaning to, her hands fly up, gripping onto your head and keeping you in place as her hips mindlessly thrust into your face, her entire back arching as an embarrassingly high-pitched noise wrings from her throat. her orgasm hits her so hard that it almost feels like something is internally shattering, releasing a damn of hot, overwhelming relief through her body, almost painful in how intense it is.

when the last of her aftershocks wear off, shakily lowering her body back to the mattress, she sucks in a deep breath. “I– thanks. for that.”

you giggle, crawling up her body. “I should thank you.” laying on top of her, you kiss her slowly, tenderly, and lee basks under the attention. there’s something painfully vulnerable, and limitlessly freeing, when she’s surrounded in such unabashed intimacy with you. a part of herself, the one containing the desires and wants, that’s usually kept wedged shut, is totally open to you and all your care. it’s frightening, it’s fragile, but it feels so nice when you receive her with nothing but understanding kisses and words, assuring her of everything she wants with you.

when you break the kiss, you mutter, “giving me the strap just two days before you leave. that’s evil, you know?”

despite herself, a lazy grin curls on her lips, the weight of you on top of her possibly one of the most comforting things she’s ever felt. especially when you stroke her hair and rub her arm. she feels so desired under your gaze, yeah, and she’s not used to it, and feels a bit awkward by it. but, it also makes her feel like she’s being seen in a way only you can behold in your gaze. that makes it special. and to know you want her, maybe as much as she wants you – as surreal and intimidating as it is, it makes her stomach flip.“maybe it was part of some ploy to ensure you stay waiting for me.”

“trust me, you need no ploy.”

lee bites her lip. you’re so sure of her, so certain about your choice in her. she doesn’t know how to handle that.

but, she will, at least now, let herself indulge in it, her head curling into your neck.

✩

–

“can I please get these?”

you immediately recognize the voice, like the soundwaves of it are imprinted on your heart. head jolting up, your cheeks ache at the sight of lee timidly sliding over some candy and a bouquet of flowers.

“sure, miss,” you drawl out, hands shaking a bit as you scan and check out her items. she’s picked you up after your shifts before, sure, but she’s never actually seen you in action. it puts a silly sort of pressure on you, and you try to be smooth and efficient in packing her things up in a paper bag. “what are the flowers for?” you add, batting your eyes exaggeratedly at her.

“for amaya.”

“oh.” your bottom lip juts out, and you meekly slide her groceries to the edge of the counter. it makes sense, considering amaya’s small get-together is tonight and lee will be wishing her off. but, still, ugh, how embarrassing.

after taking in the sight of you for a few moments, lee says, “I can get you some too.”

“no, but now, it’s only happening because I asked for it!” you whine, feeling rather petulant.

“but, isn’t that how anything is acquired? you ask for it before?”

your teeth clench at her logic. “but, with flowers, that should be a given!”

“how, though? I didn’t know if you liked them or not, so I didn’t get them.”

“yes, but you could’ve figured it out by getting me some.” your tone is embarrassingly high-pitched now, raising in exasperation.

her eyebrows furrow. “but, if you didn’t like them, then it’d be a waste of money.”

“I’d automatically like them because they’re from you!”

she blinks at you, her mouth curling in thought. after a moment, she says, “okay, I’ll remember that.”

you give her a pointed look, yanked out of the conversation when an old man begins placing his groceries on the belt. at least it didn’t end on a bad note, considering she seems to get your perspective. and as stubborn as you feel, you understand hers, too – it’s one crafted by pure logic and a bit of lax regarding social norms. which encapsulates your girlfriend perfectly.

when you’re done cashing up the man’s groceries, there’s a moment of quiet before any new customers come, and you use it to breathe in the quiet buzz of the day, thankful for the store soon closing. lee takes advantage of it, moving closer and dragging her finger through your belt loop. “are you upset?”

you’re unable to resist the smile that prods at your mouth. “no. I get what you mean. I’m sorry.” you blow out a deep breath. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“yeah, I’m sure that’s all there is to it,” she whispers, the sweet little lines near her mouth dipping as she grins. “don’t forget, we leave at nine.”

“yes, mom,” you shoot, gently pushing her at the hip as she walks away.

at maria and amaya’s party, you watch in admiration as lee bounces between your side and her friends’. you try to give her that space, wanting her to have time with them as just a trio before amaya leaves. whenever lee catches your gaze from across the room, you give her a subtle thumbs up, smiling softly at the sight of her, laughing and relaxed with her friends. she always nods at your reassurance, though it’s usually followed by her visiting your little corner, tucked away with some random people you don’t know. she checks on you, diligently, without break.

and you check on her in your own private ways too. fiddling with her bangs when she comes over to you, quietly asking if she needs a moment alone. the first time she nods, a response you had anticipated from her stiff stance and flickering eyes, you hold her hand and ask maria if the two of you could head to her bedroom for a second. she seems to understand immediately and sends the two of you off.

but, you can tell the party does lee some good. even though she continues to slink off to maria’s bedroom throughout the night, she’s attached to her friends for most of it, welcoming their touches and leaning on them as they talk, gaze intent. and her eyes glimmer with a sort of pride when amaya eagerly takes the flowers, arms tossing around lee and yanking her down for a hug.

the party, surprisingly, does you some good, too. when you join the three of them deeper into the night, lee’s hand resting on your back, amaya says, “lee told us you’re still kind of undecided on what to do, right?”

you wish the earth would swallow you whole, a pinch of irritation piercing your stomach at lee’s revelation. wincing slightly, you hesitantly say, “yeah, I don’t really know what I want to do.”

you brace yourself for some judgement, an awkward silence or a round of laughter. or some confusion as to how you’ve been in university for four years and still haven’t managed to figure it out.

but, instead, maria shrugs and says, “listen, I’ve known I’ve wanted to go into law since I was in middle school, but I don’t think that’s the only way to do it. my sister changed her major during her fourth year, switching from engineering to music. and such a last minute change probably wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t rushed her decision and just picked something my parents wanted. so, really, you’re probably gonna waste a lot less time figuring things out, and then looking for a job, as opposed to rushing, working in a field you don’t like for years, then having to start all over.”

your mouth twitches as her shoulders lift into a delicate shrug, taking a sip from her drink and then sneering at the contents of the cup. god, she’s so much like lee. pure, unadulterated, hard logic.

whereas amaya seems to be the sweet, calm sort of balm, adding, “plus, even for your own peace of mind – it’s better to make a choice you’re sure about.” she offers you a nod, eyes soft. “it’s not a race, you know. take your time, and you’ll be okay.”

their words have you nearly driven to tears from the relief it settles upon you. for weeks, you’ve been feeling a range of emotions, from insecurity to fear, about your lack of plans and surety as to what you want to do post-grad. and while lee has been such a comfort, part of you has worried that her comforting comes from a place of her not wanting to hurt you. which doesn’t make sense, considering her natural bluntness, but still, your anxieties make it all too easy to minimize that aspect of being. so, to hear two people who owe you nothing telling you it’s okay, handling the situation with a kindness that’s both pragmatic and centered on time, as well as gentle and reassuring, takes a weight off your shoulders. it doesn’t completely ease your worries, but it certainly helps.

you go before lee, wanting to give her some time alone with her friends so they can properly exchange their goodbyes. before you go, you take out your camera and snap a picture of the three of them, amaya making a silly expression, maria smiling widely, and lee, after some convincing from amaya, meekly poking out her tongue.

when they hug you goodbye, and you get to maria, she whispers, “thank you for looking after her.”

the small show of gratitude warms you for the rest of your way home. to think that you’ve secured the approval of her friend in that way, as well as recognition for the ways in which you try to support her. it makes you feel like you’re doing something right.

when lee returns home, her eyes are tired, sad, and she immediately dives into your bed, nuzzling sweetly into your chest. you know that discomfort and a faint sense of mourning must be keeping her company. her friend will be gone when she returns from her mother’s, a friend who’s been webbed into her life for four years now. you can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain lee is in – she probably won’t tell you, that much is certain, but you can feel it in the way her breaths shudder against your skin, her body sagged and pliant.

“it’ll be okay,” you murmur into her chestnut hair, dotting kisses into the smooth locks of it. “you guys can try to work in, like, weekly phone calls.”

“it’s not the same,” she whispers.

there’s no denying it, so all you can do is whisper, “I know, baby,” and hold her close.

minutes later, you shiver upon feeling the kiss she presses on your neck, her hot breath ghosting along your skin as she mutters, “it won’t be the same without you either.”

your arm tightens at the reminder of tomorrow’s departure. you’ve been trying not to think too much about it, simply wanting to deal with it when it happens and not have to carry the weight of premature longing and devastation. but, now, when there’s less than twenty four hours lingering between this moment and when lee will leave, you can’t help but cling onto her. in another week, you yourself will be heading home for two weeks, but still, it’s not the same without the steady, formidable rock of your girlfriend, with those dark embers that make you feel alive, and those fleeting smiles that make her face glow like the moon. the gentle touches that protectively skim along your waist, the way she’s so careful and kind, her thoughtfulness laced into every word. how will you do without those things? how will you manage without being there to give her comfort and love when she needs it? you want to be there to hold her, assure her, take care of her. staying away is just as heartbreaking for the things you can’t give her as it is for the things you can’t receive.

“call me when you reach, okay?”

“I will. and call me if you need anything.”

“that comes with the risk of you potentially leaving early and driving to rescue me,” you giggle, getting lost in the motion of twirling her dark hair around your fingers.

“what’s wrong with that?” she mumbles, dipping her nose into your neck.

you lightly smack her back with a chortle. “lee! you need to stay with your mom.”

“I know, so I’d just drive back to oregon once the problem is resolved.”

god, what did you do to deserve her? you want to sprinkle her face in thousands of kisses, body seized with a deep squeeze of gratitude for her. “that’s sweet. but, only do something like that for emergencies, yeah?” your voice trickles to a gentler tone at the end, not wanting to make her feel scolded.

“if it’s you, it always feels like an emergency.”

your eyebrows scrunch together. “is this meant to be a dig about me being clumsy?”

“no, it’s meant to be a fact about how much I– how much I worry.” her voice lowers towards the end, and you squeeze, wondering if she’s thinking of her mother.

you rub her back, hoping the motion will help relax her. “nothing will happen, baby.”

she hums, raising her head up. “I’ll, um… I’ll miss you.” she dips her head down, planting a kiss to the point of your chin. “a lot.”

everytime she speaks a sentiment like that, it feels like a flower in you is blooming anew, all of them collected in your chest – a garden just for you to look back on and tend to when you want to remember her. with each kiss, she waters it, and with each tender word, she plants something new. you know how hard it’s been for her, to get more accustomed to being so open, but she’s trying, you know she is. and though her words may stumble with awkwardness, and pause with careful consideration, they carry a world of intention. and what’s more romantic than that?

“I’ll miss you, too. sweet angel.”

she stills at that. “you say things like that so easily.”

“because it’s the truth.”

“I don’t know if it is.”

“that’s okay. I’ll know it for you.”

you feel an amused huff hit your neck and can’t help but smile in pride over having made her laugh. “so, I have no choice but to agree to these terms and conditions?”

“none at all.”

“so, I probably shouldn’t try to convince you otherwise, then?” the words are mixed in with open-mouthed kisses to your neck, her hand rubbing at your tummy, the cool touch making you arch up.

“I can’t make any promises, but you can try,” you laugh, tugging on her ponytail so she can kiss you.

you two make love several times that night, bodies melding and conjoining in a blur of sweat, kisses and soft words, with breaks in between consisting of lying in bed, talking, or falling asleep before one of you starts yearning for touch again.

you can’t find it in your heart to rank these short, warm moments, but your favourite amongst them has to be the last. it’s four in the morning, the world outside is still dark, the stars staring upon you with twinkling eyes. the windows have been tossed open, noises of drunken students and dragonflies bringing your apartment to life. lee is at the stove, flipping two grilled cheese sandwiches on a pan smeared with bubbling butter, the smell of the toast wafting from the kitchen to the bathroom, where you sit on the toilet, washing your sore center, the door unabashedly open so that you can hear the music.

at the sound of an all-too-familiar strum of the guitar, you race out after washing your hands, nearly tripping over your discarded bra on the floor.

“I love this song,” you squeal, dashing to the radio and turning on one knob until the noise of it is loud and clear.

just as always, lee asks, “what is it?”

“you don’t know it?” you gasp. “we were kids when it came out, it’s the smiths!” you used to get giddy whenever a friend’s parent put it on in the car when driving you all somewhere. especially during summertime, with the windows wound down and the breeze flying through your hair. it felt freeing, like you were getting a taste of independence, head sticking out the window and that deep, husky voice surrounding you, thrusting you into a flurry of dreams and hopes.

lee pauses, eyebrows drawing in as she listens. after a few moments, she shakes her head. “no, I don’t.”

“it’s dangerously underrated.” you turn it up a bit more, leaning on the counter to stare at her. there’s something special about the moment with the way the warm, orange light dimly coats lee’s body, how her lithe, strong fingers work on the sandwich, the aroma of it wrapping around the apartment. how the melancholic song, heavy and moist like a spring wind near the water, plays in the background of this quiet, private night that feels reserved for just the two of you. anyone else existing in it is far from this small kitchen, playing on the streets, dancing under the streetlights, maybe even relishing in the flow of music through your open windows.

lee must feel your eyes on her, for she raises hers to yours slowly, mouth parting then shutting before asking, “what is it?”

“do you wanna dance?”

you don’t know why, but something about this night feels like it’s set apart from the rest, lingering in this space where nothing can go wrong, where all the rules and realities are bent. the girl you love is leaving tomorrow, you both are up at an obscene time when she should probably be asleep, and also spent hours upon hours rolling around in the bed that a year ago, you never thought she’d occupy. and so, you want to do something with her you two have never done together, something she’d usually say no to.

“um, not really.”

you skip over to her spot at the stove. she’s never seen you dance, so part of you is just as embarrassed, your stomach coiling with nervousness. but, her own hesitation pushes you forward, hoping your own false courage rubs off on her. “c’mon, please, please. please, just this once.” you hold her wrist, lightly tugging.

she gives you a narrowed look, but doesn’t pull out of your grip. “I–I don’t dance.”

“I don’t do it much either! but, c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

she flatly watches you. “will it really?”

honestly, knowing lee, it feels a bit of a lie to confirm the truth of the notion. “I don’t know, let’s see.”

you tug again, and with a sigh, she switches off the stove, letting you guide her. you guys end up in the small space between the kitchen and living room, and you awkwardly swing your arms together, not really knowing what to do. lee stares at the ground, clearly just as uncomfortable as you. you use that to urge yourself on, grabbing her other hand and beginning to push and pull between the two of you to the beat.

when lee keeps her body stiff, arms flailing lifelessly from your encouragement, you whine, “okay, give me something!”

“I don’t even know what qualifies as ‘something’ when it comes to dancing.”

“just any movement, c’mon, you can do it!” you coax, intensifying your movements by bouncing on the balls of your feet. it feels slightly humiliating to devote more of your body to dancing when lee is still as frozen as ice, but you push yourself through for the sake of making her more comfortable. besides, the longer you two stay together, the more likely she’ll bear witness to even more weird shit from you, so might as well peel one layer off now.

you do a small twirl under her arm, but lee’s death grip makes you struggle to do it smoothly, so you wind up stumbling in a circle under your raised arms. it ignites a chuckle from lee, and you use that as an opportunity to pull her in closer, jumping a bit higher.

“come on, come on, pretend it’s exercise,” you laugh, pressing a shaky kiss to her lips. in the middle of it, lee hesitantly waddles her shoulders side to side, the rest of her body honed in on one position, simply standing upright.

you’re more than encouraged by the minimal movements, tightly gripping her hands and continuing to jump and twirl around her until she seems a tad looser, letting you yank and spin her body around. you two dance around the apartment for a while like that, your warm interlocked fingers giving you just enough leverage to pull her around the apartment, dragging her into head-dizzying swivels and pushes and pulls that send your arms pained with the exertion, cheeks aching with sheer, childlike delight.

you even pull out a few laughs of lee, who later into it, seems to actually enjoy herself, beaming and moving faintly with you. and you feel like you could float.

please keep me in mind.

a sentiment that wraps around your body when you dance, as well as in the morning after, when you lie next to lee in the morning. she’s still asleep, sweet thing, her torso bare from the night having gotten too hot from her. she looks perfect like this, your floral sheets wrapped around the slope of her waist, her freckled back the dip you get to press your lips against.

when the time gets close to 10:00AM, which she had set her alarm to, you give into your finger’s urges, laying them upon her freckled skin. you trace mindless patterns and swirling shapes, smiling at the way her body slightly squirms under your ministrations. you continue like that, using her back as your sheet of paper to draw anything you’d like.

you pause, thinking of a particular note you’d like to leave her if you did have some paper. a note you’d like to write all over her if you could, until it sinks into her just how real the sentiment is.

maybe you’ll write it now – something temporary to convey to her, something that feels a bit easier with the absence of permanency. maybe once she returns, you’ll have built up the courage to really tell her it.

I LOVE YOU.

you sign it with a kiss, pulling back when she groans, rubbing her eyes, panic momentarily bursting through your stomach.

she rolls back to you, eyes filled with goop in the inner corners. you raise your thumb to smear some of it away, pecking her nose. she doesn’t say anything, and seems to be right in the first moments of awakening, which eases some of your anxieties.

she raises her arm, brown underarm hair tickling against your cheek, smelling of her deodorant. long fingers brush through your hair, and you swallow hard at the feeling of her dark eyes resting intently upon you. they flick along every feature painting your face, and the sharp focus of it has your face warming.

“what is it?”

“you’re beautiful.”

there’s no hesitation in the words, and the surety of them have you laughing shyly, flicking her chest lightly and mumbling, “no, you are.”

her lip quirks up. “is this gonna turn into a competition?”

“yeah, but you have to head onto a train soon, so I’ll probably be the one to have the last word.”

she snorts. “good to know that winning by default isn’t below you.”

“hey, it’s still winning,” you cackle, though secretly, you know it won’t feel like winning at all when lee steps onto that train.

the evidence of that fact comes to you too quickly, the next few hours of breakfast and taking the subway to the station lee’s train is departing from happening all too fast. it all flashes by so fast that by the time the line is moving and lee needs to head down the escalator, duffel bag clutched tightly, you feel a rush of emotions surge into you at the sight of her so close to leaving – pride for what you now know she’s going back for, heartache for the struggle it’ll be, loneliness at the thought of her absence, and another ache, one that can only truly be described with one word.

lee’s eyes flick to behind her, where people are heading down the escalator in a messy, jumbled file. “I should go.”

you’d maybe grow insecure about whether leaving is difficult for her if it weren’t for how when she turns back to you, her eyes are wide, blinking hard, hesitation clearly present in the way they remain pinned on your face, unmoving, even though she ought to be leaving. her empty hand is rolled into a tight fist, stretching out to rasp against her thigh before she mutters, “can I hug you?”

you immediately lunge at her, throwing your arms around her neck. you feel the fabric of her duffle bag brush your leg as she drops it, her strong arms wrapping around your waist and holding your body flush to hers. she buries her nose into your neck, and you nearly croak at the way she breathes you in. you know how much she likes that spot in your neck, how often she lays her head in it when cuddling. you wonder if she’ll miss it. if she does, you can’t imagine how it’d be even half as much as you’ll miss her steady, grounding arms around you.

you dig your nails into her shoulders, trying to relish in this last moment of her being around you, totally surrounding your every sense. she smells of her neutral soap, accompanied by a faint whiff of cologne and the familiarity of your laundry detergent, coating an old t-shirt of yours that she threw on this morning. the sight had made you soften in all the right places, wanting to bury your face in her chest and scream at the sight of her wearing something belonging to you. it produced such a possessive bolt through you – she’s yours, yours and yours. yours, completely. your lee, comfortable enough to borrow your clothes, intimate enough with you to wear them as her own and let the fabric that’s rested on your skin for years slide against yours. it makes you feel moulded into her, as though deep in the stitches there had always existed a patient wait for lee to one day wear this as her own.

when you two part, faces close enough that your breaths to intermingle, you wait for her to push away and go, wanting to soak up the sight of her as much as possible before she leaves.

instead, she raises a trembling hand to your cheek and cups it, rough fingertips stroking the small bumps dotting your skin. a moment later, she leans into you and plants a short-lived kiss on your lips, firm and filled with an acute sense of intention and determination. you can feel the concentration and strength it takes for her to do that, her breaths shaky and heaving against you when she separates. but, she’s trying. for you, for herself, for what you two have. it makes you want to drag her back in for another, but her eyes are skittering nervously to the escalator, and you know she’s feeling too anxious to be running more late.

you gently push at her wrist. “go, go, baby. call me when you get there, okay?”

“I will.” she slips her wrist from your grip, sliding her fingers between yours and gently squeezing. “page me when you reach the apartment.”

the unspoken meaning hangs between you both.

when she starts going down the escalator, her head swivels back to her. trying to not worry her with the heartache that’s already settling in, pained and filled with the weight of dread, you blow her a kiss.

you recover momentarily when she glances around before sending you one back, the gesture stiff, awkward, and oh-so lovely.

as it turns out, you recover from the heartache in a sprinkle of different moments that day.

✩

it doesn’t fully go, but it eases in those seconds. like when you curl into lee’s bed and sleep in her scent. or when you get off to the memories of last night. or when you call one of your friends and make plans to develop your pictures tomorrow.

✩

or when you’re drinking tea before bed and as you head to the tree to turn off the tree’s lights, you find a tape laying upon the mini-skirt of it.

body thrumming with excitement, you pick it up, a grin splitting on your face when you read the sticky note pressed to its side.

It’s a bit late in terms of when you wanted one, but I hope you’ll accept it now. Think of it as an overdue gift from someone who would’ve wanted to make you one back in high school if we had been just a bit closer to each other.

– Lee

just like last time this happened, your eyes water, emotions seizing at you from the thoughtfulness of her gift. she really was always listening, wasn’t she? picking up on clues and hints about her loved ones, almost like little love notes, and using them to thoroughly understand all of them. her care seems to have no bounds – always executed through her attentive listening, mental noting, and action. true action, where no promises are broken and no doubt could ever be tied to her earnestness.

you immediately pop it into your walkman, eagerly putting on your headphones and walking to the kitchen. as you make a sandwich in this place that cracks and bends with familiarity, Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy playing in your ears and making the tears leak out, plans to meet your friends hanging on your mind, you suddenly feel very at ease. you may not know all your answers, or be sure of everything you feel, or are even over everything you feel, like the occasional bouts of anxiety for the future. but, this is still a life. one that you breathe in everyday, that has little rituals you could never part from, and contains things you are sure of.

and that’s enough.

–

when lee walks up the pathway to her small white home, the unmaintained grass and weeds scratching insistently at her shins (she makes a mental note to mow it down later into the week), she lets her eyes wander around, drinking in the sight. her preferred seasons are fall or winter, but she can’t ignore how beautiful oregon looks this time of year. in the heady month of august, her mother’s home is surrounded by lush trees that arch over the roof, the pine trees a dark contrast. maybe that’s why she’d like to live in a cottage. maybe it’d make her feel more tethered to her childhood home in a way that living in the city never could. she purses her lips as she steps onto the porch. she never thought of it that way.

she tentatively opens the door, the creak ringing through the house and making her cringe. her eyes immediately scan the staircase, feeling a pierce of discomfort at the two new boxes that seem to have been added since her last visit. the more she looks around, the more the sizzling anxiety in her stomach begins to burn. she draws in heavy, even breaths, trying to level herself. she can focus on this later. right now, she wants to see her mom.

her hand pushes the door to the living room open, her mother seated on a couch that is propped in the back with more blankets a person could ever need in the summer. trinkets and clutter turn the room into filth, hiding the floor and any inch of an empty surface. lee swallows hard and quietly says, “hi, mom,” approaching the woman in question.

her chin fits just right on her mother’s shoulder, silky grey hair rubbing against her cheek as they embrace for a long while. with anyone else, excluding her friends and you, she’d be on edge from such a lingering touch. but, with her mom, it’s an automatic, something she doesn’t even think twice about before giving her now. it’s become that embedded into their interactions, especially since lee moved away for university.

when lee sits next to her, a hand immediately patting down the soaked-through back of her t-shirt, her mother asks, “how were exams?”

“good.” she hesitates before blurting out, “I upped the lease. I’m going to stay there for a while longer.”

her mother is silent for a long while, her hand freezing, and lee instinctively tenses, awaiting some verbal reprimanding. they never really spoke of what lee would do post-graduation, but lee can imagine part of her mom had hoped for her to return to oregon and work there.

“I’m sorry. I want to come back. maybe one day.” she intentionally keeps it vague – she really isn’t sure if she’ll return.

the hand resumes its stroking. “I can’t blame you for that, babygirl. what would you do here?”

work. take care of you, probably.

lee sighs. “I don’t know.”

“I wanted more at your age, too. to work, to be away from my family.”

that’s what hurts, too. all her mom has missed out on, all that’s been lost in the midst of that night and the results of it. her mom had once been a nurse – still paranoid, still religious, but lee likes to think she was at least content with her life. now, however? lee isn’t sure if her mom could even answer that.

“do you feel you got that? more than what was expected of you, I mean.” lee rarely asks about her mom’s past. as a child, she always did, filled to the brim with curiosity over the kind of person her mother was before lee came into existence. now, lee never asked. not out of disinterest, she actually thought of her mom’s life a lot. but, it felt too close, too personal, to be asking those things, after years of avoidance.

“I mean, I had you. that gave me more.”

“in a bad way?”

“no.” her mom’s lips tilt up in a faint smile, and lee wishes she knew the meaning of it. “I mean, having you gave me more than I expected to have in this life.”

most daughters would be pleased to hear such a thing. but, all lee feels is a sense of embarrassment at the vulnerable words, as well as doubt. lee undoubtedly did give her mom more than she expected – but, was that really good? with lee’s birth, came the isolation, the thirteenth of january, and everything that occurred after. her mom did, indeed, get more than she bargained for, but lee couldn’t help but feel that more in this case meant unexpected horror. guilt churns in her stomach, and god, she wishes something had been done differently in the trajectory of her mom’s life. something that could’ve prevented all of this.

“maybe too much.”

lee shifts when she feels her mother’s gaze linger on her, and she suddenly regrets having said that.

“you think I regret it?” lee’s mom’s voice is hushed, raspy at the ends with old age. “I’d do it again. and again, and again…”

as her words dissolve into murmurs, lee feels her stomach sink. her mom is slipping away from this moment, this conversation. lee lets it happen, mulling over her previous words. you think I regret it? how could she not regret it? lee doesn’t know if she likes the idea of her mother not regretting it any more than the idea of her mom regretting having had lee as a daughter. because if her mother doesn’t regret it, then that means part of her mother is okay with all that happened, and maybe even takes a sort of pride in it. all because she wanted lee to be here, no matter the expense. and lee doesn’t want her mother to find any sort of pleasure in this situation, especially because of her.

“you shouldn’t,” lee whispers, the sound rough. “I wouldn’t want you to deal with all this again.”

her mother’s murmurs crawl into a silence, and she pauses, pursing her lips, before saying, “I would. so, that you could grow up. so, that I can see my little lee grow up.”

lee chews on the inside of her bottom lip silently. she never wanted her upbringing to be at the expense of her mother. but, she knows her mother is just as stubborn as she is. there’s no way of convincing her to regret lee or the situation. if her mom accepts it, if she’s glad of it, lee knows she can’t change that. who knows, maybe lee would feel the exact same way if her life choices also meant she got to live with and watch the life of someone she cared for progress. maybe she just doesn’t really understand the care of a mother just yet – the kind that surpasses anything, so long as your child gets to live and exist.

her mom’s hand rests on her lower back. “I wanted to have you. it meant I got to watch you grow up.”

“yeah, but…” it meant I got to watch you fall apart. lee can’t bear to say that, though. she doesn’t have the courage to bring to the surface that much. “so much…” she wants to talk about everything, she really does. but, years of failure to do so, both because of her own anxiety and her mother’s refusal to talk, hold her back. is there even a point now?

her mom speaks before she can decide. “it was okay. I don’t even remember it, I don’t– I don’t remember anything.”

lee swallows hard, her stomach stretching in frustration. she knows her mother remembers, she knows. she just doesn’t want to tell lee. lee wishes she could just drill into her mother’s head that she’s not a child anymore, she can handle the truth. well, the second part may be false. but, at least she’d be there, and they could struggle together. at least lee could know, and have the gap filled, and do something, anything.

her mother’s head turns away, jaw tight. lee knows she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore – maybe she can’t.

her hand, trembling lightly, raises, goes back down, then plants hesitantly on her mother’s knee. “you know, if you… ever want to talk about anything, or, I don’t know, what happened, you can talk to me. I’m ready to hear it.”

her mom grips onto lee’s hand like an anchor, and in the squeeze, lee hears the silent acknowledgement, the words her mom can’t, maybe ever, bear to say.

“it was worth it,” is all her mother murmurs.

lee sighs, then awkwardly, without surety, dips her head onto her mother’s shoulder. she can’t remember the last time she initiated touch like this with her. it feels restrained and uncomfortable, completely foreign and out of place to lee’s body. but, it’s at least something she can offer. she no longer lives here, and can commit to the daily diligence of working and taking care of her mom, which is how she showed her care before. and she still knows nothing, so can offer no weak attempts of verbal comfort. but, maybe this touch, the kind her mother seems to always like and leans into, can be some kind of offering.

it’s impossible that things can be fixed completely, at least anytime soon. but, she can at least show she’s there. sometimes, she doesn’t want to be, especially after having been there maybe too much in the past. but, when it comes down to it, she’d always be there, waiting for her mother. just as her mother is always here, waiting for her.

maybe one day, they’ll be able to talk about it and fill the gaps together. one day, lee knows she’ll tell her mother about you. she may not be ready now, she may never be ready to learn what her mom feels about it. but, she will speak on it – for her own sake, and yours. and maybe that’ll help her mother open up too, maybe it’ll help her learn that lee can have these conversations, that lee wouldn’t be timid or judgemental for anything that happened that night.

hours later, near to midnight, the television��s still playing in the background, and lee’s fingertips trace the receiver of the kitchen’s phone. she tries to weave together what she should say when you pick up, her thumb brushing the picture of you she secretly keeps in her wallet.

when she felt your secret message drawn into her back, her eyes had squeezed shut, heartbeat pounding. it was so delicate, slowed by something – lee’s not sure what. hesitation, maybe. but, she hadn’t dared to inquire. she hadn’t dared to do anything, really, anxiety plaguing her and making her frozen in place, unsure of how to react. the last thing she had expected were those three words to be thrusted onto her, and in a panic of how to perceive them, let alone respond, she immediately dropped it. after all, did you even mean it? maybe there was a reason you wrote instead of said it, like not being ready to declare it, or knowing if you even want to declare it.

and after the flurry of breakfast, last minute packing (a result of the late night of sweat and music, lee gathers), and the drop-off at the train station, lee finally had a moment to sit down, alone, and ask herself: did she love you?

the answer came as fast to her as only pure fact managed to: yes.

she learned a long time ago that love cannot be quantifiable, measured or determined solely by facts. in other words, it existed in a space she usually wasn’t comfortable to stand in, where feelings were the most reliable evidence. but, she knew, in her gut, that like no longer covered whatever it was she felt for you. in fact, using a word as simple and amicable as like felt like an offense to what it is she felt for you, and tasted sour in her mouth. in what she felt, there was too much intensity, too much of an overflow to hear your conversation and be better for you, to lie in your arms and remain safe there forever, for like to apply.

to her, that was proof enough. it felt like nothing but love, so it must be love – it was that simple. after all, process of elimination seemed the most reliable way of making sense of this feeling. but, the longer the train rode on, the more her thoughts lingered on the topic, she became convinced that even if she had paid just a bit more attention to how she felt, she probably would’ve figured it out. even when she was upset with you, there was a constant underbelly of care and tenderness. when something went wrong, she wanted to tell you and bury her face in your neck. when you showed any sign of sadness lee could manage to detect, she longed to do anything possible to bring you happiness. even if it means breaking down some of her own rock-hard walls, and taking steps of courage she’d fear treading otherwise. with you, it wasn’t easy to be vulnerable, but it was something she wanted to try harder for. because she wanted this to last, and she wanted you happy and cared for. you understand her, she understands you – and she wanted you to understand her, which is a rarity. to her, that’s love.

she picks up the phone. your absence has her longing to hear hear your voice. she’ll make no mention of the three words. she won’t.

“hello?”

she nearly breaks right then and there. “hey.”

“hi, baby.” your voice is like a fire, and she rolls in the hearth of it. “how has it been?”

“fine. we spoke a bit. I told her what you mentioned, about, you know, being there when she’s ready to talk.”

she hears you sigh. “I’m so proud of you, lee. I’m sure she appreciated it.”

she twirls the spirals of the phone along her finger, feeling warmed by the words. “thank you. and you? what have you done today?”

“I listened to a certain tape, lover boy.”

your words end with a small bout of laughter and lee bites her lip, cheeks heating up. she had hoped you’d like it, feeling all too exposing and vulnerable in the process of making it. but, she had done her best to push through, knowing it would make you feel happy, even if a mixtape wasn’t something you still harboured much of a wish for. placing it under the tree while you used the bathroom before leaving had felt like laying her heart out on the line. or whatever that saying was.

“you liked it?”

“I loved it,” you say, your tone sounding like something lee can only describe as melty, eased at the edges, your laughter dissolved. “it’s so lovely, lee. I’ve nearly broken my pencil with all the times I’ve re-wound it. I just– thank you. god, it’s such a nice gift, lee, it means so much to me.”

“it was– you had mentioned the mixtape. you know, from high school?”

“you remember that?” your voice raises a notch higher, sounding so touched that lee needs to clear her throat before answering.

“yes.”

“you remember everything, don’t you?”

lee smiles. “I wish I did.”

“me too.” after a pause, you ask, “do you really feel that way, like what’s described in the song? you always think of me? you, you know… yeah, do you feel those things?”

lee clutches onto the phone tighter. two words in the song ring loud and clear in her head, two that flow in just as the melody simmers to a slow. if she answers “yes,” will you realize just how much she means them? she inhales a sharp breath – she doesn’t want to lie to you, and now seems like an opportune moment to tell you what she’s been feeling. she hates being impulsive, yes, but, rare of an occurrence it is, she’s desirous to make her feelings known. maybe it’s to see if you meant what you traced on her back, but also because she just wants it to be known. she wants you to know that what she feels for you can no longer fall under any other word, and she wants you to at least exist with the knowledge that she loves you, even if you don’t return it. she wants to answer you honestly.

“I, um… I feel…” why is it so hard to say? she has to keep reminding herself that no matter what happens, you and her can together handle any change this could spring upon the two of you. and even if change did come, logically, how bad could it be? she’s simply a person telling their girlfriend that they’re in love.

“you feel what?” your tone is gentle, but prodding, clearly wanting an answer. maybe that means you really do want her to say it. she doesn’t think you’d be this urgent about her answer if part of you didn’t want to know it.

that fact urges her on, and she sucks in a sharp breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “I feel–”

“lee, honey? I’m going to sleep.”

lee turns to her mom, who lingers by the entrance to the kitchen. “okay, mom. goodnight.”

when the creaks along the staircase dim in noise, you say, “lee?”

she gulps down. it’s good timing, she reminds herself. you’re asking her with all the honesty and openness you expect from her in return. she can do it.

after two more heavy breaths, she spills it out. “I love you.” it’s just a murmur, barely there, but she does it.

it feels almost relieving until several seconds pass, and you say absolutely nothing.

lee tries to stay patient, she really does, but the seconds morph into a minute that feels like eternity, and her patient snaps, stomach turning too fast for her to handle. “is everything okay?”

“yeah, why? I called after you. I thought you were still talking to your mom.”

“I-I was before,” she confirms, trailing off, eyebrows drawn in. “but, then, she went upstairs. did you not hear what I said?”

“‘I love you’? yeah, weren’t you… saying that to her?”

lee blinks at the phone, completely silent. she doesn’t want to lie, and even if she did, she’d most likely be terrible at it. and so, she stands there, completely still, hoping you understand her meaning without any coaxing on her end.

“oh,” you whisper. “oh. oh, my god.”

you haven’t returned the sentiment back to lee. that’s the one thing all her thoughts are honed in on, and before you can worry over not returning it, she adds, “you don’t have to say it back if you–”

“are you kidding me?” you guffaw. “not say it back? how can I not say it back? of course, of course I feel the same way.”

lee freezes, her jaw clenching. she feels struck into place, the realization of her returned feelings bolting at her so abruptly she nearly wants to hang up the phone and take a few seconds to process it. you feel the same way. you love her back. it feels unreal, too hopeful, too lucky. of all things lee had expected at the start of the year, finding someone who loves her back was the last of it.

“oh, okay.” she huffs a sigh as soon as the words slip out. she’s not even close to an expert on romance, nor how one ought to conduct themselves in the throes of it, but she’s certain that that’s not the right response to someone heavily hinting that they love you. “I– sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” you say, sounding rather out of breath. “nerves. I get it.”

“yeah.” she rasps her fingers on her thighs, suddenly antsy in this singular position within her kitchen. she wants to go outside and take a walk. but, if she does, she’ll have to hang up. and that seems like the most unwanted thing she could do in this situation.

after another beat of silence, she screws her eyes shut, the shock beginning to morph into a deep plummet of doubt at your lack of confession. “I– really, it’s okay if you don’t want to say it. I–”

“no, no!” you cut in, your voice so squeaky in protest that lee winces, moving her ear back. “no, I’m sorry, I-I was just surprised. I love you too, of course I do, lee.”

lee nearly splutters at the way the words burst from your mouth, so fast that it’s barely detached from the string of the rest of your words. “I– okay. wait, sorry, I– yeah. I love you too.” the words have her stomach turning, the feeling akin to anxiety, but a bit more pleasant, almost as though there’s something eagerly floating through her, sending each nerve tickling in a kind of happiness.

happiness. that’s what she feels now that some of the confusion is cleared away, the clouds of it removed from the situation. it’s light and overwhelming, and floods her entire body in something sweet and intangible. you love her back. you actually love her. the concept feels like a revelation, some holy occasion beyond the bounds of reality, gifted upon her and only her. as though she’s been the one individual selected for this gift. the words themselves make her feel overwhelmed, too, as though they bear too heavy for someone as mortal as her. she leans her elbows on the plane of the counter, dipping her forehead against her palm.

“I know, babe, you just said that,” you say, your voice beautiful with the way laughter wraps around the words.

“I know,” she grunts, running her hand over her face. “well, I know now. I’m just– just shut up.”

“awe, is that a whine I hear?”

“no,” she snickers, embarrassment curling through her, hot and heavy. “you confused me before, alright?”

“hey, you’re the one who didn’t confirm her mom went upstairs!”

“well, because I thought the minute long silence was enough of an indicator that conversation with my mom had ended. most people are usually able to gauge that.”

“ugh!” you scoff. “is that how you talk to the person you’re in love with?”

jesus, how embarrassing – you’re surely going to spend weeks now holding that over her head. “if they’re not making sense, yes.”

“well, they don’t have to make sense, right? you should know – after all, love doesn’t make sense, but you just declared that you love me.”

your mocking words have her slightly humiliated, yes, but they also arouse a jolt of pride and possessiveness through her. you know she loves you, and she knows you love her. just another thing to share between yourselves, privately reserved for your exchanged words and touches. and while your satisfaction will most likely result in a ceaseless amount of jokes that she’s the center of, she can’t help but feel a warmth from the way you’re lavishing under the confession. she’s glad to have given you that ego stroke, that dose of love and surety.

and so, she lets you go on with your jokes and when you ask, she says it again. “I love you.”

and your voice gets soft, in that way that sends her stirring as though she’s been half-awake her entire life until that moment, and you say, “I love you too, sweet girl. you’re the sweetest, you know?”

and sure, it makes her hot in her face and shift on the stool she drags to the counter later on so that she can talk to you comfortably. but, it makes her smile to hear you giddily laugh and whine, and it makes her feel afloat when you return the words. shell-shocked, sometimes. but, most of all, adored, so adored that she nearly shies away from saying it again.

but, still, she says it. she wants you to know. she wants to tell you these things.

----

some notes about your guys' life together:

when lee returns and you show her the photos you've printed, the first thing she does is hang them up in her bedroom, filling the space of her blank walls (the gesture and sight makes you cry, and she holds you for the rest of the night)

lee introduces you to her mom at graduation, and you take pictures of them together that ruth takes back to oregon

months later, lee tells her mom about you two. it's fast, to-the-point, and blurted out the morning of her departure to come back home to you. her mom acknowledges it, quietly, then continues to eat. weeks pass of neither of them mentioning it until lee one day says on the phone, as firmly as she can muster, "this is someone in my life. I don't want you to ignore them, please." after that call, they don't speak until ruth calls her one day. when she asks, "and how is your... friend?" lee actually smiles. it takes two months for ruth to call you her girlfriend, and when she does, lee practically beams.

sometime in the future, lee does discover how much her mom did come to question her faith while still using it as a shield. but, ruth says, it was meant to protect them from others, not from each other

things go long-distance when lee attends the academy in virginia, and when she sees you and ruth in the crowd during her ceremony, she wells up

you guys do, in fact, move into a cottage together (one that lee ensures has lots of windows), and you keep the small christmas tree from the apartment up there year-long

out of habit, you guys still page, then eventually, text, each other your first apartment's number to signal you've arrived home

after some coaxing, you convince lee to adopt two kittens with you, who she grows immensely attached to (one light brown one that's always jumping on her and playfully scratching her awake, and a grey one, solitary and quiet, who silently sits on her desk while she works)

lee, one day, wraps her arms around from behind as you make coffee and mumbles, "thanks for moving in with me." you laugh at first, but the noise fades when she adds, "the apartment, I mean," which incites a wave of gratitude to roll through you, the two of you meeting for a soft kiss. she has no idea how glad you are of it, too

you guys continue to be curious about each other

regarding lee and ruth's backstory: i didn't really want to include the supernatural elements of Longlegs in this story, so instead, i leaned into the theories and maika's alluding of the film being a metaphor about trauma. so, just like in the film, a stranger visited ruth and lee's home the day before lee's ninth birthday, and the trauma of that day is what led to the changes in ruth, such as her hoarding habit. what exactly occurred on this day is vague and up to interpretation -- both because of the film's vagueness in what the harkers' trauma is meant to be if the film really is a metaphor, as well as lee's lack of memories for for that day. it's up to you to decide whether it was kobble or visited them, or someone else. and lee does not remember the night both due to ruth's secrecy and her own suppressed memories, which is meant to tie into the elements of suppression and family secrets within the harkers' story in the film.

A/N: so, that is it for does it happen in a season? 😭 now, that it's done, I'd absolutely love to hear what you all thought of the final product, whether it be in the comments or through an ask. I always adore hearing what you guys think about this story, whether it be about a specific chap or the work in general, so I'd truly appreciate any thoughts now that's done, and would be so incredibly touched to hear about what it meant to anyone and everyone who read it :") i worked really hard on it, and hearing your guys' thoughts would feel like such a gift (it can be as long as you want I'm truly open to anything and want to know soooo bad) <33

ofc, I wanna thank all my mutuals and followers who always diligently liked, reblogged and commented -- like, it always made me feel so encouraged and uplifted, and really pushed me to continue in the best way possible, since I felt, like, "okay, there are people who look forward to this story and want to see more of it." like, you guys truly gave me so much comfort and confidence about writing this story, and whenever I posted, I was always so eager to hear your guys' thoughts and see you in my notifs. it just made this entire story feel so communal, if that makes sense? like, this story just felt like a work so seeped with community, support and friendship, both because of the encouragement of others, as well as the amount of people who helped me, like my girlfriend, @threenounname, and dear friends, @mignonettesauce and @sillysillyparty, when it came to making decisions about the plot or just needing reassurance about if certain things made sense. (like, my gf literally put SO much work into helping me with this story, he was constantly reading snippets and pieces of it and letting me drag him into long ass conversations about if this or that was accurate to the story or to lee). same with my other friends who aren't on tumblr, who were so supportive and advised me on how to approach certain things, as well as gave me so much encouragement and lovely words about the snippets I showed them, which boosted my motivation so much. so, yeah, this entire work felt so comforting and safe to return to, and was completely surrounded by such lovely people who gave me constant replenishments of motivation to continue, and I'm so grateful for all of you :") here's to all of us finding and having both people and places who makes us feel totally at home <3

#does it happen in a season?#s.writing #lee harker x reader #lee harker fanfiction #lee harker #longlegs #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024

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the-elegant-necromancer · 2 days ago

Text

((I couldn't just leave this alone not when there is so much to work with))

There was a hard knocking on the door to the house given to team RWBY and JNRO. It had been a few months since what they were all calling the 'incident' and all things considered it had been very quiet.

Too quiet.

Yang was the one to answer the door seeing a woman who seemed just showing a baby bump standing there, head wrapped in a bright blue scarf matching her sky blue dress.

Yang: Um, can I help you?

Woman: I need to talk to him.

Yang: Okay you're going to have to be way more specific, then 'him' I don't think any one here is expecting a visitor.

Woman: Arc, I need to talk with Arc!

Yang: Why would you need to?

*The woman pulls the scarf up to show her face giving Yang some serious pause*

Yang: C-Cinder!

Ruby: *As if on instinct petal bursting into the room, weapon in hand* Cinder?! WHERE!?

Cinder: Yes, me, now I need to talk to Arc, now... please.

Ruby: *Looking the woman up and down before nodding* I'll um, I'll go get him...

Yang: Would you um, like to come in?

Cinder: How do I know you won't attack me if I do?

Yang: *Looking down to the woman's rather obvious baby-bump* Um, there is at least one reason.

Cinder: *Groans before walking inside taking off the scarf and sitting on the very couch that the 'incident' happened on*

Weiss and Blake come out to the common room to see Cinder sitting so properly, hands folded on her lap, doing nothing that could hide the obvious difference in her silhouette since they had seen her last.

Both woman quickly exchanged looks before staring at Yang who only shrugged making a motion towards Cinder.

Cinder: If you want to ask just ask, I rather dislike being talked about like I'm not here.

Blake: So um... you and Jaune didn't um...

Cinder: That wasn't exactly on my mind during. To be fair I had assumed this... thing *She waved her grimm arm around* had made it impossible for something like this to happen.

Yang: I mean its called the 'miracle of life' for a reason.

Cinder: Clearly.

Weiss: So why are you here exactly besides giving Jaune the um, good? News.

Cinder: That, is between him and I.

Blake: So have you thought of a name yet?

*Yang and Weiss both give the woman a rather shocked and confused glare*

Blake: What? I'm just trying to be positive here.

Cinder: *Sighing* Ashe if they're a girl, and Hawke if they're a boy.

Weiss: You've... given this a lot of thought.

Cinder: I have. That is why I am here.

Jaune enters with Ruby chasing behind him

Jaune: Cinder? What are... oh, wow.

Cinder: Yes Arc, as you can see, you gave me a rather, late holiday gift.

Jaune: *Darting to her side, sitting next to her taking her hands shocking nearly everyone there, including Cinder* Where have you been? Its been months, why didn't you come back when you found out?

Cinder: *Nearly too shocked to speak* Are you insane? You do remember who I am right?

Jaune: Oh I remember alright. I also remember, most of what happened that night too.

Blake moves ushering the other women out of the common room in an attempt to give the expecting parents some space.

Cinder: Then you know why I couldn't just come back.

Jaune: Still, then wait, why are you here now?

Cinder: Salem noticed

Jaune: Wait... you mean you didn't tell her?!

Cinder: Of course not! I work with her, but I'm not dumb. If she found out what we did, and the result, she would have found herself a new fall maiden. I'm no fool.

Jaune: If she noticed then, why come here? You know if she comes for you we can't protect you.

Cinder: I know that very well, I came here to ask you... *The woman takes a shuttering breath as though she's on the verge of tears* I came to ask you to take care of them when they're born.

Jaune: What? Why? Where will you be?

Cinder: As far away as I can go. Somewhere quiet, and hidden.

Jaune: No! You can't just expect me to believe you're willing to run away from our child! *he shakes his head as though he could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth*

Cinder: Its the only way to make sure they stay safe! Dont you get it! Salem knows I'm with child, and if she finds out who the father is, and she will, she will use that against you and me! I refuse to let that happen!

Jaune: I'm not going to let you live like that!

Cinder: Arc! Jaune! You dense fool, you should want this, its an apt punishment for someone like me.

Jaune: Bullshit! You are not going anywhere, not now, and not when you have our baby. If you think you can just find somewhere to hide, I will find you and drag you back!

Cinder: *Flustered and confused* What is wrong with you! You hate me! This is the last thing you should ever have wanted to happen!

Jaune: I've had way too much time to hate you, and maybe that night was more than just comfort to me... and something tells me it was something more for you too.

Cinder: I dont know what you're on about

Jaune: You didn't have to come here, you could have given the child to be raised at an orpan-

Cinder: NEVER *Clams up hard realizing just what she gave away*

Jaune: Oh... I see, you were.

Cinder: Yes, and you see why I had to come here.

Jaune: But why now? You could have dropped the child off after, instead of coming here.

Cinder: *Refuses to answer, fidgeting with the claws on her grimm hand*

Jaune: *Starting to smile* Cinder... ah fuck it *get down on one knee in front of her*

Cinder: *Blushing like mad, shaking her head* W-what are you doing! Y-You can't!

Jaune: Oh I very much can, this is my child too and I intend to take responsibility for that night.

Cinder: *Just starting to tear up* You idiot, you can't expect me to just say yes.

Jaune: Cinder Fall? Will you marry me?

Cinder: *starting to actually cry shaking her head no* Fuck you! You are such an idiot! Yes! Fuck you Jaune! Yes! I'll marry you!

Jaune: *Laughing and starting to cry a bit himself stands and hugs the woman warmly before kissing her.* You're so bad at this

Cinder: Shut up!

Blake: *A single ear pointed towards the common room, she was trying to hold her tears back, hiccuping with little sniffles* God they are both so fucking bad at this...

Weiss: I can't believe this, Cinder is pregnant with Jaune's kid. What are we supposed to do with her now?

Yang: Well I mean we are going to have to find a way to keep Nora from throwing hands with a pregnant woman first off.

Ruby: Well at least she wont be trying to kill any of us

Weiss: You've never met a pregnant woman have you?

Ruby: What does that mean?

*In Vacuo common room, one winter night*

Jaune: Sigh... I can't sleep.

*loud noise in the chimney*

Jaune: What the...

*bunch of packets drop into the room*

Jaune: You gotta be kidding me...

*person drops into the room*

Jaune: Are you... Santa?

Cinder: *coughing* you wish... idiot.

Jaune: Cinder! *reaches for a sword, realizes he is in pajamas* What are you trying to do?

Cinder: *coughing* Plan? Fat bearded maniac threw me in the chimney and you think this is some kind of plan?

Jaune: Santa threw you in the chimney? You can't be serious.

Cinder: I wouldn't joke about something like that. See. *shows letter attached to her nightie* It says here, for June.

Jaune: It's Jaune. *snatches letter away from her* Why would Santa send me you?

Cinder: I suppose he knows you want to defeat me and thought bringing me here in a nightie was your best bet. But don't delude yourself, I don't need a blade to beat you Arc.

Jaune: *reads the letter* Dear Jaune, you are without a doubt one of the worst people on this Gods forsaken planet. Every breath you take is stolen from someone more worthy. Your life serves zero purpose, you should have stayed back there. I would have brought you the world's biggest piece of coal but you don't even deserve that. Here is bag of Cinder for you, he he. Hate from... Santa.

Cinder: I stand corrected. Old man has wicked sense of humor.

Jaune: What is this?! *continues reading* None of this makes any sense. He is accusing me of murder in cold blood, theft, ship sinking... whatever that is.

Cinder: Fufufu. But it's true. Didn't you steal an Atlesian airship to reach it?

Jaune: I did, but it was group effort *reads Ruby's letter* See! See! He is praising Ruby the entire letter! He is picking on me!

Cinder: Oh dear, how tragic. *rummages through kitchen* Anything to drink here?

Jaune: Santa is hating on me! I am number 2 on the naughty list! He thinks I am worse than pretty much anyone on this planet.

Cinder: I am number 1 by the way. *takes a sip of cocoa* Hmm, this won't do. *adds a cup of rum*

Jaune: Santa thinks I'm worse than Salem? Just great... *sits on a couch*

Cinder: Want some?

Jaune: At this point that's just rum with cocoa flavor.

Cinder: Santa exists, he hates you and brought me to you as a punishment.

Jaune: Give me that. *takes a swig* How do you deal with all that hate?

Cinder: I just continue going forward, that's the only thing you can do. Spite them with your continuous existence.

Jaune: That sounds tiring.

Cinder: Hating is more tiring than just existing.

Jaune: I suppose that's true... Cheers.

Cinder: Cheers.

#rwby #cinder fall #rwby cinder #knightfall #jaune arc #rwby shitpost #post-holidays #consequences #cinder x jaune #cinder fall x jaune arc

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museadventures · 29 days ago

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😔

#I think I'm so done with being alive #I feel way too bad #I need to leave this house #fr how do you deal with strict parents? I think my mom has said the worse shit to me ever #like she literally just hates me #this is absolutely ridiculous #and life seems just too impossible lately #I don't want to be here I don't want to feel like this #im 25 she shouldn't give two shits if I arrive at 2 am #also its not like I'm a problematic child I never was #I was quite literally the perfect child while growing up and all of that? for nothing #it was so embarrassing when she literally threatened me in front of my friends #now I can't stop crying and I feel so bad #it all started because my mom called me an irresponsible unemployed bitch #just because I can't land s job in my field #and I went to s Christmas celebration with my friends

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eloquentlytired · 4 months ago

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Logan with a breeding kink fic? 😉

18+ mdni

— raw.

pairing: logan howlett x fem reader

word count: less than 900

tags: unprotected sex — breeding — logan is feral — just filthy smut — risky sex — dom/sub undertones

author’s note: hi anon I hope this was a good read for you. logan having a breeding kink is so incredibly canon honestly

ৎৎৎ

“lo.” you moan as you lie facedown on the bed, legs straight, hips slightly raised. logan enters you from behind and the way he stretches you in this position has you whimpering. one of his large hands puts weight on your head and forces you to bury it against the bedsheets as you sob beneath him. his other hand stays on your middle to kind of support himself as he fucks you, driving his veiny cock into your deepest parts. the bed creaks beneath your moving bodies but you don't seem to care. logan grunts as he feels your pussy clenching around his cock, coating it too with your arousal. “still taking your pills like a good girl?” the shake of your head makes his hips slow down and gradually stop. you tilt your head at an awkward angle to stare at him and he stares back. “w—we ran out.” you whisper, voice still laced with arousal and need. logan weighs his options as his eyes drift downwards where his cock is completed soaked by your wetness and even his pubic hair drip with the doings of your pussy. his bare cock twitches inside you and you moan. “not safe,lo. let's just—”

there's not much you can do in this position when logan starts thrusting again. you take what he gives you and your eyes roll back when the fat head of his cock kisses your sweet spot, making your entire body shake all over. tears of pleasure slide down your cheeks and he leans down to kiss a tender spot on your shoulder before biting down. he grounds his hips in circles and you almost scream. “there— there,lo.” you beg him and he repeats the motion again and again. when your pussy tightens around him as you cum, logan growls into your shoulder and you can sense him growing more feral over you. your hands grip onto the bedsheets for dear life as you drool and cry against the mattress. logan drives his cock faster inside you and a few more thrusts later he fills you up, leaning the weight of his lower body on yours that his cock nudges impossible places within you. it makes you squirm and logan offers you a reassuring kiss as he pants against your shoulder, trying to process the raw feel of your walls around his bare girth.

“fuck.” you hear him curse minutes later and when you look back, your eyes widen. logan slips his softening cock out of your pussy and watches as his own come drips out and over your cunt. you exchange a silent and long stare and then logan is moving you again. you don't know what's happening or why but you're about to.

you've lost count and you've also lost any sanity left for the time being. you drag a hand over your belly as logan pumps his load inside you again, making your thighs shake from where they sit atop his own. you're laying on your back this time while he gets comfortable between your spread legs, breeding you until the late hours. “one last time. I swear,baby.” he lies through his teeth again and you allow it. logan slips his hands underneath your legs and shoves them back until your knees are nearly touching your chest. his cock is still hard and leaking — he'd really done it this time — and he wants to blame your bare cunt for wrapping around his cock so perfectly. you're tired and your pussy feels a little sore but you can't help but reach a wandering hand to your clit and rub it as logan fucks you mercilessly. his balls are heavy and drag against you with each shallow thrust. your entire body shakes and your other hand remains atop your stomach; you're full, so full, and your toes curl when you think about how much of logan’s seed you've stored in your womb.

“lo—” you're letting go again, your entire body spasming as your fingers shake against your swollen clit. logan’s eyes narrow when he watches you squirt beneath him and one of his hands is moving down to toy with your pussy, his fingers moving past yours and past your clit to tease the source of your squirt. it makes you cry and nearly scream. logan feels his balls tighten and before you know it he's already giving it to you again, spilling everything inside your pussy to make it full. to make his seed take place. “lo.” by the time you call for him he's already slipping a hand around your nape, clutching it, while his other hand joins your own on top of your stomach.

your lips meet and logan soothes you. “so pretty, so sweet. you took so much in ya, princess.” and his whispers make you tremble even more as you kiss him back slowly. his kisses are nothing like the way he fucks you; they're slow, patient and gentle. logan hums into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck. his fingers flex upon your stomach, even doing so much as squeeze it. he loves it. “how ‘bout we forget about those pills?” logan growls.

his cock doesn't stay soft for long and when his hand presses into your tummy possessively, you know exactly what awaits you.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #marvel #x men #hugh jackman x reader

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dragons-and-yellow-roses · 1 year ago

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Just heard The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives and I'm UNWELL

#god what a song #magnificent song #idk man it just teleported me back to a rough time but it made the rough time seem bearable #in other news becaude i need to vent: my family is visiting for two weeks and it's just too much #theyre so loud and abrasive and i cant deal with it #i brought them into my room that ive spent weeks trying to clean and they immediately started insulting it #my roommate sleeps late so i always tey to be quiet but they're all shouting because they never learned to hsve an inside voice #and theyre transphobic. im trans. as is my roommate. im in hell #today i was just stress cleaning my room and the kitchen #i need a nap but i really need to get some control over my life but that feels impossible right now #happy holidays everyone

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gothamhappiness · 6 months ago

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Just in love (Jason Todd x f!reader)

Warnings: no proof reading, Batman is a bit of an ass, fluff

The batfamily was on edge because Jason seemed unusually quiet lately, in Crime Alley. They all were certain Red Hood was planning something bad.

But the reality was that Jason was very distracted by a pretty little Y/N. For the first time in his life, he was falling deeply in love to the point nothing else truly mattered to him. He was completely unaware of his former family's concern.

The first time Dick saw you, you were fast asleep into Jason's arms. Jason's book was lying on the ground as the giant guy was also resting his eyes. Dick was watching at the two of you through the window. Something warmed up inside of his chest, because things might get better for his baby brother. He hoped that Jason finally found some happiness in his new existence.

Actually, Nightwing was looking for Red Hood, because everyone was certain he was the reason behind the several buildings exploding during the night. Nightwing thought he could try and find clues at Jason's place. Instead, he saw the two of you cuddled up on the couch.

"Guys, we got the wrong guy. Clearly not Red Hood" he said over the comm's

"How so?" Batman replied

"He's currently asleep on the couch with a girl. Gosh he looks so relaxed. Maybe we all worried for nothing." Dick was almost smiling

"Let's focus back on the situation then, Nightwing" Batman hummed

The next day, Dick tried to find a way to run into Jason and you. He wanted to meet you, he wanted to talk with you. He needed to make sure you were good for Jason, but more importantly he needed to make an ally out of you. He was certain he could get Jason back in his life thanks to you.

Jason wasn't too glad to see Dick trying to be all frendly and chatty with you. However you seemed happy to listen to whathever Dick had to say and he couldn't deny you anything.

On the other hand, Dick loved being allowed to tell someone about all their childhood stories. It was making him feel like maybe not everything was lost.

Jason even smiled at your laughter and started to tell some of the stories himself, mostly to try and embarrass Dick (which was nearly impossible).

Perhaps brothers can still be brothers despite all the blood and violence.

#batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x s/o #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x sister #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #batfamily

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danidrabbles · 2 months ago

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Cardinal

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

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

THE LOOKOUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today you want it to be your last time here.

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

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

“Hey, stop!”

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

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

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

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

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

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

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

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

“You know–” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding.

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

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

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

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

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

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

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRAVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

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

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

“First time’s on the house.”

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

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

“She isn’t interested, pal.”

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

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

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

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

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

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

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

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

“Oh…,” you say, voice small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PUZZLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a quick study.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can pay next time.”

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

– – – – –

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

THE PANTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

You respond in kind.

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

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

THE MEETING

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

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

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

You’d answered without saying a word.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

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

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

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

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

Logan scoffs in reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe next time.”

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

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

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

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely,” you reply.

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

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

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

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

“See you.”

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

THE SUMMER

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

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

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

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” Logan warns.

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

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

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

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

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

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PARTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you smile.

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

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

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

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you dance?”

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

“Logan,” you breathe.

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

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

You like him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

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

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

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

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

But he might.

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

But it would change everyth–

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

friends.

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

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

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

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

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

#dani writing #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james logan howlett x reader #worst wolverine x reader #logan x reader #x men x reader #worst wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut

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whokilledsamara · 2 months ago

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Could you please write a mr scarletta x afab reader smut 🙏🏼 high key based on all the art of his umbrella being his member or it brings him pleasure when rubbed. Maybe where reader is riding the curved handle of rubbing it between her legs 🫣 if not thank you for taking your time to even just read this!

UMBRELLA

a Mr. Scarletella x afab!reader fic. {an: ooo when i tell you i think about this NIGHTLY}

warnings || misuse of an umbrella, humping, riding an inanimate object, public {for Mr. Scarletella}, afab reader, smut, indirect sex

he always made sure you had it- his umbrella. it was his entire heart and soul, literally him as a being. he trusted you enough- enough that he would leave you with it at all times. he could feel every touch from it, every time your fingers grazed the mesh. you were his human, and he would do anything to mark you as his. regardless if you gave him your name or not.

honestly, you never realized how much it really affected him. you thought all the times he would flinch as you opened the umbrella was just him being, well, him. the way his face would flush and eyes would widen as your hand held the handle, seemed normal to you. though, the more you thought about it, it all started to make sense. Mr. Scarletella was known to be weird and unsettling, but you didn't mind too much. he scared off any creatures that posed a threat to you, plus he was kinda hot-... in his own, creepy way.

it was late at night, or so you assumed- there really wasn't any way to tell time here.. but as you grew restless, tossing and turning on the makeshift bed you had, an idea came to mind. though it was rather risky,, and rather lewd, you couldn't help it. there was really no action here, and all this built up sexual tension definitely didn't help.

your eyes glare daggers at the umbrella that was perched next to your bed. a long stare at that. your thoughts kept debating whether to take the risk or not, until you finally sighed and grabbed it.

he was busy at the time, doing who knows what, but his actions paused when he felt your hands on him- his umbrella. you're supposed to be sleeping, why are you awake? his eyes narrow but he decides to carry on with whatever he was doing.

you on the other hand, were too busy shimmying off your small red panties, still debating your life choices as you rub your fingers down to your entrance, lubing your whole pussy up before shifting in a sitting position, umbrella underneath you. the stick of it was long, and slightly thick. there was a curve at the end for the handle. sighing softly, you lower your cunt on the stick part of it, rubbing your clit on the long pole. your breath instinctively hitches, a hushed whine leaving your lips. your hips move faster and faster, eyes clenching shut.

his heartbeat speed up, so fast he could hear it. his back hits the wall near him and his face turns red, hand coming up to cover his mouth. eyes still wide and staring off into space, his legs slightly trembling as he stays pressed against the wall.

oh.. so thats what you're doing..

meanwhile, your small moans grew heavier, pussy lubing up the pole and making it slide easier. one hand was places on the mesh of the umbrella, while the other was on the side of it, keeping you held up. your cunt was so desperately humping it, seeking as much friction as it could. unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

when he feels the pressure be pulled off, he sighs, having a hard time catching his breath as he processes what just happened. his boner was noticeable even through his raincoat, so prominent that it was impossible to cover. his eyes clench shut and he lets out a shaky breath, attempting to catch himself, his eyes widen with shock and a loud groan suddenly escapes him as he feels you actually slip onto the handle of the umbrella. his fucking cock. he drops to his knees and clenches his stomach, eyes wide and a grin that stretches ear to ear. his teeth sunk into his lip, blood seeping out. shaky breaths and whines spill from him, hair somewhat covering his face as his eyes stare off. you were gonna be the death of him.

your breath hitches and you let out a loud, pleased moan, the handle of the umbrella hitting just the right spot so deep inside of you that you almost came as soon as you started. you couldn't get enough, both your insides and clit were being stimulated from your frantic riding. your hips shuttered, moving at an impossible pace, head thrown back and mewls slipping freely from your lips. you needed it so bad, wanted to cum so desperately that you didn't care how you got it. nor did you care that you were riding a fucking umbrella.

the handle hits a perfect peak. your eyes roll back so far into your skull and you let out one last loud moan, hips sputtering and an orgasm crashing though you. the handle was still deep inside, a bit of drool sliding down your chin. your eyes dart down at the sight- a messy umbrella covered in both your juices and orgasm, but also.. semen?

oh shit.

embarrassment covers your face, realizing your mistake. you hopelessly forgot that his umbrella was practically him as a being, and you just rode it, let alone came on it. you slowly pull it out of you, an unwilling whimper leaving your lips at the feeling.

how could you possibly get out of this one..?

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

#smut #homicipher #homicipher x reader #afab reader #mr. scarletella #mr scarletella #mr scarletta #mr. scarletella x you #mr. scarletella x reader #mr. scarletella x y/n #misuse of an object #misuse

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slytherinboysvip · 2 months ago

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Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.

𓆙

talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.

you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.

“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.

𓆙

“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.

“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.

“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.

making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath

“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.

after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.

“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged

she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door

“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow

“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.

zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup

“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.

𓆙

once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another

“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you

“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.

“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.

throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.

the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.

pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks

“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.

“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music

“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.

through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.

you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.

“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.

you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.

he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.

“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.

“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.

you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.

“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.

without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.

you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.

“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.

“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.

2K notes · View notes

theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

Text

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

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