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joelsrose · 2 days ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 9

hey cuties, this chapter is actually so angsty I might die i love when you guys comment so pls keep it up and let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list !! i fricking love u guys !!

previous chapters

Before they left

Ellie was out with Leo, one of Jackson’s newer patrolmen—a quiet, steady-eyed guy with a calm that felt almost unnatural in a place like this. He’d proven himself useful enough: sharp aim, sure step.

It was her first real patrol without Joel’s shadow looming behind her, his watchful eye dissecting every sound, every flicker in the underbrush, ready to jump in if her instincts wavered. Joel had been more than hesitant to let her go, but Ellie knew how to work around his protectiveness, and he’d eventually relented, grumbling something about her proving she could handle herself.

The route they’d been given was standard—a western perimeter sweep, a routine check of gates, watchposts, and gaps in the fence line. Nothing more than a glance at empty fields, trees swaying in the distance, and the ghostly echoes of rustling animals.

But the clouds loomed low and dark, heavy as lead against the wide sky, threatening rain or worse. The cold bit into her bones, crisp enough to sting, and her breath lingered in clouds of mist before vanishing into the chill.

Leo walked a few steps ahead, his eyes sweeping the treeline with the cool efficiency of someone who didn’t mind the silence. Ellie glanced sideways at him, watching his shoulders rise and fall in a calm rhythm as if the place itself couldn’t touch him.

They’d just decided to turn back, the patrol as uneventful as they’d hoped, when Leo stopped dead in his tracks. Ellie followed his gaze and spotted it, too—a faint plume of smoke curling up behind a ridge in the distance, thin and gray against the dark sky. One look passed between them, and they both knew what it meant: someone was out there, just close enough to Jackson to make them uneasy.

Ellie’s heart hammered against her ribs, and suddenly, Joel’s voice rang through her mind, steady as his hand on her shoulder during a training session. “Never assume it’s friendly. People only hide for two reasons—fear or intent. And neither’s safe.”

She could almost hear him, his tone low, caution edging his words. “Look for cover first, approach quiet. Only move when you’re sure.” Her grip on her rifle tightened, knuckles whitening against the cold metal.

Leo gave her a nod, an unspoken you ready?

She drew a slow breath, reminding herself to stay calm. They moved closer, footsteps careful, every sound amplified in the stillness. All of Joel’s hard-learned lessons came flooding back as they advanced: stay low, eyes sharp, don’t let them see you before you see them.

Quietly, they moved toward the smoke, weapons drawn, each step calculated as they closed in on the campsite. Then they saw them—a small group of raiders, rough-looking men in mismatched gear, their rifles propped against logs, packs scattered around like they planned on staying awhile. The men hadn’t spotted Ellie and Leo yet, so they crept closer, taking cover behind a rocky outcrop, hearts pounding, breaths held.

But then, maybe it was just instinct—one of the raiders glanced up, his hand flying to his weapon. In an instant, chaos erupted. Gunfire shattered the quiet, loud and brutal in the cold air. Ellie’s heart thundered, adrenaline coursing through her as she ducked and returned fire.

One by one, the raiders went down, their shouts fading until only the hush of the forest remained, heavy and grim. The last raider, staggering back with blood staining his side, fell against a wall, his eyes wide, desperate.

Leo stepped forward, his weapon raised, ready to end it, but Ellie held up a hand, halting him. She had questions, a nagging instinct clawing at her gut, and something in the raider’s gaze—defiance mixed with fear—made her pause.

“Who are you?” Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady, her words edged with a threat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The raider sneered, blood staining his teeth, but his eyes held a glint, something wild and defiant. “We’re here for the girl,” he spat, his voice rasping with a strange, almost triumphant malice. “The cure.”

Ellie felt a chill flood her veins, as if the air had turned to ice.

Her grip on her gun tightened, fingers tense on the trigger as she stared at him.

The cure.

The words twisted in her mind, turning her thoughts into a chaotic storm. “What… what did you say?” she whispered, the strength in her voice slipping as the weight of his words sank in, a cold, sick feeling clawing at her stomach.

Her mind raced, questions hammering at her. Were they ordinary raiders? Fireflies? Or some new group who’d managed to pick up on her past, on the secret Joel had tried so hard to bury? And if they knew… how had they tracked her here, to Jackson, where she was supposed to be safe?

The raider’s smirk only deepened, his face pale but his eyes dark with some twisted satisfaction. “We know all about her,” he rasped, each word a knife. His gaze fixed on her, sharp and unyielding, like he could see right through her.

"You can kill me," the raider coughed, blood trickling down his chin, yet his eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. "But more will come. And when we do… we’re gonna get her."

Ellie’s pulse thundered in her ears, each beat amplifying the sick, hollow dread spreading through her. His words slithered into her mind, each one striking with cold, ruthless certainty.

Someone knew. Someone out there knew what she was.

The one thing she’d worked so hard to bury, to escape, to live beyond—the secret Joel had kept at any cost—was slipping from her grip, no matter how tightly she’d held on. She’d come to Jackson to be just Ellie, to walk through the world as more than a body bound to a cure she’d never asked to carry. But now, in one brutal moment, that hope felt like dust, falling through her fingers.

Leo, sensing the shift in her demeanor and the tension etched across her face, stepped forward. He didn’t hesitate—a single, precise shot rang out, and the raider slumped against the ground, lifeless. Yet his words lingered, like a dark shadow cast over the silent campsite, a threat that felt too real to ignore.

Leo turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, his voice low but edged with concern. “What the fuck was he talking about?”

Ellie forced herself to breathe, to steady the churning in her gut. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She met his gaze, holding it just long enough to seem certain, though the lie felt heavy on her tongue.

By the time she returned to Jackson, her face was drained of color. She didn’t say a word to Leo, only gave him a faint nod when he suggested reporting the encounter, and then she disappeared.

The moment she crossed the threshold into her house, she was already packing, her hands working in a blur, stuffing her few belongings into a bag with a mechanical urgency that left no room for second thoughts. She knew what Joel would say, knew he’d tell her the only thing they could do now was run, to disappear before anyone came looking.

As the hours slipped into night, the town settled into a quiet stillness, but Ellie was already outside, her breath curling in the cold air, her feet carrying her through Jackson’s empty streets as if pulled by some unseen force. She stopped at your door and knocked, each second stretching painfully until it finally opened. Joel stood there, his face etched with worry, his eyes bloodshot, but even before she could say a word, he took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

It was settled—they were leaving. The quiet agreement hung heavy between them, each of them knowing there was no turning back.

She watched as Joel turned, his gaze drifting to the staircase, lingering just a moment too long. Ellie couldn’t look at him, the weight of his sacrifice pressing against the raw guilt twisting inside her.

•••

A year had passed.

They traveled endlessly, never lingering too long in one place, drifting through desolate towns and hollowed-out shelters, each as empty as the last. Days blurred together, a relentless stretch of gray skies and quiet roads, of survival routines that left no room for anything but vigilance. They moved like ghosts through a world that had forgotten them, Ellie and Joel—two souls bound by an unspoken promise and a need to stay ahead of whoever might be searching.

But no matter how far they went, no matter the miles they put between themselves and Jackson, Joel’s mind was always somewhere else.

It was always with you.

Every morning when Joel woke, there was a brief, blissful moment—a fragile sliver of peace between dream and reality—where he could almost convince himself he was back with you. In those hazy seconds, his mind softened, his body at ease, and he felt the warmth of your bed, the quiet hum of dawn filtering through the curtains, his head nestled at the base of your neck, his arm wrapped around you like a promise he could hold onto.

He’d breathe in, and for that stolen instant, he’d catch the faintest trace of lavender. That scent lingered in his memory like a dream that refused to fade, one he clung to as he drifted between worlds. Lavender, soft and warm, always grounding him, always pulling him into the shape of you, filling every unspoken part of him with something he dared not name. He could feel you, the curve of your shoulder under his hand, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the delicate intimacy that felt like home, a rare quiet he hadn’t even realized he could crave.

But then he’d open his eyes, and the cold reality of wherever they were would settle over him like a weight he’d never shake. The warmth, the closeness, the gentle pull of something almost real—it all slipped away, replaced by the hard ground, the empty air, the relentless ache that gnawed at him day after day.

Day and night, you lingered in his mind—a steady, silent ache, a presence that filled the hollow spaces inside him, ones he hadn’t even realized existed until you’d come along. Each day he wondered, turning it over and over in his mind, if things might have been different. If he hadn’t been so guarded, if he hadn’t kept you at arm’s length, would you have known how he truly felt? Would it have changed anything?

He imagined a thousand different versions of how he could’ve told you, how he could’ve let down those walls, let you see the side of him he’d buried under years of loss and regret. But in every version, he hesitated, haunted by the weight of everything he’d already lost, afraid to let himself believe in something good. And now, with you gone, he was filled with regret, a reminder of everything he hadn’t said, every moment he’d let slip through his fingers.

As they walked, he found himself wondering what you might be doing in Jackson, if you still waited by the window or traced the outline of the mountains with your eyes, hoping for some glimpse of him. And he wondered, in the deepest, most selfish parts of himself, if you missed him in the way that gnawed at him every hour, every mile. If you ached for him with the same relentless pull that made each morning harder, each night colder.

But then there was the worry that gnawed at the edges of his mind, the fear he kept buried deep but couldn’t quite silence. He’d never spoken the words, never dared cross the fragile line that had formed between you—a line made of glances that lingered too long, of touches that held meaning but never promises, of feelings he kept locked tight behind his ribs, too afraid to give them a name.

Yet he was selfish, and the thought of you with another man, of someone else in your bed, sharing that quiet warmth, feeling your touch—it was enough to turn his stomach, to make his mouth go dry with a bitterness he couldn’t swallow. He pictured it sometimes, in the dark hours of the night when he couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, imagined some stranger’s hand on your shoulder, some other voice filling the silence he used to share with you.

He had no right to it, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop the ache, didn’t stop that cold, jealous twist that reminded him just how much he wanted you.

So he carried you with him, in every step, every breath, every heartbeat. You were woven into him, a memory that pulsed through his veins like a wound that refused to heal. He could feel you in the quiet moments when he let his guard down, in the spaces between one thought and the next, a whisper of what he’d left behind but could never fully abandon. It was a burden and a balm, a constant ache that kept him grounded and made each mile that much harder to bear.

And in the quiet, secret places of his heart, he let himself believe that maybe, someday, he’d find his way back to you. Just for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself that hope, that maybe after all the miles and all the weight he’d carried, he’d see you again. That he’d find his way back, and you’d still be there, waiting for him, just as he’d been waiting for you in his own, silent way all along.

•••

One year.

A whole year had passed since Joel and Ellie had vanished from your life. You’d marked the date on your calendar, a small, barely visible reminder—a private, somber anniversary that only you observed. The seasons had cycled relentlessly in their quiet march, warmth giving way to the chill of winter, spring bursting with life, and now autumn, painting the world in hues of burnished orange and fading gold. Each season had carried with it a different ache, a shifting loneliness that settled in like an old companion.

Now, as you watched the leaves fall, scattered and swirling in the crisp air, you felt the bittersweet ache of time moving forward without them. There was something unshakably hollow in the thought that the world could keep turning while Joel and Ellie remained nothing more than memories tucked away in your mind. You’d find yourself pausing on quiet evenings, thinking you’d catch a glimpse of Joel’s familiar figure down the road or hear Ellie’s laughter echoing from somewhere beyond the trees, only for the moment to pass.

In the midst of all this change, you and Caleb had slowly, almost unwittingly, drifted into each other’s lives. It started after that vulnerable night with Maria, when, over cups of tea and whispered confidences, she’d urged you to let yourself find happiness, to stop waiting on shadows of the past.

Soon after, you found yourself leaning into the steady comfort Caleb offered. There was an undeniable ease in his presence—a warmth that settled around you without demands or complications. Caleb’s laughter was open, a soft assurance that made you feel safe, grounded. He had a way of bringing lightness to the quietest moments, an ability to turn the mundane into something unexpectedly joyful. He filled spaces in your life that had felt empty for too long, his steady presence easing the ache you’d carried alone.

He treated you with a gentle kindness, never pressing, never prying, just being there in a way that was soothing and, somehow, exactly what you’d needed. His steady hand on your shoulder, the unspoken reassurance in his gaze—it all felt like a balm against the ache you’d carried since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

Caleb didn’t ask questions about your past, didn’t demand pieces of yourself you weren’t ready to give, but with every passing day, his presence filled parts of the void Joel had left behind, like warm light spilling into a room you’d thought would always remain shadowed.

Your first kiss had been awkward in the sweetest way—two people stumbling, laughing against each other’s mouths, teeth clashing before you pulled back, cheeks flushed, unable to hide your laughter. It was light and easy, no grand declarations or heavy promises, just a moment shared, a warmth that didn’t need to be anything more than what it was. And as the weeks passed, it became obvious to everyone in Jackson, to every friend who exchanged knowing glances, that Caleb was smitten, his eyes following you with a warmth that softened even the hardest of stares.

So, you let him.

You let him in, bit by bit, finding comfort in his steady affection, in the way he made you laugh without trying, in the simple joy he brought into your life. And though a part of you still held on to memories of what you’d lost, the way Caleb looked at you made it easier to feel present, to let yourself be loved, to lean into a kindness that, for now, was enough.

But, it had been a year, and still, you cursed yourself for the way Joel lingered in your mind, haunting the quietest parts of your day. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t slip into your thoughts daily, an uninvited presence that crept in as you drifted off to sleep, or while you were brushing down the horses in the stables, even as you stood under the hot spray of the shower, eyes closed, heart heavy. His memory was like a thread woven into the fabric of your life, one you couldn’t pull free no matter how much time passed.

You tried not to think about what a year could mean, how the world beyond Jackson had a way of swallowing people whole, never to return. Instead, you forced yourself to imagine him somewhere out there—alive, even if he was distant, existing in a place you couldn’t reach. You pictured him like a shadow moving across empty roads, his gaze sharp, his stance steady, a survivor who wouldn’t let anything bring him down. It was easier to hold onto that, to let yourself believe he was still walking through this world, even if it was a world without you.

And sometimes, despite all your efforts to bury it, you couldn’t help but think of how well Joel had known you. One day Caleb brought home tulips, bright and cheerful in their own way, yet somehow missing the mark. You smiled and thanked him, grateful for the thought, but in the quiet of your mind, you couldn’t ignore the tug of memory. It was roses that had always stirred something deeper within you, and Joel had known that. You’d managed to piece it together over time, a quiet revelation that settled into your bones with bittersweet clarity.

It had been him who left that bouquet in your house when your leg was injured. You’d mentioned how you’d have to thank Tommy and Maria for the gesture, assuming the flowers had come from them, oblivious to the truth. Joel had just shrugged, feigning indifference, a quiet smirk playing at his mouth as he mumbled some dismissive response, never letting on that it was his silent confession, his way of saying the things he couldn’t put into words.

Those roses had been more than a gesture—they were a message wrapped in velvet petals, a whisper of all that had gone unspoken between you. And though you tried to focus on the present, on Caleb’s tulips and his warmth and his laughter, you couldn’t help but feel that those roses, left in the quiet space of your home, had planted themselves in your heart. A love that had never been spoken aloud yet lingered in every memory, every thought you forced yourself to tuck away.

Roses—his unspoken promise, his way of telling you he saw you, of saying all the things that a man like Joel couldn’t put into words.

•••

It was another evening spent around Tommy and Maria’s table, the familiar warmth and chatter weaving through the room like an old, comforting song. Laughter mingled with the clinking of plates, stories flowing easily as everyone settled into the simple joy of being together, of holding onto the small things that made life feel whole. The baby slept soundly in the next room, a soft, steady reminder of life’s resilience, of how beauty and heartbreak could coexist in the same breath.

But as the night wore on, your eyes drifted, almost unwillingly, to the empty seat at your side, the one that had remained untouched for so long. You could almost see him there, a shadow in the space beside you, a ghost haunting every dinner. In your mind, he was sitting right there, his familiar silhouette leaning back, arms crossed, quietly listening, his face softened just slightly in that rare way it only ever did when he felt at ease. You could picture him stealing a glance your way, the warmth in his gaze flickering just briefly before he looked down, his hand reaching out to adjust his glass.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn’t help but notice Caleb—quieter than usual, a strange tension in his posture, his leg shaking beneath the table in a steady, anxious rhythm. His gaze flickered over to you now and then, his eyes carrying something unreadable, something heavy. And when the meal was finally done, he rose abruptly, the scrape of wood against the floor slicing through the laughter and easy conversation like a sudden, cold draft.

Maria paused, tilting her head in concern. “Can I get you something Caleb?” she asked gently, her voice soft but curious, but he shook his head.

You looked up, confusion mingling with a growing unease as you caught the glint of something intense in his eyes. “Caleb?” you murmured, searching his face, trying to understand what he was about to say.

He took a shaky breath, his gaze softening as he spoke your name, and for a moment, it felt as if everything else faded into the background, the room narrowing until it was just the two of you. “I… I’ve thought a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nerves.

“When I came to Jackson, and I saw you for the first time… I knew I wanted you in my life. I know it sounds cheesy, but I never thought I’d find love again—not after the world fell apart.” He swallowed, his fingers fidgeting as he spoke, his words raw and unguarded. “Then I found you. And I can’t picture my life without you.”

Your heart stilled as his hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn tin. He opened it carefully, and inside, nestled in a bit of cloth, was a ring, the metal shaped into a delicate band, with a small, carefully polished piece of amber set in the center. It glowed warm and honeyed in the candlelight, a humble but beautiful thing.

He held it out to you, his hand trembling slightly. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, thick with hope and a quiet, desperate longing.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the warmth of the room, the low murmur of voices drifting in the background—all of it faded as the weight of Caleb's words settled over you. A whirlwind of emotions stirred inside you, a rush of unexpected joy tangled up with the familiar ache you’d tried so hard to bury, the one that had never truly left.

“Caleb, I—” you began, your voice faltering, but he held your gaze, his eyes bright, unwavering, filled with a quiet, earnest hope. He was waiting, trusting, laying his heart bare before you. You forced yourself not to think too much, not to let his face enter your mind—though it already had, a ghost lingering just on the edge of this moment.

But you didn’t let it take hold.

You swallowed, steadying yourself, and finally, you found your voice. “Yes,” you whispered, though your voice trembled, betraying the tumult of feeling beneath. “Yes, I will.”

Caleb’s face lit up, his relief and happiness radiating as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his fingers warm and steady against your trembling hand. You could feel the weight of it—the promise, the choice.

The room erupted in cheers, laughter ringing out as Tommy and Maria pulled you into warm, heartfelt hugs. Their joy filled the space, wrapping around you like a blanket, and for a moment, you let yourself be swept up in it, feeling the weight of Caleb’s ring on your finger, his grateful smile lighting up his face as he looked at you with a love so simple and genuine.

But even as you smiled, a quiet wave of guilt coiled around your heart, tugging painfully, reminding you of a truth you couldn’t ignore. Joel lingered there, tucked away in some hidden corner of yourself, an ache that had never fully healed.

And though you’d tried to close that chapter, to bury it beneath the promises you were making now, you couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere, in another life, he might have been here beside you instead.

•••

You and Maria strolled arm in arm, giggling like teenagers, caught up in the novelty of planning a wedding in a world where ceremonies were rare luxuries. With every step, you swapped whispered ideas for practical dresses, scavenged fabric, maybe even wildflowers if they could be found.

Maria’s excitement was infectious; she insisted on small touches of beauty—a bit of lace here, a hint of color there, things you hadn’t dared to dream of in years. Together, you imagined a simple gathering, something that honored love in a place so often touched by loss.

But then, as you rounded a corner, a shift in the air pulled you back to reality. Low voices sounded behind you, muted but tense, carrying a seriousness that was hard to ignore. You exchanged a glance with Maria, laughter fading as a sense of unease settled over you both.

Your heart stopped, every sound around you fading as the murmured words reached your ears. “It’s Tommy’s brother… and that girl—” The phrase lingered in the air, as if the very walls had held their breath.

A surge of disbelief flooded through you, followed by a fierce, aching hope that felt like a wound you’d thought had healed. It was a hope so intense that it was almost painful, something you’d buried deep but never truly let go.

Without even realizing it, you’d already begun pushing through the crowd, instincts driving you forward before your mind could catch up. Your pulse pounded in your ears, every nerve on edge as you moved, your eyes darting from face to face, each stranger a fleeting blur in your periphery. You were searching, each step laced with a desperation you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long.

And then, there they were.

Emerging through the gates, framed in the amber glow of the setting sun, was Joel—a figure you’d thought you might never see again, a presence so achingly familiar it felt like a punch to the chest. The world seemed to go silent, your surroundings blurring as if everything was pulling away, leaving only him standing there.

He looked older, and the sight of him—aged, worn, burdened—stirred a profound yearning within you, a visceral ache that ran so deep it stole the breath from your lungs. Every line on his face, every crease around his eyes, told a story of battles fought and sacrifices endured in brutal silence. His shoulders bore the weight of countless miles, each hardship etched into the way he held himself, his posture heavy with the ghosts he'd carried through a world you could scarcely imagine.

The year had sculpted him into someone both familiar and foreign, a man shaped by time and trials you weren't there to witness. Yet, despite the distance that life had carved between you, the pull you felt was undeniable—a magnetic longing that transcended the unspoken words and lost moments. You yearned to bridge the gap, to reach out and trace the map of his experiences etched upon his skin, to understand the depths of the sorrows and joys that had defined his journey.

The mere presence of him ignited something dormant within you, a longing that was both painful and exquisite. It was as if every unshed tear, every unspoken confession, every suppressed desire swelled up, pressing against the barriers you'd so carefully constructed. In that moment, all you wanted was to close the space between you, to let the unfulfilled promises and lingering glances find their resolution. The weight of what was left unsaid hung heavily in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder if he felt it too—the aching, relentless yearning that time had only intensified.

Your heart raced, a fierce, desperate rhythm that echoed through you like a thunderclap, raw and unforgiving. Every wall you’d built, every attempt you’d made to move forward, to accept his absence, came crashing down in a wave of overwhelming emotion. Anger, relief, hurt, and a longing so powerful it almost brought you to your knees—all of it rose up at once, tearing through the numbness you’d wrapped yourself in over the past year.

You wanted to run to him, to touch him, to let your fingers trace every line that time and hardship had carved into his face. You wanted to scream, to release the anger and hurt that his absence had left festering inside you. The agony of it was still fresh, wounds barely scabbed over that now bled anew, raw and relentless as every buried feeling clawed its way back to the surface. But even as you stood there, helpless, held captive by a tide of emotions you couldn’t contain, a familiar thought hit you, one that stopped you in your tracks, grounding you in a different kind of pain.

Did you even have the right?

The question echoed through you, sharp and unforgiving. Did what you and Joel shared before he left amount to anything real, anything that could survive the void he’d left in his wake? Had it been enough to claim him as yours in some silent, unspoken way? Or was it just a fragile thread spun from stolen glances, from touches that had lingered just a bit too long, from words unsaid but felt in the quiet spaces between breaths?

Beside him, Ellie moved with that fierce, unbreakable spirit that had always burned so brightly in her—a spark that even time and distance couldn’t diminish. Her steps were sure, carrying a quiet defiance, as if she’d faced down every dark corner the world had to offer and come out stronger, sharper. She looked older, too, her once-youthful face etched with an intensity that felt both familiar and heartbreakingly new. She was no longer the girl you’d last seen but something more—a survivor who’d fought her way through shadows you couldn’t imagine.

Around you, the murmurs grew, swelling into a chorus of shock and amazement, voices rising and falling like a tidal wave as people turned, faces lighting up with a mix of disbelief and awe. The name "Joel" rippled through the crowd, a whispered current that surged closer with each moment, brushing against your ears, making it all feel even more real and yet somehow impossible.

You saw him glance across the sea of faces, his gaze moving with an intensity you hadn’t seen in so long. He searched with a quiet urgency, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were looking for something—no, someone. The weight of his gaze, though it hadn’t landed on you yet, felt heavy, filling the air between you with a tension that made your heart pound.

Maria’s hand found your arm, her face etched with concern as she studied you. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft yet laced with worry. You wanted to answer, to reassure her, but the words caught in your throat. The world began to tilt, the sounds around you muffling as the rush of emotions—the disbelief, the hurt, the longing, all of it—swelled to a breaking point.

The vibrant colors of Jackson smeared into indistinct shapes, the cheerful sounds of the market melting into a distant, muffled hum. Everything around you seemed to tilt, slipping just out of reach as the flood of emotions—hope, shock, grief—crashed into each other, leaving you helpless against the surge. Before you could fully process it all, a wave of dizziness swept over you, an overwhelming rush of sensation that left you weightless and unanchored, as if reality itself were slipping through your fingers.

The thrill and desperate joy of seeing them faded into the background, replaced by a strange, numbing sense of disorientation that tugged you down, pulling you to the very edge of consciousness. You tried to focus, to hold onto the image of Joel standing there, of the life you’d imagined fading away, replaced by something unbearably real and raw. But the world around you grew dim, shadows pressing in from all sides, and the last thing you remembered was that one, undeniable thought echoing in the darkness

Joel was back.

•••

You stirred from the depths of unconsciousness, the sound of hushed voices reaching your ears like distant whispers. The air around you was warm, wrapping you in a cozy cocoon that felt both familiar and comforting. As your senses began to awaken, you registered the faint scent of woodsmoke mingling with something sweet—perhaps the remnants of a candle or a lingering trace of cinnamon from the kitchen.

Gradually, you opened your eyes, blinking against the soft glow of the room. It was a space you knew well, filled with the warmth of home—the walls adorned with handmade decorations, the soft rustle of fabric as a breeze slipped through a nearby window. The gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth provided a soothing backdrop, wrapping you in a sense of safety that felt almost tangible.

As your vision cleared, you became aware of a figure hovering nearby, blurred shapes gradually sharpening into a familiar face. Maria’s worried expression softened into relief the moment your eyes met hers.

You tried to speak, your voice thin and cracked, barely managing a whisper. “What… what happened?”

“Easy,” Maria soothed, her fingers tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, grounding you with a motherly gentleness. “You fainted when you saw them,” she explained, her tone soft, reassuring. “Just breathe, okay? You’re safe.”

“Where is he?” you blurted, unable to keep the desperation from spilling into your voice, every reined-in emotion surging to the surface. Relief, disbelief, bitterness—they all tangled within you, clawing their way up as panic brushed at the edges of your mind.

For so long, you had carried the weight of not knowing, the unanswered grief that lingered like an ache in your chest, the painful acceptance that he might be gone forever. And now he was here—somewhere in this town—yet it felt too fragile, like a dream that could vanish the moment you dared to reach for it.

Maria’s hand squeezed yours, her gaze steady and full of understanding. “He’s with Tommy right now,” she replied, her voice soft, gentle, as if trying to protect you from the storm that raged inside. Her words were grounding, and yet they ignited a twist of dread and longing deep in your stomach, a wave of emotions that left you feeling raw and exposed.

You weren’t sure you were ready. Facing him meant confronting everything you’d buried beneath layers of resilience and sorrow, everything you’d told yourself you had to let go of for your own sake. Joel had left without a single word, slipping away into the night as if you’d been nothing more than a passing moment. His absence had carved a hollow in you that you’d struggled to fill, a wound that had scarred over but never truly healed. And now, standing on the brink of seeing him again, you felt that scar ache with a fresh, raw pain.

Yet even with the bitterness of abandonment coiled in your heart, there was an undeniable pull—a fierce, undeniable urge to see him, to look into his eyes and find answers to the questions that had haunted you every day he’d been gone.

“Why did he leave?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, more a plea to the silence than anything else. It was as if the past year’s worth of pain—the hollow ache of missing him, the endless stretch of days that had only deepened the wound of his absence—had coiled into those words, raw and unfiltered.

Maria’s gaze softened, her hand resting gently on your arm, steadying you as the storm of emotions churned just beneath the surface. Her expression held an empathy that felt both comforting and heartbreaking, as if she knew too well what it was to bear the weight of unspoken loss. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice gentle, almost apologetic. “But he’s back now, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

“Baby?” You looked up, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest before reality settled in, the fragile possibility slipping through your fingers. It wasn’t Joel. Caleb stood before you, his face etched with worry, his gaze searching your expression for answers he hadn’t dared to ask yet.

A pang of guilt followed, sharp and immediate, reminding you of the unspoken longing that still tugged at your heart. It wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who had been there, filling the hollow spaces left behind by someone who’d vanished without so much as a goodbye.

He was the one who’d stood beside you in Joel’s absence, bringing light into the dark days, a patient comfort you’d learned to lean on. And yet, the yearning for Joel, the ache you’d buried so deeply, had flared to life the instant you heard his name whispered in the crowd.

Caleb’s eyes softened, a gentle understanding there that only deepened the ache within you. He reached out, brushing his hand over yours, grounding you even as you felt yourself drifting in a sea of old memories and unresolved feelings.

“I heard you fainted. Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice was gentle, laced with a worry that made guilt tighten in your chest.

“Yeah, I just… didn’t eat breakfast,” you replied, the lie slipping out with a forced casualness that felt thin and hollow. You flashed a quick, pointed look at Maria, silently begging her to keep quiet. She met your gaze, her expression a mixture of sympathy and unspoken curiosity, questions lingering in her eyes that she respectfully held back.

You hadn’t told Caleb about Joel, hadn’t shared that part of yourself that felt both vital and broken, a chapter that still haunted the edges of every moment you’d tried to start anew. It was easier, you’d told yourself, to let that part of your life remain in shadow, a memory locked safely away. Yet, with Joel here, with him breathing the same air once again, that shadow stretched over everything, blurring the lines between what had been and what was supposed to be.

It felt irrelevant, a relic of the past that had no place in the life you were building now. Joel had left, after all, and there hadn’t been anything definitive between you—no confessions, no kisses, nothing that should linger.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

What you had with Joel was tangled and complex, layered with unspoken emotions that ran deeper than words or actions. It terrified you even now, the way he’d left an imprint you couldn’t erase. No matter how much you cared for Caleb, a part of you had never felt with him what you’d felt with Joel, and the guilt of that truth weighed heavy, a quiet ache you carried in silence.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Caleb joked, his voice soft but attempting to lift the heavy air that hung between you.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the warmth he always offered so freely. “I’m okay now, I promise. You can head back to the clinic,” you said, trying to inject some lightness into your tone.

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed, genuine concern reflecting in his eyes. That look—his love and care laid bare—made it nearly impossible to meet his gaze without feeling the familiar sting of guilt.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you insisted, a little too quickly, each word tinged with the quiet desperation to end this moment before it unraveled the fragile balance you’d built.

He studied you for a second longer, then finally relented, his lips curving into a playful grin that softened his expression. “Alright. See you tonight, my fiancée.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle squeeze into your shoulder, a touch that felt both reassuring and painfully kind, then turned to leave.

As Caleb’s footsteps faded, you pressed your hands to your face, hoping the gesture would somehow steady the turmoil raging within you. You barely registered the murmur of voices nearby, Maria’s urgent whisper as she seemed to be shooing someone away, trying to protect your fragile state. But it was all background noise, swallowed by the storm of memories and emotions battling within you.

And then, slicing through the haze like a knife, came a voice—low, rough, and achingly familiar. “Fiancée?”

Your breath caught, hands falling from your face as the weight of that single word hit you. You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was, standing just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made everything else vanish.

Your throat tightened, and every carefully rehearsed word you’d prepared over the past year unraveled, slipping through your grasp. His eyes met yours, his expression a guarded storm—intense yet impossible to read. His gaze dropped to the ring on your finger, lingering there for a heartbeat, before rising back to your face, a silent question hanging between you, heavy and unspoken.

Here he was, standing before you, so close and real it left you lightheaded. His hair was longer, the hard lines carved deeper into his face, yet he was unmistakably Joel. His scent filled the room, wrapping around you and making the air feel thick and close.

Part of you wanted to run up and hug him, while another part urged you to stay rooted where you stood. You didn’t know if you should feel anger, relief, or surrender to the familiar longing that had shadowed you since the day he left. All you knew was that he was here, right in front of you, and every boundary you’d built to protect yourself shattered in an instant, leaving you exposed and uncertain.

You met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name—a silent plea, an apology, a yearning that mirrored your own. For a single, fragile second, it felt as if the world had shifted, bringing you both back to a place you’d thought was lost forever.

And yet the weight of everything unsaid lay between you, heavy and unmoving, a reminder that time, no matter how forgiving, could never erase the pain of his leaving.

“Joel…” The word barely slipped from your lips, thick with disbelief, tangled in the torrent of emotions you’d fought so hard to bury. A raw ache pulsed in your chest, a visceral longing to close the distance. Every part of you yearned to reach out, to feel his warmth again, to let your guard down just this once.

But as quickly as that longing surfaced, a fierce anger ignited, burning through the tenderness with brutal precision. He had left—walked away without a word, without a promise, leaving you to stitch yourself back together alone.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze roaming over you slowly, lingering, as if he were trying to absorb every change, every detail he’d missed.

His eyes caught on the subtle things—the way your hair was now cut shorter, brushing your shoulders, framing your face in a way that seemed softer.

His gaze paused on the small scar near your temple, the faint line you’d earned after slipping on patrol one rainy night.

“Legs all healed,” he said quietly, his voice low, softened with a hint of something unspoken.

A surge of anger rose, fierce and unforgiving.

This was what he had to say? After all this time, after disappearing without a trace, without a single word to explain, to soften the blow of his absence?

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your frustration contained. It was almost infuriatingly, achingly Joel: reserved, withholding, as if the simplest words could somehow disguise the gravity of everything he’d left unsaid.

“I thought you were dead.” The words tore from you, your breath hitching as the weight of your own admission hit like a fresh wound.

You wanted to lash out, to demand answers, to make him feel just an ounce of the hurt he’d left behind. But at the same time, the sight of him—alive, here—brought a treacherous swell of relief, one that you knew could shatter you just as easily.

You could feel his presence hesitate, the weight of his guilt hanging thick in the silence between you. He shifted, his voice low and tentative as he took a small, cautious step closer. “I can explain everything,” he murmured, his tone cracking just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath. “I had to leave—Ellie—”

But his words only fueled the fire raging within you, the weight of his explanation feeling hollow after everything you’d endured in his absence. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as the anger finally boiled over, raw and unrestrained, pushing past the walls you’d tried to keep in place.

It was all just too much. You felt your breathing quicken, your chest tight as the words forced their way out. “I don’t want to talk to you, Joel,” you choked, each syllable thick, laced with a raw pain you could barely contain.

You turned away, jaw clenched, every muscle taut as you struggled to keep yourself together, to keep the emotions from spilling out too easily, too freely. You told yourself to let him explain, to give him the chance to say whatever it was he’d come here to say. But you physically couldn’t—not right now, not with the weight of all those unsaid things pressing against the walls you’d worked so hard to build.

He flinched, the weight of your words crashing into him, and for a long, agonizing moment, silence filled the space between you, thick with the unspoken pain that had festered over the months apart. Your back was to him, so you couldn’t see the turmoil in his eyes, couldn’t witness the guilt that etched deep lines into his face, the regret that clouded his expression, or the flicker of shame that he couldn’t quite hide. But you felt it—the heaviness of his unspoken apologies, the remorse that seeped into the air like a confession he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Behind you, he took a shaky breath,a sound barely audible yet brimming with everything he didn’t know how to say. He wanted to reach out, to touch your shoulder, to bridge the gulf of silence and tell you that he understood, that he was sorry, that leaving you had been the hardest choice of his life.

He murmured your name, soft and tentative, the sound of it almost cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. “I need you to hear me out. Please. ” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, as though this was his last chance to set things right, and he knew how fragile that chance was.

“Joel!” you snapped, turning back to face him, the force of your voice cutting through the thick silence, slicing through whatever words he might’ve tried to offer. You weren’t going to let him lead this moment, not after he’d surrendered that right the day he walked away. “You don’t get to dictate how this conversation goes,” you bit out, eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “You don’t get to come back here and act like everything’s fine, like you can just pick up and pretend nothing happened.”

Maria appeared in the doorway, her gaze flicking between you and Joel, taking in the elevated voices, the tension that thickened the air. She moved closer, a silent, steadying presence.

“Joel,” Maria said softly, her voice firm but compassionate as she placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back. “I think you should leave. Give her some space.”

Joel looked at her, the protest clear in his eyes, but he didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on you, his face etched with the kind of regret that could never undo the damage he’d done, and he nodded, stepping back. He didn’t say another word, only cast one last, longing look your way before turning, disappearing through the doorway.

As soon as he was gone, the floodgates opened. The sobs you’d been holding back broke free, and Maria wrapped her arms around you, her touch a balm against the wound Joel had torn open once again.

You let yourself collapse into her embrace, the weight of everything spilling out as you grieved for the love you’d lost and the anger that refused to let it go.

•••

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the truth from Caleb. The subtle shifts in your mood, the faraway look that would creep into your eyes at the quietest moments—he noticed. The way you’d pull back when he reached for your hand, or how your laughter came slower, more forced, like it was an effort to keep up appearances. Sometimes, he’d catch you staring off into the distance, your mind clearly somewhere else, your expression unreadable.

You didn’t mean for the walls to build up between you, but every time he leaned in for a kiss, you’d turn your head just slightly, offering a cheek instead. Or when he’d wrap his arms around you, the warmth and comfort that once came so easily now felt hollow, as if you were slipping further away even when he held you close.

Concern etched itself across his features more often now, his brow furrowing as he studied you, trying to understand the weight that seemed to press down on you—a weight you couldn’t bring yourself to explain.

The life you’d begun to build with Caleb now felt tenuous, fragile, as memories of Joel wove themselves into the fabric of your days, filling the quiet spaces with a longing you could no longer ignore.

You felt yourself pulled in two directions, torn between the safe, predictable future you were crafting with Caleb and the inescapable, stormy memories of Joel. You knew it wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who loved you openly, steadily. Yet the truth gnawed at you relentlessly, clawing at your heart with a ferocity you couldn’t suppress.

The thought of you had been his only constant, his lifeline through a year of darkness. It was your memory that kept him moving, kept him alive, though he’d never allowed himself to hope too much. Yet even so, he’d held onto some small, foolish belief that he might return to find you there, still his, still waiting.

But that belief was shattered the moment he heard the word “fiancée.” The word lodged in his chest like broken glass, tearing through every fragile hope he’d harbored in his solitude. He’d left you—what had he expected?

That you’d wait, frozen in time, clinging to a ghost, while he wandered through the ruins of his own making? Deep down, he knew he had no right to feel this way. But no amount of rationalizing could quell the wave of longing and regret that washed over him, drowning him in sorrow he’d been too proud to admit he still felt.

In his mind, he’d pictured a different reunion. He’d imagined you opening the door, seeing him there, and in one wordless moment, all the anger and confusion would dissolve, replaced by the warmth he remembered so vividly.

He’d let himself believe that, somehow, you’d forgive him. That the last year could be wiped away like a bad dream, that he could slide back into the life he’d left, as if time had paused just for him. But now, standing in the shadows of a life you’d moved on from, he felt the weight of reality crashing over him, sharp and merciless. The thought of you pledging yourself to someone else, to a man who wasn’t him—it twisted in his gut like a blade, a slow, painful reminder of all he had lost.

He could see it too vividly: you at the altar, radiant and sure, your hand in Caleb’s as you vowed to build a future together, while he remained a ghost, lingering at the edges of a life he’d once held close. Every breath felt heavy, each step like trudging through quicksand, weighed down by what could have been, what should have been if he’d only stayed.

Now, faced with the reality of you in someone else’s arms, he saw the truth for what it was—a cruel twist of fate, a cosmic joke played at his expense, showing him just how deeply he’d betrayed his own heart.

•••

Your stomach churned as you stepped into the warm glow of the dining room, each step weighted with the knowledge that Joel and Ellie would be there. The familiar comfort of Maria and Tommy’s home, usually so cozy and inviting, felt stifling now, any sense of ease dissolving the instant your eyes fell upon them, already seated at the table. Joel’s presence struck you like a blow, a visceral ache twisting inside before you could even take a steadying breath.

Maria caught your eye, a silent apology flickering in her gaze, her face soft with sympathy. She knew—perhaps better than anyone—just how deep the turmoil ran, and that quiet understanding both soothed and sharpened the ache within you. You mustered a tight, brittle smile, hoping it would be enough to mask the vulnerability clawing at the surface, the storm of anger and longing that you couldn’t seem to keep buried.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, greeted Joel with an easy, wide smile, reaching out his hand in a friendly gesture. “Good to finally meet you, man! Heard lots of good things from the lesser Miller,” he joked, his voice warm, light, as if this were any ordinary dinner.

But Joel didn’t mirror the warmth. His handshake was brief, his expression unreadable, a careful mask that betrayed none of the raw intensity in his eyes. His gaze lingered on Caleb, sharp and assessing, a look so intense it felt as if he were trying to unearth every layer of the man in a single glance. It was a look that could have cut through steel, and though Caleb remained blissfully oblivious, his attention already drifting back to the table, you didn’t miss the way Joel’s gaze flickered—piercing, as if marking territory only he hadn’t been there to guard.

The unspoken animosity lingered, thickening the air, a silent reminder of everything left unresolved. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, even after he’d broken the handshake, a silent, smoldering intensity that both drew and repelled you. It was a weight, an ache that you couldn’t ignore, and as the meal began, you steeled yourself, forcing a polite smile, hoping it would hold against the flood of emotions Joel had stirred just by being there.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself slipping into a quiet detachment, shielding yourself behind a protective shell as Caleb animatedly shared stories with the group. His hand rested on yours, his grip warm and reassuring, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that was supposed to comfort.

Every so often, he’d lean over to press a kiss to your temple, his easy affection filling the room with a softness you wished you could fully appreciate. But each touch felt like a reminder of something missing, a bittersweet ache for what once was—or perhaps what had never fully been.

From across the table, you felt Joel’s eyes on you, each glance he stole heavy with unspoken words, charged with a silent intensity he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze flickered to his glass, lingering just a second too long, but you caught the way his attention drifted to your hand, to the engagement ring resting on your finger.

A shadow crossed his face—a sadness, a yearning that seemed to seep into the air between you, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. It was as though he was reaching out without words, trying to bridge a chasm he’d created.

And despite all of it - Joel looked good—better than you remembered, in a way that stirred something raw and unguarded within you, a heat only he seemed capable of igniting. The year had added a ruggedness to him, etched resilience into his already broad shoulders and forearms, the faint lines of muscle visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his well-worn shirt.

His hands, calloused and rough, rested on the table, hands that had once held you in the dead of night. Somehow, seeing them now felt as if they still did, as if the memory of his touch lingered just beneath the surface of your skin.

His hair was longer too, tousled and curling at the nape in a way that softened his ruggedness just enough to make him almost unbearably alluring. And then there were his eyes—dark, deep, brimming with that familiar, knowing intensity that you could feel across the table like a physical touch.

Each time his gaze met yours, it lingered a beat too long, his stare unfaltering, as though the room around you didn’t exist, as if every glance held an unspoken promise, a shared secret only the two of you could ever understand.

He held his glass of whiskey with a languid ease, his fingers tracing along the rim in a slow, almost teasing motion, his mouth brushing the edge with a deliberateness that felt like it was meant only for you.

Every time he took a sip, his lips—soft, pink, plump —lingered against the glass before he would flick his gaze to you, as if challenging you to look away. And when he licked them after each bite, a small, casual motion, it stirred thoughts you’d fought so hard to bury.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said there hadn’t been nights when you lay in bed, wide awake, caught in the silence, thinking of him, of the things those mouth and fingers could do to you.

You couldn’t stop stealing glances, couldn’t stop the way your eyes kept drifting back to him despite yourself, even though each look sent warmth rising to your cheeks, your pulse racing.

And he’d noticed.

The faint, knowing smirk that played on his lips told you he’d caught you watching, that he was well aware of the effect he had on you, as if he could feel the quiet tension simmering beneath the polite hum of conversation.

Embarrassed, you forced yourself to look away, clutching onto your resolve with both hands, trying to anchor yourself in the life you’d chosen, the path you’d carefully laid out.

For the rest of the evening, you avoided his gaze, eyes trained on your plate, your smile tight as you nodded and laughed at the appropriate moments, barely hearing a word that was spoken. The laughter of others became a distant hum, a background noise to the storm churning beneath your surface as you fought to keep the memories and feelings from flooding over.

You cursed yourself for letting these thoughts creep in.

You were engaged to Caleb, a man who represented everything you’d promised yourself you wanted—a life that was steady, loving, free of ghosts and the painful pull of the past. And yet, here you were, Joel’s presence tugging at you with a force that defied all logic, a gravity you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried to bury it.

Caleb’s laughter echoed through the room, pulling you from the trance Joel’s presence had cast over you. He was in the middle of an animated story, his voice bright and infectious as he spoke, his hands moving to emphasize each detail.

“And there was this one time—remember the flock of birds that came out of nowhere? She was so slow, I thought she was going to trip over her own feet!” he laughed, looking to you with a playful grin.

A laugh slipped from your lips, genuine and unexpected, the memory of that chaotic day flashing back. You shook your head, letting yourself be swept up in the moment. “I swear, I was running as fast as I could! You make it sound like I was moving in slow motion,” you protested, grinning despite yourself.

Ellie, mid-bite of mashed potatoes, grinned as she interjected, “Oh, come on, that’s not fair! She had a broken leg for a while—cut her some slack!”

Caleb’s laughter faltered, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise as he turned to you, half-amused, half-bewildered. “Wait—hold on. You had a broken leg? And I’m just hearing about this now?” His question was light, casual, but as it lingered in the air, it seemed to grow heavier, drawing a line between the life you’d led before and the one you’d built with him.

You forced a smile, shrugging with as much casualness as you could muster. “It wasn’t a big deal—just one of those things,” you said, hoping to glide over the subject, to keep it light and insignificant. But as your gaze drifted across the table, your heart sank. Joel’s expression had shifted; his posture was alert, his eyebrow lifting with that unmistakable, almost mocking look that said, I guess you haven’t told him everything.

The intensity in his gaze was nearly unbearable, piercing through the room, slicing through the thin layer of calm you’d tried to maintain. His eyes held an unspoken accusation, a reminder of the quiet, unbreakable bond that had once connected you, of the parts of yourself that you’d buried—the memories and scars that only he knew. His stare didn’t relent, as though he was silently demanding that you admit to those pieces of your past, the stories you’d kept locked away, the parts of you that still felt tethered to him.

“Yeah,” you replied, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “But that was… before we met.” You avoided everyone’s eyes, your gaze dropping to your plate as you absently nudged the carrots and peas around, focusing on the swirl of orange and green rather than the tension gathering at the table. The words felt flimsy, like a fragile barrier meant to shield a history you weren’t ready to confront, a part of yourself you’d carefully tucked away, hoping it might stay hidden.

Ellie leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment, her grin mischievous. “Oh, it was pretty bad. Joel was basically her live-in caretaker,” she teased, her tone light and playful, though an edge in her voice suggested she understood far more than she let on. “Though, honestly, it should’ve been the other way around—get it? Because he’s, like, old!” She flashed a wide grin, glancing around the table, expecting laughter to fill the air.

Instead, her words landed in a silence heavy and thick, one that turned each glance into a loaded question. Caleb’s eyes flicked to you, his brows furrowing, and you could feel the weight of his unspoken questions pressing in.

Ellie’s grin faltered as the silence stretched, her gaze flickering nervously between you and Joel. She’d sensed the shift, the subtle but unmistakable tension she’d accidentally stirred up, and the humor faded from her face.

The past was no longer a distant memory—it was here, sitting at the table with you, unspoken yet painfully present.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the shift but clearly sensing something beneath the surface, glanced between you and Joel with an innocent curiosity.

“Oh, I didn’t know you two lived together.” His tone remained light, but confusion had crept into his gaze, searching yours as though trying to fill in a part of your story he’d never been given.

You’d never intentionally kept secrets from Caleb, but Joel wasn’t just a secret—he was an entire chapter of your life that belonged to a different world, a version of yourself that no longer felt real, even if the memories still lingered. How could you explain it to Caleb? How could you paint Joel as anything less than the force he had once been in your life?

“It was only for a bit,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone as you took a sip of your wine, hoping to brush the topic aside as a minor detail, something insignificant. But as you felt the weight of Joel’s gaze on you, the room seemed to grow warmer, a flush creeping up your cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. You could feel the heat rising, making it hard to swallow, each sip meant to steady you only accentuating the tightness in your chest.

When had it gotten so hot in here? You fought the urge to shift in your seat, to break the tension you felt simmering beneath the polite surface of the dinner. You glanced down at your plate, hoping to regain some composure, but you knew Joel was watching, his eyes filled with that piercing intensity, refusing to let you dismiss the memories so easily.

Then suddenly, Joel’s voice cut in, low and steady, his eyes catching yours with a glint that held something almost taunting, an edge that refused to be brushed aside.

“Only a bit?” he echoed, his gaze locked onto yours, holding you in place with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, making your stomach twist. “Guess you’ve forgotten all those late nights talking,” he added, each word laced with a quiet challenge, daring you to remember everything you were so desperately trying to downplay.

And he had the audacity to say it so shamelessly, all while taking a casual bite of his food, as if his words were nothing more than light conversation.

Joel wasn’t finished, though. With a slight smirk tugging at his lips, he leaned back, clearly savoring the reaction he was drawing out of you. “Hard to forget, seeing as we spent half those nights sharing that tiny bed,” he added, the words slow and deliberate, his voice low and rough around the edges. He paused, his gaze lingering on you, eyes glinting with both mischief and a darker, unmistakable heat.

Then, almost casually, he turned his attention toward Caleb, as if sharing some harmless piece of trivia. “She’s scared of the dark,” he said, his tone light, but there was an edge there, something that cut deeper than the words themselves. It was a quiet claim, an assertion that he knew parts of you no one else did.

The words hit like a slow-burn revelation, layered with implication that was impossible to ignore. Caleb’s eyebrows furrowed, a flicker of suspicion flashing across his face as he glanced between the two of you, his easy smile fading.

You felt your mouth drop open slightly, caught off guard, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled for a way to brush it off. The silence that followed was thick, the weight of Joel’s statement casting a shadow over the table, an undeniable hint of a history you could no longer deny.

You didn’t need to look around to sense the ripple of reactions that Joel’s words had set off around the table—the charged silence that had fallen, each person’s unease hanging thick in the air.

Tommy cleared his throat, his discomfort plain as he latched onto the first excuse to escape the tension. “Y’all hear the baby crying?” he mumbled, though the room was quiet. “I better go check on her.” He stood up quickly, his eyes avoiding everyone as he slipped away, relief flashing briefly across his face.

Beside him, Maria’s expression softened, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and caution, her lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. Her eyes flicked between you, Joel, and Caleb, clearly aware of the storm Joel’s words had stirred and how close everything was to spilling over.

Caleb, on the other hand, sat with an uncertain smile, clearly sensing that there was more beneath the surface but struggling to grasp the weight of the moment, his curiosity tempered by a discomfort he couldn’t quite hide.

Ellie, meanwhile, sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She seemed both entertained and unfazed, her eyes flicking between you and Joel with a spark of curiosity, as if she were watching some long-awaited drama finally unfold. The air between all of you thickened, heavy with unsaid things, each person holding their breath in their own way.

Sensing the tension, Ellie cleared her throat, her voice taking on an exaggerated brightness as she tried to steer the conversation toward safer waters.

“So… anyone got fun plans for the winter holidays?” Her attempt at cheer cut through the thick silence, a flicker of relief on her face as if hoping it would lighten the mood.

But her words were met with silence, the weight of Joel’s remark still lingering in the air, too heavy to brush aside. You felt the heat of everyone’s gaze on you, the pressure becoming unbearable, and finally, you stood, forcing a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, and slipped out of the room.

•••

Later, standing at the kitchen sink, the rhythmic flow of water provided a small reprieve, a focus to quiet the turmoil of emotions still swirling in your mind. The evening had left a lingering ache in your chest, the weight of unspoken words pressing down as you scrubbed each dish with more force than necessary.

Caleb had left with a soft kiss to your temple, his eyes catching yours in a look that conveyed a clear message—we’re going to talk about this later. His departure was marked by a conspicuous silence toward Joel, a small but unmistakable omission that hung heavy in the room long after he’d gone.

Alone now in the quiet kitchen, you let out a shaky breath, your hands scrubbing at a plate that had long since been clean. The weight of the evening settled on your shoulders, memories and unresolved feelings swirling like a storm you’d been trying to outrun. The steady trickle of water was the only sound, but even that couldn’t drown out the ache of everything left unsaid.

And then you felt it—the unmistakable, familiar weight of someone behind you, the air shifting, thickening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him; the space between you filled with the quiet, electric tension that only Joel could bring.

“What do you want?” you murmured, your voice low, edged with exhaustion, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of your gaze. You kept your eyes trained on the plate in your hands, scrubbing at it with a single-minded focus that bordered on desperation, as if the act alone could somehow chip away at the tension lodged in your chest like a stone.

Behind you, you felt Joel, the silence stretching thin and taut, pulling at the edges of your already fragile resolve. And then, finally, he spoke—a single word, low and raw, “You.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to some semblance of control. “You’re drunk, Joel,” you said, trying to dismiss it, to brush off the weight of his confession as if it didn’t send your heart racing.

But the simplicity of that single word—you—struck you, piercing through every defense you’d carefully built. You gripped the plate in your hands like an anchor, as though it could steady you against the gravity of that word, of him standing so close, vulnerable in a way you’d never thought you’d see.

Before you could even truly process the shock of his admission, his voice cut through the stillness again, stronger, rougher, his words spilling out as if they’d been held back for so long it physically hurt to release them. “Don’t marry him.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and uninvited, slicing through the delicate calm you’d tried to cultivate, fracturing the fragile sense of stability you’d clung to.

This was uncharted territory—a truth that neither of you had ever dared speak aloud, not in the hidden moments you’d shared, not in the silent glances or lingering touches. To admit this, to break the unspoken pact you’d both followed so carefully, was seismic, a step into something vast and dangerous.

You turned, slowly, meeting his gaze at last, and the look in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. His expression was laid bare, raw, the depth of longing there almost too much to bear. This wasn’t a casual confession, and the words weren’t just fleeting emotions flaring up in the heat of the moment.

No, this was something different, something he’d carried with him through every mile, every sleepless night away from Jackson. You could see it—the weight of a year’s worth of loneliness and need, the visceral realization that he needed you in a way that he could no longer deny.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeated, his voice trembling with an urgency that hit you like a wave, raw and unguarded. He took a step closer, his gaze intense, each word pressing into the space between you with an unyielding force. “I don’t want to live like this anymore—pretending like you don’t mean everything to me.”

His hand clenched at his side, as though he was fighting the urge to reach out, to close the distance and make you feel the truth of his words. “I didn’t come back to Jackson just to hide. I’m done hiding,” he murmured, the roughness in his voice betraying how much he’d held back, how deeply he’d buried it all. His eyes searched yours, as if willing you to understand the depth of what he couldn’t contain any longer.

“I need you to know…” His voice broke slightly, the weight of the words almost too much for him to bear. “I need you to know what I feel.”

His words hung between you, each one thick with conviction, and for the first time, he’d made it known—no more secrets, no more hiding behind the past or the lives you’d tried to build apart.

He was standing here, stripped bare, willing to risk it all. And as you looked into his eyes, a chasm of emotion stretched between you, one that neither of you could ignore anymore, a truth that had always existed but was finally spoken aloud.

The pain in his eyes was unguarded, his desperation palpable, and you could see it—an almost frantic pleading that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. But that rawness, that vulnerability, only made it harder to hold onto your anger. You felt the weight of his gaze pressing into you, silently asking for a forgiveness you weren’t sure you could offer, a connection you weren’t sure you could endure.

Though his words tugged at your heart, filling you with the relief you hadn’t even known you were holding your breath for, there was something else there—anger, hot and unrelenting, burning through the quiet yearning. These were the words you’d yearned to hear, yes, but they came wrapped in a pain you couldn’t ignore.

“How dare you,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor from your voice, the words slipping out raw and edged with fury.

His gaze flickered, his face drawn tight as he struggled to find the words. “I didn’t have a choice,” he replied, his voice rough, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air, a justification that felt as fragile as it was final.

You scoffed, the anger flaring higher, spilling over as years of unresolved feelings surged to the surface. “There’s always a choice,” you shot back, each word sharp, laced with the bitterness of wounds that had never fully healed.

“You didn’t have to leave me like that, Joel. Without a word, without even a hint that you were coming back. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the burn of them blurring your vision as the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “I thought you were dead, Joel,” you whispered, barely holding back the wave of emotions crashing over you.

The grief you’d buried, the emptiness you’d carried for so long, all of it resurfaced now with a vengeance. “I had to mourn you—every day, every night, wondering if you were out there somewhere or if this world had swallowed you whole.”

He shifted, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable as he watched you, taking in every word, every tremor in your voice.

You took a shaky breath, the weight of the words settling over you, but the anger remained fierce, stoking the fire that had smoldered beneath the grief all this time. “And now, here you are, expecting me to drop everything just because you’re back, because you decided it was finally time to show up and tell me how you feel?”

Before you could pull away, his hands came up to cradle your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a rough, familiar tenderness that unraveled your defenses one touch at a time. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, clinging to the remnants of your anger, but he tilted your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was nearly unbearable—haunted, pleading, raw with a vulnerability you’d never seen before.

“I’m here now,” he whispered, his thumb skimming softly over your cheek, his touch achingly tender against the whirlwind of emotions crackling between you. “I’m here now, and I want you—no… I need you.”

His words settled over you, each syllable sinking deep, loosening the walls you’d tried so hard to build. His eyes, dark and unguarded, searched yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that struck at your core.

He was looking for something—forgiveness, maybe, or hope, something to hold on to, some small assurance that he hadn’t lost you completely.

The air between you felt charged, alive with the ache of love and the bitterness of loss, thick with things that could never be undone. You felt yourself trembling beneath his touch, suspended in the pull between the pain he’d caused and the undeniable connection that still tethered you to him, no matter how hard you’d tried to deny it.

“Well, Joel,” you whispered, voice breaking as the flood of emotions finally surged forward, “I needed you. I needed you here.” The words slipped out, barely audible yet carrying years of hurt. “And you just… disappeared.”

He held your gaze, unflinching, his eyes steady, piercing, as though he could see through every defense you tried to keep up. “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, a quiet demand that tugged at something deep within you. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace, pressing your cheek to his neck where his scent, familiar and grounding, surrounded you.

The tension in your body began to dissolve, your walls crumbling under the weight of his presence, the way he held you like something precious, irreplaceable. You felt the tears slip free, wetting his shirt as he held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every ache you’d carried alone.

Slowly, he drew back, his hands coming up to cradle your face, as though he couldn’t bear to go a moment without touching you. His thumbs traced a gentle line along your cheeks while he looked at you with a softness that left you feeling utterly exposed, seen in a way no one else ever had, as though he was reaching through every barrier you’d ever put up, seeing the parts of you you’d never let anyone else find.

His thumb lingered, his touch gentle but deliberate, leaving a warmth that spread through you with each stroke. “I know you feel it too, don’t you, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with longing, every word weighted by unspoken moments, things left unsaid for far too long. His gaze held yours, and in it, you saw everything he’d been holding back, a yearning that matched your own.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes. “I saw the way you were lookin’ at me tonight… at dinner.” His voice softened, dipping to a murmur as his thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering as though he didn’t want to let go. “You can’t tell me that was nothin’.”

His words struck you like a lightning bolt, raw and unfiltered, his quiet confidence cutting through every barrier you’d put up. Your stomach twisted, your pulse racing, the way he saw right through you stirring feelings you’d tried so hard to bury.

He knew how deeply you wanted him, knew that the pull between you hadn’t dimmed, and now, with every word, he was stepping over every line, breaking down every silent rule you’d tried to enforce, leaving you defenseless in the wake of his honesty.

The faint scent of whiskey lingered on his breath, blending with the warmth radiating from him, and you found yourself drowning in the details—the worn lines of his face, the way his lips parted as if waiting for you to respond, to give him any sign.

Your throat tightened, the words slipping away as you stammered, caught between his gaze and the undeniable force drawing you closer to him. “I—I…” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel every nerve alight as his fingers brushed over your wrist, grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad, almost desperate smile. “You can tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice so low it was barely more than a breath. “But I don’t think you want me to. Hell, I don’t think I even can.” He leaned in, and the air between you thickened, so charged with unspoken longing you felt like you might drown in it.

His face was close enough that you could see every line etched into his brow, the way his eyes lingered on your lips, as though he was just as close to breaking as you were. You hated yourself for it, but you leaned in too, your body betraying the logic your mind clung to.

“Joel…” His name slipped from your lips, barely audible, a breath caught between resistance and surrender. But he was already closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his gaze moving over your face like he was memorizing each detail, each curve, each fragile expression you gave away.

“Say it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, a touch that felt like a quiet plea. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Look me in the eye, and I’ll walk away. I’ll stop. But if you can’t…”

He held you there, suspended between anger and longing, between the scars he’d left and the undeniable pull that still held you captive. In his eyes was an offering, a choice: to close this chapter once and for all or to risk everything and let yourself open to him again.

And in that moment, as his gaze searched yours, you felt every emotion—the hurt, the love, the longing—flood back in, an unspoken answer he was waiting for, an answer that might change everything.

“Stop.” The word sliced through the air, sharp and final. Gently, but firmly, you lifted his hands from your face, breaking the contact that had felt like both salvation and torture. You took a step back, feeling the space grow between you like an unbridgeable chasm, a boundary you could no longer allow him to cross.

“I can’t, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling, betraying the weight of your resolve. “It’s too late. Just… stop. Stop with the looks, the touching, and what you said tonight about us sharing a bed—what the hell were you thinking?”

The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, each one coated with a desperation to hold onto the life you’d fought so hard to build in his absence. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes

His gaze held steady, undeterred by your anger, his eyes intense and unflinching. “What was I thinking?” he repeated, his voice low, the words thick with an unspoken ache. “I was thinkin’ I couldn’t sit across from you any longer, pretendin’ like there’s not still somethin’ between us.” He took a step forward, reaching for you, but you pulled back, unwilling to fall under his spell again.

“Joel, you had your chance,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together as the pain in your chest deepened, sharp and unrelenting. “You don’t get to come back now and act like nothing’s changed.”

He looked down, his jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, laden with regret. “I know I messed up,” he murmured, each word filled with remorse that hung heavy between you. “But I can’t stand here and pretend you don’t still mean everything to me.” His gaze lifted to meet yours, and in that moment, his eyes held a sincerity that cut through every defense you’d tried to build, making it nearly impossible to look away.

“It’s too late, Joel,” you replied, each word a painful truth you forced yourself to accept. “You made your choice. I moved on. I had to.”

He stared at you, his expression wavering between disbelief and desperation, as if the weight of your words was too much to bear, as if he hadn’t realized until this moment what his leaving had truly done to you. His lips parted as though he might say something, but the words died on his tongue, his eyes searching yours, pleading silently for some trace of forgiveness. But you held steady, your heart splintering with the resolve you’d fought to keep.

“I’m marrying Caleb,” you whispered, each word feeling like a nail sealing shut the door to everything you’d once shared. You watched as the last glimmer of hope in his eyes faded, leaving only a raw, quiet devastation that twisted something inside you, but you couldn’t falter—not now. You had to hold on to the life you’d built, to the stability you’d found, even if it meant leaving this part of you—of him—behind.

The silence that filled the space between you was deafening, weighted with memories of a love that never bloomed and never faded, with words that had never been spoken. Joel’s gaze fell, and in the set of his shoulders, the defeated slope of his posture, you could see the impact of your words settle, the shattering pain of realizing that you were no longer his to lose.

Without another word, you turned back to the sink, the steady stream of water the only sound in the room as you focused on anything but the silent ache building inside you.

Behind you, you heard Joel’s footsteps, slow and heavy, each step echoing like the sound of a door closing.

You held yourself steady, refusing to look back, even as his presence slipped away, the sound of him fading from the room like the final echoes of a memory you’d never fully let go of.

Tag List

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minolikeswords · 1 day ago

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Poly!Boothill x afab Reader x Argenti- sfw and nsfw headcanons <33

tags: @mr-self-destructxx

cw: multiple positions, boothill and argenti are adorable, poly relationship, praises, degradation, ropes, lots of fluff, DP, DP + 1 hole, manhandling, soft dom argenti, hard dom boothill, dacryphilia, creampie, blow jobs, facials, face fucking, paizuri, cunnilingus, cum play??? argenti really likes tits! Let me know if I missed anything <333

Mino’s notes: going feral I love these two sm

Minors do NOT interact or you will be blocked!!!! Nsfw under the cut <3

Sfw!

- Boothill loves to cuddle. Because he’s a cyborg his metal body cannot perceive touch the same way skin can, but he does feel warmth and pressure from another body. He loves having you and Argenti lying in his arms or on his chest.

- They both enjoy physical affection a lot, but Argenti is more subtle about it. Due to their respective jobs, often times you’re all in an ldr with one another, so when you are together they try their best to make the most of it. Argenti loves sitting next to you and have some part of your body touching his, and Boothill is clingy as ever, head resting on one of your laps as he cleans his revolver or plans out his next big heist from the IPC.

- Argenti likes washing yours and Boothill’s hair! Whether you have long or short hair he takes meticulous care of it in the shower, brushing his hands through them and rubbing your scalp so good you think you’re going to fall asleep.

- Boothill loves to sing you both to sleep. It doesn’t happen all that often because sometimes picking up a guitar can be particularly challenging after what happened to his daughter, but he loves how happy it makes you both.

- Argenti adores telling people about you and Boothill. Any and every excuse he gets, he’ll take to admire you both <333 he also enjoys gift giving and showing you he loves you through his actions, and loves picking up trinkets for you and Boothill during his travels.

- Boothill is a sweet talker! He adores showering you both in praises and affection, grabbing your face in his metal fingers and pressing his nose against yours as he tells you how good you are to him, kissing up against your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

- As much as I like to think they’d enjoy celebrating any relationship milestone outside, truth be told I think both of them would prefer something quieter in your house spending quality time together. Argenti cooking and preparing dinner, Boothill helping you around the house as you prepare for a cozy night together <3

- Boothill enjoys PDA, he loves showing you and Argenti off every chance he gets, he calls you both his lovers when addressing you guys. Argenti is more subtle with it, but he still likes holding your hands and praising you in public in a way that makes it known you guys are involved.

NSFW!

- Sex with them is never boring, they both make sure of it. Even when they’re being slow or gentle, they take pride in being so thorough your legs are wobbling afterwards and your eyes are filled with tears of pleasure.

- Boothill loves giving head, have you seen his tongue? He eats pussy like he’s a starved man, making Argenti hold you down while he sucks on your clit until you’re coming undone on his face. He’ll take his time with it too, especially if you’re too demanding, letting Argenti play with your tits while he teases your clit and slows down or stops right as you’re about to cum.

- Loves having you lay on your back while Argenti fucks your tits and Boothill uses your mouth. Soft grunts leaving Argenti as he silently admires your face as Boothill fucks your throat, a metal hand gripping your cheek to keep you in place as you drool all over his cock.

- On the subject of tits, Argenti also loves giving you facials during titjobs. He’ll pull out from between your tits just to cum all over your face, he really likes it when you stick your tongue out and look up at him when he’s doing so. He’ll take his time praising you after.

- As much as he loves talking about you both and admiring you, Argenti is quieter during sex. He prefers to focus on your pleasure. He loves watching your reactions, what makes you whimper and cry out for more, occasionally he’ll praise you but it’s not often. Boothill however? It’s a surprise if that man isn’t talking. If his mouth isn’t spewing out the filthiest and dirtiest string of words just to make you squirm and blush with need, then he’s praising you so well the tips of your ears are pink.

- Boothill likes getting risky with the ropes. Especially during sex with him when Argenti isn’t involved, he likes tying you up keeping your legs spread while he fucks you. He loves how embarrassed you get and how desperately you pull against the ropes, begging to touch him and trying to pull away.

- They enjoy leaving bruises on you and each-other. Argenti’s aren’t as noticeable as Boothill’s, who’s metal fingers leave marks all over your body and his sharp teeth marking up both your throat and back, and also Argenti’s. Argenti really enjoys leaving hickeys around your tits, collarbones and thighs. For Boothill, since his only none metal parts are his neck and face, Argenti likes to leave a hickey or two there, they’re usually smaller and they fade quick but Boothill loves showing them off.

- Argenti likes double penetrating one of your holes with both his and Boothill’s cock. He thinks you look so pretty when your eyes go rolling back and you grip onto one of them, whimpering and whining and begging for more. He loves taking care of you and making you feel good <3

- Boothill is embarrassingly into watching Argenti creampie you. His own cock doesn’t produce sperm anymore, but shoots out lubricant, and as helpful as that is, he also just really loves watching you get filled up with cum, especially when it leaks out of your sensitive pussy. Sometimes he’ll get right between your legs and lick Argenti’s cum right out of you.

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eupheme · 1 day ago

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you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

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

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

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

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

Cardinal

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

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

THE LOOKOUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today you want it to be your last time here.

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

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

“Hey, stop!”

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

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

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

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

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

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

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

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

“You know–” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding.

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

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

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

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

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

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

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRAVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

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

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

“First time’s on the house.”

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

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

“She isn’t interested, pal.”

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

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

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

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

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

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

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

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

“Oh…,” you say, voice small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PUZZLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a quick study.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can pay next time.”

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

– – – – –

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

THE PANTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

You respond in kind.

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

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

THE MEETING

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

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

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

You’d answered without saying a word.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

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

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

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

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply.

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead.

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely.

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.”

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.”

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place…

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room.

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare.

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan.

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze.

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.”

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.”

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips.

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you–

“Logan,” you breathe.

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes.

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth–

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your…

friends.

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor.

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.”

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction.

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him.

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit.

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down.

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine.

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life.

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge.

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt.

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel.

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt.

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin.

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you.

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.”

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple.

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall.

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come.

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions.

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed.

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

#this was incredible #logan howlett x reader #jess reads #2024 fave fics #fic rec: logan howlett #fic rec: deadpool & wolverine #thinking of queue

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fandomnerd9602 · 2 days ago

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all that matters

a Lost/Found story

Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

You had a rough 48 hours. You lost the love of your life, Wanda Maximoff, at the hands of Kang, got pruned by the TVA, woke up in a lost place between space and time called the Void, found a resistance in said Void, got reunited with your little witch, and now you find yourselves in the presence of one Wade Wilson and James ‘Logan’ Howlett - the eponymous Deadpool and Wolverine.

And sadly the Merc with the Mouth wouldn’t shut up. You found yourself sitting in the makeshift resistance base with Wanda sitting snuggly in your lap. The moment would be great if only Wade would stop talking.

“I’m saying it would be great! Huge slow mo fights! Who cares if you live or die!” He tried to pitch it to the rest of the team.

“You want us to go back there and kick Cassandra Nova’s ass?” Johnny Storm asked with a chuckle.

“It’s suicide,” Blade spoke up.

“Aintnowaythatwomangonnagodowneasy” Gambit chimed in.

You looked to Wanda, she looked to you. “We’re in” you state.

“Really?” Wade asked with a shocked expression

“Yes” Wanda states while caressing your face. “We’re Avengers, we keep fighting no matter what”

“I do what she does just a little bit slower” you admit with a smirk. “My armor is just the boots and gauntlets but they work”

“An ending” Elektra says.

“Legacy” Blade responds with a smile.

“I was born ready” Gambit states as he flips a card of his.

“Let’s f—king go” Laura smirks

“Let’s f—king go!!” Wade exclaims.

The night came fast. The entire resistance was readying themselves. Gambit was readying his bo staff and deck of cards. Elektra grabbed her sai blades. Blade readied himself with his entire armory. Johnny was looking over a photo of his old team - the Fantastic Four. Wade was, well being Wade. Logan was lost in a drunken stupor out by a campfire. Laura went out to go talk with him.

And that brings it to you and Wanda. You found a wrecked 70s era Sentinel out behind the resistance base, a few modifications and it would be ready for combat. Wanda was in deep meditation, trying to focus her powers. But she couldn’t focus. Her mind was on you.

Wanda crept into the makeshift lab you made.

“You know I can sense you right?” you say with a smirk.

“you cannot” she chuckles.

“I know. I just wanted to see if you’d fall for it” you finished up on the broken Sentinel. “I never thought I’d see you again, Wanda”

“I never thought I’d see you” she says, tears forming in her eyes. “Losing you to Kang was the worst feeling in the entire multiverse. H-How do I know you’re my (Y/N)? Really mine.”

You set down your tools and walk towards her, you pull her to you by her hips, just like how she always liked it. She gasps. With your other hand, you caress her face, your thumb moving across her cheek. She hummed in delight.

“I love you in every universe” you whisper in her ear, “but I bet not every Wanda would react that way”

“And not every (Y/N) would know what makes me feel the way you do” she responds with a teary smile.

“I lost you once. Never again, my little witch”

“My detka!” Wanda cries before hugging you tight. You were hers.

You just hug her tight, not wanting to let go. You could spend an eternity in her arms and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Will you just hold me tonight?” She asks softly.

“Of course”

You guide her to a little military cot and lay down. Wanda just nuzzles into your arms, a perfect fit.

Tomorrow has its own worries and battles. Tomorrow you and Wanda would be battling Cassandra Nova. Tomorrow you would be finding out if you and your witch would get home or not.

But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was tonight. For tonight, you had Wanda back in your arms. You had your Scarlet Witch back.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @deafeningsharkslimeempath @scarletquake-n7 @ma1egamer @russianredassassin @family-house-of-m

#marvel #marvel fluff #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff imagine #the scarlet witch #scarlet witch #iron knight #elizabeth olsen #multiverse #deadpool and wolverine

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scarlethexelove · 1 day ago

Text

Do You Hate Me

Pairing: Drummer!Kate Bishop x Fan!Reader

Word Count: 2335

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/comfort, Smut, Daddy kink, P in V, Cum strap, StoneTop!Kate, PleasureDom!Kate, Hints to breeding, Um not sure there is much more.

Pt 1

A/n: I must always give thanks for the help from @wandamaximoffsbadgirl on writing this one. This turned from idea's about Drummer!Kate into an impromptu fic. It was done before Kinktober and just needed edited up and finished. So that is what I did. Sorry that I didn't get the last fic of Kinktober done I just couldn't bring myself to write the last one cause I didn't really know what to do with it. Maybe one day but I'm not to sure. So to make up for it here is more Drummer!Kate.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Your fingers slowly trail down Kate’s body. You want to be able to touch your girlfriend, giving her the same pleasure that she gives you. You’re shocked when her hands grab your wrist and stop you. Her grip is tight, tighter than she has ever held you. “Katie that hurts.”

Kate quickly lets your hands go. “I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to. Just please don’t touch me like that.” Her tone is harsh. She is acting in a way that you have never seen her before.

“Kate why can’t I-” Kate cuts you off.

“I said don’t.” It’s like you can see an internal battle going on within Kate. Her eyes showed a different emotion than her expression. “Just don’t touch me please.”

You’re so confused and hurt by your girlfriend's outburst. “Fine!” Your words are louder than you had intended them to be but you don’t really care. You get up and walk out of the room. You don’t know where you are going but you just put on your shoes and walk out the door.

It’s only a few minutes later before Kate gets up and goes looking for you knowing that she needs to explain to you why she stopped you. But panic takes over when she realizes you're not there anymore. Your shoes and keys are gone from beside the door. She quickly throws on her boots and runs out the door.

It’s dark out and the air is damp as you walk along the eerily quiet streets. You don’t know how you walk but the hurt doesn’t seem to leave you. You never thought you were good enough for Kate and this just solidifies your spiraling thoughts. That you will never be good enough for her.

Your face scrunches when you feel cold water drop down on your face. You look up as the sky fills with little droplets of water. The rain starts to fall down steadily making you let out a groan. You already feel terrible and now this. You accept your fate as you sit down on the bench a few steps behind you. Letting the cold rain soak into your skin as your fight with Kate swirls in your mind. You dropped everything to be with Kate and now she doesn’t want you. You’re alone and cold.

Kate begins to panic more when the rain begins to fall. The storm clouds above let's all the held water fall down. She doesn’t know where you went and now it’s raining. All she wants is for you to be back in her arms, to explain everything. She wants you to understand just how much she loves you and that will never change in her eyes. So she runs looking wherever she can to find you. How could you have gone so far in so little time.

You don’t know how long you sit there for, until you hear your name being called while Kate is running up to you. She pulls you up and hugs you tightly. She pulls you back a little to look you over. “I was so worried.” Kate has tears in her eyes.

“What does it matter, Kathrine.” It stung when you used her full name.

“Oh Y/n/n, come on, don't be like that, please. Just come back with me, we can have a bath together and I'll explain myself.” Kate tries and you want to say no but she's giving puppy eyes.

Kate tries to hold your hand, but you pull it back and cross your arms. You follow behind her, still hurt and salty. You're both dripping wet when you both get inside.

Kate starts the bath and goes to help you undress. “I can do it myself.” You snap. Kate pulls back, mumbling out an okay before turning away to undress herself. When you're done pulling off your wet clothes, you step into the warm bath. Sinking into it, you let out a moan as the warmth elopes you. Kate stands there bouncing on the balls of her feet unsure now if she should join you.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” You ask feeling awkward now that Kate was second guessing if she should join you. She cautiously steps into the bath in front of you. Sinking down and sitting in front of you.

Kate looks down and plays with her fingers. “I'm sorry.” She mumbles. You've never seen her so reserved which makes you feel bad for being so mad.

You chew on your lip, taking in a deep breath. “I just... did I do something wrong? Do...do you not want me, Kate? I just...I wanna make you feel just as good as you make me feel.”

Kate reaches out, brushing your tears away. “Baby, it absolutely is not that. You do make me feel good, better than I've ever felt.” Kate cups your cheek, a soft smile on her face.

You look into her eyes, tears still shining. “Then why?”

Kate takes a deep breath trying to gather her thoughts. “Princess I get off just from watching you. I don't need it and I don't particularly like it either. It's nothing to do with you. I am more than satisfied.”

You look at her mulling over her words. “S-so you're um what's it called.”

Kate smiles. “Stone top. Yes.”

“Ohhhhh.” You think for a moment, brow furrowing. “S-so you don't like hate me? Or think I'm disgusting? Or–” Kate cuts you off, pulling you into a deep kiss. You whimper into it before melting into her.

“I think you are the most amazing girl in the whole world.” Kate beatles against your lips.

You lean your body into hers. “I don't deserve you.” You mumble.

“Don't ever say that princess. I don't know what I would do without you. The day I saw you my life changed for the better.” You want to touch her, but you hesitate. Your hands hovering, almost ghosting over her skin. “Go ahead, princess.” Your head shoots up, eyes meeting hers.

You lean more into her and lay your head on her chest as you let yourself lazily draw patterns on her chest, letting your fingers drift down slowly.

Kate let's out a soft noise. Softer than you've ever heard out of your girlfriend. You lay your head on her chest, taking a deep breathing, letting your hand fall, brushing past her nipple. You feel as her breath quickens slightly at the sensation. You trace your fingers around her nipple waiting to see if she stops you. She lets out a shuttered breath. You smile, letting your thumb brush across her now hardened nipple

“Is this ok baby?” You ask, actually stopping what you're doing. She lets out a soft moan. You look up at her and you pull her down to kiss her. You still tease her nipple as you swallow her whimpers. You keep teasing, seeing how far you can push her as you roll her pebbled nipple between your fingers. She finally grabs your wrist, pulling both behind your back.

“You're playing a dangerous game, princess.” Kate husks against the shell of your ear.

You gasp. “What are you going to do Daddy? Hmmm, punish me.” You tease her knowing that you hadn't actually done anything to warrant one but just want to press her buttons a little.

Kate is quick to stand lifting you up with her. Not caring about leaving a wet trail behind you both.

“I'm not going to punish you princess but I'm going to make sure you can't walk tomorrow.”

Shivering at her words.You cling tight to her. “Oh will you Daddy?” You try to sound tough, but you know that she knows.

Kate tosses you on the bed, making you squeak before crawling to hover over you. “Oh princess, I'm going to use my biggest strap. You know that new one special one we just got. I'm going to slit that pretty little pussy open.” She growls and kisses you harshly.

You feel your body heat up at the mention of the new strap. A thick purple one that was cum filled. A whimper leaving you. “Please Daddy I've been wanting to get to use it!' You started begging already forgetting about what happened earlier.

Kate chuckles at your neediness. “Look at you begging Daddy to fuck you. You want me to stretch that pretty little pussy around my big strap hmm.”

You whine at the thought. “Please.” Kate leans down, giving you a kiss before leaving to go grab the strap. Coming out, and the moment you see her, you clench around nothing. “Fuck...Daddy…” She smirks as she gets closer to you.

“Tell Daddy exactly what you want, Princess.” Kate is cocky knowing she has you right where she wants you.

You squirm as you look at the large size. “Wa-want Daddy to fuck me.”

Kate gives you a faux pout. “Princess, you need to tell me how. You want Daddy to shove that pretty face into the pillows as I fuck you from behind.” You clench at the thought and nod. “Words princess.” She reminds you.

A whine coming out of your throat. “Please Daddy want you to fuck me from behind and push me into the pillows. Want to scream so loud for you the pillows don't muffle it. Please.” You see her eyes dilate at your words. Light blues become dark like a storm.

You watch as Kate’s calm demeanor turns to feral. “Hands and knees princess.” She growls out. You barely have time to get into the position before Kate is behind you. “Fuck I can't wait to ruin you.” Her hands caress your hips. You instantly want to fall apart for her. Do exactly as she asks. Your pleasure is hers and hers is yours. You feel her slowly push through your folds, getting herself all slicked up before you feel the tip at your entrance. You shiver and whimper.

“Please Daddy...please…” Kate slowly pushes her hips forward. Your walls stretch to accommodate her large size. Though the stretch is slightly painful, it feels so good. Your arms are already wobbly the further she pushes in. You're already panting from it all. Already so overwhelming. Her hand goes on the back of your head, grabbing your hair as she starts thrusting, setting a brutal pace that has your head spinning.

“Fuck you always feel so good taking my cock like a good little slut. You're Daddy's slut, aren't you?” Kate grunts with every thrust of her hips.

You moan loudly as words fail you. Your brain instantly turning to mush as she fucks you.

When you don't answer Kate stops. She wraps her hand around your throat and pulls you back against her chest and whispers in your ear. “Daddy asked you a question princess. Are you Daddy's slut?” You whimper.

“Mmm I-I Da-Daddy's little sl-slut.” Kate lets go of your neck and pushes your face down into the pillow.

“Good girl.” Kate grunts as she picks the pace back up.

You moan loudly, what else are you supposed to do because words aren't an option. “Ah...ah...ah…” It's the only thing coming out, but you're practically screaming as she hits your spot just right.

Kate is panting above you as your walls suck her in. She reaches down between your legs, finding your clit and circling her fingers around. You can't help the scream that escapes your lips. Your body is trembling under her as you're so close to falling over the edge.

“Ah...Daddy...fuck fuck please...I'm gonna...gonna cum!” You hear the chuckle the rumbles out of her.

“You want to cum all over Daddy's cock? Hm?” Kate asks and suddenly you're shy again. Just like always though Kate secretly hoped you'd never stop being like this with her.

“Please Daddy let me cum on your cock.” Kate lets out a satisfied hum before pulling you up against her and whispering in your ear.

“Do you want Daddy to fill you up princess?” Kate’s thrusts are still hitting you perfectly deep inside that your legs are trembling. You're so close to falling over the edge.

You whine and nod so desperately. “Pl-please daddy want your cum.” It comes out as a whimper, but your words satisfy the drummer.

“Cum on my cock princess, Daddy's going to fill you nice and full.” That's all it takes as your eyes roll back in your head and you cum harder than you ever have in your life. Your walls desperately sucking Kate’s cock further in as she continues to pound into you.

As you ride out your high, Kate's powerful thrusts down slow as she finally releases the cum deep inside of you. The added feeling of being filled causes another smaller orgasm to rip through you. “A-Ah fuck Daddy.” Your moans are loud, bouncing off the walls.

You think Kate will slow down now that she has filled you up but she doesn’t. You let out a small whine and Kate shushes you softly. “Daddy hasn’t cum yet and Daddy promised you princess that you won’t be walking when I’m through with you.” She nibbles on your ear causing you to gasp. “I’m going to keep filling this pretty little pussy till you're dripping with my sweet sweet cum.”

By the end of the night you have lost count on how many times that you have cum and Kate has even lost count of how many times she has. Your bodies now in a tangled mess of limbs as your body lays on top of your girlfriends. Kate insists that the strap stays buried deep inside you. A promise to wake you up close to another orgasm. You’re slowly drifting off to sleep when you feel lips pressed to your head and a whispered I love you from Kate. You’re so exhausted that you slur out an unfinished I love you to Kate as sleep takes over.

#syd speaks #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop smut #kate bishop fanfic #kate x reader #kate x y/n #kate bishop #kate bishop x reader smut #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x reader #drummer!kate #fan!reader

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theblessedcap · 2 days ago

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A Weekend to Remember 💕

Summary: Terry wants to give his girlfriend Siya (Sigh-ya) a peaceful weekend away at his place to help her loosen up after a rough week. 🩵

Warnings: Some smut 💋 and 420 friendly 🍃

This is my first fanfic y’all so take it easy on your girl. It’s been a while! lol. Enjoy!!!

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Terry POV

Friday Night 🌙

My girl Siya, who I’ve been seeing for about five months now, has been expressing her frustration with work all week. I’m not quite sure what her exact job title is but I know she works with badass kids and intense parents everyday in the school system. I’ve always admired her patience with people on a daily. I told her I do labor and engineering work for a reason cause I’d catch a case. Nonetheless, I know she needs an outlet and frankly, just a good time so she can let her hair down a bit. I can admit I’ve been slightly negligent to my lady’s feelings recently due to my own work being a shit storm with high volumes of orders and requests needing to be completed. A couple nights in a row I’ve been falling asleep on her mid conversation from pure exhaustion. I know that stings her a bit because we don’t live together and she really treasures our nightly FaceTime calls. She lives about 35 mins away from me on the other side of the county so anytime I get to see her face I try to make it last. I know she knows I still love her and I’m here for her like always but I’m the type of man to show it. Especially when I know I’ve been slacking a bit.

On the way home from work today, on a high from finally making it to Friday, I text Siya to let her know my plans.

T: Hey babe, hope your work day ended on a high note today. I want you to pack a bag to stay over my place for the weekend. I wanna show you how much I’ve missed you all week.. I’ll be there to get you around 6. I love you ❤️

S: Oooo you got plans plans huh? 😏 lol ok baby, I’ll be ready when you get here. Just let me know when you’re on the way 😘

I smile down at my phone at her response. She always finds a way to make me laugh. That’s why this weekend I want her to feel like she’s fully taken care of. My girl is the kind of woman who loves detail but loves simplicity even more. She loves good vibes and ambience.. she loves to be able to take in all the small joys around her and revel in them while spreading that same feeling to the people around her. It made me think about what I wanted to plan for us this weekend. I want to take Siya’s mind off of all her stress and worries and I have to be quick because I only have about 2 hours until I pick Siya up…

Siya POV

That text from Terry made my day. I haven’t stopped smiling since I got it just as I was about to sprint to my car after calling it a day at work. Don’t get me wrong, I love aspects of my job but the mental rigor of trying to put out fires everyday is A LOT. I was just starting to get annoyed with Terry actually, he’s been seeming a bit distant and uninterested but those thoughts faded away as soon as I read that text. If there’s one thing I know about my man its that he’s thoughtful when it counts and loves to prove it.

Getting home to my quiet condo, I drop all my stuff in my office room then head straight to my bathroom to shower off all the angst of the day. Blasting some Summer Walker and Kehlani while the hot water slowly soothes my body into relaxation. I make sure to shave and moisturize something serious not yet knowing exactly what Terry has planned. I just have a feeling it’s going to make me fall in love with him even more.

After my shower, I decided to fix something small to eat to hold me over and then pack my bag for a stay at my man’s.

*phone vibrates*

T: I’m heading to you now babygirl 🩵

S: Ok be safe ❤️ see you soon daddy 💋

I don’t know what it is but Terry still makes me giddy and nervous. I can’t stop checking my hair and light makeup in the mirror just to make sure nothing is out of place. If he knew I was taking what I looked like so serious, he would reprimand me saying you look beautiful regardless, don’t trip but hey, I’m just a girl with nerves!

Dressed in a causal three piece cozy fit, perfect for this fall weather and brisk evenings, I wait for Tory to arrive while chilling on my living room couch. Just as I start to feel a little antsy my phone vibrates again.

T: Come open your door for me beautiful

Without texting back, I hop out of my seat and speed walk to the door with a smile. I open the door to find my tall, muscular, ocean eyed teddy bear of a boyfriend dressed in a hoodie and joggers to match.

“There she is” he says before softly pulling me into his arms and lifting me into a tight hug. He smells so good..

“Hey baby, I missed you so much” I say before planting a kiss on his soft, plump lips.

“I’ve missed you too baby girl. More than you know. Come on, let me get your bag for you” He says slightly brushing past me into the living room to grab my pink duffle bag. “You ready, mama?”

Terry POV

It feels so good having Siya next to me again. It’s only been about a week and a half since I’ve last seen her in person but right now let me know that’s too long without her. Her soft, luscious, radiant skin. Her fragrance that always smells like something sweet that makes me hungry for her. Head full of curls and that amazing smile that still makes my heart skip a beat. I’m sprung, no doubt. I can’t keep my hands off her as I hit the highway heading back to my place. My free hand found its way in between the heat of her thighs and rested there for comfort as I gripped the steering wheel. Snoh Alegra playing from my truck speakers and our heads bobbing to the smooth tunes. I look over at Siya softly singing the words and I crack a smile involuntarily. Call me corny but I made a playlist just for this ride back so I knew she’d be feeling it.

“You know this is my song” She says with a playful smirk while dancing in her seat.

“Yeah I know love”

Siya went back to her karaoke as i focused on not missing a turn right up ahead of us. As soon as I made the turn off our usual route, Siya stops her concert and looks at me with curious eyes.

“Where we going?” She asks

“Just a little detour babe, don’t worry” I reassure her grabbing onto her hand to hold.

I could tell my words put her at ease. I watch her lean back in her seat to take in the beautiful sunset outside our car windows. The sky barely lit but just above the horizon it’s painted a firey bright orange with clouds leaving small traces of purple and blue. Approaching our destination, I see Siya sit up, peeking out of the windows to take in the view before us. A walking park adorned with vast land scattered with trees and a beautiful lake front that provided a perfect view to watch the remainder of the sunset. The area is empty and barely any cars drive past at this time of day. Perfect for a chill ass smoke session to get my girl right for this relaxing weekend I got planned for her.

Siya POV

Terry is always up to something I tell ya. I’ve always appreciated the effort and thought he puts into the things he does for me. No matter how little or large. Terry knows I’m a sentimental nostalgic who loves taking in sunsets and sunrises. I mean, I couldn’t even count the amount of moon photos I have in my camera roll too. He also knows I don’t take the time to enjoy these things as much as I’d like to. To just be present.. with a beautiful view.

“Let’s sit at these benches over here” Terry said taking my hand and leading me to our seats near the lake.

“This is beautiful Terry. How do you know about this place?”

“Me and a homeboy of mine use to come here and go fishing sometimes. We even came out here just to chill. Get our minds right” Terry reaches into this hoodie pocket, “So, with my beautiful lady having the hard week she did.. I figured we’d start this weekend with some reallll relaxation” he declares pulling out a thick cigar blunt with a playful, big cheesy smile.

Terry and I have smoked together before but it’s been quite a while. Shortly after we started dating we both decided to take a tolerance break and focus on work and being a bit healthier. Not to say we didn’t break our pact from time to time but it has definitely been a couple months since I faced a fat blunt.

“When did you start smoking again?” I ask genuinely curious.

“Right now. I figured since work has been kicking both of our asses, we deserve this. You deserve this,” He says lighting the blunt and passing it to me. Instantly the thick weed smoke and scent hit my nose and brought back all those fond memories of getting high and letting my worries roll off of me like water.

I take a deep breath and allow the smoke to hit my chest. I hold it for a few seconds before a deep harsh cough escapes my throat.

“Take it easy, babe” Terry said laughing while patting my back.

“Oh whatever! It’s been a while” I snap back at him out of a little embarrassment of my fragile lungs. I take another puff and force myself to keep in the smoke long enough to feel the after effects.

“You good mama?” Terry asks me as I pass him back the blunt.

“Yeah I’m good. This shit is hitting me nice..” I say leaning back into the bench, letting my body and mind unwind. I start to listen to the gentle wind of the night breezing past my ears, the lake in front of me rippling from the wind. It’s so peaceful. I feel Terry’s arm cradle my shoulders from be side, providing extra warm from the cool breeze. We continued to pass back and forth until our blunt became a roach. The lowering sun completely gone but now the fluorescent moonlight took its place. It gave us ample light reflecting from the shimmering lake. I could feel every bit of my body soften and loosen up. My head lay back to rest on Terry’s buff arm still wrapped around me. We were both pretty quiet enjoying our high and the tranquility around us. I look over to Terry to make sure he’s okay only to meet his incredible grey eyes, low and hazy from the marijuana, already locked on me.

“How you feeling?” He asks deep in tone, his gaze still stuck on me.

“Good. I feel great actually”

“Good. I’m glad to hear, babe. Come here…” Terry whispers before grabbing me around my waist and pulling me into his lap. Never taking his eyes off me. I was starting to really get lost in them. All I could picture was the last time we fucked, soaking my satin panties as I clinch my thighs on Terry’s lap. My eyes gaze down to his juicy pink lips that just seem to be calling my name. Without hesitation, i pull Terry in for a passionate kiss. Lips smacking and soft biting making us both groan into each other’s mouths. I could feel Terry’s thick bulge grow stiffer below me as he shifts my booty on his lap to help adjust himself. He let out a soft moan before placing lewd, wet kisses all over my neck.

“Terry you know that makes me weak” I moan out as he hits all my spots causing me to quiver.

Ignoring my plea, gripping onto my thighs, he continues to place warm kisses on my neck and slowly down my chest. Suddenly he stops and looks up at me. The moonlight beaming out of his now dark clouded eyes. He sits up, gently moving me off his lap and back on the bench before standing up and starting to take off his hoodie. I bite my lip watching him undress, revealing a white tee hugging his defined abs and massive arms. I quietly stare up at him from my seat, heat rising within me from anticipation, wondering what’s next to come. Also forgetting that we’re technically in public.

I’m high as shit.

“Lay back on my hoodie babygirl” Terry says softly while stretching his hoodie out on the bench space beside me. I do as he ask and lay my heated back to the wood bench to rest. Terry, now sitting by my feet and smirking down at me, slowly turns to me with his eyes still intensely on me, lifts my legs and places them firmly over his shoulders. Now I get the hint..

“Take these off” he whispers before licking his lips and pulling at my pants with authority.

I lift my lower body to assist him in slipping my pants and panties off in one quick swipe. The cool air hit my bare legs and made me clinch my legs shut.

“Open up for me, babe” Terry commands sliding his large body back on the bench and lowering his head right above my wet, aching pussy. “I got the munchies.. but all I wanna snack on is you”

With a sloppy, wet kiss to my throbbing clit, Terry began to devour my pussy like his last meal. I couldn’t help but to moan loudly as he slurps and licks me with purpose. One thick swipe of his tongue after another. As he playful darts his tongue in and out of my pussy and tenderly rubs my pulsing clit, I stare up at the stars above. Thanking God and the universe that I’ve found this man.

“Ahhhh Terry.. this feels so fucking good babyyy” I cry out reaching for the bench arm rest behind my head for leverage.

“Mmm.. you taste so damn good mama.. I could eat you all night..” he spoke with all his concentration still on my leaking pussy. Suddenly feeling two thick fingers slowly sliding into me, I arch my back out of pure ecstasy.

“Fuuuuck” I cry out letting Terry quicken his pace. Beginning to feel an amazing but unfamiliar pressure build within me.

“Pussy clenching up baby, you about to cum?”

“Oh my god… Terry!” I shout unable to explain what I was feeling. Silence falls as nothing but the sound of Terry’s fingers slipping in and out of me and his slurping and smacking fill the air. My eyes close shut and I swear even with them closed, I can still see stars. Suddenly, a loud gush erupts from my slippery center.

“God damn..” Terry groans staring at my pussy forming a puddle below him with a look of pride and accomplishment.

“Did you just make me squirt?!” I asks out of pure shock. Did I really just squirt on my boyfriend on a public bench?

“Hell yeah I did. You got me and my hoodie soaked baby girl” he says with a chuckle and a menacing smirk.

“Oh my god” I say laughing to myself, covering my face as Terry lifts me up to hold me in his arms, face to face.

“Aww none of that now. Shit, that was fucking amazing. I didn’t know you could squirt like that, mama. I find it sexy.. lets me know I’m doing all the right things.. maybe I should get you high and eat you out more often” he suggest with that enticing smile of his.

“Yeah maybe” I respond with a smile and gaining a little sense of confidence back. The sound of loud car exhaust approaching made us both grab for our clothes and get dressed. Terry wasn’t lying when he said I soaked his hoodie. Even with it being black I could tell I left the majority of it damp and knew he’d be cold in this frigid wind as we walk back to his truck.

“I’m sorry again about that Babe” I say with my arms crossed in front of me to shield my exposed skin from the breeze.

“You don’t hear me complaining do you? Stop worrying, love. So what I’m drenched? I love that shit. All that matters to me right now is that you feel good.. you gushing all on me like that just shows me you was feeling more than good though.. right baby?” He asks slowly stepping closer to me, forcing my back against the truck door, invading my space in a way that makes my knees almost buckle. Him and these goddamn eyes!!

“Oh I’m more than good..” I almost whisper looking deep into his glistening orbs, feeling like I’m under a trance.

“That’s what I like to hear. Gimme kiss..” Terry says before pulling me into him by the waist and giving me two sweet, wet kisses, “come on, beautiful. Let’s get back on the road. We still got the night ahead of us.”

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK and sorry for any typos 🙈🩷 Depending on feedback I’ll write the rest of the weekend with Tory and Siya 🥰 I have a feeling this is gonna get cute and nasty lmao appreciate y’all! -Kye ✌🏽

#terry richmond smut #aaron pierre #black female writers #black female reader #terry richmond

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zyafics-recs · 3 days ago

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reblogging comment review from @zyafics

im STUDYINGGGG AGAIN hahaha and i decided to read ⬇️

You were pregnant.How could this happen? How the fuck could this happen?

so u see… there’s this bird and this bee…

You weren't going to cry. You couldn’t. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t. Not with your makeup done so carefully. Your eyes were lined so meticulously, your foundation blended like a dream, your lips painted in that bold red everyone said you pulled off effortlessly. You couldn’t afford to let your mascara run. He wasn’t worth it.

why r u lowkey funny 😭 girly is going through it but she can’t cry bc she needs to keep her makeup intact is hilarious to me

Ruthie? That girl was giving everyone her signature snake sneer. Of course she was. The bitch had this superpower of sensing everyone's business before they even knew it themselves.

WHAT IF RUTHIE KNOWS

That would be so him, though.

oh my god

You did out without even thinking, grabbing Topper’s ear between two manicured fingers like you were his mom dragging him out of Sunday school, pulling him away.

like i said she’s FUNNNYYYY

But why did it hurt? Perhaps a small part of you wanted him to show up—just to see you, just to care. The other part, however, didn’t. You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or this… this thing inside you.

okokokok i love that she's hypocritical because all her motives makes sense and the sense of flow is so perfectly-paced it makes me wanna scream

They were trying to get you to admit you didn’t invite him. Well, they’d have to try harder. You’d been swimming around sharks since you were born, no one was going to fuck you over so easily.

Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.Rafe.

a GUN

You stood taller, and forced a smile, but as you started to step down from the stage, you felt it.

THIS BITCH

“Can we just—” he was practically jogging after you, his voice strained. “Can we talk like fucking adults?”

im actually shaking

He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the same agitated motion you’d seen a thousand times as if he was trying to smooth out the mess in his head.

this motion is so him too

He wasn’t apologizing for ghosting you. He wasn’t apologizing for her.

WHAT IF SHE TOLD HIM TO APOLOGIZE

He stepped closer, looming over you now, his lips curling into that sneer. “I’m trying to give you a chance to be friends—”Give you? Like you were some charity case to him? As if you should be thankful.

i would be literally committing mass murders rn

You told him the truth and now it had become the scar he wouldn’t stop picking at. He was hurt. And he was angry, because you’d finally told him the truth about his dad, and it shattered that fake picture he had in his head.

literally get a grip

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” he growled, stepping forward. “That’s why we broke up. Because you don’t fucking get it.”

bro idolizes his dad wayyy too much

You shook your head, “No, we broke up because you didn’t like me telling the truth. Your dad was a piece of shit, and you know it.”

i love her so much

Rafe pulled at the back of his neck again, looking like he might’ve ground his teeth to dust. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, his voice thick with condescension. “You’re jealous.”

there would be nothing but god stopping me from murdering this man

“Jealous?” you repeated, in disbelief. “Of your little pogue girlfriend? Please, fucking spare me. You want me to throw a penny at her?”

she’s so bitchy i love her

He stepped closer, his breath quickening. "She’s real, okay? She’s not some polished barbie pretending in front of everyone, just to fall apart behind closed doors."

TOPPER HAND ME A GLOCK

"Real huh?" You scoffed, the bitterness in your chest taking over. "Is that what you call it? Someone who doesn’t know the difference between caviar and fucking canned tuna? That’s the 'real' you’ve been slumming it with?"

she's actually so real

"Is that a joke? You spend so much time trying to be your father, you’ve lost yourself. Do you think I don’t see it? You’re so fucking empty without his approval,” Your voice dipped lower, “You’re so pathetic it’s almost sad."

TELL HIM GIRLY POP

He said it so casually, so carelessly, as if it hadn’t ripped you apart. It was the way he said it, with that hint of affection, like she was this delicate, shiny little thing he was protecting, and you—you—were just a threat he had to deal with.

he likes SOFIA makes me wanna scream

"I'll drag the fucking Pope into this if I have to.”

i read this as pope heyward and went LEAVE MY MAN POPE OUT OF THIS

Once again, you pondered telling her everything—about breaking down and spilling every ugly detail. But that would make it real.

i wish she DID OHMYGOD

💌 — the visceral anger i feel for rafe right now makes me wanna register for a gun. also also, their fight that cuts so deep because they know each other so well is done to PERFECTION and not only that, i LOVE LOVE LOVE how you can follow reader's train of thoughts—so even if she's hypocritical in her response, it makes perfect sense. lastly, rafe has the fucking audacity i would've slapped him so hard he would've saw his dad ok done

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - THREE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x Sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, of abortion, health risks & death.

Two lines.

Two bold, definitive lines.

You blinked. Once, twice, but it didn’t change. It wasn’t going away.

Two lines, clear as fucking day, staring back at you like they were taunting you.

The universe was laughing right in your face. You felt everything plummet to the very bottom of the earth—the room, the floor, your stomach—it all just plummeted, like you’d been pushed off a cliff with no warning.

The test fell from your grip, clattering onto the marble countertop, but you didn’t care. You backed away from it like it was something radioactive, something dangerous that could destroy you if you got too close. But it already had, hadn’t it?

You were pregnant.How could this happen? How the fuck could this happen?

You knew how, obviously. You weren’t that dumb. All you could see in your head was Rafe’s stupid fucking face. His name alone made you want to punch something, preferably his balls.

You were pregnant? With his kid? You were so careful with your life, with your image.

You could feel the resentment rise in your throat again, the taste of acid making you want to scream. He didn’t get to do this to you. He couldn’t ruin your life twice, fuck you up this bad and then just leave. You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. You hated it. And worse, you hated yourself.

There you were, stuck with this. Alone with a baby you didn’t even want to think about. The thought of it growing inside you—of carrying some piece of him, some reminder of everything he put you through these past two months—it was loathsome. He wasn’t part of this, not anymore. And you weren’t that girl—you didn’t want to be. You weren’t the one who begged for him to care, who waited around for him to come to his senses, who made excuses.

You weren’t going to ruin all that hard work over him again. No way.

You pressed a tissue to your eyes—not to cry, but to catch the stray moisture that threatened to ruin your eyeliner—and took a deep breath. You smoothed your dress, and made sure everything was in place.

You didn’t have time to figure it out, or wallow, or throw shit around. You straightened your back, lifted your chin, and forced yourself to feel nothing.

Not the panic, not the nausea, not the rage. Nothing.

You could push it all down, shove it into that deep hellish place in your guts where you put everything else. Later, maybe you’d have to let it out.

Just as you were spiraling deeper into the pit, there was a knock on the door. Loud. It made you jump, pulling you out of your head for just a second.

“Hey!” It was Lily, her voice bright, oblivious. “It’s time. We need you out there. You’ve got like three minutes.”

Right. You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

You stepped out of the room, every movement rehearsed, the smile expertly placed on your lips. You were a master at this—faking it, pretending like nothing in the world could touch you. Not after seeing those two fucking lines.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you walked through the hallway, down the steps, and into the ballroom. It was filled with kooks being kooks. Fake smiles, fake compliments, fake friendships. You weren’t even listening to a word anyone said to you.

“Hi, darling, you look stunning as always,” someone said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. You smiled, said thank you, maybe even added a you too, but you couldn’t hear yourself. Your body knew exactly what to do at these things.

Pretend like you gave a shit.

“Your dad would be so proud,” another woman gushed, and you wanted to throw up. You laughed.

If he knew what was happening. Pregnant? By a man who didn’t put a ring on your finger?

And there they were, of course—Topper, Kelce and Ruthie, standing in the middle of it all, grinning like idiots. Well, Topper grinning like an idiot.

Ruthie? That girl was giving everyone her signature snake sneer. Of course she was. The bitch had this superpower of sensing everyone's business before they even knew it themselves.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and you reached out instinctively, but the waiter, somehow, just missed you. The tray floated right past, and before you could even realize the fact that you didn’t have a drink in your hand, her eyes were on you.

“Oh, you're not drinking?” she asked, voice dripping with fake concern. Her eyes flickered, like she knew something, and you swear to god, your eyelid twitched.

“Not yet,” you replied with the same faux smile.

Ruthie just kept watching you with those too-knowing eyes, like she was looking for a crack, some little tell. Because she always did.

You had to be so careful around her.

One wrong move, one second, and she’d be all over it, spreading it around the entire town before you even had a chance to breathe.

Your cousin, completely oblivious, was babbling with Kelce about something—probably golf, or the new boat his dad bought, or some other thing you couldn’t care less about. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but you were mentally still in the bathroom, staring at those two lines.

“So, you invited Rafe?” Kelce said it like it was nothing, like bringing up your ex-boyfriend was the most casual thing in the world.

“What the actual fuck did you just say?” You all but growled out, enough to make him choke on his champagne.

He looked genuinely confused, as if he didn’t just mention the one person you’d rather hurl off a bridge at the moment. “Yeah, Rafe. He’s on the list, right?”

Your whole body went rigid. You blinked, trying to keep your face from giving anything away, but inside? You were dying. Ruthie’s eyebrows shot up—oh great, now you had her attention too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Kelce, of course, had the nerve to chuckle.

If Rafe had spoken to them about being taken off the guest list, you’d lose it. The insolence of him mentioning your name—like he still had any right to talk about you? He should’ve buried the memory of you right along with whatever feelings he claimed to have had.

But then, if he hadn’t said a word about it to his best friends—that meant something worse. That meant he didn’t care. He was over it. Over you.

He hadn’t even bothered to tell them that he wasn’t coming to the gala because he wasn’t thinking about it. Or about you.

You hated either possibility.

Kelce like the asshole he was, "I thought you two were—"

"Don't." You cut him off so fast, so hard, he had to take a step back.

You wanted to grab Top by his clueless shoulders and demand answers. Did Rafe care? Was he coming tonight? You didn’t like any option—every scenario made you want to get on a plane to the other side of the world. If he was planning to show up despite being cut from the list…Shit, what would you even do? You could feel the headache starting already.

That would be so him, though.

The arrogance. The entitlement, ignoring boundaries because he never thought the rules applied to him.

Ruthie, of course, was still watching you like a hawk. Her eyes darted between you and Topper, and you could practically feel her mind working, trying to piece together whatever she thought she was seeing. She loved this. She lived for other people’s drama, and you knew she’d sniff out anything that didn’t look flawless.

You did out without even thinking, grabbing Topper’s ear between two manicured fingers like you were his mom dragging him out of Sunday school, pulling him away.

"Ow, Jesus—what the hell?!" he yelped, stumbling to keep up with you in his shiny loafers as you all but hauled him into the nearest corner of the ballroom, out of sight, but still within earshot of the crowd.

You didn’t care. Let someone see. Let them all see.

You turned to him, barely letting go of his ear, your nails tapping impatiently against your crossed arms. He looked at you like you’d lost your mind, and maybe you had.

“Spill it.”

He was still rubbing his ear. “What are you talking about?”

“Rafe,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “Is he coming tonight? And don’t you dare lie to me, Top.”

He gulped. Actually gulped. You swore you could see the gears turning in that pretty, empty head of his, trying to figure out if he could weasel his way out of this.

“I— I don’t know, okay?” Topper stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t talked to him today, but I figured… I mean, he always comes to these things, so I assumed—"

That meant Rafe didn’t tell him. That your little stunt hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

“You assumed?” You leaned in closer, eyes burning holes into his skull. “After everything, you thought it was a good idea to just assume he’d show up and not even bother telling me?”

“I can’t put him on a leash!” His voice rose defensively, eyes wide like he was the one under attack. And yeah, maybe he was. Maybe you’d gone full psycho mode. Rafe always turned you into this—this furious, spiraling, out-of-control version of yourself.

Your cousin was just collateral damage.

“Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe someone should.” You said it slowly like you were explaining something to a child. “Do you even know what it’s like?” you hissed, leaning in closer, your voice dropping , “To sit here, wondering if he’s gonna show up like some ticking time bomb?”

Topper’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He didn’t know shit about what you were going through. How could he? He wasn’t the one with a whole life-changing secret burning a hole in his brain, wondering if the father of the child growing inside him was going to ruin everything—again.

“I—I didn’t think it was that serious,” Topper stammered, hands flying up in surrender. “I mean, he’s always been a dick, but—”

You remember the first thing he texted you after weeks of radio silence.

“No,” you interrupted, “He’s more than just a dick. He’s—” You stopped yourself before you said too much. God, you were on the edge, and you needed to rein it in.

Topper, still looking like a kicked puppy, shifted on his feet.

“Look, I’ll text him. I’ll ask if he’s coming or not, okay?” He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. You watched him, arms crossed, tapping your foot against the marble floor like your life depended on it. If you saw his face—his stupid, beautiful, infuriating face—you didn’t know what you’d do.

Punch him? Scream? Run? The thought of him being here, so close, when you hadn’t even processed what was happening to you…

“Okay, he says—” He paused, squinting at his screen, “he’s not coming.”

The relief. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, shoulders sagging for just a second before you caught yourself. He’s not coming.

But why did it hurt? Perhaps a small part of you wanted him to show up—just to see you, just to care. The other part, however, didn’t. You didn’t want him anywhere near you, or this... this thing inside you.

“See?” Topper said, holding up his phone like it was some peace offering. “He’s not coming. Crisis averted.” He gave you this awkward, nervous smile, like he thought you might hit him again.

You forced a laugh, even though nothing about this was funny.

“Great. Awesome. Perfect,” you said through gritted teeth simultaneously smoothing your dress, and pushing your hair back over your shoulder, “Thanks, Top. Really. You’re a real lifesaver.”

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or not, but you didn’t care. The moment was over. You’d survived.

You rolled your eyes as you turned away heading back toward your original group. Of course, Ruthie was still standing there her arms crossed, that smug little smirk on her face. She’d been watching the whole thing, no doubt about it.

You could feel her nosy ass dissecting every single move you made.

“He’s not here yet,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing just enough to piss you off. “Weird, right? Maybe he’s busy with Sofia.”

Of course, she brought up that fucking name.

She was sniffing out blood in the water, as if she wasn’t just another Sarah Cameron knock-off. You could already picture it—the headlines, the whispers spreading through the audience, everyone talking about you. The legacy who ruined her own gala.

Kelce snorted, not even bothering to hide his amusement, because of course he thought this was all a joke. He never got it. None of them did.

You wished, for just a second, that you weren’t born into this pristine, high-society life. You felt so smothered by these expectations. If you were anyone else, if you weren’t some debutante raised on champagne and etiquette, you’d have punched her right there. You’d have knocked her straight to the floor and wiped that pretentious smile off her face with blood in front of every stuck-up rich asshole in the room.

“I didn’t realize we were talking about her,” you said, voice like sugar, even though you knew Ruthie could sense the underlying warning in it,“But thanks, Ruthie, for always keeping me updated on things that don’t concern you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t back down yet.

“Just making conversation. I mean, it is weird that he hasn’t shown up yet, right? Considering how close you two used to be. I’m sure it’s nothing, though.”

Kelce, that asshole, leaned in, "Come on, don't act like you’re over it." His eyes glanced down to your hand. "You’re shaking."

You were. You hadn’t even noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, you shot him a look that could've killed. "Fuck off, Kelce."

They were trying to get you to admit you didn’t invite him. Well, they’d have to try harder. You’d been swimming around sharks since you were born, no one was going to fuck you over so easily.

“Uh-huh,” Ruthie said, not buying a word of it. Her eyes flicked between you and Topper, and you knew what she was doing. She was fishing. “You sure about that? You were giving him a look.”

You glanced at your cousin, who was still rubbing his ear like a toddler. “Just sorting out some... logistics for the gala,” you said, voice saccharine, but it felt like chewing on glass. “It’s nothing. Really.”

She arched a brow, her lips curling up in a knowing grin. She knew something was off. She always did. “Right,” she said slowly, drawing the word out like she was savoring it. “Because for a second there, it looked like you were about to explode.”

She was monitoring you so closely, you could feel it crawling up your skin.

“You know,” she sighed, like she cared. “If something’s going on you can tell me. I won’t say a word.”

That was rich. Ruthie, keeping a secret? You’d sooner trust a thief with your jewelry. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said, not keeping the sarcasm out of your voice. “But trust me, there’s nothing to tell.”

Ruthie’s pursed her lips, annoyed that she hadn’t managed to dig anything up, “Are you—”

You were two seconds away from shoving her into the nearest fountain. But instead, you took a deep breath, “You should worry less about me,” you advised her, “and more about that atrocious dress you’re wearing.”

The smile fell off her face so fast, it was glorious.

You didn’t wait for her to recover. You turned on your heel, and grabbed Topper by the arm.

As soon as you were far enough away, he let out a breath he’d been holding. “Jesus, I thought you were gonna deck her.”

You grinned, but there was no warmth in it. “I still might.”

He sighed, “She’s still my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, downgrading seems like a thing for you boys.”

Like a guardian angel sent from above, Lily appeared, stepping between you two with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey,” she interrupted, glancing between you, “What was that about?”

You could see the caution in her eyes. She wasn’t stupid—Lily knew things between you and Rafe had been rocky, and she’d probably been sensing the tension the entire night. But right now, she was doing her best to defuse the earlier situation before it got any worse.

“Nothin’, just Ruthie being herself,” You dismissed, as you grabbed onto her forearm, “Let’s go.”

Lily blinked, startled by your urgency, but she didn’t argue. “Yeah, we should head backstage, the speech is coming up.”

“Bye Top. Stay the fuck away from the chocolate fountain.”

You could hear him whine in the back, “I did that shit once!”

Lily pulled you along through the ballroom, her arm linked with yours, quickening her pace to keep up with you as you nearly bolted toward the back of the venue. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you bit out, though your voice didn’t even convince you. “I’m fine. I just need to get this speech over with.”

“Uh-huh,” She replied, clearly not convinced, but smart enough to drop it for now. “You got it, don’t worry.”

Finally, you made it to the side entrance that led backstage. The thick drapes and low lighting created a shield, giving you a small moment of privacy before the world demanded your attention again.

Lily stood next to you, gently touching your arm, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can stall, or—”

“I have to,” you stopped her, rubbing a hand over your face, “I can’t—” You didn’t finish your sentence because you didn’t know how to say it. You had no choice.

Lily’s fingers squeezed your arm a little tighter. “Okay,” she said quietly, nodding. “But I’m here if you need me.”

You forced a smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks,” you whispered, even though the words felt hollow in your mouth.

You appreciated her being here, really, but she was blissfully unaware of the pregnancy test in the trash can.

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your posture, straightened your dress, and ran a hand through your hair, reminding yourself that you’d been here before. You’d stood on that stage so many times.

This wasn’t new. You just had to get through it.

One more speech. One more night. You glanced at Lily, gave her a quick nod, and stepped through the final curtain. Back into the spotlight. Back into the role you’d perfected so well—put together, poised, untouchable.

The low murmur of the gathering hummed in your ears, growing louder with every second. You weren’t ready. You were never going to be ready.

You just needed to remember how to breathe.

The speech was printed and sitting in your hands, it felt like dead weight. You hadn’t even read through it since you’d finished it hours ago, and now, the thought of standing in front of all those people, pretending to have it together—it felt impossible.

Then, in the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Rafe.

He said he wasn’t coming. Topper said he wasn’t coming. But there he was, standing there, watching you just like he always had.

You hadn’t even meant to look. You didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps it was muscle memory, always searching for him. He was standing in the same spot he usually took. Like nothing had changed.

As if he hadn’t ripped you apart.

You tried to focus, but your heart was racing, thundering in your ears.

How dare he? How fucking dare he? Instantly you were back there, that messy, intoxicating space you swore you’d never return to. The one where he controlled the air you breathed. He looked so good. Too good, really. He was wearing a crisp navy suit that hugged his frame perfectly, hair buzzed again.

You should’ve guessed he’d find a way back here, even after everything.

“Are you ready?” Lily whispered beside you, her voice pulling you back from the brink of a breakdown.

“Yeah.”

Your heart raced as you forced yourself to look back at Rafe.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to look interested. He just stood there, his eyes locked on you, unreadable, unfathomable.

He was still watching you. It felt like could see through your polished exterior. He probably did. He knew you better than anyone else. You wondered what he saw—the confident girl who had always pulled off these events with ease or the terrified woman who was about to pass out from the pressure.

Then, he’s lips lifted slightly. That infuriating, devil-may-care almost there smirk that had made your heart stutter long before everything went to hell. It reminded you of nights spent tangled in sheets, whispers pressed against your skin under the cover of darkness, moments that felt like they belonged in a dream.

You wanted to throw the speech away and storm off the stage, leaving this whole night behind.

Instead, you cleared your throat and gripped the edges of the podium, the cool wood bringing you back to the world.

The words were on the paper in front of you, but you didn’t need to look at them. You knew the speech by heart every year. You’d written it yourself, after all—crafted it with care, knowing exactly what people needed to hear to make their checks bigger, to keep your father’s legacy alive.

It was just a matter of saying it without breaking.

A deep breath, and then you began.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for being here tonight.”

Your voice sounded better than what you felt, and you leaned into that, letting it carry you through the first few lines.

“We gather here every year for the same reason—to celebrate the incredible work this foundation does, and to honor the legacy of those who came before us. This foundation isn’t just a charity; it’s a tribute. A way to remember those we’ve lost and to carry their dreams forward. It’s about giving back to a community that gave so much to us.”

You paused, just for a moment, glancing down at the speech in your hands, feeling the overwhelming crush of what you’re about to say next.

“For me, this has always been personal.” Your voice softened as you continued, “Most of you are aware I lost my family a few years ago. My father started this foundation. His vision was always to make sure that no one was left behind, that we take care of our own. My mother helped build it. And my sister…” You hesitated, remembering how faultless she’d been, “She was always the heart of it.”

The room was utterly still now, everyone listening intently.

“Tonight, as I stand here, I can’t help but think about how proud they would be of what we’ve accomplished. At least, I hope they’d be proud.”

You allowed yourself a small, bittersweet smile.

“My dad would’ve been in his element, making sure everything was spotless. And my mom, well, she’d probably tell me that the curtains were horrid and needed to be replaced immediately.”

The crowd gave a light laugh, the tension in the room dissipating just a little. You smiled, a real one this time, for the first time in weeks, picturing your mother in her no-nonsense way, criticizing every decoration like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I miss them every day,” you added, “And I’m certain I’m not the only one in this room who’s experienced that kind of loss. It changes you. But it also reminds you to live in a way that makes them proud. And that’s what tonight is about, continuing their work, continuing their legacy, and making sure we do right by them.”

Your grip on the podium loosened, and you looked up, making eye contact with the audience.

“So, to everyone here tonight—thank you. Thank you for believing in this cause. Thank you for your generosity, your support, and your kindness. And thank you for helping me keep their memory alive.”

With that, you stepped back from the podium, the applause swelling around you, but all you could hear was the sound of your heart breaking.

It was over. You did it.

Automatically, your eyes flickered up toward the back corner, the spot where Rafe was standing. You never needed to look before; you’d always just known he’d be there. It was his silent promise to you since you were sixteen. Every gala, every speech—no matter what happened between the two of you—he was there.

But he wasn’t there anymore. The space was empty.

This was what you wanted, you didn’t need him anymore. You were going to get through this on your own. It was the first time he wasn’t there to catch you like he’d always been.

You stood taller, and forced a smile, but as you started to step down from the stage, you felt it.

That stupid fucking warmth.

His hand found your elbow as you and every nerve in your body screamed bloody murder. The applause was still buzzing in your ears, cameras flashing—none of it registered.

All you saw was him.

Three seconds. That was how close you were to snapping. Who the fuck let him in?

You yanked your arm away, the touch burning your skin like it was staining you. You didn’t say a word—just turned and headed straight for the back exit.

Behind you, you heard his footsteps.

Of course, he never knew when to stop, when to let you breathe.

“Can we just—” he was practically jogging after you, his voice strained. “Can we talk like fucking adults?”

You were already halfway down the hall, pulling off your earrings as you stormed toward your suite.

The fucking sheer audacity of this man. You couldn’t even process it—how he could stand there, with his fake-ass calm tone, chasing after you like you were the one being unreasonable.

You threw open the door to the suite you got ready in, the one that was supposed to be your sanctuary for the night and stepped inside, not bothering to close it behind you; you knew he was going to follow you in any way.

He was relentless like that.

You tossed the earrings onto the vanity and glanced up to see he was right behind you now, lingering in the doorway, as if unsure of how much further he could push before you exploded.

He looked at you like he was the victim in all this.

“Can you at least listen to me for a second?” It sounded like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

But that bite was so Rafe.

You spun around, your breath coming out harsh.

“Listen to you? Listen to you? You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you were already pulling off your heels, the sharp tug at the straps doing nothing to calm your frustration.

He stood there, his eyes on you, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him for more than a second without feeling the betrayal flooding your chest.

Rafe was rubbing the back of his neck in that agitated way he did when he was frustrated. “I came here because I didn’t want to leave things like that. I thought we could be civil—”

“Civil?” You nearly laughed, “You seriously think you can walk in here and be civil after everything?”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction. He moved on his feet, stepping further into the room, and you saw it—the way he rolled his shoulders like he was already preparing himself for a fight. “I came to apologize.”

He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the same agitated motion you’d seen a thousand times as if he was trying to smooth out the mess in his head.

Your hands stopped mid-motion, your necklace halfway off. You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. "Apologize for what, exactly?"

“For calling you dramatic.” He exhaled like he was doing something noble by saying it. As if he was doing you a favor. “For that text. I was drunk, didn’t mean it.”

He wasn’t apologizing for ghosting you. He wasn’t apologizing for her.

You stared at him, completely floored. He was serious, he thought this was some kind of peace offering. The fact that he thought an apology for that would fix anything? Insane.

“You think this is about that?” You cackled, chucking one shoe to the side, not caring where it landed, and the other followed right after. “Oh my god, Rafe, you are so fucking clueless.”

His expression changed then, brows furrowed, “I’m trying to make things right,” he mutters. “I don’t want you out of my life, okay?”

You threw the necklace somewhere on the ground, your patience gone. “You were the one who pushed me away. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like we can just fix things because you finally feel bad about it.”

He stepped closer, looming over you now, his lips curling into that sneer. “I’m trying to give you a chance to be friends—”

Give you? Like you were some charity case to him? As if you should be thankful.

“I don’t want to be your friend!” You growled in his face, stepping forward and jabbing your finger into his chest, “I’d rather set myself on fire than be your friend, so you can take that chance and shove it up your ass.”

His hand came up to run along his head again, and you saw the way his fingers curled into his scalp like he was trying not to give in to his impulsive thoughts. His breathing was heavier now, too, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Why are you being so difficult?” he snapped, and there it was—the familiar, accusatory edge in his voice. “After what you said about my dad—”

The reason.

The thing that broke you two this time, the thing he’d been holding over your head. You saw the hurt in his eyes, the one thing he hadn’t let go of.

“You’re gonna bring that up right now?” Your voice was so quiet it nearly scared you. “After all the shit you’ve put me through, that’s what you’re mad about?”

“You don’t get to talk about him like that,” he growled, stepping forward. “That’s why we broke up. Because you don’t fucking get it.”

But Sofia did, right?

That was fucking hilarious. She didn’t grow up listening to Ward’s bullshit. Didn’t see the kind of things he’d say or did to his oldest child.

Of course, she would take his side. She didn’t know better.

You shook your head, “No, we broke up because you didn’t like me telling the truth. Your dad was a piece of shit, and you know it.”

For a moment, the air went deadly still between you. You could sense his hurt, the way it sneaked between every bitter word.

Then, he did it—the thing you knew he would, that thing that made your blood boil.

Rafe pulled at the back of his neck again, looking like he might’ve ground his teeth to dust. “Oh, I get it now,” he says, his voice thick with condescension. “You’re jealous.”

Your whole body went borderline rigid, like a door, locked in place.

He was standing there, offering you friendship like a pity prize, calling you jealous when you were standing there broken, trying not to fall apart because of him.

“Jealous?” you repeated, in disbelief. “Of your little pogue girlfriend? Please, fucking spare me. You want me to throw a penny at her?”

He stepped closer, his breath quickening. "She’s real, okay? She’s not some polished barbie pretending in front of everyone, just to fall apart behind closed doors."

Ouch. But you could do worse.

"At least she doesn’t care about any of this," he snapped, gesturing to the glittering gala that surrounded you both. "She’s not obsessed with keeping up appearances.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. He must’ve forgotten to look in the mirror today.

"God, you’re so delusional. Do you think I wanted any of this?” You shot him a look that could cut through steel. "I’m not the one faking it. You are. You are still so desperate for Daddy’s approval that you can’t even see what a fucking mess you are."

Rafe's hands flexed at his sides, his fingers twitching. His nostrils flared, and he tilted his head to the side, running his tongue over his teeth like he always did when he was trying to stay calm.”

"I’m not afraid of who I am," His lips barely moved as he spoke, rolling his shoulders back again, standing to his full height. "You spend so much time trying to be perfect, you don’t even know who you are anymore."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin, like a predator sizing you up, his eyes locked on yours. You could see his jaw clench, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath as he tried to keep his composure.

You took a step closer, your chest brushing against his, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. His gaze flicked downward, scanning your face.

He clenched his jaw again, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a sharp breath through his nose, staring you down with a look that was all Rafe—volatile, unreadable, on the edge of breaking.

Right then and there, Lily burst into the room, her wide eyes taking in the scene like a bomb had just gone off.

"Okay! What is going on in here?" she demanded, her voice sharp but layered with concern. “I could hear you two in the hallway. If something happened, this is not the place to deal with it.”

“You wanna know what happened, Lily?” you started, almost laughing with disbelief. “This motherfucker started seeing someone behind my back. Two months—two fucking months—with no real closure, no answers. And he’s off fucking some pogue.”

“It’s not like that,” He scoffed, pointing a finger in your direction as he took a few steps back, "Don't drag Sofia into this.”

His posture screamed defensiveness, and all you could think was how much you hated the way he said her name. It made you want to throw up, it felt like someone was taking a rusty nail and dragging it down your spine.

"I'll drag the fucking Pope into this if I have to.”

You were the one who had been there through all his bullshit, you were the one who held him together when everything in his life was falling apart. Now, suddenly, she was the one he spoke about softly. Like she mattered.

It was insulting.

“Guys!”

Lily stepped between you both, throwing her hands up as if she were separating two wild animals about to rip each other apart.

“Please, please calm down. Rafe, I think you should leave. Now."

He looked like he wanted to say more, you knew he had a million things screaming at him beneath the surface, but for once, he stayed silent. Maybe it was the fact that Lily was there, or maybe he finally realized you weren’t going to bite into his bullshit excuses and provocations.

Whatever it was, he took a step back, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, storming past Lily and out of the room.

You could hear the distant sound of the door slamming as he left.

The moment he was gone, you felt your breath coming out in shallow gasps. Your heart dropped to your stomach, your pulse racing.

Lily turned to you; her face full of concern. She reached out and grabbed your shoulders gently.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice soothing, “Breathe. Just breathe.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, your breath hitching. Pregnant. You were pregnant with his kid, and this was what you got in return.

No peace. No calm.

Your chest tightened, your vision blurring.

“Hey, hey,” She cooed again, her hands on your arms, grounding you. “You’re okay. We’re going to figure this out. Just breathe, okay?”

You couldn’t believe you’d let it get this far—couldn’t believe you were even in this situation.

There was no way you were having his kid.

Absolutely not.

You didn’t even have to think about it. The decision had been made the second he’d defended her and insulted you like you were sidewalk littering.

Tomorrow, you’d take care of it. You’d book the appointment and that would be that. Clean break, no more ties to Rafe Cameron, no more staying in that fucked up twisted cycle with him.

“I really think you need to sit down and breathe for a second. You’re scaring me sweetheart, and honestly, this isn’t good for you.”

Once again, you pondered telling her everything—about breaking down and spilling every ugly detail. But that would make it real.

Your designer dress clung to you in all the wrong ways, as if even the fabric could understand the order going changes in your body.

“Whoever let him in, I want them fired.”

You spat suddenly gaining momentary strength to ruin lives. It wasn’t just a demand; it was an execution order.

The quiet threat of it was more terrifying than your screaming would have been.

Tomorrow, you’d make sure this nightmare ended before it could begin.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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syoddeye · 2 days ago

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the warren, part seven - call

price x f!reader | 4k words | series page | ao3 tags: background ghoap, multi pov, animal death, mentioned oral both f! and m!receiving, manipulation a/n: new friend next chapter; had to split this into two since it was getting way too long. shout out to gemma and tats <3. mdni banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

Bonnie. Bunny. Rabbit. Skittish thing. Brave thing.

Hasn’t met her face-to-face yet, but he likes her. Her scent carries. The sillage of her floral soap drifts through the air, lingering just as vividly as it does on her pillow. She reads a lot of books. Admirable. He doesn’t have the patience anymore. She must be clever.

From what he’s seen, her work isn’t half-bad. Rough around the edges but better than the shite he’d cobble together. Couldn’t pay him to pretend to care about some dead cousin or happy bride. She doesn’t know a thing about pay rates, though. Strangers robbing her blind. Makes him angry.

John orders him to sabotage the laptop. Says if he manages it, he’ll earn a spot on the boat. So, of course, it’s done. He slips in with Simon and works his magic. Doesn’t take much given the computer’s age.

He leans into it when Simon drags his nails from his scalp to his nape. He should’ve known then, when Simon called him a good boy, that he’d be sent below to check the rabbits. He sulks into the dark.

The reward for good work is always more work.

The air turns eldritch and metallic in the back of his throat the further he travels, a thick miasma prone to clinging. After all this time, he hasn’t grown accustomed. It fills his mouth with a heavy, sour tang, and swallowing doesn’t get rid of it. He should’ve stolen a pillowcase.

His nose twitches at the notes of an unfamiliar scent cutting through the fog. A faint, sickly-sweet rot, like meat left too long. The smell gradually envelops the passage.

A lantern illuminates the edges of the twin hutches. There is no movement in the shadows beyond, but that isn’t what stops him in his tracks. There is no sound. No rustling or thumps. The rabbits do not gather in their nervous, curious way to greet him.

Treading closer, his vision adjusts, and he spots the first rabbit. Unnaturally still with its limbs bent at strange angles. Milky-white eyes tinged red, blood seeping from every orifice.

Fuckin’ grand.

He fucking hates it when this happens. Always puts John in a foul mood.

Huffing loudly, he rolls his sleeves and slips on the gloves jammed into his pocket. Stomping toward the hutches, he mutters a string of curses.

The reward for good work is always more work.

~~~~

You wake with a start, your heart thrashing against your ribs. Beside you, John’s chest steadily rises and falls in stark comparison to the shudder of your own. Squinting, you latch onto his hand flat over his abdomen as a focal point, coming down from whatever nightmare you must’ve had.

Though as your breathing evens out, the vague scent of brimstone and iron tickles your nose. It drifts over the bed and disappears as quickly as the remnants of your dread, with no trace lingering behind when you sit up and take deep breaths.

You wince at the hour on your phone, and recheck the unknown number. No update.

>> F741 >> hold

> Who is this?

Cryptic, to be sure, but you’ve received a message by mistake. It’s likely a pocket text.

You return your phone to its place, and John stirs. His eyes remain shut, but he reaches for you, his voice rough with sleep.

“You alright?”

“A bad dream,” you almost laugh, because of how silly you feel. Old houses have their sounds. Odors, too, you suppose. In response to his rumblings, you let him pull you down, and trace a soothing line over his chest, hoping he won’t notice the tremor in your touch.

As you cozy in, already sweating from the furnace that he is, you cannot shake the feeling of something unseen, a shadow or a specter, hiding just out of sight.

~~~~

Romance.

John snorts derisively at the garish covers depicting happy couples. Some far-fetched nonsense called Museum Muse and Just Sign Here. She is right. He’s not inclined to read them. However, it is reassuring to know she craves it, even if she’s wary of it—love.

She certainly fantasizes about it. She’d deny it if asked, but considering the collected evidence, that isn’t necessary. All her gasping and whining. The shame is the cherry on top, something to savor each time she smothers her noises, even when alone.

Hearing the shower across the cabin, the sound of its stream breaking against her body is enough to make his cock twitch. He’s half a mind to intrude, but after waking her up on his tongue, he reckons she needs a break. Instead, he double-checks Soap’s work and thumbs through the borrowed titles toward a bookmark, curious about her salacious stories. To see if there’s anything useful to—

His thumb catches heavy cardstock. He cracks the spine and his eyes narrow on official letterhead.

Phillip Graves.

That man is swiftly climbing his list of problems. A biting fly buzzing around the ears of the populace. He glances from the card to the bathroom, tongue swiping over his teeth. She’s proving to be quite the crafty liar, too, though it’s more from fear than intent. A wound that makes her flinch, learned from that ingrate husband of hers. That particular man’s one more bump in the road, but simpler to handle than a fed. Everyone knows what to do with rats.

His ears perk when the water shuts off. He makes an impulsive decision.

She doesn’t notice, padding from the bathroom to the bedroom in a towel, but she does when she’s dressed.

“Feelin’ better?”

The poor thing gawks, her big eyes not on him, but the novel. She fidgets. “I thought you didn’t like those sorts of stories.”

“No, sweetheart, you assumed,” He corrects, twirling the improvised bookmark in his free hand. “Don’t worry. I remember your place.”

That gets her moving. She closes the distance, hovering at his side, hands twitching and clearly caught between snatching up the book or card.

“It’s stupid to use as a bookmark, but it’s what I had after Phil gave me his card at the diner.”

“Phil?” What a peculiar familiarity. “I don’t recall him giving you a card.”

“Oh.” She falters. There it is. “That’s right, he…may have stopped by the other day.”

“May have?’ What was he after, darl?” He pats the arm of the chair for her to sit, and snakes an arm around her. His fingertips skim just under the hem of her shirt, her skin soft and smooth from bathing. Her vellus hair stands on end beneath his fingertips. He’s always found it curious that the human body knows before the brain. A narrow wire to walk, but he’s had practice.

“He…he wanted to know about those boys who came into the store. The ones who…”

“Crashed their car?”

Fucking rats. It sets his teeth on edge. ‘Phil’ could’ve asked any number of questions. John doubts she will tell him everything. He needs to install audio as soon as possible.

John grins. “Is he trying to claim we’re in trouble because we sold them beer?”

“He hasn’t contacted you?”

“No. That’s rather unprofessional, don’t you think? He’ll badger my lovely employee but not me?” He pauses, then hums as if he’s made yet another discovery. He rubs her hip, putting on a slightly dejected air. “Oh, I see.”

“What? What is it?”

“He came onto you, didn’t he?” He casts his focus elsewhere as if he physically cannot look at her. “You’re not seeing him too, right?”

Predictably, it pushes her buttons. “What?! No!” She angles toward him. A hand lands on his shoulder, journeying shyly to his face to cup a cheek. “No, John.”

He leans into her palm and kisses its heel. Such a lovely creature. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not you, it’s me.” He sighs. “It’s happened before. Two-timin’. Makes me paranoid. Nothing puffs up my chest faster than another buck sniffin’ around.” He slips his fingers under hers, minding how easy it’d be to hold on and never let go.

“Loyalty is everything to me, y’know. I may know just about everyone in these parts, but my inner circle’s small. I’ve lost a lot of folk over the years. Some ties severed by my choice, others, not so much. Fate’s been cruel, so I’m quite protective.”

John tilts his head, relishing the softness in her face. Romance.

“Sometimes, I think there’s a greater force at play. That I must’ve done something right to have found you.” He squeezes her hand. “Rather, you found me, didn’t you? Could’ve run to any corner of this earth, but you chose this slice of Eden.”

Her smile is a balm for the weary spirit, his most restless of all.

“Maybe it’s luck,” she suggests, then adds, “Or something. I certainly feel lucky, with everything you’ve done for me…”

Ah, this old refrain.

He says nothing, just watches as she shifts her weight, her eyes flitting down before she slowly moves, as if testing her decision prior to committing to it. Then, to his surprise, she lowers. Kneels. It tests his restraint, every fiber of his being baying for suppliance. Her palms nervously fit over his knees.

It’s only polite to ask. “You sure?”

She reaches for his belt with a nod. “I want to.”

He forces his mouth into a shape passable for humility and studies her expression. Devotion practically radiates off her, and an eagerness to show it. That’s something the others lacked. This is a start. Initiative and promise. Love.

A contentedness spreads through him, rolling down his spine in sync with the descent of his zipper. Rich and heavy as honey, warming him with a satisfaction he’d longed to taste.

He remembers her place. She’s learning it.

~~~~

When John leaves, you brush your teeth. You stare into the mirror, faintly disbelieving, as if your eyes belong to a stranger. Didn’t think you’d do that any time soon, but it must be growth. The months away from the desert have reshaped you, revealing a gentler line to your mouth, a brightness to your gaze, and an ease to your brow. The thought of being a little happier feels dangerous. Fragile and premature. And yet, you cannot deny the woman in your reflection. Soap’s words ring clear.

Love’s got a way of changing people.

A phantom weight presses on your tongue the longer you look, and your face grows hot.

Still. You smile and like what you see.

Days pass, and the number never texts back. John doesn’t mention Phil again.

The peace is an uneasy one, but you’ll take it.

There’s a lull at the store after the holiday, a return to the usual pace. John’s business takes him around the area, leaving you to staff the counter for a few afternoons. However, you suspect Soap’s loitering outside is no coincidence. He doesn’t bother you, but you wish he would. He was friendly enough at the boat before Simon’s interruption.

Lover’s quarrel, John had said, but Simon’s face suggested otherwise.

You can’t help the twinge in your chest, a trip cord wrapped around your heart. Though Soap admitted he was scared of Simon, he didn’t seem frightened. You grapple with the urge to reach out, the impulse caught in your throat like a stone, weighty with your own memories.

When you finally work up the nerve to ask if he wants to chat while you close, Simon’s with him, a helmet tucked under his arm.

Through the window, you watch the men, Soap’s face aglow with excitement, swaying foot to foot. You don’t interrupt, familiar with the possible consequences. You decide to wait and ask Soap to walk you instead.

Of course, you’re not so lucky.

“I’ll take you. Johnny’ll wait for Price.” Simon thrusts a spare helmet into your hands the moment you step outside.

There’s no discussion or debate. Simon watches you shove the helmet over your head with a look of rancor, a harsh set to his jaw, then swings a thick leg over the ATV. He doesn’t help as you climb on, slotting awkwardly behind him. You try to leave space, but he reaches back, curls a hand under your knee, and hauls half of your body forward. Tilting nearly off-balance, you grab his waist, swiftly bracketing your other leg to his.

“Be good, Johnny.” He barks as the ATV roars to life between your legs.

Your hands slide around him as he backs up, burying into his shirt to feel a slab of muscle. A short, surprised cry bursts out when he abruptly accelerates, cutting off a car in the road as he peels out. You clutch tighter as the ATV jerks around the bend and forward, pulse revving alongside the machine as Simon throws it against the incline.

The ride itself is, thankfully, brief. The cats scatter as Simon veers sharply and sends a spray of gravel flying as he lurches to a stop. You clamber off, legs unsteady, and thank him as evenly as possible.

Simon does not immediately take the helmet from your outstretched hand. He stares with his mitts wrapped tight around the handlebars. Hard to believe hands the size of spades are dexterous enough for a trade like taxidermy. When he finally takes it, you flee with a shaky gait.

“Be good, rabbit.”

Laughter follows you to the door.

Night presses in on the cabin. You tuck into the armchair with your book, grimacing at the business card. Such a stupid, stupid mistake, letting John find it. How close you’d been to spilling. Disappointing John worried you, but crossing Phil terrified you. His cryptic manner of speaking, all his dancing around what he meant. It didn’t inspire trust, nor did his badge. At least he’d gone silent. Not a word since his visit.

The agent lurks in your subconscious. You have some notion of how investigations work. If he’s run your name and if he’s discovered anything, wouldn’t he have dragged you back by now? Could he do that? Would he?

Eventually, you concede. Your mind keeps drifting and catching on everything else you’ve tried to avoid thinking about. You toss the book onto the coffee table with a huff and rise to prepare for–

The library’s label, clean and laminated, sticks out on the spine. The letters 'P', trailed by a line of digits.

Realization as cold as lakewater washes over you.

>> F741 >> hold

It’s a call number. A book.

You reach for the phone as soon as the hour turns reasonable. Dialing Nikolai with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other, feeling hollowed out. You didn’t close your eyes all night.

To your relief, he answers. A jarring clang accompanies his greeting, underlaid by a rhythmic crank and humming.

“Nikolai, sorry if I’m interrupting, but I was wondering if there are any updates?”

“Ah, rabbit, darling, a moment.” It’s clear he’s set the phone down by the sound of footsteps and a distant grunt. His humming evolves into whistling, culminating in a faint rumble in Russian. What follows, erupting through the receiver, is a cacophony of mechanical sounds, jagged and violent. Something thrums with a relentless chorus of metal grinding against metal, punctuated by deep, resonant clunks and crunches that make you pull the phone from your ear and hold it at arms-length.

It’s a minute before Nikolai returns, and the terrible noise grows quieter. He cuts you off before you get a word in, providing a non-answer about your car and a reminder about the cost of towing it to the nearest city. It is sorely beyond your budget.

“So impatient. Where are you trying to scurry off to? Do you need transport?”

“No, it’s nothing urgent,” Your jaw aches from clenching it. “I simply don’t want to bother John.”

“Why not? He’s your man.” He almost sounds annoyed. “Listen, rabbit, I’ll do you a favor and tell John you need a ride.”

You freeze. “Oh, no, you don’t need to do that–”

The line goes dead with an unceremonious click.

“Why didn’t you come to me first?”

The truck bounces along the road, the warm air through the window merging pine and with John’s tobacco. You rest against the frame, watching the forest.

“I was going to.” A white lie or two can’t hurt. “I’m just anxious about my car. It’s been weeks, and Nikolai keeps dodging my questions. I’m close to threatening to tow it if he can’t fix it by the end of the month.”

John snorts. “Good luck. He does not like ultimatums, speaking from experience.”

You glance at John out of the corner of your eye. Lying to him stings, especially after he poured his heart out, but you know he’ll think you foolish about the mystery text.

“Did you…know there’s a closed mine shaft behind Nikolai’s shop? When we were there, I followed one of his shop cats and saw it.”

John’s lip quirks around his cigar. “You follow every cat you meet?”

“They haven’t led me astray yet.”

“S’pose so. And I do know about the mine shaft. The area’s full of them. Folk used to say Mount Grouse is hollow from the silver rush.”

The smile slips from your face. Silver. The West’s full of it—silver and promises. Dusty whispers in your ear from hundreds of miles away, from years ago. You pinch the bridge of your nose and breathe.

“You alright?”

“Think I’m getting a headache.”

Guilt flares when John tosses his cigar, turns the radio off, and slides a comforting hand over your thigh. Why his affection is offered to you, of all people, a liar, you don’t know. Certainly don’t deserve it.

For the remainder of the drive to the library, John keeps his hand on you and his mouth shut. Only letting go to park the truck.

“I’ll let you get your books. Gonna return a missed call.” John leans against the tailgate and nods at the entrance, dismissing you with a playful pat to your ass.

Your face burns all the way to the doors.

“Back so soon?” The librarian asks with a big smile. “Already finished with your selection?”

“I’m finished with two, yes, but I was actually wondering if…”

“If I have the book on hold courtesy of Mr. Graves? I was wondering when you’d come in for it.”

>> F741 >> hold

Phil. Your stomach falls like a torn, wet paper bag. “Yes.”

You absolutely cannot tell John about the text—or this—now.

“Come with me.” She crooks a finger over her shoulder as she meanders toward the circulation desk. “He picked a good one. Locally authored. However, although we classify it as nonfiction and shelve it with our regional materials, it’s an anthology of transcribed oral histories and diaries from mining camps, so take it with a grain of salt.”

Your vision swims as you process. “Really? That’s good to know.”

Jeanne retrieves the hold and it is thinner than you expected, wrapped in a worn, brown cloth cover. Veins of Blood and Metal: Mining the Silver Valley. Grim yet hokey, just like the man who picked it.

“Would you like a reading room?”

Your eyes snap up. “Can’t I check it out?”

“Oh, no. We don’t check materials from the local collection out.”

“Could you make an exception? I’m in Grouse Bay and I don’t have a car of my own, and I hate to be a burden on my…” Several terms collide and tangle like a rat king. “To my boyfriend. I promise I’ll take care of it. I don’t dog ear or annotate. I won’t even keep a glass of water near—”

Jeanne’s face softens. She pats your hand, bracelets jingling. “Sweetie, it’s alright. I’ll bend the policy. You seem like a good kid.”

If only you knew.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Just promise to take good care of it. It’s already a little damaged.”

“Yes, ma’am. And, uh, do you happen to know why Mr. Graves left this for me? Did he say anything?”

She puckers her lips in thought. “I believe he said that you would find it ‘enlightening’.”

Your fingers itch. You’re tempted to call, tired of his enigmatic nonsense, just to demand why he bothered masking his number if only to leave his name. If this is his way of operating, it eases your worry over his capabilities as a fed.

“Right. Thanks, Jeanne.”

You stow the book from Phil in your bag and meet John outside as he hangs up.

“Ready to go, darl?” He asks with a strained smile.

“Yes. Everything alright?”

“Right as rain. Need to make a couple of stops while we’re in town.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask about the library, but he’s unusually reticent again. After you stop at the depot and an outdoor supply shop, it’s back to Grouse. He grips the wheel tight and gazes at the road with a flat, distant focus. It’s impossible that he knows, but doubt sticks between your ribs.

Dust seeps in.

You remember how it felt with Dusty, that weight in the air, thick with the silence he would settle into for days. You’d wait, always, for some change in his facial expressions and the tension in his body, but somehow, it never felt like you were meant to know. It afflicted you with the need to both placate and pry.

You lick your lips and look at him through the rearview. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a minor problem.”

The question rises in your throat, uninvited, like it’s pushing its way out despite the warning signs flashing. Curiosity runs headlong into self-preservation and makes it impossible not to ask. It’s not as if it’s outside the realm of possibility.

Your hand finds his knee in a bid to soften it.

“Is it at all related to those boys? To…Phil?”

His attention flickers to meet yours in the mirror, a slight furrow to his brow. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are—whether asking was a mistake. A millisecond later, he huffs and grins, shaking his head.

“Still worried about him? Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t I tell you? Must’ve forgotten, what with all the running around I’ve had to do.”

“Tell me what?”

“I had my own tête-à-tête with Mr. Graves. Answered his questions and sent him on his way. Said he’s going to Kellogg to continue his little investigation.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” You swiftly assure, despite that revelation piling atop all your questions. “I was worried. He seemed dogged.”

A hand drops from the wheel to cover yours. “Not our problem anymore.”

Despite the strange book in the bag between your feet, despite Phil Graves’s odd behavior—you settle into a calm, a boat gliding into port to avoid a storm. John’s happy. You’re happy. The book can wait, especially after he sweet talks you into staying the night at his place for the first time.

On the drive, you talk about nothing, mostly. The trees, the towns, how the road is barely wide enough for two cars. John teases you for holding onto the handle at every bend, and you laugh in your defense. There’s a gentle warmth, easy and growing familiar. It’s more organic, more natural, than what you had before.

You’re still giggling when he pulls around back. You hop out of the truck and pause, spotting a large patch of blackened, dead grass. The gears turn in your head until they click into place.

“Where’s the hutch? The rabbits?”

You nearly walk into him with his abrupt stop. John’s face twists, and he sighs and rakes a hand down his face, then coaxes you into his arms. “This week put me through the wringer. Yet another thing I neglected to mention…It’s terrible, sweetheart. A rabbit got sick. It was infectious. Had to do the humane thing. Then I burned the carcasses and the hutch to avoid it spreadin’ to anything else.”

John’s grip shifts to your waist to lead you inside, but your gaze returns to the charred earth, and you stumble at sulfur wafting past your nose, brief and sudden but unmistakable. It plucks at your memory like a harp playing a discordant note.

His lips find your temple, his voice in your ear. “I’ll have fresh does, soon.”

#the warren #price x reader #john price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader

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