#but i got her like a year ago now so i feel like its too late there but this one idk

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.��

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[lovegalor333]

fresh start

part one (chapters 1-3) story info • next part

word count: 6.1k

content warnings: mentions of homophobia and depression

Lily

Transferring to University of Connecticut in my junior year was my final lifeline.

No one has actually verbalised that but it was an unspoken understanding.

Everyone in my life, back home in Boston knew that coming to UConn was a fresh start for me and a second opportunity at life.

I started my college career at UMass in my home state of Massachusetts. Going to college was just another thing on my list to tick off to pacify my family. Unlike my high school peers, I never aspired to go to college, in fact I didn't think I'd be alive by the time it came around.

"You must be Lily!" A sweet voice pulled me from my inner monologue as I stood in my new bedroom, boxes surrounding me.

"Yes!" I spun around to see a brown haired, brown eyed girl stood in my doorway. I flashed her my biggest, bravest smile.

Fake it till you make it.

"I'm Kelsey." She introduced herself coming closer.

Being a junior, I opted to live in an apartment for my time here at UConn. Four people, four bedrooms. That way I had my own space but still the option to mingle in our shared living room and kitchen. I knew I was sharing with three other girls as there was a paper with all our names listed on the table when I entered the apartment a few hours ago.

Kelsey

Madison

Hannah

and me, Lily.

"Nice to meet you." I say and Kelsey hugs me tight, its a warm hug and I can tell its not just a pleasantry, Kelsey feels kind and that relaxes me immediately.

"Looks like we're the first to arrive, how long have you been here?" She asks looking around at the numerous open boxes with my possessions spilling out of them.

"A few hours - how about you?" I bounce the question back to my new roommate.

"Oh I got here last night. Just took a walk around to familiarise myself. I lived on the complete other-side of campus last year but wanted to upgrade for my junior and senior year." She explained.

"I expect a tour at some point then." I joke but Kelsey nods enthusiastically, "Of course! Did you live off campus last year?"

"No. Well, yes - I lived in a whole different state. I just transferred from UMass." I tell her.

I decide to keep my explanation of why I transferred clean and concise.

Massachusetts was not for me.

I was born and raised there and needed something new. I'm not ashamed of my life and what has happened, I'm just very aware that not everyone needs to know everything about me.

Not yet anyway.

And besides, this is supposed to be a fresh start and how can there be any truth in that if I spend my time talking about the past.

Kelsey stayed in my room for the next few hours and helped me unpack the majority of my stuff. Things were starting to look normal rather than like a bomb had just exploded, I was thankful for the help.

I learned a lot about Kelsey in the time we spent filling my wardrobe and organising my dresser. She was studying Education as she wanted to be a preschool teacher. She was also from New England - New Hampshire to be precise (East Coast girlies unite). She was a party girl and insisted on showing me the bars near-by. She was newly single and was making it her junior year goal to stay that way.

Me too. But I didn't mention that.

Her favourite colour was red which looking at her now, was obvious. She sported a red baby tee and had her nails painted the exact same shade. She couldn't function without a morning coffee.

Me too. I did mention that.

I liked Kelsey a lot.

"So Kinesiology..." She started mentioning my choice of major.

"Yes - it was kind of a last minute decision. I love sport, especially soccer and I knew I needed to study something that I could relate to a hobby or I would have lost interest." I laughed.

"Do you play soccer?" I shook my head immediately, "God no. I have absolutely no athletic ability I just love watching it." I say as we sit on my bed side by side, backs against the wall.

Watching soccer, whether it be on TV or in real life was the only time my brain truly shut off. I was too focused on where the ball was, who it was being passed to, how well the pass was being executed and if the net would ripple at the end of a well thought out play to focus on anything else.

"I suppose ninety minutes of tight kits and sweaty bodies isn't a bad view." Kelsey giggled and I couldn't argue.

"Do you watch or play any sports?" I turn my body to Kelsey slightly giving her my attention, I preferred talking about others.

"Definitely don't play. As for watching, I make myself present if theres a big tournament on, usually at the bar mind you." She points a finger at me matter of factly.

"But enough about me. I feel like I've told you my life story and all I know about you is you're a Bostonian who loves soccer. Tell me something fun! Are you dating anyone? What's your type?" She asks eyebrows wiggling at me.

I contemplate my answer carefully not knowing how to broach the subject. Kelsey makes me feel like I can trust her but in reality I've known her less than 12 hours so don't actually know her. I remind myself why I'm here: to start afresh. I decide to be honest, I spent way too long hiding who I really was.

"I'm not dating anyone." I confess, the words feeling foreign even though its the truth. "My last relationship didn't end so well. In fact, it almost ended me." I quip making light of a not so light time in my life not so long ago. "Oh no, I'm sorry Lily. I'll kill the guy if I ever meet him." She says seriously, hands balled into fist as if she's a boxer preparing to go into the ring.

Here goes nothing.

"The girl." I say correcting her. "You'll kill the girl if you ever meet her." I stay silent trying to read Kelseys reaction to the fact that I'm gay. Living in America you never know what to expect when you reveal something like that, I just hoped mine and Kelseys newfound friendship wasn't about to come to a premature end.

"I have no problem beating a bitch up." The brunette says flicking her hair off her shoulder. I breathe a sigh of relief, the revelation doesn't seem to have bothered her in the slightest. "My sisters lesbian and I've heard enough stories to know girls are just as bad a guys. Maybe you should join the sisterhood of single juniors." She says, raising an eyebrow putting her hand between us for me to place mine on top and join the unofficial club. I hesitate because deep down I'm a lover girl and despite my heart being in a million pieces right now I know I want to love again.

"Hey, there's no contract. You can leave at anytime and theres no rules that say we can't have fun." Kelsey playfully reassures sensing my hesitation so I place my hand on top of hers, "Single sisters!" We both giggle, Kelsey leaning her body into mine so our shoulders are touching.

This feels like the perfect start to my life in Connecticut.

I left Boston broken. Brokenhearted and mentally in pieces.

My once big friendship group had dwindled down to one best friend. My ever growing confidence had come to a halt and years of therapy was thrown down the drain.

My Sophomore year was turbulent at best, coming to terms with my sexuality was a journey and then being outed was crushing and too much for me to handle. Managing my emotions has always been a problem of mine, I feel everything or I feel nothing. Both ends of the spectrum can be scary and dangerous and I did stupid things and made an almost irreversible decision.

UConn and Kelsey feels like the light at the end of the tunnel.

Madison and Hannah showed up at some point that evening. The girls had been roommates their Freshman and Sophomore year so already knew each other well. Kelsey and I introduced ourselves and we decided as a group, pizza for dinner was the best way to spend our first night together. We spoke and ate in the living area of our apartment until tiredness took over us one by one.

As I lay in my new bed in my new room I think of the days and weeks to come. I want to start off the best I can, give myself the best opportunity to love life again. Starting tomorrow, my goal was to find a student job on campus. Classes would take up most of my time but I needed pretty much all of my time filled, that way my mind wouldn't stray. I also wanted to scope out the sports. UConn was known for their amazing athletics program and I couldn't wait to be watching games again.

Oh and of course Kelsey wants to go to a bar tomorrow night, Hannah and Madison too so I close my eyes preparing for a busy day ahead, the melatonin I'd taken kicking in.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

My first day in Storrs as a student at UConn was going better than expected.

Kelsey had showed me her favourite coffee place and it had lived up to her hype. I got my usual order of an iced caramel latte with soya milk. I had unintentionally made myself lactose intolerant after being vegan for a few years. I was no longer vegan but dairy refused to be introduced back into my diet. While we sipped our drinks she gave me the grand tour of campus and then Downtown Storrs. It reminded me a lot of Boston which was bittersweet but I focused on the sweet.

"And that," She says pointing to one of the buildings with a huge Huskies sign, "is the infamous Huskies! The best bar around...well, the only bar around but never-mind. That's where we're going tonight." My roommate tells me and does a little dance which makes me laugh.

We finished our coffees on the walk back to campus and Kelsey dropped me off at the Athletics building where I was going to enquire about a student job. I had checked online and there were a few available, I just had to apply. I figured showing my face would make me stand out compared to the many applicants I'm sure admissions would have to choose from. It also gave me an opportunity to check the team rosters and schedule. I became friends with a lot of the student athletes at UMass because I went to so many games, it made me wonder if that would be the case here at UConn.

Walking into the building, it was obvious there was a gym inside I could hear what I assumed to be people working out. Music blasted through speakers though it was muffled by the closed doors and the clanging of weights dropping further verified my assumption.

The doors were closed as I walked passed what I now know is the weight room from the sign outside. My curiosity tempted me to peek inside the room as I heard a cacophony of voices, girls voices for sure.

I was stopped in my tracks, "Hi, can I help you?" The voice came from an older woman, I looked to her and smiled, "Yes please. I'm looking for the main office, here to enquire about a student job this semester." I explained.

"Oh wonderful - follow me, I'm Janet. Head of admissions for the Athletic Department."

I followed Janet down a few corridors and up a set of stairs before reaching the office. The walls along the way all adorned with various UConn teams holding trophies and medals covered in confetti. It was clear they were no strangers to winning here.

"So we have a few positions on offer is semester. I suppose it depends on what kind of role you're looking for." Janet says sitting behind her desk and inviting me to sit facing her.

"I'm studying Kinesiology so I'm just grateful to have the opportunity to work within the Athletics department at all. I'd be happy with anything." I say and truly mean it.

"What is your schedule like?" Janet asks.

"My classes are most days until 4 or 5pm. Wednesday's are completely free as are evenings and weekends." I tell her.

"Hm OK, we have a position here for a Communications Intern. You'll be assisting with post and pre game press conferences and social media posts. You'll be at most home games on the sidelines, taking notes for our journalists to write in articles and pictures to post on our socials - nothing professional of course, we have photographers for that but the fans like to see some behind the scenes on game days." Janet reads off her screen before looking up at me with a raised brow, "How does that sound?"

"That sounds great!" I replied enthusiastically, "As a fan of sports myself, hopefully I can show game days from a new angle."

"Amazing! Our womens teams are gaining a lot more traction, not just on campus so I'm positive fans who can't make it to games in person will be grateful." Janet smiles, typing a few words then standing from her desk. "I've put your name down - at the top of the list in bold - it's always nice when applicants come and see us face to face." I smile to myself knowing that would be the case.

"Thank you for making time to see me." I say to Janet, shaking her extended hand before she leads me out of the office. "My pleasure."

Outside of Janets office is a huge ceiling to floor window with a perfect overview of the gym below. I was correct earlier, there are people working out and it is girls. I stop momentarily to take in the view below me, my mind automatically goes to my major and I wonder what paths these girls are on. Are any of them injured or coming back from injury? I'm immediately intrigued as I watch them perform different exercises.

"Those are our basketball girls." Janet breaks my daydream. "I suspect you'll be working with them a lot this semester."

I turn to her my eyes slightly widened, does that mean I've secured the job?

"If your application is successful of course." She smirks but its a knowing smirk that puts me at ease.

"Oh, and thats Kayla." She points out a specific girl in the gym, dressed differently from the others and considerably shorter so I immediately assume she's not on the team. "She works here in the main office with me. She's a great girl to know, I'll introduce you."

I follow Janet back down the stairs and through the same corridors we took less than thirty minutes ago. This time I take more care as I look at the pictures on the walls, the basketball team seem to take up the majority. I spot names like Sue Bird and Diana Taurasi which I am familiar with but not too much, in all honesty I've never watched a full game of basketball in my life. As we get closer to the end of the corridor where the pictures get more recent I notice one girl in particular, a blonde, she seems to always be in the middle of group photos, her teammates looking at her with admiration. Her smile contagious, making me smile as if I'm in the picture myself.

"Prepare yourself." Janet laughs as we approach the weight room door. "What for?" I ask now not so curious about going inside as I was earlier. "They're a lively lot." Is all she says before pushing open the door.

I take a sharp inhale, anxiety creeping in as I follow Janet into the room of athletes.

Every single one of my senses was hit walking into the weight room. The noises that were once muffled by the closed doors were now loud and clear. The room was significantly colder than the rest of the building for obvious reasons but I wrapped my arms around myself nonetheless. Thanks to my deep inhale on walking in, I was only now getting a waft of what smelt like a mix of sweat and fruit. I say a silent prayer that its the girls in here because I know for a fact it would be sweat mixed with more sweat if it was the boys. My eyes scanned the room quickly taking in what I just seen from above. I recognised some of the girls from the photos on the walls, not the blonde though. She wasn't here. Maybe she was a senior and had graduated already, a shame if that is the case.

"Hello ladies." Janet calls over the booming music. One by one the girls turn their attention to us and smile or wave and I return the pleasantries.

"A new commit?" I hear a voice behind me ask before feeling a hand press down on each of my shoulders. I unconsciously tense at the surprise contact.

"No, no. This is Lily - a junior here. She just applied for a job in the department so I'm showing her around." Janet explains and the girl that just had her hands on my shoulders walks in front of me revealing herself.

"Oh damn my bad, I got excited for a second." She laughed a little embarrassed, "I'm KK, nice to meet you." The girl introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you, KK." I smile at the basketball player and she goes to join the rest of girls who are now teasing her for basically jumping on my back. I didn't mind, it just caught me off guard. Besides, I'd rather these girls be overly friendly than cold and moody especially if I'll be working with them soon.

"I'm Paige." A slender hand extends itself to me, coming from the same direction KK came from. I take the hand in mine before looking to see who exactly 'Paige' was. "Hi-" my words get lodged in my throat.

There she was.

The girl from the photos. The blonde with the contagious smile and, I'm now realising, extremely blue eyes like the bluest eyes I've ever seen.

I compose myself quickly, "Hi Paige, I'm Lily." I manage without stuttering as I shake the girls hand before letting go, somewhat reluctantly.

Her hand was bigger than mine and it was warm pressed against my palm, my hand tingled where her touch just was.

"What's your major?" She asks and she seems genuinely interested.

"Kinesiology." I reply, turning my full attention to Paige, my back now to Janet.

"Interesting! You'll get along perfect here, lots of bad knees." She says lifting her leg showing off a nasty scar before tapping me on the shoulder and joining KK and the others.

"Lily hasn't got the job yet, Paige." Janet called after the girl who turned around, "You know what to do Jan!" She called back with a grin.

The girls giggled as she joined them and she playfully shoved one of them away. I couldn't hear their hushed words over the music but the way Paige glanced back at me, making direct eye contact, made me think it was about me or maybe I was just delusional hoping the pretty girl was in fact talking about me. I quickly averted my gaze.

The type of scar and placement on Paige's knee made me assume she had suffered an ACL tear. Tough, if I was correct. ACLs are a horrible injury to face but I can tell by the way she squats with a barbell rested on her shoulders, her form perfect, posture just right that it was healed. Suddenly my gaze was no longer diverted and I was just staring.

Janet introduced me to Kayla and we spoke for a few minutes, mainly about Kayla's role and how excited she would be if I joined the team as, and I quote, "The Athletics Department needed more girls behind the scenes."

We left the weight room together, Janet bidding us farewell at the door and Kayla and I walking to the exit of the building side by side.

"Welcome to UConn, by the way. I'm guessing you transferred here? I haven't seen you around before." Kayla says to me.

"Thank you! Yes, I just transferred from Massachusetts. So far, so good." I smile as we step outside into the warm August weather.

"It really is great here. Give me your number and we'll meet up, I know you just met Paige and KK but I'll introduce you to the others as well." She says pulling her phone from her back pocket and handing it to me.

I type my number in her phone saving my contact as Lily Kent - my full name. "That will be fun, thank you. I only know my roommates at the moment so I appreciate it." I hand Kayla back her phone.

"Thats the perks of working in sports, you make whole teams of friends." She says proudly.

"I need as many as I can get, it's kinda scary being the new girl. Maybe I'll meet some more tonight, we're going to a bar." I tell my, hopefully, new friend.

"Not the famous Huskies?" Kayla asks sending me a quizzical look. "Yes! The famous Huskies." I laugh, seems like this place has quite the reputation. "Perfect! We'll see you there then."

"We'll"? We all? As in possibly Paige? Suddenly I need to go back to the apartment take an everything shower, beat the hell out of my face and put together the best outfit I own.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

I wrapped myself in my robe and stepped out of the bathroom. All three of my roommates were in the living area of our apartment. "Hey guys!" I chirped, strolling into my room.

"Hey Lils, what are you wearing tonight?" Hannah asked following me into my bedroom. I looked back at her and we both glanced around my room and laughed.

Before taking a shower I attempted to choose an outfit which had resulted in me tearing my wardrobe apart, clothes now covering the majority of my bed and floor.

"Ok girl, never fear - Hannah is here." Hannah reassured sitting slap bang in the middle of the floor reaching for random items of clothing. "It's definitely a casual vibe but also our first night out. Not all students are back on campus yet but the athletes are so arguably thats even more of a reason to look good." She side eyed me from her place on the floor.

Could Hannah read my mind?

I hadn't mentioned my interaction or reaction to Paige to any of my roommates yet. Mainly because I had made a pact with Kelsey to stay single - not that Paige was in anyway trying to make me her girlfriend but also because I knew we'd probably see her tonight and three tipsy girls around their friends crush well, it wouldn't stay a secret lets just say that.

I also deep down knew that it was probably way too soon for me to even be thinking about another relationship but I can admire from afar right?

I was with my ex-girlfriend for almost two years before it finally ended in May, three months ago. 21 out of the 22 months we dated, we kept our relationship a secret from pretty much everyone. My best friend, Emma knew but that was it. That was the way we both wanted it, neither of us were out and we enjoyed sneaking around and having a genuinely private, private life.

That was until April when I accidentally left my phone in the library and it was found by someone who I thought was my friend. I stupidly had a picture of me and my girlfriend kissing as my lock screen. My phone was returned to me and everyone acted normal, I thought they hadn't noticed. Until that night, a picture of my lock screen was posted into our group chat and all hell broke loose. I felt physically sick at the words used to describe me and my girlfriend.

I was told I was sick, I needed help, I needed to find God and repent. I was told I was better off dead. It all very quickly became too much and I removed myself from the group chat and hoped to avoid the girls that were a part of it.

Unfortunately, there was no avoiding one another when your families knew each other. My girlfriend and I were promptly outed to all of our friends and families against our wishes. It put a lot of pressure on us. I was lucky to have kept a best friend in Emma. She stood by my side when nobody else did. My family were understanding, confused for a while but they came round and accepted me for who I am.

My girlfriend wasn't as lucky and that is what ultimately broke us apart. I don't blame her, she chose a relationship with her family and not being disowned over me. I can't blame her.

I blamed myself though. Me and my stupid lock screen had ruined us. I quickly fell into a downward spiral that was impossible to save myself from. I was drowning and I didn't know how to swim. I have a history of depression and I stopped taking my medication, I had lost all will to even try and continue with life and one night I decided I was done.

Life was not worth living if it was like this.

"Ok! How about this skirt, with this top?" Hannah asked holding up a distressed mini denim skirt and black bandeau top.

I looked at the outfit in her hands seeing the vision. "Yes, but swap the top for this one." I say holding up a long sleeve black shirt instead.

"Girl, it's August and we're going to be inside. You do not need long sleeves." I swallowed, I knew this would come up sooner or later. "Yes I do." Was all I said and luckily Hannah dropped the subject and threw me my skirt.

"Get ready! I'm going to change, we're leaving in an hour." The blonde girl stood up from my bedroom floor and left me alone to get dressed.

"Here, drink up." Kelsey placed a red cup, full to the brim, on my desk as I applied my mascara, finishing off my makeup.

"What's this?" I ask not waiting for an answer before taking a swig of the unknown drink. Vodka. It was definitely vodka and something else. I winced at the intensity of the cocktail. "It's the Kelsey Special of course!" My roommate laughed taking a sip from her own cup.

"Oh close your eyes!" She said doing a little jump, "I have a surprise for you."

“A surprise? For me?” I say doing as she says.

"Ok open!" I opened my eyes to see Kelseys hand opened in front of me, a danity string bracelet laying in her palm. "What's this?" I ask taking the thread into my own hands and admiring the intricate plait it was braided into. "It's official Single Sisters merch, duh!" She exclaims taking it back from me and tying it around my left wrist, she held up her own wrist showing off her matching bracelet. "I love them Kels!" I smile as I get up and pull her into a hug, "Thank you." "You're so welcome Lils, now lets get drunk!" And with that she drags me out of my bedroom, drinks in hand, into the kitchen where Hannah and Madison are pouring shots.

By the time we reach Huskies, its safe to say I'm tipsy. I'm not sure how many shots were consumed back at the apartment but I had another cup of the Kelsey Special and my body felt tingly and almost numb, it felt nice. I wasn't new to drinking and I knew my limit so I knew I'd be fine. We each got a drink as soon as we entered the bar and headed straight for the dance floor. The bar was decently busy, I scanned the room, no sign of Kayla...or Paige.

I'm not sure how long I had been dancing with my roommates before I felt an arm drape over my shoulders, "Hey hottie!" I flicked my head round and was met with Kaylas smiling face. "Oh my god, hiii!" I exclaim pulling her in for a hug, the alcohol had definitely hit. "These are my roommates! Kelsey, Hannah and Madison." I say pointing at the three girls individually, Kayla introduced herself as I finished the remainder of my drink.

"Come meet the girls!" Kayla shouted over the loud music, ushering us through the crowd over to a table in the corner of the bar.

She went around the entire group aquainting us with each other. I was now able to put names to the faces of the girls I'd seen in the gym earlier in the day.

Ice, Nika, Aliyah, Azzi, Aubrey and Jana.

"And of course you already met KK and Paige." Kayla says pointing behind me as Paige and KK approached us, multiple drinks in each of their hands.

I'm unsure whether it was the copious amounts of alcohol in my system or the moody low lighting of the bar but Paige looked particularly majestic as she sauntered over to the group. She had this vibe that seemed to follow her. Multiple heads turned in her direction and something told me she knew how hot she was.

KK was quick to put down the drinks she held and embrace me, I hugged the girl back taking in her sweet scent. Paige wasn't so quick, she handed drinks to her teammates and they thanked her before she turned her attention to me and my roommates. She introduced herself to Kelsey, Hannah and Madison giving them all a quick side hug.

"Hi Lily." She says, her eyes looking directly into mine. I have to look up slightly, the girl has some inches on me, "Hello Paige!" I can't help the stupid grin that spreads across my face as she leans in to hug me, not like the other girls, I'm encapsulated by both her arms, I swear if I was a cartoon character this is the moment my eyes would turn into red love hearts. Her scent was different from KKs, more vanilla-y, musky almost, warm.

"First time in Huskies calls for one thing: INITIATION SHOTS!" Nika says pulling me from Paige and leading me to the bar, her hands on my shoulders.

Once we all have a shot in our hands, Nika looks at me, "Ok one fact about you that no one knows!" She says pursing her lips.

God, the list was endless.

"I'm allergic to nuts." That was the most mundane fact that came to my mind.

"And not just the food kind!" Kelsey exclaims making the girls laugh before we knock back our shots.

Kelseys joke seemed to either go over everyones head or life really was different here in Connecticut and no one hated me because I was gay. Either way I felt comfortable around these girls, welcomed and it was a nice feeling.

I was reaching my limit but still found myself stumbling slightly towards the bar.

"Easy there." A hand grabbed my elbow balacing me before I was able to steady myself. "Thank you." I giggled and my words came out slurred.

I had definitely reached my limit but I waved the bar man over. "Vodka cranberry please!" I ordered feeling the hand move from my elbow to my lower back.

Who the hell was this?

I turned my gaze to my left seeing a guy slightly taller than me with brown shaggy hair smirking down at me. With one hand occupied on my lower back, the other dug into his pocket and he pulled out his card, "Let me get this for you." He says as he goes to pay for my drink. "No, it's OK." I say simply, trying to shrug him off. "Let me." He insists pulling me closer to him.

I was starting to feel uncomfortable when I felt his arm get yanked off of me, "She said it's OK, bro." Paige had inserted herself between me and the creep and gave him a light shove away. "Are you OK?" She asks looking at me sincerely, brows furrowed together. I nod, "I'm fine." I say as I pay for my drink. "Are you sure?" She double checks. "I promise, Paige. I've dealt with worse than a drunk guy in a bar." I reassure her. "As long as you're OK." She says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as we walk back to the table her teammates were once gathered around.

Paige sits down at the booth and I intently watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and reajusted her t-shirt.

"You like what you see?" Paige is smirking now and I've been caught red handed.

"I um- I-"

Pull yourself together Lily!

"I wasn't staring." I defend myself lazily. Paige laughs, "But you were staring in the gym earlier." She says matter of factly, raising her brows at me.

I feel my cheeks burn, well and truly red handed.

"What?" Is all I can manage as a response.

"The walls are mirrored babe, just because you were behind me doesn't mean I didn't see you." If it was even possible, my cheeks got hotter with embarrassment.

"Cocky much?" I taunt the basketball player before taking a long, needed sip of my drink.

"When it makes you this flustered, yes." She says reaching out for my wrist, pulling me to sit next to her.

We're so close our legs are touching and I can smell the mix of vanilla and musk again. "Tell me something about yourself Lily. Something other than your allergy to nuts...not just the food kind." Oh god.

I muster every sober fibre inside of me to think of something that doesn't qualify as a trauma dump. I look down at my hands, the bracelet Kelsey gifted me earlier poking out of the bottom of my sleeve.

"I joined a club!" I say waving my arm up showing off the bracelet.

"Oh yeah, what club?" Paige questions, head slightly tilted. "Single sisters!" I say proudly. "It's just me and Kelsey at the moment but we made a pact to stay single all of junior year." I tell Paige about mine and my roommate's promise to each other.

She hooks a finger through the bracelet, her knuckle grazing my skin softly, and tugs gently. "Hey!" I pull my arm away afraid she'll break the delicate thread. "What are you doing?" I frown. "Just checking how secure that thing is." She looks at me with that god forsaken eye contact that she's so good at. "Wouldn't want it breaking." She says eyes still locked onto mine.

"Lilyyyyy." I begrudgingly look away from Paige to see Madison practically being held up by Kelsey and Hannah.

I thought I was drunk.

"I think it's home time." Paige says into my ear, her breath hot on my neck.

"Hi Mads." I say standing up, ignoring the fact Paiges breath had spiked my heart rate. "I think we should get her home." Hannah says and I nod turning to grab my bag.

Well, well, well.

I catch Paige, staring, right at me, I smirk to myself.

One point to Lily.

I bend slightly to pick my bag up off the table, "Looks like we both have a staring problem." I say quiet enough for just Paige to hear and quickly turn on my heel following my friends out of the bar.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

[arsenicflame]

Hornigold's Izzy was the worst, of course. A version of himself that never escaped that terrible place, who lived his life as little more than an object. He still has nightmares about all the things Baz told them, about all the things he didn't.

It doesn't really surprise him, after the first ones, not at its root. To be Izzy Hands is to be someone's after all, though seeing his own face on someone so fundamentally different to him never gets less weird. The people who these other Izzys attached themselves too often left him with more questions than answers. Jack's Izzy, he can understand, from a certain view, though the man himself felt like a fever dream. The less said about Stede's Izzy the better, he's never going to forgive him for the ideas he put in his Stede's head.

Then there was Sam's Izzy.

The first thing anyone noticed about him was that he was happy. He smiled and laughed without thought, and went through life with an ease Izzy didn't think he had ever felt. The crew took to him immediately, accepting him in a way they never did the other Izzys, and certainly not their own. They prodded him and asked him endless questions, and he took every touch without a flinch and answered every question without a hint of a grumble. This Izzy was free. He was open, unburdened, trusting. He was happy.

Sam's Izzy was the one that hurt the most to see. He could accept the worst that Hornigold could've offered, that he would have suffered and been broken. It was infinitely harder to see that he had a chance to be this happy. That it slipped through his fingers.

He's never looked back before, but now? Seeing what might've been? He can't stop himself from considering the possibility that maybe he made the wrong choice back then, going with Ed.

[moveslikekeithrichards]

its so hard to talk about how traumatic it is to watch somebody be claimed by dementia without going "well i cant complain because at least i wasnt the one losing my mind (for now)" but that shit fucks you up so much. that ghost is going to haunt me for the rest of my life and all i can do is hope it Stays a ghost

[autisticlee]

sometimes I think about how when I went to college for a year before I dropped out (basically failed out,) the counselors/dean told me they can't help me at all or give any accommodations unless I have an official autism/adhd diagnosis. that might sound logical at first, but when you think about it more, it's actually quite fucked up. if someone is struggling really bad, what's the harm in helping them? why do they require a paper to get even the smallest amount of help? people who don't need help aren't going to be failing miserably without help! even NTs could benefit from some adjustments to the horrible school system! (but changing the entire system is a whole other conversation that the school system isnt ready for)

but even if you do agree to jump through their hoops, you realize it's even more fucked up that the diagnosis process requires YEARS in most cases (in my case it took 4 or 5 years, can't recall exactly now, for autism/adhd diagnosis, which would have meant i finished school before getting it if i managed to mot fail out, or i wait that long before going back, which is a whole struggle itself) and they also tried billing me for THOUSANDS of dollars because of insurance issues!!

so you put a ton of time and money into this, and then get told the only accommodation they are willing to give you for autism and adhd is "a little extra time on tests"

....

my test scores were the best part of my whole class experience. that was NOT what I struggled with!!!!! those tests were all online and could be done in the comfort of your home where you can accommodate yourself and have plenty of time left over when you finish them because you are comfy in your own space, (and also, no one was stopping you from having your notes/books/google open to find the answers,) and you don't even need a time consuming, expensive diagnosis for that!

SO WHAT'S THE POINT!!!!!!!

[bmpmp3]

IA 2.0 voisona test with a short version of drag on dragoon's ending B song tsukiru/exhausted :) now i can hear Lia's beautiful dulcet tones sing scary scary songs

[just-spacetrash]

💔

[qqqqqqqqqqq0]

i've been having some trouble falling asleep lately

[arielluva]

grief is such a weird emotion bc i can be fine most of the time even if it think about it, but then sometimes thinking about it digs it up all over again

[crimsongrimoire]

hi ive been sick so of course that means ive been thinking about kaeya being sick and sooo pathetic about it again

[gaytobymeres]

writing an email in response to a very kind garden historian who has sent me so much information, and im paranoid that 1) i cant write well or clearly, 2) that im writing an email that is so long and boring, and 3) i just feel it might be unnessecary. or maybe im making unjust claims (except im not really claiming anything im just saying 'theres evidence that points to x instead of y') but ive never properly studied history or researched like this so i do feel a bit out of my depth

[nagdabbit]

hello, i am in need of personal advice, preferably from a transfemme person and/or parent, who isn't siobhan because she is Too Close to the situation and i don't want to do anything brash like she does

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12,582 words

Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe

A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free. 

“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip. 

Running. A gunshot. Pain.

“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you. 

“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened. 

Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend. 

“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?” 

You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said. 

He was far too much like your father. 

Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting. 

He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it. 

What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t. 

“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand. 

“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil. 

“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.” 

Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on. 

“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.” 

He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind. 

Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient. 

You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it. 

You’re going to vomit all over him. 

It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.

That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted. 

His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.” 

His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into. 

“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back. 

“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.” 

You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...

“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.” 

You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason. 

It was always about control.

That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them. 

You’re nothing more than leverage. 

Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency. 

Something did happen. 

Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless? 

You’ll be punished for something you can’t control. 

Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.” 

They’re safe. 

It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.

“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle. 

They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make. 

“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.” 

Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.” 

“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you. 

“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.” 

“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer. 

“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.” 

John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going. 

“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.” 

John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?” 

“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.” 

John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-” 

“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.” 

The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?” 

“They took your omega.” 

His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.” 

“They took your omega.” Kate says again.

He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts. 

They had been right though. 

Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end. 

“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it. 

“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.” 

John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...

He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.” 

“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger. 

“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you. 

“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully. 

You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet. 

“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?” 

You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward. 

“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.” 

The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily. 

“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.” 

The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him. 

“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.

Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets. 

A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.” 

“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?” 

“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”

“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says. 

“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.” 

John lets out a long breath. It’s a hard decision to make. Go after Shepherd and cut the head off the snake, or go after you and let the person orchestrating all of this escape. Graves won’t stop, even if they do manage to take out Shepherd. He has his orders, and he will follow them, with or without Shepherd pulling the strings.

There might be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too. 

No matter what, you won’t be safe. If they go after you, Shepherd escapes and if they try to hunt him down later, he’ll use you again, or worse. They don’t have to kill Shepherd, though. They have proof he’s a traitor. He can be brought to justice if he’s caught. Death is too gentle of a punishment for what he’s done. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life. 

They have to make sacrifices for the good of the world. 

“We’re going after Shepherd.” He says, taking a deep breath. “None of us will be safe if we don’t.” 

“That’s dangerous, John.” Kate says. “We don’t know how far Shepherd or Graves will take this. You know how Graves is. He may not be able to be stopped, even if Shepherd tells him to.” 

He takes a second to breathe. His pack is silent, all three of them staring at him, waiting for him to make this decision. He is pack alpha, he is their Captain. They do what he tells them to do, follow his orders no matter what. Kate is right, this is a risk, but sacrifices have to be made. Hands have to be dirtied to keep the world clean. 

He just hopes you’ll forgive him. 

“We’re going after Shepherd.” John says definitely. 

“This is a bad idea, John.” Kate warns him. 

“It’s the only option we have. They’re trying to draw us away. It’s a risk we have to take.” He can see the apprehension on his packmate’s faces. They’re all feeling it, the drive to go after their omega, but deep down he is right. They’ll never be safe until Shepherd is taken care of. Going after Graves only removes one small piece of the puzzle. The job always comes first. 

“Get us locations, places he might try to dig in and hide.” He says, heading towards the cockpit. “We’ll find this arsehole and kill him ourselves. 

***

Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s a mistake. She knows it is. The guilt is eating her alive. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring. 

There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed. 

This was his way of stopping it. 

That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs. 

They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it. 

John is making a mistake. Graves won’t stop so long as Shepherd knows they’re coming after him. The last thing she wants is for you to get hurt because of their decisions, their mistakes. Shepherd won’t order Graves to kill you. That’s too much of a risk. It would give the 141 nothing to lose, and that would put them at their most dangerous. 

Will Graves listen to that order? 

She can send out a team to get eyes on Graves, find his position at least. That way, if things do take a turn, she’ll at least have a direction to point them in. 

They were all too trusting and ignorant. You’re innocent in all of this. 

It’s her fault. 

They’re going to need help. 

Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening? 

She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch. 

She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now. 

The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels. 

“Laswell.”

“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great. 

“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says. 

“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore, and when you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders. 

Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.” 

“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t miss the flight.” 

Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going. 

She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her. 

Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her puse. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call. 

“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says. 

“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face. 

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says. 

“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.” 

She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too? 

“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no

**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**

Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage. 

He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s. 

Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you, if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty. 

It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price. 

He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.” 

You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?  

Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears. 

“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face. 

You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney. 

Traitorous bastard. 

They all are. 

“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb. 

The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you. 

“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg. 

He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face. 

“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate. 

He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil. 

Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now. 

You didn’t even know it was possible to do that. 

“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.” 

Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face. 

Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time. 

It’s not hard to find him. 

“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly. 

She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does. 

“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true. 

“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says. 

She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.” 

“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand. 

“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah. 

“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him. 

“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV. 

Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are. 

Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety. 

Things might have been worse if she had stayed. 

“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.” 

“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.” 

“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...” 

“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.” 

“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud. 

“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...” 

“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.” 

**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**

It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin. 

“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.” 

His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death. 

He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again. 

Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore. 

“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding. 

That would almost be a relief. 

He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body. 

Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack? 

Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you? 

Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you. 

You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-” 

“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand. 

He counts down on his fingers before pressing record. 

“Seems you boys still can’t follow orders. Your omega sure wishes you would.” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “Don’t you, darlin’. Tell them. Tell them how much you wish they’d follow orders.” 

You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first. 

They really have given up on you. 

Are they even watching? 

“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy. 

“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.” 

You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”

You let out a scream. 

It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance. 

You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony. 

“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair. 

Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends. 

It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger. 

“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence. 

“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.” 

Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen. 

John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.” 

“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.” 

“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.” 

“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.” 

“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says. 

“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.” 

“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls. 

“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.” 

They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue. 

4th of July, they assume. 

“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.” 

Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.” 

The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard. 

“This is revenge then.” Johnny says. 

“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” 

“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.” 

“A way to control us.” Kyle says. 

Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.” 

“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says. 

“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.” 

She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.” 

She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight. 

“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.” 

She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.  

“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate. 

“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.” 

“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.” 

“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.” 

“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening? 

“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.” 

“I’m sure it was.” John says. 

They all know it wasn’t. 

“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says. 

“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.” 

They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility. 

They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it. 

“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence. 

“We can’t let Shepherd get away.” John says. 

“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.  

“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds. 

“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.” 

“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.” 

“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate. 

She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.” 

“Texas.” Alex says. 

“He took her home.” Christine says. 

“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says. 

“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?” 

Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.” 

“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.” 

John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike. 

He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.” 

“Short reunion this time.” 

“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex. 

“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.” 

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.” 

She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.” 

Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.” 

She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...” 

She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.” 

“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.” 

“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away. 

She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today. 

She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this. 

**Content Warning: Blood, vomiting, 'mega forces herself into a panic attack**

Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat. 

The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping. 

Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time. 

You may never be able to eat them again. 

“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.” 

Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger? 

Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising. 

You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile. 

Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.” 

He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.

He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this. 

Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd? 

A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips. 

You just want to go home. 

You just want to be free. 

You can be. 

Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care. 

If nothing else, the pain will be over. 

I’m sorry. 

You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother? 

You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place. 

You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard. 

They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it. 

The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind. 

You’re safe now. She whispers. 

There’s no going back. 

You’re going to get out. 

Even if you have to do it yourself. 

The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next. 

You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation. 

Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break. 

“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.” 

“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.” 

“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.” 

**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**

He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget. 

So why are his hands shaking? 

This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage. 

It’s rescuing you. 

He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it. He knows why Price made the decision he did, he understands the logic behind it. 

He hated it, though. 

How far would Graves have taken it if they had chosen to go after you first. Would things have gotten this bad? Or would he still have hurt you, tortured you just out of sheer anger for what happened between the two of you? He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price. 

How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved? 

Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.

It’s not a bad idea. 

He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly. 

He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless. 

At least they have the element of surprise on their hands. 

“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.” 

“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him. 

“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door. 

It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire. 

None. 

Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them. 

They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none. 

“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him. 

“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. 

“Well, we’ll find out.” 

It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them? 

Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you. 

More red herrings. 

He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway. 

One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different. 

“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon. 

There’s blood everywhere. 

It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick. 

He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you. 

There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood. 

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face. 

“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.” 

Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head. 

“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.” 

“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’. 

“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.” 

“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.” 

Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees. 

“I’ve got a trail.” He says. 

“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.” 

He does.

He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up. 

He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you. 

He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to. 

The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...

“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.” 

“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something. 

They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path. 

He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close. 

It’s you, no doubt. 

Price had been right. 

He has no choice. 

He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them. 

“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.” 

He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.

“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.” 

You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state. 

He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough. 

He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. He lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late. 

He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next. 

He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you. 

He put you through that. He made you face that down despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center. 

And now he has to do it again. 

He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves. 

You never really betrayed them in the first place, though. 

You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid. 

He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been. 

Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself. 

His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive. 

“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.” 

Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care. 

“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.” 

You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead. 

“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.” 

“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.” 

You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now. 

A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts. 

He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders. 

The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep. 

How he’s failed you. How they all failed you. 

He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through. 

They’ve got you back. You’re safe. 

It’s over. 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 5.3k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! this chapter contains brief mentions of blood and minor injuries

It was like no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop hurting you.

You were only under for a second, maybe less, your lifejacket doing its job, and yet somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let you drown. 

There wasn’t much logic to it. It wasn’t as though he had emptied the jet ski of all its gas, or that he somehow had control over the weather. 

Technically, none of this was his fault, yet he felt the guilt burn in his chest like he’d swallowed hot coals.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

The second your head emerged, you let out a scream, the salt water in your fresh cut sending hot sparks of pain up your leg.

“Fuck, ow!” You cried, reaching for the jet ski with shaky hands, in so much pain you couldn’t even find it.

“Ohhh baby, are you okay?” Rafe grabbed your hand, squeezing tight as he pulled you towards him in the water, his other arm tethering you both to the jet ski.

“I think I’m bleeding,” you clung to his shoulder, your fingers digging in probably too tight, but the pain was so overwhelming you needed to put it somewhere. He didn’t mind, desperate to take it away however he could.

“Here climb up,” he said, grabbing your waist and boosting you. “The water can’t be helping.”

“Shit,” you both said in unison when you finally got onto the jet ski and revealed the cut on your calf, wider than you thought and bleeding angrily.

“Just hold on, I got you,” he assured, beginning to kick rapidly to start moving the jet ski toward the shore. 

You were scared the whole time, never once taking your eyes off of him. Asking him over and over again if he was okay until you were sure he was sick of it. But not once was there even a hint of agitation in his voice as he promised you he was fine, that you were almost there, that everything was gonna be okay.

His words didn’t do much to convince you, your face flooding with worry when you noticed his breaths getting more strained.

“I’m okay,” he swore to you, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “We’re almost there.”

It was starting to rain and the thunder was growing louder, there was no argument to be made that you could keep floating safely in the ocean. You resigned to let him keep going, but your eyes never left him, as if it was your appreciation keeping him afloat instead of his lifejacket.

“Thank you,” you said for the fifteenth time.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling with the motion, the expression entirely too joyful for the grim situation you found yourselves in.

“What?” You scoffed, poking his hand with your toe playfully.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” he explained.

The drizzling rain was chilly, but your body was on fire. You opened your mouth to reply, despite the utter lack of words in your mind, but the sight of your sister appearing in the distance pulled your attention away.

The group that gathered at the dock’s edge was not the happy-go-lucky bunch of friends you’d arrived with a few hours ago.

The dock was only a few yards away now, you were close enough to see Carter slumped on the ground, Topper’s arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug. As Rafe swam you closer, it became more apparent that she was crying. 

“There she is!” Tom shouted, motioning to you.

Carter stood quickly, nearly knocking Topper over, waving her arms in the air frantically like she was trying to land a plane. You waved back, heart aching at the sight of her red, puffy eyes. 

“We’re okay!” You yelled through the rain, trying to ease her worry as the jet ski approached. 

You looked down at Rafe who could hear the commotion but not see it.

“We’re almost there, they’re all waiting for us,” you filled him in.

As the front of the jet ski neared the group, Topper leaned over the side of the dock to pull you the rest of the way in. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, where have you been, are you crazy?!” Carter paced the dock, a wild look in her eyes as she scolded you.

“I’m fine!” You assured her. “We just ran out of gas.”

“We?” She questioned, hands on her hips.

Once Topper had secured the jet ski to the dock, Rafe swam around to the side, revealing himself to the group.

“What the hell? Where’s Kelce?” Carter questioned.

You knew she must really be upset. When she went into worried-mom-mode, her already limited inclination for politeness went completely out the window.

“Can someone help him up please?” You corrected her. “And get him a blanket or something?”

“I’ve got a couple in my trunk!” Topper said, before running to the marina parking lot.

“I’m fine,” Rafe calmed you with a soft smile as he lifted himself onto the back of the jet ski.

Before he could climb onto the dock, fully planning to help you up next, Tom reached out his hand to you.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. You could feel Rafe’s posture stiffen next to you.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You accepted his hand, only due to the fact that you actually did need help with the big step off the jet ski.

The moment your feet were steady on the dock, you pulled your hand from his and turned back to make sure Rafe made it onto solid ground. When he did, you made your way to Carter’s side, pulling her into a hug.

“I thought something happened…” she mumbled into your shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you soothed her. “Rafe saved me.”

She pulled back from you, sniffling as she eyed him over your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly.

“I didn’t do a great job,” he said shakily, looking down at your leg. “You’re still bleeding.”

“You’re bleeding?!” Carter turned you around, inspecting you for injury.

You laughed as she spun you frantically, “it’s just a little cut on my leg.”

She leaned down to inspect it further, eyebrows knit with concern. “I told Topper we should’ve called 911.”

You placed both hands on her shoulders, “Car, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sorry we scared you, though.”

“You did,” she pouted.

Topper came running back, huffing from his hurry. 

“I could only find one,” he extended the blanket in his hands to Rafe, who obviously needed it more.

Rafe took the blanket from him and opened it up quickly, but instead of dragging it over his own shoulders, he wrapped it around you.

“You should take it,” you tried to stop him.

“Nah,” he waved you off, running his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “We need to get you dry before Carter calls the Coast Guard.”

For a full ten seconds, your group stood in the rain, everyone’s eyes on someone else, the tension in the air telling an entire story to some invisible audience.

Carter looked at you, concern wrinkling her forehead as she wondered what really happened after she went to bed last night. 

Topper looked at Carter, wondering if her investment in your love life meant she’d forgotten all about the intimate hug they’d shared on the dock waiting for you to return.

Tom looked at Rafe, wondering if it was this joker’s fault you’d rejected him the night before and feeling the hot flame of competition ignite in his chest.

Sabrina looked at Tom, wondering when boys had started looking at you like that and how to get him to look at her instead.

Rafe looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both wondering if the other was thinking the same thing: there’s so much more to say.

“Ahem,” the jet ski owner cleared his throat, pulling you all from your thoughts. “Need the keys back if you don’t mind.”

Carter handed him the first two keys, and Rafe fumbled in his pocket for yours.

“You should really be checking the gas tank before you just send people out there,” Rafe snapped at him, tossing him the key. “You sent her out with an empty tank, she could’ve been seriously screwed, man. No way to run a business.”

“Maybe you should teach your girl how to drive so she doesn’t drain the tank,” the guy snapped back. “Not my fault she’s a ditz.”

Rafe stepped toward him in one long stride, chest puffed out and tension brewing in his flexed jaw that ran all the way down his neck.

“The fuck did you just say?” Rafe grabbed him by his collar, pulling the guy up towards him as he glared at him. 

You looked helplessly to Topper, who hurried to pull Rafe’s hand off the guy’s shirt. Topper was an expert at intervening before Rafe did things he couldn’t undo, and you were grateful he was here. Still, there was a small part of you that selfishly wanted to know what he’d do next, how far he’d go to defend your honor.

“Okay, okay,” Topper said. “Let’s just go, bro. It’s over.”

Rafe fought against Topper’s pull for a moment, staring daggers at the jet ski guy, who was chuckling smugly. When the guy’s eyes darted to you, he pulled his arm from Topper’s grip and made to move towards him again.

“Rafe,” you said softly.

His head turned to you, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. You shook your head ever so slightly, eyes urging him to back down. He nodded once and his hands, which had been balled into fists, flexed open as he let his anger go.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

As soon as you made it back to the house, you peeled your wet bathing suit off and climbed in the shower, eager to get your weary body into the warm water and let the sea wash down the drain. Carter had announced plans on the car ride back from the marina to go out to some clubs this evening, and you were far from dance floor ready.

For just a moment, the hot water felt incredible, until it made its way to your cut. You yelped and stepped out of the hot stream quickly. 

Typically, you would’ve thought responsibly enough to cover the cut before getting in the shower, but your mind was too foggy with thoughts of Rafe. You pulled on some clothes and padded down the hall to Carter’s room.

The knock on the door sparked a flurry of commotion behind it. Hushed voices echoed from under the door frame.

“Just a second!” Carter shouted to you, voice muffled.

“Oof!” A deeper voice said, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Your lips twisted in a knowing smile. You didn’t need the door to swing open to know who you were hearing in the room. Carter and Topper were clearly tangled up in something before you interrupted.

Confirming your suspicion, the door swung open and Topper stood in front of you, his shirt on backwards from being pulled on in a hurry.

“Do I have the wrong room?” You smirked.

“I was just, uh, helping Carter with something,” he fumbled to explain.

“Oh? What were you helping her with?” 

“Her bed is, uh, broken.” 

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to call over his shoulder and into the room, “just wanted to see if you have any Band-Aids?” 

“No,” she responded from somewhere under the mess of blankets on her bed. “But I can come help you find some.”

“Oh no,” you said. “You stay here and work on that…broken bed.”

Topper gave you a thankful smile and you winked at him.

“Make good choices!” You called, turning from the door.

“Too late!” Carter sang back.

You checked a few of the other bathrooms before wandering to the kitchen. One hand on the counter, and the other reaching as high as it could, you tried to boost yourself up. The flex of your calf as you jumped stretched the skin around your cut, making you wince. 

“Fuck,” you grumbled to yourself. “Let’s get jet skis they said, it’ll be fun they said…”

You tried to jump again, reaching for the high cabinet, the only one in the kitchen you hadn’t checked yet. You could’ve sworn you’d seen a first aid kit around here somewhere. You jumped again, the effort still fruitless.

“Need some help?”

You turned fast, startled by the revelation that you weren’t actually alone.

Rafe was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister with his arms crossed. His hair was damp, clearly just out of the shower himself. You weren’t looking at his hair, though.

He was covered only by a pair of checkered boxers and the towel flung carelessly over his shoulder. His torso was long and rigid, more defined than you had first noticed on the beach the other day. The hard ridges of his abs cast shadows on the plane of his stomach, your eyes danced over them, down to the deep V that disappeared below his waistband.

“What are you looking for?” His words were casual, as if he didn’t notice you staring, but the crooked grin etched on his face told a different story.

“Band-Aids,” you told him, your voice so feeble it did nothing but further reveal your captivation with the sight of him.

The smirk and all its playfulness fell from his face as his eyes filled with concern. 

“Are you still bleeding?” 

“No, I just need to cover it so I can shower. I’m thinking I should probably get the seaweed out of my hair if we’re going out.”

“Y’know if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I’d stay back with you,” he offered.

Your eyes fell from his, shuffling your feet uncomfortably, he stumbled over his words to reassure you, “we don’t have to, like, hang out. Just if you’re tired and you’d rather stay in and read or something that’s cool. I would stay down here.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me?” You raised your eyebrows in mock offense.

You were messing with him now, you probably shouldn’t be, but watching him run circles around himself to say the right thing was too fun.

“That’s not what I- I just,” he stuttered. “Here, can you just let me help you?”

He was across the room quick, your bodies close enough to touch for the first time since the dock. He smelled like soap, and something else undefinable and sweetly nostalgic. He reached up, his long frame barely needing to stretch to reach the cabinet above you.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any in here,” he informed you, tall enough to see what you couldn’t. 

“You sure?” You didn’t know why you were questioning him, your flustered state made you defensive.

“You’re welcome to keep jumping to try and see for yourself,” he stepped back to give you space to try again. “You were so close.”

“Don’t be mean,” you smiled.

“I’m serious! It was very cute,” he dropped casually.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked back at him. Despite all his genuine actions today, you couldn’t help but feel suspicious of his intentions.

”What?” He questioned, sensing your hesitancy. 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today,” you pointed out, “It’s just kinda weird hearing you say it.”

“I mean it’s not like I’ve never called you cute before,” he reasoned.

“You haven’t,” you said definitively.

“I’m sure-“

“You haven’t. I would remember, believe me.”

You crossed your arms, hands cradling your elbows, feeling like a raw nerve. Rafe took a cautious step toward you, ducking his head slightly to draw your eyes to his, making sure you were listening when he said,

“Just because I didn’t say it doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

You instinctually stepped back, his words a little too close to a confession for your comfort. When you pulled away, the back of your leg hit the kitchen counter, making you flinch at the pain of your cut rubbing against the wood.

“I have some waterproof band aids in my room,” he mumbled, his low voice making you wonder for just a second if he really did have them or if this was just a sly way to get you to his room. Sensing your doubt, he doubled down with, “no, honest, I brought a whole first aid kit.”

Convinced, you followed him down the stairs to his basement bedroom. His bed was still pulled away from the wall, but it had seemingly dried. His belongings were strewn about, his book bag unzipped and overflowing with books and papers. You clocked the curious sight, but stayed silent, preoccupied by your sudden aloneness and his half-naked body.

Rafe dug through his suitcase for a moment until, sure enough, he pulled out a bright orange case with a little red cross on the front. You couldn’t help your smile.

“In your boy scout era?” You teased him.

“I’ve been on enough trips with Topper and Kelce to know you should always be prepared for the worst,” he chuckled.

“Ah, little did you know, I was gonna be the worst you needed to prepare for.”

“You? No, you’re the best part of this trip.”

Your throat tightened.

“Oh, really? It’s not your dungeon bedroom?” You pivoted.

“Yeah, I should probably get used to that mildew smell,” Rafe scoffed. “Gonna be living in my parents basement if I don’t pass this summer class.”

He motioned to his backpack, the mystery finally solved. He’d been doing school work down here. Summer classes, surely the answer to his not-graduating problem.

“What are you taking?” You inquired.

“Statistics. I need one more math credit and I just can’t…” he shook his head with self-loathing. “I mean, you know better than anyone. I’ve never been good at math.”

“I don’t think your problem was so much that you weren’t good,” you reasoned. “I think it was more about not applying yourself.”

“Well I’m applying myself now and I still feel like the textbook’s written in another language, so what does that mean?”

“Maybe that you just need some help,” you shrugged.

You could tell he was struggling with himself, and you were overcome with the desire to ease his worry. There are worse things a man can be than bad at math. But with Rafe, things were always all-or-nothing. One flaw meant the whole batch must be bad. 

You felt the urge to jump into tutor-mode and do the hard work for him, but you knew once you crossed that bridge into such familiar territory, there’d be no going back.

Rafe didn’t seem to share your concerns about repeating the past.

“Help from you?”

The way he leaned in when he said it would be almost imperceptible to anyone else, but you’d studied him long enough to notice even the slightest movement. You could feel the air between you tighten, like a rubber band stretching as far as it could go. You broke eye contact before it had the chance to snap.

“Or, like a tutor?” You suggested, reaching for the first aid kit in his hands. “Do they have those at Chapel Hill?”

“They do,” he stepped closer anyway, hand brushing yours as he handed it to you. “But I’d rather have you.”

You cleared your throat, ignoring his attempt to flirt. You decided not to go down this road with him, afraid it would lead to another dead end. 

He watched you dig through the kit for an appropriately sized Band-Aid, fighting the urge to ask if he’d said something wrong. Before he could, you leaned down and attempted to line up the adhesive with your cut, struggling to twist and reach the back of your leg.

“Here, let me.”

Fingers brushing yours, he took the Band-Aid and kneeled down in front of you, one leg under him, one propped up. His hand found your ankle and he guided your leg up so your foot rested on his knee. 

Clouds of foggy attraction swirled in your eyes as you looked down at him. He poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on unwrapping the Band-Aid. You zeroed in on his fingers, long and slender, leading to vein rippled hands that worked diligently to ease your pain. It was enough to knock someone over, but you weren’t going anywhere with his strong thigh holding you up. 

“Since when are you such a gentleman?” You quipped, your decision not to flirt with him thrown out the window at the sight of him on his knees in front of you.

He smiled that satisfied, crooked grin as he gently placed the Band-Aid over your healing cut, “I’m trying.”

He brushed over the edge of the Band-Aid, smoothing it into place with a firm swipe of his thumb. You dreaded the moment he would stand again. As if he could read your mind, he delayed it, his hand lingering on your calf. 

Completely breathless, you watched him consider his next move. For a moment, you thought he was going to let his hand continue to run up your leg, but he stopped himself, bringing it back to your ankle and returning your foot to the ground.

When he stood and looked down at you, he was surprised by the pout of your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “You just looked so cute down there.”

Rafe rolled his eyes playfully.

“Thought you didn’t like that word.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” you countered.

“You just don’t like it when I call you cute, then?” 

There it was again, evidence of his genuine desire to understand you. The rubber band tightened again, but this time, it was in your stomach, his sincerity drawing you to him helplessly.

“There’s just so many better things you could call me,” you flirted.

“Yeah?” Excitement coursed through you at his breathy tone. “Like what?”

“My name would be a good start.”

Voice still low, so deep you could feel it more than hear it, he uttered your name. It rolled off his tongue, smooth like honey dripping from his parted lips. The syllables came out with the faintest breath, brushing over your face as the sound swept over you.

Lip tucked between your teeth, you looked at his mouth, as though you could will more soothing sounds to fall from it. As you stared, his lips got closer to you, close enough to touch yours-

“Yo Rafe!”

The sound of Topper’s voice from the top of the stairs startled you so much, you knocked into his bedside table.

“What?” Rafe barked in the direction of Topper’s voice, his harsh, irritated tone in such stark contrast with the sweet way he’d just spoken to you.

“Just letting you know we’re leaving in like an hour,” Topper said.

“Okay?” Rafe snipped.

Topper grumbled something along the lines of “so fucking testy today” as he closed the door, none the wiser to your presence in the basement.

Rafe turned to you, eyes searching your face for a sign he could recover the moment that was so abruptly interrupted. You didn’t meet his eyes. A nervous, pink blush kissed the tips of your cheeks and washed down your chest. The thought of Topper seeing what you were almost doing brought you crashing back to reality. Twice today you had almost let him kiss you, the steel backbone you’d come into this trip with feeling more like glass with every second you spent with him.

“I should probably go start getting ready then,” you said, making your way toward the stairs.

“Right, yeah,” he agreed, defeated.

“Thanks for the Band-Aid.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Anything.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs as you climbed them. When you reached the door, you opened it just a crack, peeking out of it with paranoid eyes, making sure no one saw you sneak out of his room.

Regret hit him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t even be mad that you were so desperate not to be seen in close quarters with him, because it was exactly the look he’d have on his face when he used to climb out of your car in the school parking lot.

This must be how you felt. He wished for a time machine so he could knock out his teenage self the way he almost knocked out the guy on the dock today. Anyone who made you feel as shitty as he did right now deserved it.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Finally able to take a painless shower, you took your time under the hot stream of water. Carter sat on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest as you recapped the crazy day.

“I literally thought you might be dead,” she explained.

“How long were we even gone? Half an hour?” You laughed lovingly at her dramatics.

“Are you serious?” 

“What, was it more?” You thought over the time you’d spent with Rafe on the water, in your mind it had flown by fast. Too fast. 

“We got back to the dock a full two hours before you showed up on your Rafe-drawn carriage,” she informed you.

You laughed heartily at the image, your cheeks tinting pink, though you told yourself the flush was just from the hot water.

“What did you guys do out there for two hours anyway?” She asked, not a fan of how silent you’d gone at the mention of Rafe’s name. 

“We just talked,” you said. 

It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like an incomplete truth.

“About?” She pried.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “just, like, life and stuff.”

She snorted skeptically.

“What?”

“I just can’t picture Rafe Cameron having any kind of deep thoughts about life is all,” she explained.

“Well, he’s different now, I guess,” you said feebly.

“Is he though?”

That silenced you. She had a fair point, you had only been talking to Rafe again for a few days, and most of that time was spent with him asking questions about you. You didn’t know him at all really, at least not as well as you used to, not enough to make judgment calls on his character.

Yet there was this instinct that had never really gone away. An invisible tether that connected you to him in a way you’d never experienced with anyone else. He was your sixth sense, you just knew him. You always had.

“I’m gonna go grab my makeup bag,” Carter exited the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

A few moments later, she reentered the room. You felt the words deep in your chest, and even though you knew she may not like them, you needed to let them out.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Rafe meandered upstairs, looking for Topper’s room so he could borrow a shirt. He hadn’t really packed any going out outfits, picturing himself planted on the beach the whole week. The day he packed felt like a lifetime ago, he had no idea the rollercoaster this trip would turn into. 

Down the hall, the bathroom door was open a crack, steam pouring from it as someone showered. Surely, whoever was in there didn’t intend to leave it open. He made his way towards the door to close it, but stopped short when he heard your familiar voice coming from the shower. He knew he should close the door and walk away, but your words glued him in place.

“I have to be honest with you,” you said. “I know I should hate him, but I don’t. I don’t think I’ll ever hate him.”

Rafe’s heart raced, an optimistic smile spreading across his face. He prayed that he was the ‘him’ you were referring to.

“The sad thing is, if he asked me to, I’d still give him anything he wanted,” you chuckled, surprised by your own words. “If he wanted me, I think I’d be with him.”

He’d never do it, but he seriously considered barging right into your shower and telling you “I want you, you have no idea how badly I want you.” 

But the fantasy was cut short.

“I think I’d hate myself the whole time, though,” you confessed quietly.

At that, he actually did close the door, heart sinking, wishing he could dissolve into the floor.

His whole life, people found it hard to love him. They may not say it to his face, but he picked up on more than people thought. He exhausted his family, his irresponsibility and impulsivity were a pain to them since he was a kid. He disappointed his father, he knew he wasn’t the heir to the Cameron throne Ward had hoped for. And he’d fumbled you completely, the best friend he ever had. 

Since then, everything he did was out of self-protection. He ghosted girls at school before they got the chance to reject him, he didn’t reply to texts from friends for fear of being ignored first. He picked fights and pushed people away, running from rejection like a monster in the dark.

But this week, for just a moment, he thought maybe he could finally stop running. He thought maybe he’d finally found something that was worth the risk. He had never felt so safe, so seen, as he did today when you were talking to him. 

Then your words shook him from his delusions. He could handle his family’s disappointment and his friends’ exasperation. But your resentment? Knowing that being with him made you hate yourself? He just could not afford it. He wouldn’t survive it.

Closing the bathroom door had a finality to it, the click of the handle a sign of a decision made. He would stop pursuing you. He’d get through this trip, graduate school, and finally move on. If not for his sake, for yours. He was bad for you. You knew it, Carter knew it, he knew it. For your sake and his, he decided to let you go.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

The Ubers arrived around nine. The boys were showered, dressed, and ready by 8:30, chilling on the couch watching baseball and drinking their pregame beers. Topper kept an eye on his phone, watching the little cars get closer to the house.

“Ride’s almost here and they’re really not ready,” Topper sighed.

“Did you really expect anything else?” Kelce threw back another beer.

“Wanna take it easy tonight, man?” Rafe recommended, no one needed a reminder of the damage Hurricane Kelce had caused the last time he was shitfaced.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Kelce laughed.

Rafe reached across the couch, Topper ducking out of the way of his swift arm as he snatched the beer from Kelce’s hand.

“I’m getting you some water,” Rafe said. “I’m not babysitting your drunk ass all night.”

Rafe stood over the kitchen sink, filling a glass for Kelce. The water rose over the cup’s edge and overflowed onto his hands, but he didn’t even notice. He was lost in thought, thinking about your cry after falling off the jet ski, your lip pulled between your teeth when he almost kissed you, your words in the shower…

“Thirsty?” He heard you say behind him. 

He turned to look at you, nearly dropping the glass.

Rafe was resolved. He couldn’t risk the sting of your rejection, and he couldn’t afford the price of your resentment. There would be no more chasing you, no moves made, no plays attempted. It was settled, he was done.

Then he saw you in that fucking dress. 

(Chapter 6: part two)

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

a/n: oops another two part chapter cause the word count got away from me againnnn :) will try my best to post pt 2 this weekend!

and if I wrote a bonus blurb about what happened in Carter’s bedroom what then? A smutty little Carrot Top side quest? How would we feel about that?

as always, sorry for taglist errors, they're never intentional. to see my new posts first, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[sturnlsstuff]

MISSED YOU | chris sturniolo

| ".... god, i hate that i missed you so much"

pairing: dealer!chris x fem!reader

summary: your dealer has been out of town for almost two weeks and after he's finally back, he texts you needing to see you.

warnings; smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, p in v, pet names, praising, unprotected sex, dirty talking, hair pulling, rough sex, car sex, crying, public¿ sex, cursing, mdni

a/n: literally my first fanfic after a looong time so please bear with me, if its bad... you know why. english isnt my first language so sorry for any mistakes! also its a little long 😭 part two here !!

~~~

she laughed at some joke her friend made and took another bite of her pizza. it was late friday afternoon, she and her bestfriends were hanging out, since there was nothing else to do. everything was great, until her phone buzzed. she looks at her screen, immediately smiling when she sees his name. she wasn't even aware that her lips had curved into a smile.

her friends were too busy with their own conversation, so she uses her moment and grabs her phone, reading the message from chris. she hasn't heard from him in over two weeks, she had no clue what he was doing, or where he was. she also didn't want to ask, hating the feeling of being too desperate. and it's not like he owns her any explanation either.

chris: u busy?

she bites her lip, fighting the urge to smile again as she replies back.

y/n: hi to you too

y/n: yeah im out with friends, whats up

chris: having fun?

chris: when u gonna be home ma?

y/n: like in an hour or so

chris: can u hurry up? c'mon kid i miss ya

y/n: you do???

she can't help but genuinely grins this time, her eyes widen a little. did he miss her? or was he just saying that to make her give in? he always knew how to talk to her, to make her going feral over him. but she wanted to believe he means it this time.

chris: hell yeah i do

chris: get ur ass out here

she looks at her friends, that were still yapping about something, that she couldn't care less about right now. she needed to see him. he never said he missed her before.

y/n: then come pick me up, im sending u the address

chris: omw gorgeous

chris is already in his car, when she sends him the address. not being able to see her for over two weeks, made him think. A lot. he has been her drug dealer for over a year now, there was tension between them since the beginning, so it didnt take them long to finally fuck at some party a few months ago. and since then, it's happening every now and then, usually they meet to smoke together, then they end up all over each other.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in front of the pizzeria, finally seeing her. she made a stupid excuse for her friends to leave, not being able to hide her excitement, so they just could assume what was going on.

chris gets out of the car, looking her up and down, licking his lips as she was only wearing a black crop top and baggy camo pants. he personally loved those, especially on her.

he opens the door for her, a smirk playing on his lips. "get in."

she tried her hardest to act casual, but just seeing him after a while, in all black outfit, was enough to make her dizzy. and she could swear he got a haircut. his hair was so much shorter, and she loved it.

she smiles, keeping the eye contact while getting inside the car. he closes the door, his eyes roaming all over her body as she walked towards him. he snaps back to reality, getting to the other side and climbing back into the drivers seat. he was feeling so many things that he couldn't express.

"missed me so bad, you couldn't wait an hour, huh?" she speaks up, putting on the seatbelt and looking over at him, while he starts the car.

she notices the way he looks her up and down, his eyes stopping at her exposed skin a little too long.

"i've missed my favorite customer." he smirks, going back to the eye contact.

"yeah, your favorite customer... right." she says sarcastically, trying her hardest to keep her cool and not to blush under his stare.

he grins before replying, focused on keeping his hands on the wheel instead of her body. it was getting harder with every second. "yeah, the one i always gotta give free stuff to."

"oh, dont act like i force you to do this..." she scoffs, still looking at him. "you know i always want to pay you."

"i know y'do... doesn't mean i will stop givin' it to you for free though."

"see, and that's crazy."

chris rolls his eyes, loving and hating at the same time, how she always had to talk back to him. he's driving, planning to go to her house, but the way she's looking right now, and especially her attitude, is making him crazy. he feels his dick getting harder with every second.

"whatever, ma. i know you secretly like it."

"yeah, sure." she mumbles with sarcastic tone, her eyes still watching him. seeing him driving was one of her favorite things in the world, he always looked so good. she appreciates, that he gives her stuff for free or cuts down her prices, but dealing was his job, he was making money out of it, so she always felt bad when he didnt want her cash. "what made you busy for so long? thought the cops caught or some shit"

chris bites his lip, his eyes glancing over to her for a second, before focusing back on the road. he never felt so desperate like right now, just having her in his car like that...

once he hears her question, he snaps back to reality and smiles. "the cops? please, sweetheart, they can suck my dick."

chris changes his direction, spotting an empty parking lot and he drives there. "i was out of town, had to deal with some business... nothin' to worry about now." he explains, parking and turning off his car, and his stare travels to her, scanning her face and body. "you're so curious...."

she nods, now understanding why he wasn't texting her these past two weeks, she was a bit ashamed 'cause she honestly thought maybe he got bored of her, so she didn't text him either. she still got some weed until yesterday, so she also had no reason to.

"why would you stop here?" she asks, looking at him with a little frown, but once she sees his smirk, the realization hits her. the excitement filling her body, the tension between them so noticeable, it makes her shiver.

he stares at her for a moment, adjusting his pants and then suddenly he unbuckles his seatbelt, sitting back in his seat so there was more space now.

"c'mere."

her eyes travels down on his lap, seeing the noticeable big bulge even through his jeans. she blushes slightly, looking back at him, the smirk still playing on his lips and it makes her weak in her knees.

"chris..." he cuts her off by reaching over and grabbing her chin, tilting her face closer to his.

"y'gonna do what i said, or keep talking back?"

she immediately unbuckles her seatbelt, moving over the center console and she gets into his lap, straddling him. she wasn't gonna act like she didn't miss him too, because, goddamn, she did. she presses herself onto his hard dick, watching him closely, and seeing how desperate and frustrated he was right now. It made her feel a little bit of a power, that she decided to take advantage of.

"now, was that so hard, ma?" he smirks even more, trying to hide his growing need for her, but his hands moves to grip onto her thighs. he felt the urge to touch her all over.

"you know, fifteen more minutes and we would be at my place-"

"you really think, i would wait fifteen fucking minutes, when i havent seen you for two weeks, and you look like that?" he loves the way she looks at him, with such admiration. she was so pretty in his eyes, he never felt this type of desperation for anyone ever before.

"and who's fault is that?" his hands grips her tighter and puts her closer in on his lap, making a little bit of friction, that he so desperately needs. his fingers digging into her skin, while he stares into her eyes.

"shut up for once, yeah?"

"make me." she smirks, challenging him. he doesn't have to hear it twice, loving the attitude she's giving him right now. his hand moves up from her thigh to the back of her neck, pulling her face closer and he kisses her roughly, grabbing her ass with his other hand as he does.

she smiles against his lips, immediately kissing him back with the same intensity, and she grinds down against his clothed dick, feeling her own need growing with every second. she missed the way he kissed her, she missed his lips, his hands all over her, his body against hers. she missed him and she hated to admit that.

she slides her tongue into his mouth, he bites her lip in response and lets her lead the kiss. moving up his hips to feel her more and not being able to hold back, he groans against her lips. he never felt so needy before. he pulls away for a moment to speak, and starts trailing kisses down her neck, squeezing her ass, before his hand moves up, caressing the skin on her exposed stomach.

"god, i hate that i missed you so much."

it slips from his mouth, he doesn't think much about it as he sucks on her skin, but for her it meant everything. she tilts back her head, giving him more space and she grinds against his lap some more, running her hand through his brown hair. he lets out a growl as she grinds down on him, making him even harder and he bucks his hips up again. lifting up his head from her neck his stare finds hers, the noticeable lust in his eyes made her bite her lip to hold back a moan. the smirk coming back to his face once he notices her flushed cheeks.

"what 'bout you, huh, ma? missed me too?"

she closes her eyes, their face so close to each other, it makes their lips brush when she replies him back.

"yeah... i did"

he grins, his hands playing with the waistband of her pants. that's all he needed to know, that she missed him as much as he missed her. even though they both were aware, they should'nt.

"how much, hm?" he unzips her pants, she lifts herself up, gripping his shoulders to balance herself and helps him take them off. then she straddles him again, trying to hold back her smile, but not being able to.

"want me to show you?"

he groans after her words, feeling her wet panties pressing against his hard dick and he bucks up his hips again, being so desperate, that he was ready to beg her. he starts marking her neck again, his hand traveling between her legs, massaging her clit through her underwear. her breath hitches in her throat, she lets out a little whine and grips his hair slightly.

"so wet already... shiiiitttt... all this f'me, huh?" he says against her skin, bitting on it slightly and making her moan. he adds more pressure, circling over her clit. "lift this shit up."

his tone demanding, he wasn't asking. she lifts up her top, revealing her breasts. he looks at her now, his eyes going back and forth between her tits, and her face. "fuck... not wearing a bra? fuckin' slut..."

he licks her hard nipple, then starting sucking on it. her hand tightens in his hair, tilting her head back and she lets out more whimpers. she was supposed to be the one in control this time, she craved it and saw how needy he is, but the way he's touching her, makes her losing her mind. he then pulls her panties to the side, running his fingers through her wet folds and suddenly putting one inside her. not even giving her any time, he just starts pumping in and out, adding another finger after a moment, now stretching her out. he pulls away from her nipple, looking at her face.

"c-chris..." she moans quietly, trying her hardest to keep the eye contact, but struggles to do so. her hands now traveling down his chest and unbuckling his belt.

"yeah, ma? y'like that?" he tries to keep his cool, still working his fingers inside her dripping pussy, curling them and making her whine in response. "look at you... so, fuckin' desperate on my lap. missed my fingers, huh? want some more?"

she desperately nods, squeezing around his fingers, but once he feels that, he pulls them out immediately putting them in his mouth to lick them clean. she whines, pouting her lips when he stops.

"show me how much you missed this dick then."

she bites her lip, unzipping his pants and with his help, she pulls them down to his knees, his boxers following after a second. chris leans his head back against the seat, gripping her hips as she gives him a few strokes before pulling her underwear to the side. she runs her thumb over his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it all over his cock, using it as a lubricant and then she lowers herself slowly on his cock, the movement making them both moan out loud with pleasure. she stays like this for a moment, needing to adjust after these past two weeks without him.

"fuckk...so tight...your pussy was made f'me.." he groans, tightening his grip on her hips and he watches her closely, as she finally starts moving on him. he’s holding himself back from moving up his hips and taking over, trying so hard not to thrust into her. he loves the feeling of her body against his and he’s missed it so much. he needed it, he needed her and he hated that. the feeling just kept growing, making the space in the car feel even smaller.

he pulls her back down into another kiss, this time more sloppy, continuing to move his tongue against hers, tasting her. she kisses him back, starting speeding up her pace and now bouncing on him harder. his dick hitting just all the right spots, making her moan loudly while chris tries to focus on the kiss and not to lose his composure. he wanted to take over, he always did, but the feeling of her riding him like that, has him gripping the seat. he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself together and he knows his patience wont last long. he looks up at her again, his eyes glued to her face.

"fuckkkk, ma.... takin' all of me so well... shit..." he hisses, when she speeds up even more. "so good.... s-so good f'me...."

she grips into his shoulders more, moaning loudly at his praises and she continues moving. chris is in complete ecstasy as she picks the pace up, a feeling like he hasn’t experienced before. there's just something about her on top and taking what she wants, that's got him feeling so many things at once.

“fuck.. just like that” one of his hands grab her ass, giving it a squeeze and then slapping it. "fuckin' slut... you like it? fucking in my car? takin' it just like a little bitch.... yeah? shitttt..."

he moans now not being able to hold back, and he starts thrusting into her. she gasps for air, her eyes closing shut as she tightens around him. "oh, wanna cum, huh? not yet darlin'...." he grips her hips more, his tip hitting her g-spot with every move.

"chris i-"

she cuts herself off with another moan, not being able to think straight. she digs her nails into the back of his neck, her head falling down on his shoulder and he immediately stops. her eyes snap open, she lifts up her head to look at him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you better don't look away f'me, ma.... wanna see your pretty face y'know? and keep makin' those sexy little sounds...got it?"

she nods, but it's not enough from him as he speaks up again. "use your words baby, c'mon... you aint that fucked out of your mind yet, hm?"

"i got it, just... please..." she whines, moving her hips, wanting to bounce on him again, but he stops her. she pouts. "chrissss......"

"get to the backseat." he demands, after scanning her face for a while. he wanted to give her all the pleasure she deserves. he wasn't even thinking about himself, he couldn't care less about his release. he just needed to make her feel good, making sure no one else can do what he can.

she pulls away from him, now moving over the center console again, struggling a bit but she gets into the backseat. chris obviously smacks her ass as she does, what makes her squeak.

"chris!"

but he just smirks, pulling off his pants and boxers all the way down and throwing it on the passenger seat, so it wasn't in the way. he gets on the back himself, there was little space, but enough to get into his favorite position. chris puts his hand on her back, forcing her to get on her knees and hands on the seat, as he positions himself behind her. chris loves the way he can get her all desperate and begging, so he teases her now. he moves his tip along her folds, making her whine. then he slowly puts it in, but after a few seconds he pulls back again.

"chris...." she whines, knowing he's playing with her now.

"yeah, baby?"

she bites her lip, her face pressing into the seat and she lifts up her hips more. "stop teasing me, please...."

he grins even more, slapping her pussy with his dick and then he suddenly pulls his cock all the way in, making her gasp and scream out of pleasure. the new angle let him hit all of her sweet spots.

"whatever you want, princess." he starts thrusting into her with a very intense and fast pace, going as deep as he could. the car now filled up with her moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. he grips her hips tight, keeping her in place. he can feel her squeezing around his cock again, and he lets out a growl. "c'mon.... cum all over me...wanna see you while y'do..."

chris moves one of his hands, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, having a good view on her face. her mouth wide open, letting out loud moans, her eyes rolling back.

"oh my god!" she cries out, gripping the edge of the seat like her life depended on it and she releases, the wet, squelching sound coming from her now louder. he groans, kissing her neck and whispering into her ear.

"you feel so good... cummin' like that f'me... such a good girl.."

she moans, squeezing around him again, the overstimulation now making her shiver as he keeps going with the crazy pace, not slowing down at all. he lets go of her hair, her head immediately falling onto the seat and he grips by her hips again, making sure she feels him as deep as he wants her to. he growls, being on the edge himself.

"i'm... close.." he mutters, throwing his head back. "gonna fill you up, yeah?"

she whines nodding desperately, but then he smacks her ass giving her a sign to answer verbally.

"shit! yes, fuck, yes chris, please!" she feels tears filling up her eyes from the pleasure, a few of them coming down her cheeks moment later. chris bites his lip, feeling her tightening around him. he moves one of his hands between her legs, now rubbing her clit, while still thrusting hard into her, but his movements getting sloppier. she cries out, her legs trembling and his dick twitches, finally cumming inside her, his warm sticky release filling her up and dripping out of her. he curses under his breath, digging his fingers into her skin, leaving bruises as he does. she feels him cumming, and the overstimulation from him lazily massaging her clit and still hitting her g-spot, makes her finish again. the pressure in her stomach now becoming too much, unable to hold back, she feels the liquid squirts out of her in waves.

his eyes snap open, looking down at her and he growls. he slows down until he eventually stops, after they both ride out their highs, this time not wanting to overstimulate her. looking at the mess she made, he can't help but feel a bit cocky about it.

"shit, ma.... squirtin' all over me, huh? is it how it is now?" he smirks, a little surprised that he made her do that but he couldn't be more proud. he pulls out of her, letting go of her hips and her body immediately falls onto the seat. she's breathing heavily, not being able to reply yet. "that's my fuckin' girl.."

he runs his fingers along her inner thigh, collecting her and his cum and he leans in a bit, covering over her. he looks at her fucked out expression and the smudged mascara on her cheeks. "look at me."

she opens her eyes, her mind blank, body shaking. he puts his fingers into her mouth, she immediately cleans them up, tasting both his and her release on her tongue, making sure she keeps the eye contact with him while she does that.

"you're so hot." he says now kissing the tears on her cheeks away. "took me so well..."

she smiles, seeing his flushed cheeks and messy hair sticking to his forehead. it was her favorite view.

"y'good, kid? don't go all mute on me now.."

"don't call me that...." she mumbles, trying to get her sarcastic attitude back, but she was absolutely spent right now. "i'm fine."

he just grins, gently patting her cheek before he pulls away. she slowly lifts herself up, trying to fight her trembling legs and she sits up now, facing him. not being able to do anything more yet, her glare moving to her legs and the seat she made mess on. she feels her cheeks growing hotter, now suddenly embarrassed and trying to ignore his stare. this never happened to her with him before and she didn't know what he thought about it.

"sorry about... the seats" she mumbles, grimacing.

he raises his eyebrows, now seeing her embarrassment and he doesn't understand why. it was a little surprising but he felt so proud. he already wanted to make her do it all over again. "you f'real? don't even say sorry, ever again."

she's still not so sure, blushing even more as he wipes her cheeks from the smudged mascara and then runs his hand through her hair, trying to fix it a little bit. he smiles softly. "gonna clean this up later, don't you worry 'bout that, okay?"

chris then reaches into the center console for the tissues, grabbing them and spreading her legs with his hands. she watches him closely seeing how he starts just gently cleaning her up. this simple movement makes her feel the heat rising from her cheeks down to her neck, so she just covers her face with her hands shyly. not really being able to understand why is she so embarrassed this time, he grabs her wrists, forcing her hands to move away from her face.

"y'gotta be kiddin' me. don't hide from me, ma." chris mutters. "not when you made such pretty mess in my car."

with a quiet sigh, she lets him take her hands off of her face. she chews on her bottom lip nervously while he goes back to cleaning her up, touching her slightly as she was made from some kind of glass. it was even cute, how he just made sure she was fine. it's not their first rough sex, but this one was definitely more intense and for some reason felt so... different. she had this strange feeling in her chest, just seeing him focused on wiping her legs and how he didn't seem to care about his covered in her release seats. once he's done, he sits beside her, wrapping his hand around her shoulder and pulling her close. she doesn't like the silence, even if before it was never awkward, this one was bothering her as she couldn't stop feeling unfamiliar emotions.

"i ran out, by the way." she suddenly blurts out, making him laugh. there was no way in hell this girl was real.

"yeah? good to know. gonna give y'some more later."

"im paying this time."

"oh, you've paid enough already." she immediately looks up at him, smacking his shoulder and he chuckles in response, pretending to be in pain. "woaaahh, bein' a little brat again, hm?"

"that's not funny, im giving you money." her tone shows no objection, he smirks and nods, knowing he won't take anything from her anyway. they sit like that for a moment, before he speaks up, knowing he will get another hit after that.

"soooo... round two?"

"christopher, i swear to god."

_____________________________

a/n: oh my god this seems sooo long 😭 tell me what yall think, i feel like i kinda fucked up with the whole dealer vibe but lmk please! i honestly enjoyed writing that so who knows..

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok: