#why do I over answer everything. I blame the trauma.

[jilyandbambi]

Everything about how Coach Ben's Trial plays out just makes me feel so sad and devastated for all of them. I can't even hate them for what they did or are about to do. They're just kids, man.

Shauna is grieving and angry and postpartum and scared, and she's got nowhere to put any of that except onto Ben, the grown up--who didn't burn the cabin down but who did turn away from her when she needed him most. It's a powerful thing when you're that age and angry/sad/frustrated about everything (bc you're a kid) and to have a safe adult to be pissed at: an adult who cares but isn't perfect (no one is, and you're a kid so you're still learning to accept this), who let you down right at the exact moment you needed them to be the Grown Up with all the answers, and maybe their fuck up was only one of 254884113 things going wrong in your life at that point but you're 17--old enough to know that adults don't have all the answers and young enough that it still feels like they should, and when they don't, that's their fault too.

It's irrational, immature, and dangerous (Thy name is Shauna Shipman), which is what kids are, and what each of these kids are, to varying degrees; and why Shauna gets her way in the end.

It isn't their coach's fault that their plane crashed, that they starved for months, that they resorted to eating their team captain, that they let Javi drown so they could gut him and eat him, that Shauna's baby was stillborn, or that their cabin burned down. But they're kids and everything is awful and in between all the awful the adult in the room dropped the ball when they needed him, and now the trauma, and guilt, and shame, and pain, and rage has to go somewhere, and Coach Ben is a more tangible target than an invisible wilderness god. It doesn't matter that he clearly didn't set the fire and doesn't wish them any harm, the lie is too convenient.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Mari doesn't have to own up to the fact that she didn't tell the truth when she got back to camp, that she let the others continue thinking their coach was out there still hunting them.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, there's no need for Travis to rock the boat and stand up for the only other person besides himself to be as disgusted and horrified at what the others did to his little brother.

If Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, Van (the only other person besides Shauna and Melissa to vote Guilty every time) doesn't have to worry about the others taking a second look at what her sleepwalking girlfriend could have been doing the night of.

If Coach Ben didn't set the cabin on fire, Tai might have to poke deeper at Van's insistence on his guilt despite all evidence to the contrary, and she might not like the answer. Add to that, if Coach Ben is innocent, then Nat was right to keep what she knew from the rest of them and Tai was wrong to collude with Shauna to her call her out in front of everyone, and maybe that makes Nat a better choice of leader than Tai would've been after all.

If the wilderness says Coach Ben set the cabin on fire, then maybe it's finally starting to speak to Lottie again, maybe she hasn't completely lost her connection to it after all.

And it's so, so fucked up because beneath all of them rallying behind this cruel, vengeful, childish decision to blame Coach Ben anyway is an understandable desire to have a say in all the uncertainty and turmoil that's taken over their lives by this point. That adolescent need for control--not just over your environment but your emotions, especially the negative ones--can make kids living in the best circumstances lash out. Here, with everything the Yellowjackets have been through and have already done, it was always going to have the worst possible outcome. And watching it all play out as an adult is just--ughhhhh. Heartbreaking.

Because that adolescent turmoil that makes you an angry freakshow who lashes out at the right people at the wrong times, or (more often than not) the wrong people at the wrong times--sometimes knowingly? That's normal. This is the time to be that way. You're supposed to have the space to get it all out and grow past it.

But the Yellowjackets don't and won't, and it'll ruin them, especially the ones that make it out alive.

Yeah, Shauna, taking your rage and grief out on Coach Ben feels good to you now; taking any action, even if it's clearly the wrong one, feels powerful and right in the moment, but it won't last. The rest of you lemmings letting her have her way for your own reasons feel justified for now, but that won't last either. By the time the full weight of what you've done hits you, it'll be too late. When the regret comes you won't know how to face it and you never will, and so you'll be stuck. You'll be 17 and haunted at 20 and 30 and 45, still getting in your own way and not realizing it until it's too late. You'll get older but you'll never grow up, and you'll never understand why.

[toxicrevolver]

Tagged by @loveable-sea-lemon thanks for the tag!!!

Last Song: Birthday by Ten

Last Movie: Tangled (a little over a week ago. I rarely watch movies)

Currently Watching: I’m still working on Shameless and The Devils Plan (it’s been like a month now. The Devils Plan isn’t even that long I just never have enough brain power to watch it)

Other Stuff Watched This Year: Kinnporsche, Dead End: Paranormal Park, Black Bird, The Crowded Room (THIS WAS SO GOOD. but it’s an apple tv exclusive), several shark/ocean documentaries. I’ve probably watched more shit but memory bad. I remember watching these shows tho and the fact I hyperfixated on sharks/the ocean for like 2 months.

Shows I Dropped: I haven’t dropped any shows recently just bcs I haven’t really been watching any, but I dropped Merlin, Supernatural, and Once Upon A Time several times. I want to finish them but I get to certain seasons and just get bored.

Currently Reading: so many fanfiction. Like so so many. My google chrome doesnt even show a number it’s just :) and it’s a hodgepodge of so many fandoms (I’m not about to get cancelled for what I read). After my tumblr scroll tho I need to read the new chapter of what’s one more? (bad decision) by @loveable-sea-lemon (I am obsessed with this fic in the best way possible. I apologize for nothing.)

Currently Listening To: my current on repeat songs are I Am You by P1Harmony, Birthday by Ten, and Jopping by SuperM (don’t ask) but current repeat albums are Golden Age by NCT, On My Youth by WayV, and Fact Check by NCT 127 (I’ve told y’all the NCT brain rot is real)

Currently Working On: nothin. I’m scrolling tumblr after posting this and readin fanfic bcs it’s my day off. Should I clean my room? Yes. Am I going to? No.

I’m not tagging anyone but if anyone wants to participate they can blame me!!

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 5 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You tell him about your traumatic past and he has a proposition for you. Could the man, who's slowly destroying your life, also be the one to repair it?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, hinting at depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Author's note: This chapter has a great focus on sexual abuse (not rape), so I'd just like to put an extra trigger warning here (That's also the reason I didn't manage to check the text for spelling errors, I just wrote it down and left it at that, so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes.) And what I'd like to add at this point: If anyone is struggling with anything in that regard, I hope you find a way to deal with it. Please talk to someone! And my inbox is always open. I love you all!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

There was not much you could do. But the waiting was slowly driving you insane.

You remembered his words very well. They kept repeating in your head like a broken record and why wouldn’t they? Each and every one of his words was something between a gentle caress and a stab wound right in the middle of your chest.

A proposition, he called it. A proposition.

Doesn't one need free will to accept a proposition?

“Tell me who it was.” He had said. And you felt your insides clench and tingle unpleasantly once more.

“Don’t you remember what happened just twelve hours ago?” You nearly snapped. Of course it wasn’t really wise to speak to him in a tone that was anything besides timid, gentle and careful, but something bigger took your thoughts and your tongue hostage. “I don’t want to talk about it! I can’t! You saw what it does to me!”

You grasped the way he almost rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he leaned closer, resting his elbows on the kitchen table. The way his sleeves were rolled up made something inside of you tighten. He was so handsome. So terribly handsome. What a bittersweet, sick thought.

“If you don’t talk about it”, he said slowly, “you won’t get over it. And if you don’t get over it, then I can never fuck you. And I want to fuck you. Soon.”

You didn’t understand how he spoke of such wicked things without letting a single muscle in his expression twitch. You couldn’t even say the words. You couldn’t even think them.

“I…”

“For God’s sake, just tell me who he was!” He called out impatiently. “Your father?”

“No!” You gasped out in horror. If there was one person in the world who had respected you and loved you unconditionally, it was your father. God, it had been the happiest five years of your life, back when he was still alive. And after his death, everything crumbled down to shit. Your life became your personal hell. On some days, when things grew particularly heavy on you, you had trouble not blaming him for dying. For leaving you alone. For ever getting married to your mother and having you. How could he have missed what kind of monster she was?

Did he even miss it?

You quickly pushed the thoughts away. In your head, your father had no idea. He was kind-hearted and good and it was going to stay that way.

“No, it wasn’t my father.” You murmured, unable to look up from the kitchen table.

He sighed, growing more and more impatient with the minutes. His tone stayed almost gentle though. Which was probably the most terrifying thing about the whole situation. At least, while he was angry you knew where you were at. Whenever he acted kind and calm around you, you expected him to suddenly lash out and knock the life out of you. Who knew? Maybe one of these days he would. You were growing too comfortable around him, denying him answers, talking back and all that.

“Who was it?”

You closed your eyes. “Please, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighed again. “Let’s pretend this isn’t for the sake of me fucking you.” He said and tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. God, his eyes were so pretty when they were soft and calm like that.

Soft eyes.

Another thought for you to quickly dismiss. He hadn’t mentioned anything about him caressing you or begging you to come back to your senses, as you hadn’t either. And you surely wouldn’t. Because that never happened. That was what you kept telling yourself, for the sake of your own sanity.

It never happened.

You were growing far too comfortable around him.

You had a plan here. Play along, get him to trust you, get the hell out of there. And if that meant having to sleep with him, well, to you that sounded like a rather small price for your freedom and your life.

“What would that change?” You murmured.

“Pretend I’m someone you trust.”

These words surprised you and you looked up with a frown. Was it another test? To see if you trusted him? Oh God, would he pull the gun out again?

But no, nothing happened. He just stared at you with this…this calmness.

“And then?”

He sighed deeply. Obviously he wasn’t as calm as he made it seem. “And then we’ll talk about it. Listen, what was your plan anyway? Going through life for the rest of your days avoiding men and sex?”

You looked down at your hands. Yeah, that sounded accurate.

“Look at me.” He said in a soft tone.

It wasn’t your fault. It was your mother’s, again. And that part of you she had genuinely messed up.

Like every other innocent creature you had no idea of what sex meant, why some things felt good and others didn’t, what was allowed and what wasn’t, who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t. She never mentioned any of that, because she, herself, was too ashamed to speak about it. Which was probably the cruelest trick she pulled on you.

You had no idea who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t.

So, when he touched you, you didn’t say no, because you didn’t know.

“It was our neighbor.” You heard yourself whisper. A wave of disgust nearly made you shudder and your jaw hurt by how tightly you kept it clenched. Your nails dug into your palms and you took a slow breath.

In.

And out.

“Your neighbor.” He said in a whisper. Like he was afraid he might break your fragile composure. Which was very well possible.

“What did your neighbor do?”

You took a deep, shuddery breath as you kept staring down at your hands.

“He…”

You closed your eyes. All the pictures ran through your head like a camera roll. Except for the ones which were hidden away neatly, too deep imprinted in your mind and so your mind locked them away for you. How incredibly considerate.

“You can say it.” He said with a gentleness that surprised you. For a moment you almost forgot who he was and what he did. It felt like talking to a psychiatrist, a friend, a lover.

A lover.

“It…He never raped me.” You immediately said, almost like you were defending him. You always did that in your own head.

He didn’t rape me. It wasn’t that bad. I’m overreacting.

“He didn’t rape me.” You said again. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What did he do?” He asked slowly.

You tried to think of it as a band aid. Just pull it off.

Just spit it out.

“Sometimes he’d wear no more than a towel. Then he pulled me on his lap.” You whispered, unable to open your eyes or unclench your hands. “On other days, my mother made me bring him some leftover food. He’d open the door, fully undressed. I never saw him naked, like...frontal. I just caught a glimpse of him walking away, undressed.” You choked out.

It got harder with every word, but you forced yourself.

Spit it out, spit it out.

“He always called me his mouse.” You croaked out.

God, how you hated that word. If someone called you that, you were sure, you’d straight up punch them. Disgusting. What a disgusting word.

“Always said, we’re friends. Friends. Friends don’t have secrets. Friends are there for each other. One time, I hardly remember it. I just remembered it recently. He kissed me on the lips. Just a peck. But it were my lips.”

Now, that you had begun, you couldn’t stop.

“I remember the smell in his flat. I remember how much I hated it. There was always a cauliflower somewhere. He had one of those old computers. Sometimes he gave me money to buy myself something sweet.”

And by now, your hands were shaking. You couldn’t look at him and you had no idea what his expression looked like.

Horrified? Surprised? Bored?

“But the thing that weighs the worst on me”, you whispered, “the thing that haunts me the most, is the way he touched my waist. Whenever I was on his lap, he’d slowly slide his fingertips along the bare skin of my waist, creeping under my shirt. Sometimes I swatted his hand away. Sometimes I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. I always felt uncomfortable. But he didn’t rape me.”

You opened your eyes. The look in your eyes was crazed.

“He didn’t rape me. I’m overreacting.”

The look he wore was like nothing else you had ever seen on him. He looked equally as disgusted as he looked angry. His frown was deep and his eyes far away and thoughtful.

He took a slow, long breath to sort out his thoughts and then slowly placed his hand over yours.

“He didn’t rape you.” He said slowly. “But you still realize that it was abuse, right?”

You stared at him, no words on your tongue and no thoughts in your head. You opened your mouth and closed it again.

It was?

You had never perceived it as such. Mostly for one simple reason. He didn’t rape you.

After your mother found out something was off, she did something that was entirely unexpected of her.

She got angry.

No, she was furious.

She didn’t allow you to go anywhere near his door ever again. She didn’t truly talk it out with you and she was most likely aware that it was her fault to the greatest degree.

But she protected you. From then on, she did. At least when it came to other people.

To men.

She never protected you from herself.

Instead of answering his question, you murmured: “I hated being looked at for years.”

When he curiously raised his brows, you continued.

“No one was allowed to look at me. I never understood why. When I changed. When my shirt rode up the tiniest bit. I hate revealing clothes.”

He hummed softly. “I could tell as much.”

“I hate when someone touches me unexpectedly. I hate when someone touches my…my waist. I hate when someone touches me from behind without my knowledge. It makes me feel ticklish. But not in the way it makes me laugh.”

He looked at you with the same thoughtful frown.

“I hate when someone calls me mouse.” You hissed out.

He raised his hands in surrender. “That word is as dead as Latin in these halls.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Alright.” He said softly. “How do you feel now?”

For a while you simply thought about it. You felt…better. Safe, somehow. What scared you a little was the fact that all up until now you never realized you’d been abused. You needed someone else to tell you. You were so much worse broken than you first assumed.

“Lighter.” You finally whispered.

He nodded slowly and ran his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Good.” After a beat, he added. “What about the other thing?”

You exhaled through your nose and averted your gaze again.

Of course you knew why you were so ashamed to speak about it. Sex was non-existent while you grew up. She never spoke about it to you. It was shameful. It was no subject for a mother to tell her daughter about.

It was shameful.

And now you were stuck here, in South Korea, unable to say the word penis out loud.

“I can’t speak freely.”

He frowned in a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Because we’re being spied on or…”

“Because I just can’t!” You snapped again. “I can’t…My mouth, it…The words won’t come out. The dirty words.”

That made him smile, but not in a mocking or even an amused way. It seemed almost fond. Like he found you cute. It was probably the first genuine smile you had seen on him. It confused you more and more.

“Try to describe it in your own words.”

You exhaled again. God, this conversation only ever got harder, it seemed.

“Alright.” You said quietly. “It’s just…”

He waited patiently. That made you feel safe enough to continue on your own. “I never told this to anyone. It’s…It’s the thing I’m most ashamed about. You’ll look at me differently.”

Oh God, what did you just say?

Your eyes widened and you quickly added: “I mean, you’ll think I’m a freak. That I’m twisted.”

That wasn’t even close to a good save. You had just admitted that you cared about his opinion and why in the world did you care about his opinion?

Because you realized it was true. You cared. But you tried to keep these thoughts hidden away.

Play along. Get his trust. Get out.

His smile widened, almost teasingly. “Oh, sweet girl.” He purred. “If you think your desires are twisted, there’ll have to be a new word for mine. Go on. Just tell me. No matter how horrible you think it is. For every twisted thought you have, I’ll have three worse to go.”

Your eye brows shot up and you found yourself mumbling: “Really?”

He raised a brow as if saying, do you mean this question?

“Yes. Really.”

Alright.

“Alright.”

You took another deep breath, then you began. Slowly. Quietly. And carefully.

“I realized pretty early on in my life that my fantasies were a little…dark.”

He said nothing.

“When I was younger, I was…” The words died on the tip of your tongue. And so did your composure. Tears welled up in your eyes and you wrapped your arms around yourself, tightly.

His smile slipped and he frowned again. Was that a hint of concern?

Don’t be an idiot. You’re his pet. His toy. His girl.

“I was…”

You choked down a sob and buried your face in your hands. Your body was being shaken by your sobs, faster and faster, until you were sobbing frantically.

You expected him to get angry at your emotional outburst, but you neither heard the clicking of a gun nor a belt.

Instead, and that was really weird, you felt…

You felt…

You let out a loud, surprised gasp, when he pulled you into a tight embrace. It felt like being struck by lightning or getting hit by a bus.

And waking up in paradise.

He felt warm against you and his perfume was so subtle, yet you caught on it. You felt safe. So safe. It felt amazing. You didn’t want it to end.

Ever.

But after a while, long after your sobs died down, he slowly pulled away.

He didn’t need to say it. You could tell, he wanted you to continue. And so you did. Forcing down a new flash of ashamed tears, you did.

“I needed to think about him when I…”

He nodded in understanding.

“That stopped, fortunately. After a while I forgot about him. I barely ever thought about him again and never again during those moments.”

And then you told him everything. Things about being used, called names, hurt.

Things about things about things which you didn’t understand yourself. Not in the slightest.

But you were forced to think about them, whenever you felt the nervous twitch in your lower body.

Normal things did turn you on.

Or well, the thought of normal things. You couldn’t tell for you hadn’t experienced either.

Neck kissing was good. Oral sex was good. Any way of worshipping your body was good.

But to cross the finish line, you always needed to think about those sick, twisted things. And you didn’t even get the time to properly cross the line, because the shame kicked in faster than you could.

“Is that all?” He finally asked, his expression unreadable and his tone of voice calm.

You nodded.

His lips curved up into a delicious smile.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Hours later, while you sat in your bedroom, digging your nails into your palms in your nervousness, you kept thinking about his words in all your dizziness.

And you got more and more nervous by the second.

He’d be here in a while. And then there would be no way back. If you did this now, then you did it. And nothing could ever change the course of things back to how they were before.

Were they really that much better before? You asked yourself. But again, you forced the stupid-as-hell thoughts away and focused on his words again.

“A proposition?” You had asked in a soft whisper. “What kind of proposition?”

He leaned ever closer to you and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Your first time will be magical.” There was it again. That silken voice, the one that felt like a gentle caress. “I’ll make sure of it. The whole night. Everything is going to be perfect. I’m going to worship you in ways you can’t even imagine. I’ll take care of you. I’ll guide you. I’ll hold your hands. Look into your eyes. I’ll whisper in your ear and I’ll kiss your neck. I promise you, I’ll make you feel better than you ever felt about yourself. I’ll make you happy.”

For whatever reason, that last remark was what got to you the most. Everything sounded incredible obviously (it also sounded far too good, to be honest, but you decided to trust him when he said this), but when he said he’d make you happy, it nearly made you cry again.

Oh, was that a tear? You couldn’t tell, he wiped it away already, all the while you stared at him in stunned silence.

“And?” You heard yourself whisper. “What then?”

His smile didn’t waver. “Your first time will be perfect, my sweet girl, I promise it. I’ll make you feel loved.”

The words were as sweet as they were cruel. If only he had punched you again. Hit your face. Make you lick the floor clean, if it pleased him. But no. He had to say the one thing that tore at your heart like nothing else, the one thing you longed for, the one thing you burned for.

Love.

Hope was such a dangerous thing and especially for you. Which was why you quickly shut your thoughts down and this time for real. You couldn’t afford to have such thoughts and desires.

These were the real twisted desires.

No amount of blindfolds and handcuffs could get close to that.

“Your first time.” He said, his tone growing more serious. “But only the first time. And from then on, I’ll have you any way I want. Whenever I want. Wherever we are. However you feel. You’re sick? I don’t care. You’re in pain? Good. I’m too rough? Finally. You can’t take no more? Shut your fucking mouth and swallow it.”

You knew that something like that would follow. As you already thought before, it had been too good.

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself.

God, you knew it was stupid.

It was crazy.

It was sick.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

“Okay.” You whispered.

“No.” He said firmly. “I want you to think about it. Truly think about it. You can’t just agree, because later on you can’t back out. Do you understand that? I want you to grasp the severity of your agreement. If you do this, you belong to me. More than you already do. Entirely. I’ll be fucking you, sweet girl. I’ll be fucking you for what could be a month, a year or the rest of your life.”

You took a deep breath. Did you even have the chance to say no? What would happen if you did?

And what did the rest of your life mean? A few weeks, months, years? Until he grew tired of you? Or until fate decided it was time for you to go?

All the things wrong with you combined gave way to the worst thing you could ever do.

“It’s a deal."

_________________________________

Author's note (2): First off, I want to thank each and everyone of you for your support, your kind words and all your messages and generally, anyone who takes the time to read this story! I cannot begin to describe how much this means to me. I'll be honest, I've been writing a lot when I was younger, but at some point in my life I stopped because I got really depressed and the things I enjoyed once suddenly became unbearable and impossible. I felt like I forgot how to write. But this story and all of your kind and sweet support has reminded me that I really, really loved to write once and I still do. So, I'm thanking you. Everyone. Thank you. You gave me back the part of my soul that was missing for a long time. Much, much, much love!

Tag list: @mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3

[idkshithead]

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ 𓊆ྀི gi-hun headcanons! 𓊇ྀི

·˚ ༘ — pairing: seong gi-hun x fem!reader

—❕warnings: nsfw content, mentions of trauma and insomnia (slightly), gi-hun being a cutie pookie patootie that i actually giggled and kicked my feet while writing this. i love him sm

｡𖦹°‧ sfw!:

season 1

— 𐙚 your relationship with gi-hun is a “pretty gf, obsessed bf” typa thing. he’d do anything for you. literally. you have cramps during your period? no problem cause he’s already out buying your favorite sweets. you don’t feel good about yourself all of a sudden? no worries cause he’ll sit you on his lap reminding you of how beautiful you are, of how much he loves you (and of how much you turn him on).

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is def the jealous type. mostly because he knows he’s not the perfect man to date due to all his family and financial problems so every time he sees a guy approaching you, maybe even good-looking, he’ll definitely pout: either he comes closer and grasps your waist tightly to show him you’re his, or he’ll just be silent and pretend to mind his business even tho he’s hurting inside cause he’s afraid you’ll replace him.

— 𐙚 later you’ll eventually tease him and tell him about how cute it is when he acts all jealous even when he tries to deny it. loves when you ruffle his hair/pinch his cheeks/cover his face in kisses to reassure him.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun is the type of man who really wants to spoil you with expensive gifts to make you happy but knows he can’t because of his lack of money. tries to make it up to you with simple dates (pic-nics, late night walks/drives, cuddle sessions etc.) even tho you tell him you don’t care about gifts and that you like simple actions. he’ll keep that in mind and will eventually start giving you picked-up flowers or short handwritten letters.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun’s life felt so much brighter when he met you and he couldn’t tell why. your presence just made him feel warm in his chest and he would remind you every. single. day.

— 𐙚 would definitely hug you from behind while you cook and start kissing your neck. later he would pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counter and start making out/cuddle with you while he whispers how much you mean to him etc. will make you promise to never leave him.

— 𐙚 one thing you ABSOLUTELY love about gi-hun, is his hair. it’s so fluffy and soft that you wanna touch it every minute of the day. in rough days he loves to lay on your thighs while you caress his scalp, play with strands of his hair to relax him until he’ll eventually fall asleep.

— 𐙚 s1 gi-hun would let you meet his daughter almost immediately cause when he met you first, he knew you would be the one. when he sees you get along really well with her he would smile like an idiot cause he loves to see the 2 most important girls of his life talking/having fun together.

season 2

— 𐙚 hate to say this, but s2 gi-hun is a whole different person. he’s not the smiley guy he once was and stay sure that he WILL be over protective, over possessive, over everything. can you blame him tho? he got traumatized so no, you can’t. he’s just afraid you’ll get in trouble as well.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun will definitely check on you every. damn. minute. he can’t find you? he’ll spam call you till you answer. you don’t answer his calls cause you’re out and can’t hear your phone? h’ell put on the gps in his car and come find you.

— 𐙚 at first you argued with him many times cause it became overwhelming. you basically couldn’t even go out with your old friend cause he’ll call you every 30 minutes and stuff. you didn’t want to get mad at him cause it wasn’t his fault, he just went through a lot and was worried for you.

— 𐙚 when you got mad, tho, you felt guilty not even a second later cause he looked at you with a sad and hurt expression and said: “i’m sorry. i just over worry and can’t stay calm when you’re out alone.”

— 𐙚 you’d tell him you understand but still you’re an independent woman and can defend yourself. (you’re lying cause deep down you like it when he worries a lot about you. but not in an obsessive/unhealthy way.). you will definitely cuddle him after that.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun never sleeps at night cause he feels the need to look after you while you sleep. he still feels like he’s in that room, keeping watch of bastards that could attack and kill you. if he manages to fall asleep, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night due to the nightmares. in those nights, you are the one who doesn’t sleep to look after him.

— 𐙚 he still loves to hug you from behind while you do stuff but also loves when you are the one to do so. he’s not as talkative as before so while old gi-hun would whisper loving sentences to you, present gi-hun just wants to feel the moment. he would bury his face into your neck and stay silent as you caress his hair and kiss it while he rubs your back and holds you tight.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun likes slow mornings. while in s1 he would go out to gamble/work and you would work too, now he likes to take his time to wake up to cuddle you, kiss you. just wants to enjoy his time with you, especially in weekends.

— 𐙚 s2 gi-hun would still take you out to late night walks/drives to relieve stress from both of you. his old manners of showing you his love are still the same: simple actions/gifts, physical touch etc.

｡𖦹°‧ nsfw!:

season 1:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 the first time you two made love was quite embarrassing for him cause he hadn’t touched a woman in years after his ex wife(that is something that every gi-hun fan thinks lol😭). he was really scared to hurt you or make you uncomfortable but once you reassure him he will make sure he’ll be the best sex you’ve ever had.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun will definitely cum really fast the first times cause he just can’t control himself with you. he doesn’t even make it on purpose but that man is able to cum in his pants by you just grinding on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun is the type of man that really doesn’t care about sex. he’s not a really “horny-guy” cause he thinks sex is not that important in a relationship but since he met you he gets hard often times and can’t control it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun would think he’s not that good in bed but god, the way you moan his name or just moan in pleasure makes his ego reach the stars. he thinks he’s not that big but doesn’t realize that even common size (14/15cm) actually is.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s1 gi-hun def talks you through it. would tell you how much you turn him on, would tell you how good you feel around him and would tell you how good you are for him. loves to praise you during it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like he LOVES blowjobs. they make him feel so damn horny and he doesn’t know why himself. probably is the way your pretty, innocent eyes look at him while your lips are wrapped around his length, pleasuring him.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 gi-hun is clearly noisy. be prepared to hear him moan even if you just move your ass while sitting on his lap.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 forget about degrading names/praises. will def not call you a “whore, slut, pathetic” etc, not even if you ask him. he’s just not that kind of man and it makes him uncomfortable

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 once you’re done, even if he’s dead tired, he won’t get in bed before making sure you’re all cleaned and feeling as comfy as possible. you chuckle almost every time and tell him to just lay with you and that you’ll take a shower later.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 thinks he needs to be the big spoon cause he’s the “man of the relationship” but loves to be the small spoon as well. depends on who needs more cuddles after that. if he’s the big spoon, he’ll lay you on his chest, pull the blanket over your bodies and rub your skin, whisper loving words till you both fall asleep.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if he’s the small spoon he’ll be the one to lay on your chest and shyly ask you to caress his head/play with his hair cause it relaxes him. you can’t help the cuteness so you just roughly grab his face and kiss him nonstop. you’ll apologize later and both end up chuckling. likes when you rub his bare back with the other hand as well. will fall asleep immediately cause your heartbeat helps him relax.

season 2:

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun would prefer blowjobs even more since he can’t sleep and is really tired most of times. he loves when you help him relax with that and loves it even more when you’re the one to initiate first cause he feels shy to just ask you to make him cum. thinks it’s inappropriate.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun loves lazy and slow sex (unless he had a really bad day), prefers when you ride him cause it’s hotter to see your breast bouncing and stuff. will grasp your waist/hips gently and guide you through it while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 he may not be as noisy as before but will never stop praising you. he realized he loves it even more when you are the one to praise him. sentences like: “fuck, you’re so good, gi-hun” or “you make me feel so good” make him cum immediately.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will def ask you to do that again cause he LOVES to hear how good he makes you feel and how loved you feel even when your sex is not romantic and slow.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 if you’re not in the mood he’ll immediately pull away and apologize 5 times in a second cause he doesn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable in any way. you smile and reassure him and then promise him to do it later (if you’re in the mood ofc).

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will feel guilty cause he feels like he’s forcing you but you remind him that if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t cause yes you love him with your whole being, but will never do something you feel uncomfortable with. especially if it’s related to intimacy.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 most of the times it will start by you massaging his shoulders cause they’re so tense. then you would start kissing his neck, make out and it will lead to bed.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will praise you with nicknames like: “such a good girl for me, hun.” or “you’re so tight, sweetheart.” if you call his name he would respond with: “yes m’am?” cause he’s such a gentleman and loves to respect his woman.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun also loves missionary cause he needs to look at your pretty face and all the cute and horny expressions you make when he makes you reach the stars. would definitely kiss your neck/jawline/cheeks while he praises you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun enjoys every type of quickies. on the kitchen counter when you cook? definitely. in the shower? always. in the car after a long late night drive? sure, why not. in the dressing room when you go shopping? loves the risk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 when you do quickies in public he’d cover your mouth with his big hand and loves the sight of it. the way you try to keep quiet, the way you close your eyes to focus on not being noisy, your flustered cheeks. it turns him on even more.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 s2 gi-hun thinks aftercare is the most important thing. probably like it even more than sex itself. he wants to be the big spoon always but when you manage to convince him to be the small one, he would act as if he could accidentally hurt you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 you would play with his short hair and kiss his head while you tell him how good he made you feel cause he’ll ask you if you liked it. if you would tell him that something made you uncomfortable he probably won’t touch you in “that way” for weeks. to the point you’d ask him if he still loves you cause you think he got tired of you.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 will look at you with an expression that clearly says “are you okay?” and then immediately reassure you and apologize for being a jerk.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 i feel like gi-hun hates porn and wouldn’t watch them not even if he got paid. thinks they’re too unrealistic and stupid. plus, he has you so what’s the point in watching other naked women having sex? not his thing, really hates it.

— 𓆩❤︎𓆪 doesn’t feel the need to jerk off when you’re not around, he’ll just wait till you come back if he needs it. would do that only if he’s desperate af.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — a/n: soo here are few of my headcanons for this little cutie pie. idk if some of these are similar to others or something but if so, i’m so sorry, i didn’t copy anyone nor i inspired by anyone, i made them in my head based on my hc/scenarios😭 anyway i hope you enjoy reading this🥹

[justporo]

Killing you softly

Astarion thinks it's a good idea to challenge himself - with not touching you while you have control over him. And what he gets from that are pleasures beyond what he could've imagined. (NSFW)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: We interrupt the winter fluff for some dirty smut. That's right - it's still smut Sunday - I blame certain Discord servers for influencing me! It's been quite a while though since I wrote full on smut, so here you go... Also lets not talk about how this became so long - I have no self control anymore.

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, talk of past trauma, bit of angst (if you squint), dom/sub dynamic, blood Wordcount: 5,8k ~~~

“Why would you want to do that? That sounds like absolute unfun, if you ask me”, you said to Astarion with furrowed brows.

The vampire was sitting on the edge of the bed while you were straddling his lap. Your hands were in his curls, your hips pressed to his in desperate need of feeling him as close as possible.

You had made that mistake again where you had leaned in for a kiss when you had been lounging in the living room together. Now you sat on the bed, eager to feel every inch of Astarion’s naked body against yours.

One could have asked when you would finally learn your lesson - but maybe this was a mistake you’d be happy to keep making.

Actually, you had planned to do a lot of other things. But it had ended how it so often did with Astarion: sweet kisses had become heated. His hand that had, at the start, only softly cupped your cheek had started to caress your jawline at first. Then his index finger had slowly wandered down your neck - along the line of your quickly heightening pulse - while his tongue had slipped in your mouth to make you forget everything but him.

And just like always it had worked wonderfully. You had easily fallen prey to his lure. Quickly the two of you had gotten up from where you had been comfortably sitting, tumbling up the stairs to your bedroom - to enjoy each other in the luxury of your gigantic bed.

The way there had taken you quite a while though. Especially since Astarion never seemed to be able to stop himself from pressing you against the nearest wall, making you moan helplessly while he pinned you there, enjoying how you writhed against his body. How you tried to wrap yourself around him fully while he felt the rising heat from your body. How he was ready to ignite you even more and then be consumed in the surely following inferno.

His hands had been wandering over your body - squeezing your butt, almost clawing down your back - while you had put one of your legs around his slender hips and with a groan had bucked your hips against him. You felt his growing arousal clearly. Clearly enough to make your lower stomach clench with need and throw your head back while you knew you must be soaking wet already.

You were truly amazed by how quickly that man could turn you into a mess with a few kisses, haughtily whispering into one of your pointy ears and letting his hands work his magic. It was almost like you had simply been made for him laying his hands upon you, your body welcoming him every time as if he’d been lost for an eternity and had only just returned - finding that you were still solely and truly his.

And all that was why you were even more surprised by his current proposition: with a somewhat cautious smile on his lips he had suggested to try and not touch you at all.

And that’s where you were at: Astarion still looking at you, rolling his tongue around his mouth while trying not to look too anxious and you were still taken aback by his unexpected proposal.

You leaned back a little while you were still straddling his hips - still on the edge of your bed. Your hands wandered from his hair down to his shoulders as you looked at him with a frown on your face, but didn’t know what to say.

“I’d like to challenge myself, darling, that’s all. Try new things - with you”, Astarion answered and angled his head while he looked at you. You saw the tinge of worry in his eyes now that you had voiced your concerns.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

Something about this rubbed you the wrong way. But you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it.

“Challenge yourself”, you parrotted flatly.

The vampire awkwardly shuffled around awkwardly and with that made you wiggle around a little on his lap. He avoided your gaze for a few moments before his crimson eyes found yours again: “I trust you fully, my love.”

His eyes were so open then and there, warm orange light from the lamp of the nightstand shining in them, pronouncing their ruby colour even more. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me”, he continued and the meaning of all this slowly settled in for you.

“Astarion”, you whispered softly and cupped his cheek while his eyes kept shining in the dim light - your chest clenched uncomfortably. But before you could say anything else, the vampire spoke again.

“I would surrender myself to you, my heart, give you free reign”, he proposed to you. His voice was firm but you saw his throat work, realised that he was in fact scared. You kept looking at him, pressing your lips into a line, not sure what to say about this proposition - you didn’t particularly like the way he was acting all of a sudden. Way too coy, not at all like his usual cocky self.

In fact, you didn’t like it at all, because you feared it was giving you an unprompted glimpse of a former self of the vampire. A time when he’d probably been in this position - and not of his own volition.

Just the thought alone made you gulp.

And it was almost as if he’d heard your thoughts. Like flipping a switch his signature smirk came back on with full force. Obviously trying to reassure you that everything was just dandy.

“Darling, most people would be more than amazed by a chance like that with me”, Astarion murmured sassily and leaned back on his hands while he threw you a sultry glance with a cocked eyebrow.

But he didn’t need to try anymore, you finally had a feeling you knew what he was trying to achieve. You wanted to indulge him, but you wanted to make a difference. And a plan had already started to form in your mind.

A smile crept onto your face - Astarion might not know it yet but he was in for a treat, you’d make sure of that.

You looked at your vampire as he noticed that your demeanour had changed. A small and careful grin stole onto his lips in anticipation.

Then you arched your back and rolled your neck and head around to loosen the muscles there while your hands pressed harder onto his shoulders. Astarion gasped a little when your hips were pressed even more firmly to his crotch and his erection and your torso and breasts were lifted against his chest with the way you stretched your body. You savoured the feeling of your curves pressing against the sharper lines of him.

When your head came back around you moved to hold his face in your hands, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his - kissing him ever so softly. Strands of your reddish-brown hair fell over your shoulder and onto Astarion as you leaned into him harder while he was still bracing himself on his arms behind him.

When one of his hands was trying to sneak its way around your waist to pull you even closer to him, you grabbed it and pressed it firmly to the mattress. Astarion broke the kiss, one eyebrow twitched, his red eyes were immediately ablaze. You looked back at him, licking your lips and eyes darkening.

Before he could say something, you embraced all the courage you had - and went headfirst.

“Astarion, if we're going to do this”, you started while you were still holding down his hand, your other still cupping his cheek. The way he gazed at you ignited something within you. His lips were still slightly parted and a bit swollen from kissing. Your eyes dropped to them as you rolled your hips again, making the vampire groan.

Then you faltered a little, just short of second-guessing yourself.

“Astarion, if we're going to do this, this won't be about you giving up control because you trust me to overwrite past memories”, you explained and saw how just a tiny bit of hurt flashed through his eyes. His plan, whether fully intentional or not, had been found out.

You quickly continued to get your point across: “If we're going to do this, this will be about you and you getting what you deserve, without the need to perform anything, my love.”

You saw how Astarion's lips parted even more, a small gasp leaving them and his eyes widening. But you saw the excitement in them when your words sunk in.

“And if you want to stop, tell me. Immediately, please”, you pleaded with him and the vampire nodded quickly in confirmation.

Then you let go of his hand and leaned back on his lap a little while the vampire mirrored you, supporting himself with his hands. His gaze wandered all over you. The bulge in his pants was very obviously visible, his cock straining against the fabric.

You looked at his face again and saw how he smiled at you seductively although you had just sealed the deal that you were to be the one putting on a show for him.

“Hit me then, love”, he murmured and licked over his lips and teeth - you could see his fangs glint in the dim, warm light. “I'm ready”, he whispered in a low voice, looking at you from under his brows.

And for some reason that set something off in you. Suddenly you felt very sure about all of this - oh, you'd give him what he deserved.

With your free hand you grabbed his erection that was so prominently placed between your two bodies and squeezed it - hard -, stroking upwards as much as the constraining material of his clothing would allow. The vampire's mouth opened helplessly, a strained sound leaving his lips, his eyes rolling around wildly.

Oh, so maybe not so ready after all. His reaction immediately made you more eager while sending delicious jolts of lust to your loins and the tips of your breasts.

You cocked your head to one side with an innocent, sweet smile and arched your back - showing off your boobs that lined out nicely against your shirt. And while Astarion eyed them hungrily, knowing he would only taste them by your grace and with his erection still firmly in your grasp, you squeezed his cock again. Much harder this time and you pleasantly moaned with him when he groaned breathlessly.

Definitely not ready for what was coming.

Your hand on his face wandered to his chin and your thumb pressed onto his bottom lip, dragging it down a little. Astarion's pupils widened immediately while you kept pressing and squeezing his hardened length through his pants. You felt it twitch under your caress, so you worked him harder, stroking him slowly and forcefully while his moans grew hoarser and you hummed contentedly.

The vampire began to pant heavily while you kept it up, chest heaving, head falling back, causing his lip to slip from under your thumb.

You allowed it and let your hand wander down his throat, exploring the soft naked skin there with your fingertips. Then you let your hand linger at the bottom of his neck, fingers splayed and applying just a hint of pressure while Astarion repeatedly moaned and praised you under his breath for your nimbly working fingers.

After a while of stroking him you noticed that your breathing was almost as ragged as his. You were biting your lip and felt that this - feeling how much your touches affected him - already had you desperately aroused. Lust was swirling around in your whole body and pulsating powerfully, basically throbbing, between your legs.

Being in this position was more titillating for you than you might have ever anticipated. You found you loved watching the vampire slowly unravel under your touch - it made you feel powerful. Not only because you had him curse all the gods for how well you stroked his cock but also for trusting you enough to forsake all deities in the first place - leaving you as the sole goddess in his book.

You desperately needed Astarion to know that: how ethereal he made you feel.

Your hand at his throat wrapped around it carefully but determined, almost like claws now, but still gentle ones at that.

The vampire's head snapped up again and he watched you pleadingly as you pulled him back to you with a moan that bordered on a whimper, pupils so wide there was almost nothing left of his ruby irises. His face was a mirror of desire and the heedless lust you felt, his mouth wide open, tongue almost already lolling out and canines glinting in the warm light.

It was obvious that at this point, would you have asked him to get to his knees and slobber you up like a dog would his most favourite meal, he would have done so eagerly and without hesitation, probably even barking in the process.

You let go of his hardness and wrapped your other arm around him to press his body against yours by pulling him in, almost making him crash into you. Your hand was clawing down his back more now. And then you pressed your open mouth to his to reward him with a kiss, tongue immediately entering his mouth - leaving him no room for questions. You just were the answer.

He greeted you eagerly but you were the one in charge - it was what he wanted tonight. And you would keep it that way.

You kissed him hard, tongue swirling around his, and then dragging along his teeth, making him moan again while a single drop of blood was drawn from you. Your taste on his tongue only making the vampire more feral for what you could give him - if you would allow it.

Then you felt how his arms were trying to wrap around you once more. Probably just muscle memory but this wasn't what you had agreed upon. You broke the kiss and squeezed with the hand around his throat and rolled your hips again, spreading your legs wider - forcefully.

“Behave”, you whispered pointedly as you looked at each other, both breathing heavily.

“You know it's hard with you”, Astarion whispered back in a rough, deep tone.

You chuckled once and rolled your hips again, trying to straddle him even harder than before. “Oh, I know it's hard, love”, you replied because you couldn't resist and tightened the hold on his neck a little more. The vampire let out a pleased and almost unbelieving pant.

“You're taking this on so easily, darling”, Astarion whispered as you could feel his erection twitch even through both of your clothes. His eyes looked like liquid now, molten - lust, need and awe swirling in it. He hadn’t been lying when he had pledged to surrender himself to you.

Instead of replying you quickly moved and shoved him so he lost balance and fell backwards onto the bed. For a moment you just watched him: splayed out before you so willingly and eagerly. It was a sight to behold for sure. And from the look of it, it seemed from Astarion’s point of view it was as well. You were already sure this was altering something essential within the both of you.

The vampire was grinning teasingly at you when you couldn’t rip your eyes from him - and then he bucked his hips swiftly.

Caught utterly by surprise, you almost fell onto him, but caught yourself as you heard his haughty laughter. Even with his own proposition, he was still being sassy.

In response, you grabbed his wrists and then pressed them down on the mattress next to each side of his head while you leaned forward, supporting yourself on your elbows. You moved in as if you were going to kiss him and stopped just out of reach, moving your head from side from side as you gazed upon him. The pale elf eyed you back as he was being held captive by you. All this was a far cry from where you had started indulging in each other - he might’ve never been more with you than in this very moment.

Astarion was enjoying all of this so much already. He would enjoy it even more very soon.

“What did I tell you, you naughty vampire?”, you whispered so close to Astarion’s mouth, that your lips almost touched his.

The vampire went to reply something with a smug grin but you just used the opportunity to bite into his full bottom lip and drag on it with your teeth. Astarion’s words immediately caught in his throat and he grunted from the pleasurable pain.

You didn’t give him time to recover then. Since seemingly the only way to get him to cooperate was to positively overwhelm him.

You quickly moved in for another passionate kiss and just as Astarion was getting into it, you broke away again - leaving him to simply whimper and mourn the loss of your touch. You placed your hands on his shoulders, letting go of his wrists.

Arching your back once more and sitting up straight you dragged your hands from his shoulders down his torso, over the bulge in his pants and then up your own body. As you passed it you grabbed the hem of your shirt and dragged it upwards. The vampire meanwhile was too hypnotised by your wandering hands now to be sassy. You dragged your boobs up with your shirt, softly squishing them as you teasingly moved slower and slower the closer you came to taking off your shirt fully.

You held the two of you at this edge of tension for a moment. And when you finally let your breasts jig down, you heard the soft gasps from your partner while you pulled your shirt over your head.

You saw the yearning look on Astarion’s face as he realised again he wasn’t going to get to touch you, toy with your boobs, let his fingertips tease your already hardened nipples, tease the sensitive bud between your legs with his long, delicate fingers. But you surely would make up for that, maybe even treat him if he behaved from now on.

But just for the moment you demonstrated to him what he had forfeited: you grabbed your tits and firmly squeezed them while you let your head fall back with a lustful moan, then let a hand wander down over your stomach and dip beneath the waistline of your pants, stroking yourself for a few pleasurable moments. And when you looked at your vampire again, you saw how he watched you, biting his lip hard with one fang showing. Carnal hunger was consuming him more with every single one of your passing actions. And you delighted in it more than you had thought possible.

Then you put him out of his misery.

From his thighs you let your hands slide over his chiselled upper body dragging his shirt up in the process. And then you immediately followed the revealed skin with your mouth, eagerly kissing and licking up over Astarion’s smooth, pale skin.

He thanked you with continued gasps and moans that became more desperate the more time you took. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw that his hands were clenching in the sheets, bunching them up since now they didn’t have your body to hold and caress. You could see how his knuckles had visibility turned white from all the force despite his already pale skin.

When you had almost pulled up his shirt entirely, you let your teeth graze over his skin too and especially paid attention to his collarbone with the tip of your tongue while you made a point to look your lover straight into the eyes. Broadly pressing your tongue in the dip at the bottom of his neck, you licked up the line of his throat that Astarion rewarded with a sharp intake of breath while he leaned his head back. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Besides the lust and carnal need in them, his eyes were so open and vulnerable while being so full with anticipation and admiration as well. You realised he really did trust you fully - and you would do your best to honour that.

You made him shrug off his shirt and threw it after your own. Almost jumping onto his lap again, you dragged on his wrists so he would move up his torso. He quickly obeyed and lifted himself up, fire burning in his red eyes.

You grabbed hold of Astarion’s jaw again and looked him straight in the eye as you presented him with a gift: “You may touch me - until I tell you to stop.”

The vampire’s eyes widened happily. He needn’t be told twice. He wrapped his arms around you, dragged his fingers over your spine while the other immediately squeezed your butt and lifted you a little to drag you closer and make your core rub along his hard cock. His eyes rolled almost into the back of his skull as for the moment he was allowed to enjoy the sensation of caressing you again. You sighed and let him drag up your hips again, basically making you ride him despite the fact that you were both still clothed from the waist down.

You pressed your tits into his face and he immediately took the hint to suck on them sloppily, teasing the tips with his tongue and teeth, making you exhale sharply as you clawed into his shoulders to hold on. He was so eager to please now and to make the most out of the touches you had allowed.

“Indulge yourself, I beg of you”, you offered him in addition as you felt one of his canines tease the soft skin on your breasts. When you looked down at his face you saw how his gaze glinted predatorily at you and without breaking eye contact he sank his fangs into your flesh, drawing small tendrils of blood. You cried out and your nails dragged over his shoulder blades, almost drawing blood yourself.

He sucked on your breasts, tasting your blood while your whole body tensed from the cold, sharp pain scratching through your body and heightening your pleasure even further.

You allowed the vampire to enjoy himself freely for a few moments more before you withdrew yourself from him, telling him stop. With a bit of reluctance he let  you go although frustration flashed over his face. But this was the price: you gave and you took away - but always with his pleasure in mind.

“Good boy”, you complimented his obedient behaviour and saw how he delighted in being praised. You quickly kneeled on the bed again, but only to give him another shove: “Now lay down!”

You watched to see if he would keep behaving and then slid down from the bed so you could first take off your pants and then immediately move onto his. You dragged them down Astarion’s slender hips, while the vampire scurried to help you free him of his constricting clothes. Such an eager little pup again now.

Then you took another moment to look at Astarion in all his glory. He was still only half laying on the bed, holding himself up on his elbows, one leg up and angled on the mattress. His hair was tousled profusely and you saw some soft red scratch marks that you had left on his shoulders -  and of course Astarion’s hardened length showed you just how much he was enjoying all this. He looked up at you with slightly parted lips, more anticipation in his eyes and some of your blood still covering them until his tongue darted out to lick it away.

You bit your lip as you took him in for a moment longer. He mirrored you, his expression surely just as obviously showing his need for you.

Desperately, you were tempted to just jump right to the point where you would both lose yourself and drift up to the stars together. But you didn’t want to be quick about this. In fact, you wanted to take it as slow as you’d be able to, make Astarion slowly but surely lose his mind in the process.

So you better got back to work to make it happen.

The both of you were now already way too worked up to throw in playful banter - there were only gasps and heavy breathing and the thundering of your beating heart in your ears. You motioned Astarion to move up on the bed and as he moved backwards you immediately prowled after him on your hands and knees.

You saw how the pale elf’s eyes were filled - not with fear - but something that looked somewhat similar: impatient anticipation and admiring surprise. Seemingly both of you were pleasantly overwhelmed by how much each of you were enjoying yourself in this reversal of the roles.

Agonisingly slowly you climbed onto the bed while you kept looking at your vampire. Your hair fell over your shoulder, long, soft strands fanning out and covering part of your face as you were making your way up over your prey. And you didn’t stop until you were fully hovering above Astarion. The longest strands of your hair were lazily dragging over the vampire’s chest who looked at you in awe and admiration.

You looked at him, the perfect lines of his face and body and the warm and loving soul you knew lay beneath it all. Love overwhelmed you, filled every fibre of your being as you kept observing him. The person you’d give anything for in an instance.

And even more than that: you know he felt the same for you without a doubt. You saw it mirrored in those crimson eyes that held yours with such longing. And you knew it. Deep in your soul you both knew you belonged to each other. That this was more than just a carnal, material need, so much more.

And he deserved the world. But for tonight, you would start by trying to give him some pleasures that had been twisted and tainted for him for way too long.

“I love you, Astarion”, you whispered breathlessly and then went back to kissing him, shortly feeling a coppery tang on his lips and tongue from the blood he’d taken from you. You took your time now and thus made him slow down too while your hands wandered over his shoulders, chest, arms. The kiss became almost painfully slow, the way your tongues twirled around each other, savouring each other.

You dragged your mouth down his throat after that, caressing his skin messily and eagerly by kissing and sucking, pressing your upper body to his now, so your breasts were deliciously squished against his naked chest. Slowly, you made your way down his chiselled upper body, over his stomach, dragging your boobs over his soft skin, drawing muffled sounds of pleasure from him. All while your hands wandered down his arms until they reached his hands.

You entwined your fingers with his then - for this next part he might have need for at least something to hold onto. Lifting yourself up again you had almost reached your desired destination, kneeling now between his spread legs. His eyes did not leave yours for a moment as you lowered your lips to his erect cock and without further warning took him into your mouth.

You kept looking at him as you took him deeper. His hands clawed into yours and his back arched while you sucked on his dick and let your tongue swirl around it. Astarion’s eyes were filled with desperate need - the likes of which you had never seen with him. The vampire was really grasping onto all you offered and threw himself into the pleasures you blessed him with - headfirst.

And while you mainly focused on Astarion’s pleasure you felt how all this really did a number on you as well. Knowing how much pleasure you could give him heightened your own enjoyment immensely. You already knew that it wouldn’t take long once you would close in on that edge to jump off of.

You felt the tension in the pale elf’s body rise, felt how his grip on your hands became tighter when you took him to the hilt - the only moments when you had to take your gaze off his because subtle tears sprang to your eyes.

He kept whispering your name now - like a mantra, not sure if it was meant to save or doom him. His back arched harder, you felt that he was almost losing control.

But you weren’t done yet, you still had more steps in your plan. So, licking up his shaft a final time, you detangled your fingers from his.

As you moved up again you saw how his cock was glistening from your spit in the low light and you heard how he softly whimpered, caused by the sudden loss of your touch and the unbearable need for release.

But he didn’t need to wait long. You moved up until you were straddling him again and took his length into your hand, working him for a couple moments as you caught his gaze again. Obviously Astarion had a good idea of what your next step would be and had put his arms up over his head to brace himself against the headboard - or to give his hands something else to hold onto for this next part - since your hips wouldn’t be an option.

You positioned yourself over him and dragged the tip of his cock along the heat of your slick core. That alone caused Astarion to groan and buck his hips into your hand. His eyes rolled back so far you almost only saw the white in them now. The breathless grunts that left his mouth were so desperate now - almost begging you without words.

The muscles in his arms were tensing up so much, you could see clearly defined lines now. He looked at you, face contorted by lust. His brows were drawn together in a pleading expression. You could see it took him all of his remaining focus to utter his next words.

“You’re more than I could have ever hoped for”, he pressed out while his chest was rising and falling heavily. “More than I deserve.”

Breathlessly you shook your head, causing him to draw his brows together again - but now in confusion.

“I am exactly what you deserve, my love”, you whispered back as you positioned his hardened length at your core and took him fully in one swift movement.

And suddenly it was your moment to arch your back when electricity ran through your whole body while a loud moan enriched with his name left your lips. You delighted in the sensation of how he felt inside you.

And quite obviously so did Astarion when he cried out your name and let out another curse aimed at the gods that had forsaken him so long ago. In their stead you reigned supreme now.

You began to move, lifting yourself up a little and shifting your hips while you withdrew almost fully from him. Astarion supported you by angling his hips to give you more leverage. Immediately, you felt what you had feared: it wouldn’t take you long now. Then you let your hips slam down again, clenching your core, causing the both of you to inhale sharply.

You started moving continuously. But even though you tried to move in a slow and steady pace you quickly felt yourself lose control. Astarion’s body beneath you was tense as a bow string while his groans became louder and shaky in nature.

You lifted one arm over your head, drawing up your hair while the rhythm of your movements became quicker, harder. Your other hand went down to where your bodies met, working on your most sensitive part, putting in some small effort to push you along with your partner - to be ready to join him.

Astarion kept observing you and drank you in - all this at least as delicious as the blood he had tasted from you. He kept bracing himself while his body tensed more and more.

The way you rode him became almost savage while the vampire tried to steady you bringing the both of you right up to the side of the cliff - and then off it.

The moment Astarion came you saw how he lost himself - you watched his undoing. Unwillingly, his eyes went from yours to the heavens as he pressed out your name and his whole body arched towards you while you felt him twitch inside you.

And immediately after, you too felt how waves of electric pleasure overran you, making you quiver and shake, positively causing you to see stars and blur your vision.

Together you got fully lost in the moment.

And it wasn’t even all about the carnal urges you felt for each other right now but about the deep primal need not to be alone, to tangle together until your hearts, bodies and minds were indistinguishable from each other.

And you surely weren’t alone as you were both taken up to the stars rapidly and then only slowly, comfortably drifted down again.

You’d had to close your eyes in these final moments as pleasure overwhelmed you, but when you opened them now, you were met with the loving gaze of Astarion.

Both your bodies relaxed and you carefully climbed off him, only to sink onto his chest again. You were still breathing heavily and not fully capable of stringent thoughts when you suddenly felt the vampire’s arms around you.

“Thought no touching?”, you babbled breathlessly while you still felt the afterwaves of your high. But you welcomed his comforting, caring embrace and his careful caresses.

“I do not believe you have the power within you right now to fight me about it, darling”, Astarion whispered back, almost as breathless as you. He too was still coming down slowly from where you’d just been thrown. But he already had enough energy in him once more to grace you with his signature smirk again.

“Maybe… Maybe I’ve also had enough of this challenge for one night”, you answered and heard the vampire softly laugh in response while he squeezed you comfortingly and you felt relieved to be held again.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, suddenly feeling the desperate need to just be close to him, to feel him skin on skin. Just to lay there. Until you would feel the boundaries between your bodies blur, not knowing where your body stopped and his began.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

[pandapetals]

Shadows of the Past

You’d been in town for exactly one year, two days, and six hours when he walked into the diner. After that, everything changed. Logan became the love of your life and the two of you bonded over trauma in the past while trying to move forward. *or basically a wolverine origins movie AU of sorts.

a/n: decided to post this fic on here all in one go so yall don't have to go to ao3. i wrote this months ago when i first joined the fandom so it may not be the best or edited well and i don't feel like reading it to make sure.

lumberjack logan howlett x fem!reader - no use of y/n, no reader description but reader does have mutant powers, x-men origins au, evenutal smut, small town, memory loss, angst, eventual romance, softie logan

word count: 27k

divider credit: @enchanthings

In the heart of a remote, small town, ancient trees towered like sentinels over the quiet streets, their canopies forming a vast, emerald roof that seemed to stretch on forever. The few who lived here either cherished the untouched beauty of the wilderness or were lumberjacks, carving out their lives one tree at a time. It was the perfect place to disappear.

That was why you chose it—after stumbling upon the town during a restless drive, searching for somewhere to lay low for the night.

People kept to themselves, though you caught the occasional whisper with your name in it. You couldn’t blame them—any newcomer in a place like this would set nerves on edge. But over time, you proved you were just like them. You took a job as a waitress at the local diner and settled into the motel down the road, quietly trying to carve out a life for yourself.

No one thought twice about you—until he showed up. You’d been in town for exactly one year, two days, and six hours when he walked into the diner. His rugged features and rough manner could have easily blended in with the locals, but something about him stood out like a dark cloud on the horizon. 

Everyone could sense something was simmering beneath the surface. He had the look of a man itching for a fight, desperate to feel anything at all. The last thing folks wanted here was trouble—and neither did you. You had run from men like him before.

He slid into one of the booths, his eyes sweeping the room with a calculating gaze. A tight white tank peeked out from beneath an unbuttoned plaid shirt, as if he wore the local uniform but with a defiant edge.

You had no choice but to face him. Being the only waitress meant there was no one else to send.

With a steadying breath, you picked up a menu and cautiously approached the booth, forcing a smile as you set it down in front of him. He didn’t glance up, didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained locked on the large window, something outside holding his attention in a vise-like grip.

“Welcome to the Rusty Spoon. What can I get you?” you asked, your voice steady but tinged with an edge of unease.

“You live here?” His eyes stayed fixed on the window as if the answer didn’t matter as much as what he was watching.

You nodded slowly, then noticed his gaze shifted. “Yeah. Who’s asking?” You tried to sound tough, but the words came out shaky, betraying your nerves.

Finally, he turned his head and looked up at you, his brown eyes intense, pinning you in place. “Someone who’s trying to—” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze locking onto yours. For a moment, his tough exterior faltered, and something in his eyes made you pause. There was a pain there, deep and raw, and suddenly, you realized he wasn’t the man you first thought he was.

“It’s a good place to live,” you replied quickly, cutting him off before he could finish. “Folks keep to themselves, and hardly anyone passes through.” You could sense his unease, like a ripple beneath the surface, something unspoken lingering in the air between you.

He nodded, but his gaze remained locked on yours, intense and searching. You raised an eyebrow and gestured to the menu in front of him. “You gonna order, or do I have to kick you out?”

A slight chuckle escaped him. “I’ll have a coffee.”

“A man your size needs more than just coffee,” you teased, trying to lift the mood, though the tension still hung in the air. “I reckon you could use some breakfast.”

He shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure, whatever you think.”

You grabbed the menu from the table and made your way back to the counter, tossing it into the bin with the others. Though you felt more at ease, you couldn’t help but keep an eye on the mystery man. It wasn’t because you thought he was dangerous—there was just something about him, something different.

After placing his food and coffee down, you watched as he stared at it, lost in thought.

“Something wrong? You don’t like eggs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head slowly. “No, I mean... I like them.”

You chuckled, leaning in a bit closer. “Not a man of many words, are you?”

“Guess not.”

You hesitated for a moment, then sat across from him. “I can tell you’re running from something,” you said, your voice soft but probing. “I know the feeling. I ran, too, and this place has been my solace ever since.”

You weren’t sure why you were sharing this with him. Maybe you sensed a kindred spirit. Maybe it was simple curiosity. Or maybe, after all this time, you just needed someone to talk to. It felt strange, but also comforting, to finally meet someone new in this small, quiet town.

“I’m not running,” he finally said, picking up the fork and taking a deliberate bite of his eggs.

You sighed, leaning back slightly. “Everyone runs from something. It’s human nature. We run from our problems, our worries... maybe even from someone.”

He looked up, his brows furrowed. “Look, you seem nice, but I’m not here to chat.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, stepping back as you stood up, the brief connection slipping away as quickly as it had formed. “I’ll be over there if you need anything.” You gestured toward the counter before hurrying away.

Why had you done that? You’d let your guard down to some stranger.

Shaking off the thought, you busied yourself with work, tending to the two other customers in the diner, hoping the routine would steady your nerves.

But no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way his eyes had darkened when you mentioned running, the tension in his voice when he’d brushed you off. There was something there, something he wasn’t saying.

You wiped down the counter, your movements automatic, while your mind spun with possibilities. Was he in trouble? Or was he just someone who preferred to keep his past buried? You had a feeling it was more than that, though. The pain you’d glimpsed in his eyes felt too raw, too recent.

The bell above the diner’s door jingled, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned just in time to see him walk out, his steps rough and hurried. A pang of concern flared inside you as you rushed to the booth.

A few crumpled bills lay on the table next to a half-eaten plate. The food was cold and untouched, save for a few bites. His coffee was still steaming in its cup.

You lingered there for a moment, staring at the scene he’d left behind, a knot tightening in your chest. Had you driven him away?

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

A few days passed, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the mystery man. You hadn’t seen him around town since that morning, leading you to assume he’d left for good. Yet, despite yourself, something inside you longed to see him again.

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. The effect this man had on you was unsettling. You had never felt this way before—so drawn to someone you barely knew.

You got ready for work in a daze, your mind still tangled up in thoughts of the mystery man. His presence lingered in your mind like a half-forgotten dream, unsettling and yet impossible to shake. You barely noticed the routine of pulling on your uniform, grabbing your keys, and locking the door behind you as you headed out.

The drive into town took you down the familiar long, winding road, the early morning mist curling around the trees like ghostly fingers. Normally, you find this stretch of road calming, a moment to gather your thoughts before the day begins. But today, your mind was elsewhere—back at the diner, replaying the brief moments you’d spent with him. The intensity of his gaze, the way his voice had wavered when he spoke, the pain you’d seen lurking beneath the surface.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t see the truck in front of you until it was too late. Your car slammed into it with a sickening crunch of metal, jolting you violently against the seatbelt. The airbag deployed, the sudden impact knocking the breath out of you.

For a moment, you just sat there, dazed, your heart pounding in your chest. The smell of burnt rubber and the hiss of escaping steam filled the air. Slowly, you unbuckled your seatbelt and pushed the door open, stumbling out of the car. A few cuts and bruises marked your arms and legs, but otherwise, you were fine.

You looked up at the truck you’d rear-ended, your stomach sinking as you saw the damage. The back of the truck was dented and scraped, but what caught your attention was the man stepping out of the driver’s side.

It was him.

The mystery man turned around, and your eyes widened in shock. A large gash marred his forehead, blood trickling down the side of his face.

“Are you okay?” you blurted out, rushing over to him. Panic surged through you. “We need to get you to a hospital—”

He waved you off, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “It’s just a scratch.”

“A scratch? You’re bleeding!” you insisted, your hands shaking. 

As he turned away, something caught your eye. The gash on his forehead—impossibly—was healing itself. You watched, stunned, as the torn skin slowly knit back together, the blood drying and vanishing as if it had never been there.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you watched the wound disappear completely, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. 

“What…?” The word barely made it past your lips, disbelief washing over you like a cold wave.

He glanced back at you, catching the shock in your eyes. “I told you, I’m fine,” he said, his voice low and steady, but there was a warning in his tone now.

Your mind reeled, trying to make sense of what you’d just seen. Was it a trick of the light? Or were your eyes playing some cruel joke on you? Yet the evidence was right there in front of you—there was no denying what you had witnessed.

“You’re one of them,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “A mutant?”

He didn’t respond immediately. His intense brown eyes met yours, filled with a mix of resignation and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place. “You need to forget what you just saw,” he said softly, his tone heavy with an unspoken warning that made your stomach twist.

“I can’t just forget—” you started, but your words died in your throat as he turned back toward you, his eyes still intense and dark.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a weary look settling over his face. “I’m just trying to start over, bub. I don’t need folks knowing I’m a mutant.”

You stood there, your heart pounding, trying to process everything. The man in front of you—this mysterious, gruff stranger—wasn’t just anyone. He was a mutant, someone with abilities far beyond the ordinary. Someone like… you.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is that why you asked about living here?”

He held your gaze for a long moment as if trying to decide whether to trust you with the truth. Finally, he sighed, the weight of his past heavy in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I need a place like this… where people don’t ask too many questions. Where they just leave you alone.”

You nodded, understanding all too well the need to escape, to find a place where the past couldn’t reach you. “I get it,” you said, surprised by the steadiness in your voice.

He scoffed, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s a pretty woman like you gotta run from?”

You hesitated, feeling an unexpected pull toward this man—this stranger who somehow felt more familiar than he should. “Stuff,” you said softly, almost confessing everything but you held back. “Doesn’t really matter. I left it behind when I came here.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if trying to see past the words, to the truth beneath them. The bitter smile faded, replaced by something more sincere, almost understanding. “We all got our demons, I guess,” he said quietly. “Places like this are good for that—keeping them buried.”

You nodded, the words striking a chord deep within you. For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the quiet morning air thick with unspoken understanding. You felt an odd sense of comfort in his presence like you weren’t as alone as you’d always believed.

“Maybe,” you ventured, breaking the silence, “we don’t have to keep them buried forever. Maybe we just need… time.”

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and something softer, something that hinted at the man behind the guarded exterior. “Time, huh? I’ve got plenty of that. Trust me, it doesn’t change a damn thing.”

The weight of his words hit you—the exhaustion, the loneliness. It mirrored your own, a reflection of the life you’d been leading since you came to this town, hiding in plain sight. You sighed, turning to your car and rubbing your forehead. It was totaled, no doubt.

“Well, I guess I’m screwed,” you muttered, kicking the tire in frustration.

“It was my fault. I stopped because I thought I saw a squirrel in the road,” he said, stepping closer. “I can give you a lift. Where were you headed?”

You laughed, not because it was funny, but because you could see he was lying. It all felt like a stroke of bad luck. The kind that left you wondering if the universe was laughing at your expense. In the chaos, you’d completely forgotten about work—and the fact that you were now late.

“I’m supposed to be at the diner,” you replied, almost absentmindedly, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Then you looked up at him, shaking your head. “Sorry, but there’s no way I’m getting a lift from you. You’re a stranger. I don’t even know your name.”

He nodded, his eyes softening. “Logan.”

“Logan,” you repeated, the name lingering on your tongue as if trying to find a place in your thoughts, but instead of offering your own, you simply let his name hang in the air between you.

The practical side of you quickly took over. You glanced back at your totaled car, feeling a surge of frustration and helplessness. There was no way you were getting to work on time now, and the idea of walking into town was equally unappealing.

Logan seemed to sense your hesitation. “Look,” he said, his voice softer, almost gentle. “I get it. You don’t know me, and you’ve got every reason to be cautious. But I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help.”

You studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty, but all you found was a tired sincerity in his eyes. There was a part of you that still wanted to push him away, to keep the walls up. But another part of you—a part that had been growing quieter and more lonely since you’d arrived in this town—wanted to take the risk, to trust him, if only for a moment.

“Alright,” you said, your voice firm but still holding a trace of uncertainty. “Just to the diner.” 

Logan nodded, seeming to understand your need for boundaries. “Fair enough,” he replied. “I’ll take you to the diner. We can figure out what to do with your car after that.”

With a reluctant sigh, you agreed, walking around to the passenger side of his truck. The door creaked as you opened it, and you hesitated for just a second before climbing in. The seat was worn and the cab smelled faintly of oil and something earthy, like damp leaves. It was clear this truck had seen a lot of miles, just like its owner.

Logan slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the rumble of the truck vibrating through the seat. For a few moments, the two of you rode in silence, the winding road passing by outside the window.

As you got closer to town, the reality of the situation began to settle in. You were sitting in a truck with a man who, just moments ago, had been a stranger. A man who had revealed an impossible ability—a mutant, like you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, not from fear, but from the sudden understanding that your life might be about to change in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“You mentioned you were trying to start over,” you said, breaking the silence. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but why?”

Logan kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, well, you are being nosy,” he replied, though he didn’t stop there. “Just seemed like a good place to disappear.”

Disappear. The word echoed in your mind, striking a chord with your reasons for coming to this town. You, too, had been searching for a place to hide, to leave the past behind.

 As the diner came into view, you found yourself hesitant to leave the safety of the truck, of Logan’s company. There was a strange comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one with secrets, that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face them alone.

He pulled into the parking lot and put the truck in park, glancing over at you. “You gonna be alright?”

You nodded, though the uncertainty still lingered. “Yeah,” you said, more to convince yourself than him. “I’ll be fine.”

But as you reached for the door handle, something stopped you. “Logan,” you said, turning to face him. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nodded, his gaze softening again. “I owed you.” 

With that, you stepped out of the truck and into the crisp morning air, the weight of the day ahead pressing down on you. But as you walked toward the diner, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of something new—hope, maybe, or the beginning of a connection you hadn’t expected.

As Logan’s truck pulled away, you realized that, for the first time in a long while, you weren’t entirely alone.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

You weren’t sure how you’d get home, especially with your car left abandoned in the middle of the road. The thought gnawed at you throughout your shift but just a few minutes before the end of it, the door jingled, and you glanced up. Logan stepped into the diner, his presence both unexpected and strangely reassuring. 

His eyes scanned the diner, searching until they found you behind the counter, wiping down a plate. You offered a small, uncertain smile, still unsure of what to make of this man who seemed to keep reappearing in your life.

He made his way to the counter, the floorboards creaking slightly under his weight. As he approached, the diner seemed to grow quieter, the hum of conversation fading into the background.

“Guessing you still need a ride?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between you.

You hesitated, glancing down at the plate in your hands, now spotless from your nervous scrubbing. The practical side of you knew you needed help getting home, but another part of you—the part that had learned to be cautious, to avoid relying on anyone—whispered warnings in the back of your mind.

Still, there was something about Logan that made you want to take the risk.

“Yeah,” you finally replied, setting the plate aside and meeting his gaze. “I guess I do.”

Logan nodded as if he’d expected your answer. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, turning to leave before you could say anything more.

You quickly finished up your tasks, your mind racing. There was something about Logan—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on—that both intrigued and unsettled you.

You clocked out, grabbed your things, and headed outside, where Logan was leaning against his truck, hands in his pockets. The early evening air was cool, the sky tinged with the pinks and purples of a setting sun.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached, his tone casual, but his eyes still held that same unreadable depth.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

You climbed into the truck, the door creaking in protest. Logan started the engine, and the familiar rumble filled the cab. For a few moments, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the sound of tires on asphalt as he pulled out of the diner’s parking lot.

As he drove down the winding road toward your place, you stole glances at him, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Logan. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and yet, there was a strange sense of comfort in his presence.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Thanks for this. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get home.”

“Least I could do,” he replied, eyes fixed on the road. 

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Why’d you come back?” 

Logan glanced at you briefly before returning his attention to the road. “Figured you’d need help getting home.”

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence before your place came into view. You directed him to pull into the driveway, the truck coming to a stop with a low rumble. Neither of you made a move to get out right away.

“Thanks again, Logan,” you said, your voice softer now, almost reluctant to let go of this strange, unexpected connection.

He nodded, finally turning to meet your gaze. “It was no trouble,” he said, his tone light, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes. You hesitated, your hand resting on the door handle, sensing he had something else to say. His lips parted slightly as if weighing the words.

“I got a job,” he said, almost as if testing how it would sound out loud.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That’s great! I guess I’ll be seeing you in more plaid then.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “How did you know?”

You returned the smile. “Most men around here are lumberjacks. It’s the best work.”

Logan’s smile lingered for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the windshield. “Yeah, lumberjacking,” he said as if trying on the word for size. “It’s honest work. Keeps you busy.”

“Hard work, too,” you added, leaning back in your seat, feeling a mix of relief and something you couldn’t quite name. “But I guess that’s what you’re looking for.”

He nodded, the lightness in his voice giving way to something more serious. “Keeps me out of trouble,” he said, though there was an edge to his tone, a hint of the trouble he was alluding to.

We both fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken words. There was so much you wanted to ask him, to understand about this man who had somehow become a part of your life in a single day. But you held back, knowing that pushing too hard could drive him away.

Instead, you settled for something simpler. “Well, if you ever need a good meal after a long day, you know where to find me.”

He looked over at you, his expression softening. “I might just take you up on that,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth that surprised you.

You smiled, feeling a strange comfort in the idea of seeing him again. “I’ll hold you to it.”

With that, the moment passed, and you both knew it was time to part ways. You reached for the door handle again, this time more decisively. “Good luck with the job, Logan,” you said as you stepped out of the truck, the cool evening air brushing against your skin.

“Thanks,” he replied, watching you for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to the windshield. “Be more careful.”

You nodded, closing the door behind you, and watched as he pulled out of your driveway, the truck’s taillights glowing faintly in the gathering dusk. You stood there for a moment, your hands in your pockets, feeling the quiet of the evening settle around you.

As the sound of his truck faded into the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. There was a sense of change in the air, a feeling that your life was shifting in ways you hadn’t anticipated. But for once, it didn’t scare you. Instead, it filled you with cautious hope, the kind that made you think maybe, just maybe, you were done running.

You turned and headed toward your front door, a small smile playing on your lips. Whatever was coming, you felt ready to face it—one day at a time.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

Sunlight peeked through your curtains as you sat up in bed, stifling a yawn. The quiet of living surrounded by nothing but forest filled your ears—an almost tangible silence—until it was broken by a sudden knock at the door.

You groaned, reluctantly crawling out of bed to throw on an oversized shirt before heading to the front door. Cautiously, you peered through the peephole and saw Logan standing there, fidgeting slightly. He wore a dark blue plaid shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest.

Your brows knitted together in confusion as you wondered what he was doing here, especially this early. Slowly, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Hey,” you greeted him, crossing your arms, both curious and guarded.

His eyes wandered over you, his brow lifting in question. “You’re not ready?”

“Why would I be?” you replied, confusion clouding your features as you looked up at him.

“I thought you might need a ride to work again,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes searching yours for a reaction.

“Oh, I should’ve told you yesterday—I’m off today. Sorry about that,” you said, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice. 

He nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “No worries. I was just passing by.”

“Shouldn’t you be chopping down trees?” you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “You caught me. I’m on my way now. Just thought I’d see if you needed a ride.” 

The gesture took you by surprise. It was small, but it hinted at a concern that you weren’t used to, especially from someone you’d only just met. “That’s... really nice of you,” you said, dropping your arms to your sides, your guard softening a bit more.

He shrugged, though the smile lingered. “Figure it’s the least I can do after yesterday.”

You nodded, appreciating his thoughtfulness more than you expected. “Well, I appreciate it.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence between you, the kind that felt less like an ending and more like a pause—like there was more to say, but neither of you was quite ready to say it.

“So, you gonna be okay without a car?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

You glanced back toward the driveway, where your car sat after being towed home, still banged up from the other day. “I’ll have to get it towed into town,” you said, a hint of frustration in your voice. “But I’ll manage.”

Logan nodded. “If you need help with that, just let me know. I’ve got some tools, could take a look or maybe once I make some money I could help you buy a new one.”

“Thanks,” you replied, touched by his offer. “You’ve done a lot already.”

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to your day. Don’t wanna keep you.”

You gave him a small smile, feeling an unexpected reluctance to see him go. “Good luck with the trees.”

He chuckled, the sound easing the lingering tension. “Yeah, thanks. Take care, okay?”

“You too, Logan,” you said, watching as he turned and walked back to his truck.

As he drove away, you stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on your face. The encounter had left you with a strange mixture of emotions—gratitude, curiosity, and a faint sense of anticipation. Logan was becoming more than just the stranger who had helped you out. He was someone you were beginning to feel connected to, in a way that both excited and unnerved you.

With a deep breath, you turned back inside, closing the door behind you. 

You hadn’t expected to see Logan again so soon. Your day had been busy—cleaning the house, flipping through the phonebook, and using the landline to call local mechanics. The morning slipped into the evening quickly, the hours blurring together in a steady rhythm of tasks.

You had just finished making dinner, the scent of food filling the kitchen, a beer in hand, when a familiar knock echoed through the quiet, catching you off guard. Quickly, you made your way to the door, a sense of recognition washing over you—Logan. You could tell it was him even before you opened it, just from the energy he brought with him. 

“Hello again,” you greeted him with a grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I guess you just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

Logan chuckled, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “Maybe,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity you were starting to get used to. “Or maybe I just figured I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider his words. “So, you’re playing the concerned neighbor now?” you teased, though you couldn’t deny the warmth his gesture stirred within you.

“Something like that,” he said, leaning slightly against the doorframe opposite you. “Plus, I figured you might need some help with your car.”

“I wasn’t expecting a mechanic at my door, but I’m not complaining,” you said, your grin widening. “Dinner’s just about ready. If you don’t mind a little company while you wait, you’re welcome to stay.”

Logan hesitated for a moment as if weighing his options. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he finally said, though his eyes betrayed a hint of interest.

“It’s no imposition,” you assured him. “Consider it my way of saying thanks for the ride yesterday—and for coming back today.”

He nodded, accepting your invitation with a small, grateful smile. “Alright then,” he said. “I could use a good meal.”

You stepped aside, letting him in. As he walked past you into the warm, cozy kitchen, you noticed the subtle tension in his posture ease slightly, as if the atmosphere of your home provided a welcome change from whatever he was used to.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said, gesturing toward the small dining table. “I’ll grab you a plate.”

Logan took a seat, glancing around the kitchen as if taking in the details. “Smells good,” he remarked, his voice softer now, less guarded.

“Thanks,” you replied, setting a plate in front of him before sitting down across from him. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll fill you up.”

He nodded, picking up his fork and taking a bite. For a few moments, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the quiet punctuated only by the clinking of silverware. There was something oddly intimate about the moment—sharing a meal, the easy quiet between you. It felt natural like this wasn’t the first time you’d sat across from each other at the table.

After a while, Logan looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “You didn’t have to invite me in, you know.”

You shrugged, offering a warm smile. “I know, but I wanted to.” You paused, setting your fork down. “Besides, you’re not as scary as you try to be.”

“Guess you’ve got me all figured out,” Logan replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

You watched him for a moment, the smile tugging at your lips growing a little wider. “Maybe,” you said with a teasing lilt. “Anyway, how was your first day? Chopping trees and all?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he considered your question. “It was… different,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s honest work. That counts for something, I suppose—more than what I used to do.”

There it was—a crack in his carefully constructed walls. A small, revealing glimpse into Logan’s past. But was it an invitation to know more or just a slip-up?

“I don’t know why I said that,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly as if trying to make sense of it himself. “Something about you… makes me want to spill my guts.”

You chuckled nervously, your lips pursed as you tried to process his unexpected admission. Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, picking up on the shift in your demeanor as your gaze flickered away from his. “I have a way of soothing people—calming them down,” you offered, trying to deflect the tension.

His eyes studied you intently, a new spark of interest igniting. “You’re like me, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. “A mutant?”

You nodded, a wave of guilt washing over you. It felt like you’d been hiding something from Logan, even though he hadn’t asked directly. “Figures. I moved here to get away from being called a mutant, only to have one find me,” you said, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

“I ran because I didn’t fit in,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “My parents… they didn’t understand. They wanted to fix me, cure this disease as they called it. So, I turned to people I thought did understand—other mutants. Except they didn’t just want to live in peace. They wanted to rebel. If humans didn’t understand us, then we’d make them.”

Logan’s expression hardened as you continued your story. “I thought I was making a positive change in the world. Who cared if people got hurt in the process, as long as we got what we wanted… power but I realized too late that wasn’t what I wanted to fight for. By then, I’d already created enemies, and killed innocent people—”

You trailed off, feeling your emotions spiral out of control, the weight of your past pressing down on you. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself, pushing the memories back down. “Anyway,” you continued, “I ran. I ran for a long time until I found this place and decided to call it home.”

Logan shifted slightly in his chair, his hand instinctively reaching across the table, but you shook your head, stopping him. “I make you feel calm because that’s my gift,” you explained, your voice steady but laced with caution. “I do it without even realizing it. I can intensify any emotion, and if I were to touch you… I’d feel your strongest emotion and amplify it. The same goes for memories. I can change the emotions you felt, manipulate them.”

Logan’s hand froze mid-reach, his expression hardening as he processed what you’d just said. His eyes, which had been soft with concern moments ago, now held a flicker of something else—wary curiosity, maybe even fear.

“You can change memories?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he was testing the words on his tongue.

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the truth you’d just revealed. “It’s not something I do lightly,” you said, trying to ease the tension you felt building between you. “I’ve learned to control it, to keep my distance when I need to but the ability is always there, under the surface.”

Logan’s gaze bore into you, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or maybe the boundaries of your power. “So, if you wanted to… you could make me feel something that never happened?”

“Or change how you feel about something that did,” you admitted, feeling a pang of guilt at how vulnerable that made him. “But I wouldn’t. Not without reason. It’s not who I want to be.”

He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, a long silence stretching between you. It was the kind of silence that felt like a crossroads—where trust could either be built or shattered.

Finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “That’s a lot of power to carry around,” he said, his tone softer now, less guarded.

“It is,” you agreed, relief washing over you as you saw the tension in him ease. “It’s why I’ve been so careful. Why I ran. I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”

Logan nodded, his gaze softening again as he looked at you, understanding beginning to replace the earlier wariness. “It sounds like you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Too long.”

There was another pause, this one less tense, more contemplative. Logan seemed to be weighing something in his mind, his eyes studying you with a depth that made your heart race.

“I guess we’ve both got our share of secrets,” he finally said, his tone almost resigned, as if accepting the complexity of what lay between you.

You offered him a small, tentative smile. “It’s not easy to trust, but I can sense you understand better than anyone.”

He nodded a flicker of hesitation in his gaze. “Yeah. I guess this is the part where I tell you why I’m here?”

“Only if you want to,” you replied, giving him a small shrug. “We don’t have to swap war stories just because I told you mine.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table as if he were searching for the right words. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the internal struggle of whether to share what he’d kept hidden for so long. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he began to speak, his voice low and gravelly.

“My brother and I… we’ve been fighting our whole lives,” he started, his tone resigned but tinged with a weariness that spoke of years of battles, both literal and figurative. “We’ve fought in every major war you’ve heard of, and plenty you haven’t. We’re old—older than you’d believe. Back then, it felt like fighting was all we knew, all we were good at.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. You didn’t press him, sensing that this was as difficult for him as your story had been for you.

“After the Vietnam War ended, things changed,” he continued, his voice taking on a darker edge. “We were approached by a group—a mutant group called Team X. They promised us purpose, a place where we could belong. We were soldiers, after all, and that’s what we did best. My brother, Victor, was all in from the start. He always had a taste for violence, even when it wasn’t necessary. He thrived in that environment.”

Logan’s expression tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his features as he spoke about his brother. “But me… I started to see things differently. Team X wasn’t just about fighting battles—they were about control, about power at any cost. And Victor… he embraced that. Started killing people just because he could, because it made him feel strong. Innocent people. I couldn’t be a part of that.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and resolve. “So I walked away. Left the team, and left my brother. Tried to find some kind of peace, if that’s even possible for someone like me. But Victor… he didn’t stop. He kept going, kept killing, and I’ve been running from it ever since.”

You watched him in silence, the weight of his confession heavy between you. It was clear that Logan carried the scars of his past deeply, that his brother’s betrayal had cut him in ways that were hard to put into words.

“I guess that’s why I’m here,” he said, his voice softening. “Looking for a place to hide, to forget. But it’s not so easy, is it? No matter how far you run, the past has a way of catching up.”

You nodded, understanding all too well the truth in his words. “No, it’s not easy,” you agreed quietly. “But it sounds like you made the right choice. Walking away, even when it cost you everything.”

Logan looked at you, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that might have been a smile, though it was more sadness than anything else. “Maybe…but it doesn’t change what happened. Doesn’t change who I am.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” you replied, your voice soft but steady.

There was a long pause as the two of you sat there, letting the weight of what had been shared settle between you. It was a strange feeling, this mutual vulnerability. You had each opened up parts of yourselves that were usually kept hidden, and in doing so, had created a bond—fragile, but undeniably real.

The two of you sat there for a moment longer, letting the words linger in the air, before Logan finally stood up, pushing his chair back with a gentle scrape. “I should probably get going,” he said, though his voice was reluctant.

You nodded, standing up as well. “Yeah, big day tomorrow,” you said, offering him a genuine smile. “And thanks for stopping by. Don’t worry about fixing my car—I know you were lying about stopping to save the squirrel.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, you caught me,” he admitted, a playful glint in his eyes. “I figured the squirrel excuse was better than admitting you were the one who rear-ended me.” 

You shook your head, amused by his honesty. You felt a warmth spread through you as he headed for the door but before he opened it, he paused, glancing back at you. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, your tone light but sincere.

Logan nodded, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer as if he was weighing whether or not to say something else. But instead, he simply gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Alright then. I’ll see you in the morning unless your car magically fixes itself.”

“Okay.” you smiled, watching as he finally turned the knob and stepped out into the cool night air.

You stood by the door for a moment after he left, listening to the fading sound of his truck as it rumbled down the driveway and disappeared into the distance. The house felt quiet and still, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that made you uneasy. Instead, it felt like the calm after a storm—a moment of peace after the intensity of what had been shared.

As you turned away from the door and began to tidy up the kitchen, you couldn’t help but reflect on how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Logan’s unexpected presence in your life had stirred up feelings and memories you’d long tried to bury, but it had also given you something else—hope. Hope that you weren’t as alone as you’d always believed and that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to find peace with your past.

You sighed, leaning against the counter as you thought back to the conversation you’d had. The way Logan had opened up to you about his brother, about the wars and the pain he carried—it resonated with you in a way that few things ever had. There was a part of you that wanted to help him carry that burden, to share in the weight of it, just as he’d seemed willing to do with yours.

But you knew it wouldn’t be easy. Trust was a fragile thing, easily broken and difficult to rebuild. Yet, as you stood there in the quiet of your kitchen, you found yourself more willing to take that risk than you’d ever been before.

With a final glance at the door, you turned off the lights and headed to bed, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. Tomorrow was a new day, and while you didn’t know exactly what it would bring, you felt more prepared to face it.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

A month had passed, and your whole life had changed. Logan showed up every morning to pick you up and drop you off at work. With him around, fixing your car seemed unnecessary. On your days off, he’d come over after his work, and the two of you would share dinner.

You began to forget what life was like before he showed up. The days without him seemed distant, almost unreal as if they belonged to someone else’s story. Logan had become woven into the fabric of your everyday life, making the idea of going back to how things were feel impossible.

It wasn’t just the routines that had changed—it was everything. The quiet of your home no longer felt lonely, the days were filled with a sense of purpose, and the nights were shared with someone who understood the weight of your past. Logan wasn’t just a part of your life now; he was the anchor that kept you grounded.

The walls you’d once kept around your heart were slowly crumbling, and with each day that passed, you found yourself opening up to Logan more and more. He, in turn, shared pieces of his life with you—stories about his past, his experiences, and even his fears. The trust between you grew, a steady bond that neither of you took for granted.

One evening, after another quiet dinner, the two of you found yourselves lingering at the table, the conversation winding down but neither of you wanted to move. The night outside was still, the only sound was the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Logan broke the silence first. “You know,” he began, his voice soft, almost contemplative, “I never thought I’d find something like this.”

“Like what?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He looked at you, his expression serious yet warm. “This… peace. After everything I’ve been through, I didn’t think it was possible but you… you make it feel real like I can have a life without being a monster.”

“Logan. You aren’t a monster.” You said reaching across the table to gently take his hand. “We did what we thought was best and sometimes our best is all we can do.” 

Logan nodded, softly rubbing his thumb against your skin in a comforting manner. You sighed, leaning closer to him wishing moments like this never had to end. “You know, I didn’t think it was possible either,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. “ To have a life without chaos but somehow, here we are.”

He smiled a genuine, heartfelt expression that made your chest tighten in the best possible way. “Yeah,” he said, his tone almost reverent. “Here we are.”

The moment hung between you, charged with an unspoken energy. Your gaze drifted to Logan’s lips, slightly parted, as his eyes darkened. “We shouldn’t,” you murmured, though your voice wavered. Despite your words, you found yourself leaning closer, your arm brushing against his.

Every instinct screamed at you to leap out of your chair, to break the tension by jumping into his lap in a sudden burst of energy, but you stayed planted, caught between desire and restraint. 

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes still locked on yours. The air between you seemed to thrum with the tension of what wasn’t being said, the words tangled up with everything you both wanted but were too afraid to reach for. His arm brushed against yours again, the contact sending a jolt of warmth through you, grounding you in the moment.

“I know we shouldn’t,” Logan finally whispered, his voice rough and low, as if he were struggling with the same emotions that were swirling inside you. “But it’s hard… being this close and pretending there’s nothing there.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but your pulse was racing, and it was getting harder to remember why you had even said those words in the first place. “Logan…”

He shifted closer, the movement slow, deliberate. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely sure he could. “Tell me, and I will.”

But you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning in, the pull between you undeniable, your lips almost brushing his. 

And then, before either of you could change your mind, the distance disappeared.

His lips met yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart skip a beat. The world around you seemed to blur, narrowing down to the sensation of his mouth on yours, the warmth of his touch as his hand found its way to the small of your back, drawing you closer.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the doubts, the fears, the reasons you’d given yourself to keep your distance. All that mattered was this, the connection you’d been dancing around for weeks now, finally igniting.

You felt yourself relax into the kiss, your hand moving up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was real, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe this was okay—that maybe, in Logan’s arms, you could find something good, something that wouldn’t be taken away by the past.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you found Logan’s gaze on you, his eyes still dark but now filled with something softer—something that spoke of promises and a future that, for the first time, didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

“We should take this slow,” you managed to say, your voice a whisper, still trying to catch your breath.

Logan nodded, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “Slow is good. We’ve got time.”

You nodded too, feeling a sense of relief mixed with excitement. “Time,” you echoed, letting the word settle between you, a reminder that there was no need to rush—no need to force what was already building naturally between you.

Logan held his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady, mingling with your own. For a long moment, neither of you moved, content to stay in that stillness, where words weren’t needed. It felt like the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of you and the quiet connection you shared.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully present in the moment. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his arms as they wrapped around you, and the calm that settled over you as you breathed in his scent—earthy, familiar, grounding.

“I’ve been alone for so long,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard. “I never thought… I never thought I’d find something like this. Like you.”

His words sent a warm flutter through your chest, a sensation that you weren’t entirely used to but were starting to crave. You opened your eyes, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. The vulnerability you saw there mirrored your own, and it made you want to hold on to him even tighter.

“You’re not alone anymore,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you.

Logan’s eyes softened, and he nodded slightly as if acknowledging a truth that had taken him a long time to accept. “I know,” he said quietly, his hand moving up to gently cup the side of your face.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your cheek, the comfort of his presence. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything you both had been through—your pasts, your fears, your hopes for what might come next.

Eventually, Logan pulled back slightly, his hand still lingering on your cheek. “I should probably go,” he said, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You sighed, a wave of sadness washing over you. “Why don’t you stay? Please stay.”

He chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to taking it slow?”

“I’m not asking you to move in,” you replied with a small smile. “I bet you would get a better night's sleep here than at your place.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. “I can’t. If I stay… I don’t think I can control myself.”

You held his gaze, your heart fluttering at the intensity in his eyes. “I trust you, Logan,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “But I understand.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. The air between you felt thick with unspoken words, with the tension of wanting something you both knew you needed to be careful with.

Finally, he sighed, a mix of frustration and restraint in his breath. “It’s not about trust,” he murmured, his voice rough. “It’s about wanting you too much, too soon.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment but also a sense of respect for his honesty. “Oh,” you whispered, not pushing any further. “Goodnight, Logan.”

His gaze softened further, and with a gentle touch, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in. His lips pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of patience and understanding.

“Goodnight,” he whispered back, his voice barely above a breath, before he finally stepped back, his hand trailing down your arm as he moved toward the door.

As he opened it, the cool night air rushed in stark contrast to the warmth that had filled the room moments before. You watched as he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you one last time, a small, almost reluctant smile on his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, a promise in his tone.

“I’ll be here,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached just a little as you watched him leave.

When the door closed behind him, the room felt emptier, the silence heavier. However, as you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up around you, you let yourself drift off to sleep with a smile on your face, the memory of Logan’s touch lingering on your skin like a promise.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of Logan’s truck pulling into the driveway. A familiar warmth spread through you at the thought of seeing him again. You dressed quickly, eager to be near him.

When you opened the door, Logan was already standing there, leaning against the side of his truck with his hands in his pockets. As you approached, he looked up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Morning,” he greeted you, his voice warm but carrying a hint of something more—something that lingered from the night before.

“Morning,” you replied, matching his smile. Without hesitation, he pushed himself off the truck and pulled you into an embrace, pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“Why don’t you drive me to work and then use my truck to do whatever you want,” Logan suggested, his eyes meeting yours as you looked up at him.

You chuckled, the idea warming you. “Not much to do around here, but I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The drive was longer than you expected, but it gave you time to talk. Logan kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting comfortably on your thigh, his focus mostly on the road ahead. Now and then, he’d glance over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if he couldn’t help but be reassured by your presence.

When you arrived at the lumberyard, Logan parked the truck and turned to face you. “I left some money in the glovebox for you.”

“Gee, maybe I can find something nice to buy,” you teased, leaning toward him with a playful grin.

Logan smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned in closer, closing the small distance between you. “Just don’t spend it all in one place,” he quipped, his voice low and teasing.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave away your amusement. “I’ll try to restrain myself,” you replied, the playful banter making the moment feel light and easy.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the proximity sparking a quiet tension between you. His gaze flickered down to your lips, and you could feel your heart start to race.

Logan hesitated, then pulled back slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I should get going,” he said, his voice still warm but now edged with the responsibility of the day ahead. “Don’t want to be late.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from asking him to stay. Logan reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek, a tender touch that sent a shiver down your spine before he pulled away entirely. With one last lingering look, he opened the door and stepped out of the truck.

You cursed under your breath, sliding over to the driver's side and jumping out. “Logan,” you called, your voice urgent. He stopped in his tracks, turning around just as you reached him. Before he could say a word, you grabbed him by the neck, pulling him toward you, your lips crashing against his.

Logan stiffened for a brief moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of your kiss, but then he melted into it, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the cool morning air, locked in a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken emotions that had been simmering between you.

His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that contrasted with the urgency of the moment as if he was trying to savor every second. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady beat of his heart as it pressed against your chest, and the way his hands tightened slightly on your waist, grounding you in the reality of what was happening.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Logan’s eyes searched yours, a mix of surprise, desire, and something deeper that neither of you had put into words yet. His forehead rested against yours as both of you tried to catch your breath.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

You smiled, your breath coming in soft gasps. “Just… couldn’t let you walk away without doing that.”

His smile widened, and he leaned in, pressing another brief, tender kiss to your lips, this one softer, less urgent but no less meaningful. “I’m not complaining,” he murmured, his voice warm with affection.

“Have a good day,” you replied, your voice steady.

Logan nodded, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I will thanks to you.” 

Logan glanced at the lumberyard behind him, a reminder of the day ahead. “I do have to go,” he said, regret lacing his words.

You nodded, stepping back to give him space. “I know. I’ll see you later.”

He hesitated for a second, then gave you a final, lingering look before turning and walking away, his strides confident but with an underlying reluctance, as if leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do.

As you climbed back into the truck, the taste of his lips still lingering on yours, a smile tugged at your lips. You turned your attention to the glovebox, opening it to find a small stack of bills. He didn’t have to leave you money, but it was a thoughtful gesture—one that showed just how much he cared.

Starting the truck, you pulled out of the parking lot, feeling a sense of peace as the early morning light cast a warm glow over the landscape. There wasn’t much to do in town, but the idea of having a little time to yourself—and the freedom of Logan’s truck at your disposal—felt like a small adventure in itself.

As you drove, your thoughts drifted to how much had changed in such a short time. Logan had become an integral part of your life, his presence comforting and constant. The days of feeling isolated and alone were fading into the background, replaced by the warmth of connection and the promise of something more.

By the time you reached the small town center, you had a few ideas on how to spend your morning. You parked the truck and stepped out, breathing in the crisp air as you glanced around. The shops were just beginning to open, and you decided to take a stroll down the main street.

You wandered past the general store, the hardware shop, and the small café that was starting to fill with its usual morning crowd. Something was charming about the simplicity of it all, something that put you at ease.

The day passed quickly, the hours slipping by as you wandered through the town, enjoying the simple pleasure of a day to yourself. As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, you found yourself thinking about Logan and the quiet, comforting moments you’d shared that morning. A thought crossed your mind, and a small smile spread across your face.

With the money Logan had left in the glovebox, you decided to treat him to something special—a nice dinner for the two of you. It wasn’t much, but it was a way to show your appreciation for everything he’d done, for the way he’d been there for you, even in such a short time.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

After getting back home, you started on dinner while Logan went to take a shower. You thought you had more time, but soon enough, Logan stepped into the kitchen, looking pleasantly surprised to find you bustling around. “What’s all this?” he asked, his voice filled with curiosity and warmth.

You turned to face him, noticing his hair still slightly damp. “I decided to use the money you left me to treat us to a nice dinner. I hope you’re hungry.”

A grin spread across Logan’s face as he walked over to you, his eyes filled with appreciation. “This smells amazing,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. “It’s my way of saying thank you—for everything.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m the one who should be thanking you,” he said quietly. “But let’s call it even.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the clinking of dishes as you finished setting the table. “Deal. Now, sit down.” You teased, gesturing toward the chair. 

As the two of you sat down to dinner, the evening unfolded in a series of easy, comfortable moments—laughter, conversation, and the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with someone you cared about. The connection between you felt even stronger, the bond deepening with each shared word, and each exchanged a glance.

By the time the meal was finished, the night felt like a warm, enveloping blanket, wrapping the two of you in its embrace. Logan reached across the table, taking your hand in his, and you could feel the strength and tenderness in his grip.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning. “For this. For everything.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you pressed your lips gently to his hand. “I want you to stay tonight,” you whispered, the words carrying both vulnerability and hope.

Logan’s eyes softened as he gazed at you, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, full of quiet sincerity.

“I want that too,” he admitted, his words heavy with the weight of the decision. “More than you know.”

Relief washed over you, mingling with the warmth that had been building between you all evening. The simple act of asking him to stay had felt monumental, and now, with his answer, it felt like something had clicked into place—something that had been hovering just out of reach, now within your grasp.

Logan stood up slowly, his hand still holding yours as he walked around the table to stand beside you. He helped you to your feet, and for a moment, you just stood there, facing each other in the soft glow of the kitchen lights. The world outside felt distant, and irrelevant, as if the only thing that mattered was the two of you, here and now.

Without another word, Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You could feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest and could sense the calm that had settled over him. You knew this was a big step for both of you, but it felt right—like it was the natural progression of everything that had been building between you.

His hand moved to cup your face, tilting it up so he could look into your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as if giving you one last chance to change your mind.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sure, Logan. I want this.”

His eyes darkened slightly, with something deeper, more intense. Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—softly at first, then with more urgency as the reality of the moment sank in. The kiss was full of unspoken promises, trust and desire, and everything that had been simmering between you.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you didn’t need to say anything. The decision had already been made.

“I’ll clean this up later,” Logan said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth. “But right now, I just need you, sweetheart.”

He took your hand, leading you out of the kitchen and down the hallway to your bedroom. The night outside was dark, the world quiet, as the two of you stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind you.

The space felt different now—more intimate, more charged with the energy of what was about to happen. You stood together in the dim light, your hands still intertwined, and for a moment, you just looked at each other, letting the anticipation build.

Then Logan moved closer, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you against him. His touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of desire that made your pulse quicken. Slowly, he began to lift your shirt over your head, his movements careful and deliberate, as if savoring every moment.

“I’ll go slow unless you tell me otherwise,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled against his lips as your fingers worked to remove his shirt. He slipped it over his head, then cupped your face with both hands, his touch tender yet filled with intent.

“Just touch me, Logan,” you whispered, your voice carrying a mixture of need and trust. You had wanted this moment for a while, imagining how Logan’s hands would feel on you, how he would make you feel. After that kiss earlier, you knew there was no reason to hold back. Why take things slow when everything about this felt so right?

Logan’s gaze darkened with desire at your words, and he let out a quiet breath as if releasing the last of his restraint. “You’re so beautiful,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. His hands moved over your skin with a mix of reverence and urgency, as if savoring each touch but also needing more, needing all of you.

His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explored your body, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin as though committing them to memory.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss deep and unrestrained, reflecting the intensity of everything that had been building between you. His hands roamed over you with more confidence now, as if your words had unlocked something inside him, permitting him to show you just how much he wanted you.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart?” Logan murmured, his voice thick with desire as his lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, each one igniting a deeper longing within you.

In response, you pushed him back toward the bed, a determined glint in your eyes. Logan allowed himself to be guided, his breath hitching as you climbed on top of him, your hands pressing against his chest to steady yourself.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice steady and filled with intent. “I want all of you.”

Logan’s eyes darkened with a mix of surprise and pleasure, his hands instinctively gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he settled beneath you. The roles had shifted, and you reveled in the feeling of taking control, of showing him just how much you wanted this—wanted him.

“Then take it,” Logan rasped, his voice rough with desire as he met your gaze. “I’m yours.”

His breath came in ragged gasps as your hands traveled down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his sweats. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the hardness beneath you driving your own need to a fever pitch. The anticipation sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched around nothing, the ache for him growing more intense with every passing second.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his control slipping as your fingers toyed with the edge of his sweatpants.

“Don’t stop,” Logan whispered, his voice hoarse, filled with both a plea and a command. His vulnerability in that moment, paired with the raw power he exuded, only made you want him more.

With a steadying breath, you slipped your fingers beneath the waistband, slowly easing his sweats down, revealing the full extent of his arousal. Logan groaned, his head tipping back against the pillow, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

Your hands shook slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of what was happening. You’d both been building to this moment for so long and now that it was here, it felt almost surreal, too powerful.

You gently wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly, deliberately, just enough to tease him. The feeling of him in your hand, hard and heavy, sent a jolt of desire straight through you, making your breath hitch.

Logan’s reaction was immediate. His hands slid up your thighs, his touch firm but reverent until they gripped your hips with a need that matched your own. His fingers dug into your skin, holding you in place as his hips bucked slightly into your hand, a low growl escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” Logan breathed out, his voice thick with pleasure and restraint. His eyes, half-lidded with desire, locked onto yours, a silent plea and command mixed. “Don’t tease me.”

But the teasing was half the fun, the control you had over him intoxicating. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I want to make you feel good.”

His grip on your hips tightened, and you could feel the tension in his body, coiled and ready to spring. But for now, you relished the control you had over him, the way you could make him unravel with just a touch.

But the need building within you was undeniable, and as much as you enjoyed teasing him, you wanted more. You wanted to feel him, to have him inside you, to bridge the gap that had been between you for far too long.

“Logan…” you murmured, your voice a mix of desire and pleading. “I need you.”

His response was immediate and primal, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he shifted beneath you, flipping you onto your back with a swiftness that took your breath away. He settled between your legs, his hands framing your face, his eyes burning with intent before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Then take me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he positioned himself at your entrance. “All of me.”

His hands then worked to pull down your panties revealing your needy cunt and with one fluid motion, he pushed into you, filling you completely, the connection between you snapping into place as if it had been meant to be all along. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with the intensity of it.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as you both moved together, the rhythm natural and instinctive. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, the pressure building inside you with a fierce intensity, mirrored in the way Logan’s grip tightened on your hips.

“Logan,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as waves of pleasure surged through you. “Don’t stop,” you cried, your body trembling as you clenched around him, desperate for more.

Logan’s breath hitched, and you could feel him shudder above you, every muscle in his body tense as he fought to hold back. His voice was a low growl, rough with desire and restraint. “Don’t cum for me yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to taste you.”

The promise in his words sent a jolt of anticipation through you, and your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, trusting him completely. Logan’s pace slowed, his movements deliberate as he pulled out of you, leaving you aching and yearning for his touch.

He kissed his way down your body, his lips trailing over your skin, each touch igniting a new wave of heat inside you. By the time he reached the apex of your thighs, you were trembling with need, your body taut with anticipation.

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, as if savoring the sight of you laid out before him. He pressed a lingering kiss to your inner thigh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire.

And then he was there, his mouth on you, his tongue tracing slow, tantalizing circles that made your whole body arch off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure so intense that you could barely think, could barely breathe. You clutched at the sheets, your moans filling the room as Logan devoured you, his touch both gentle and insistent, driving you closer to the edge with every flick of his tongue.

He was relentless, his mouth working you with a skill that left you shaking, your entire being focused on the pleasure he was giving you. The tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I—I can’t…” Your thighs pressed against the sides of his head. He moaned into you as if he wanted to be suffocated by you. 

Logan didn’t stop. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his hands tightening on your hips as he held you in place. “Let go for me,” he murmured against you, his voice sending vibrations through your core. “I want to taste you.”

His words were your undoing. With a cry, you came undone, your release crashing over you in a wave that left you breathless, your body shaking uncontrollably as you found your peak. Logan didn’t let up, drawing out your orgasm until you were left gasping, your entire body trembling in the aftermath.

Only then did he pull back, kissing his way up your body until he was hovering over you again, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss that tasted of you. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

You smiled against his lips, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer. “Me too,” you murmured, still breathless, your heart full of everything you felt for him.

Logan kissed you again, his hands roaming over your body with a renewed sense of urgency. He shifted, lifting your legs higher and positioning himself between your thighs, his cock teasing your entrance.

“Logan…” you whispered, your voice a mix of longing and need, your hips instinctively arching toward him.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, as he paused, savoring the moment. “I need to feel you cum with me inside you,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. 

Slowly, he began to press into you, the sensation making you gasp as he stretched you. Logan’s gaze never left yours as he pushed deeper, his movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt every moment of it.

Your breath hitched, a soft moan escaping your lips as he bottomed out inside you, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, giving you a moment to adjust, to fully take him in.

“God, you’re perfect,” Logan groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, setting a rhythm that was both slow and powerful, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The feeling of him moving within you was intoxicating, every nerve in your body lighting up with pleasure. “Your little cunt just begging for more.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, urging him on as the need inside you built to an unbearable level. Each stroke pushed you higher, the pleasure coiling tighter within you, ready to snap.

“Faster,” you whispered, your voice breathless, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him. “Please, Logan…”

Logan’s restraint shattered at your plea, his pace quickening as he drove into you with a newfound urgency, his grip on your hips tightening. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his low, rough moans, creating a symphony of pure, unbridled passion.

The pleasure was overwhelming, each thrust sending you spiraling closer to your release. You could feel Logan’s control slipping, the tension in his body mirroring your own as he neared his climax.

“Come with me,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I want to feel you cum around me.”

His words sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that left you trembling beneath him. You cried out his name, your body tightening around him as the waves of pleasure pulsed through you.

Logan followed you into oblivion, his release tearing through him as he buried himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he let go. He groaned your name, his voice filled with raw emotion as he spilled into you, the intensity of it leaving him breathless.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you lost in the aftershocks of what you’d just shared. Your hearts pounded in sync, your breaths mingling as you held each other close, the connection between you stronger than ever.

Finally, Logan lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that took your breath away. He brushed his thumb across your cheek, his touch gentle and reverent.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man above you. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but heavy with the weight of everything you felt for him.

Logan’s eyes shone with emotion as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his warmth enveloping you as he held you. The rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong, lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, you knew that this was where you were meant to be—with him, surrounded by a love that felt real.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

“Logan?” you mumbled, turning over. Your hands fumbled around the bed, searching for Logan, but all you found was the lingering warmth he had left behind.

You sat up, sleepiness still clouding your eyes as you looked around the room, the eerie silence ringing in your ears. Slowly, you got out of bed and walked out of the bedroom, the soft glow of moonlight guiding you through the darkened hallway.

You knew Logan’s nightmares were bad. In the first few nights, he stayed over, he tried to hide them, keeping quiet and distant. Eventually, the truth became impossible to ignore. He would thrash under the covers, his body tense and restless, causing you to wake up and find him drenched in a cold sweat, haunted by whatever horrors his mind had conjured.

He was stubborn, refusing your help, convinced that he deserved the painful nightmares as a way to remind himself of who he was. No matter how many times you tried to reassure him, to tell him that he didn’t have to bear the weight of his past alone, Logan was resolute. He believed the nightmares were a punishment, a way to keep himself anchored to the man he once was, no matter how much pain they caused him. He would insist that they were his burden to bear, and he wouldn’t let you share in it, no matter how much you wanted to help.

It was frustrating, seeing him like this—tortured, stubborn, and determined to carry the weight of his guilt alone. Every night, you’d lie awake, listening to his breathing grow heavier, waiting for the moment when his dreams would turn into something darker, something that would tear him from sleep and leave him gasping for air.

He tried to put on a brave face during the day, but you could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the haunted look in his eyes that never fully went away. And yet, he wouldn’t let you in. He wouldn’t let you take any of the burden from his shoulders, even though it was clear that it was tearing him apart.

It never got easier to watch, especially now as you fumbled your way through the dark, desperate to find him. Your heart pounded in your chest, thoughts swirling as you entered the living room, hoping against hope that he’d be there.

It was empty.

“Logan?” you whispered, your voice trembling in the stillness, even though you knew deep down he wasn’t there.

Slowly, your feet padded against the wood floor toward the front door, which was slightly ajar. Your heart raced as it creaked open, the moonlight peeking through and casting eerie shadows on your face. For a split second, your heart stopped as you saw a figure standing outside, silhouetted against the night, gazing up at the sky.

However, you quickly realized it was Logan. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful as the cool breeze swirled around him. He was barefoot, wearing only sweats, as the moonlight bathed him in a soft, ethereal glow.

He turned toward you, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Come here,” he said, his voice gentle, inviting.

You stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you walked toward Logan. He opened his eyes, his smile fading slightly as you approached.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, searching his face for any sign of what might be troubling him. “Was it the nightmares again?”

Logan nodded, his expression shifting from peaceful to guarded, the familiar shadows returning to his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost as if admitting it aloud made it worse. “They’re always there, waiting…”

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering him the comfort of your touch. “I can help you with them,” you whispered, your voice steady but tender. “You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Logan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground as he weighed your words. “I don’t know…” he began, his voice trailing off. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I don’t want you to see—”

You squeezed his hand, cutting him off gently. “Logan, you don’t have to protect me from this.  I’m not afraid of what you’ve been through. I just want to be there for you.” 

He looked up at you then, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and something close to fear. “What if it’s too much?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if… what if it changes the way you see me?”

You stepped closer, bringing his hand up to your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. “Nothing will change the way I see you,” you said, your voice firm. “I love every part of you, Logan. Even the parts you think are too dark, too broken. Let me in. Let me help.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The things I’ve done… I don’t deserve your love.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “You deserve love, Logan. You deserve peace. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you think you deserve.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, the internal battle clear in his eyes. Finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod, though the tension in his body didn’t entirely ease. “Alright,” he whispered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You smiled softly, lifting your hand to cup his cheek. “I love you,” you promised, your thumb brushing gently across his skin, a tender reminder of your unwavering support.

You held Logan’s gaze for a moment longer, letting the warmth of your touch seep into his skin, grounding him. Then, with a soft smile, you gently guided him back inside the house, the night air giving way to the comforting stillness of your home.

Once in the bedroom, you pulled back the covers and motioned for Logan to lie down beside you. He hesitated for a brief second, the tension still lingering in his shoulders, but then he did as you asked, trusting you with the parts of him that were still so fragile.

You lay down next to him, pressing your body close to his, reassuring him of your presence. His breathing was still uneven, the remnants of his turmoil evident in the tightness of his muscles.

Slowly, you reached out and placed your hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling the steady thrum beneath your palm. Closing your eyes, you let your power flow through you, focusing on the connection between you and Logan. It was an ability you had refined over the years, learning to use it not just to bring back memories, but to soothe and calm the storm inside people.

A soft, warm energy radiated from your hand, spreading through Logan’s body like a gentle wave. You could feel the tension beginning to ebb away, his breathing becoming more rhythmic, more at ease. As the calming energy enveloped him, you whispered reassuring words, barely audible, guiding him into a state of peace.

“Just relax. You’re safe. Just let go… I’ve got you.”

Logan’s body began to relax under your touch, the knots in his muscles slowly unraveling. His eyes fluttered closed, and you continued to channel the soothing energy, lulling him closer to sleep.

Before long, his breathing deepened, and his hand instinctively found yours, holding onto it as if it were his lifeline. He drifted off, the tension that had gripped him earlier now a distant memory. You stayed close, your power still working to shield him from the nightmares that had plagued him for so long.

But then, even in sleep, the shadows tried to creep in. Logan began to mumble, his brow furrowing as he tossed slightly, remnants of old fears threatening to pull him under. You tightened your grip on his hand and let your power surge a bit stronger, a soft, soothing balm that eased the distress in his mind.

The effect was immediate. Logan’s mumbling quieted, the lines on his forehead smoothing out as the calmness you projected enveloped him completely. For the first time in years, Logan found peace in sleep, undisturbed by the horrors of his past.

You watched him, your heart swelling with love as you stroked his hair gently, ensuring that the serenity remained. His grip on your hand relaxed, and a soft sigh escaped his lips as he settled deeper into the comfort of your presence.

As the moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room, you allowed yourself to relax as well. You could feel the steady rise and fall of Logan’s chest, the peaceful rhythm of his breath, and knew that, for now, he was safe. The man who had once been tormented by nightmares was finally resting, his mind at ease, protected by the love and power you shared.

As you lay there beside him, your hand still resting over his heart, you felt a deep sense of fulfillment. This was your place—right here, beside him, offering him the solace he had so often been denied. While it had only been a few months since your lives became intertwined, Logan meant so much more to you than he could realize.

His presence in your life had become a constant, a source of strength and comfort that you had never known before. The depth of your feelings for him had grown rapidly, surprising you with their intensity. There was something about Logan—his strength, his vulnerability, the way he fought against the darkness within him—that drew you to him like nothing else ever had.

Sometimes, in quiet moments like this, you wondered what the future held. Would you continue to help him heal, to be the anchor he needed? Would the two of you find peace together, or would the shadows of his past continue to haunt him? There were so many unknowns, so many questions that lingered in the back of your mind.

But as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hand, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t going anywhere. Whatever the future held, you were committed to facing it with him. You had found something rare and precious in Logan, and you weren’t willing to let it slip away.

“I’ll always protect you, Logan. No matter what,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. 

He didn’t stir, but you knew, deep down, that he heard you.

For now, though, this was enough. This moment, with Logan safe and at peace beside you, was more than you could have ever hoped for and as sleep finally began to claim you, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together.

With that comforting thought, you allowed yourself to drift off, your hand still resting protectively over Logan’s heart, ready to shield him from the darkness, ready to walk beside him into whatever tomorrow might bring.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

Two years had passed since that night when Logan first told you he loved you. In that time, your lives had settled into a comfortable rhythm, one that felt as natural as breathing. Logan had moved in not long after, and together, you had built a life that was simple but filled with love and contentment.

The house had become a true home, with little touches that reflected the two of you—photos from your adventures together, Logan’s tools neatly organized in the garage, and your shared collection of books lining the shelves. The days were spent in quiet harmony, whether working side by side in the garden, cooking meals together, or simply enjoying each other’s company on lazy Sunday afternoons.

One evening, as you sat on the porch watching the sun dip below the horizon, Logan reached over and took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. The air was warm, the crickets beginning their evening chorus, and the world felt perfectly still.

“You ever think about the future?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with curiosity.

You turned to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “All the time,” you admitted. “What about you?”

Logan nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he stared out at the fading light. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I never used to… not before you. But now… I think about it a lot.”

“What do you see when you think about it?” you asked, your heart swelling at the thought of a shared future with him.

He was silent for a moment as if carefully considering his words. “I think about us,” he began, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “Maybe getting married, starting a family. A life where we can just be… happy.”

His words sent a thrill through you, a mixture of excitement and contentment. “You’d want that?” you asked, your voice soft, almost disbelieving.

Logan turned to you then, his eyes filled with a sincerity that took your breath away. “More than anything,” he said.

Your heart felt like it could burst from the love you felt for him. “I want that too,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. After a moment, you pulled back, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Though I was kind of hoping you’d ask me to marry you more romantically.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I’m not a romantic guy,” he said but his voice held a laughter to it.

“Liar,” you replied, your fingers gently moving through his hair. 

Logan’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time with a mix of relief and joy. The simple exchange solidified the bond between you, a promise of a future built on love, trust, and the deep connection you shared.

The idea of marrying Logan, of starting a family together, filled you with a warmth that radiated through your entire being. It was a future you could see so clearly—a future that felt right, that felt like the culmination of everything you had both been through to get to this point.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you talked about your future often, making plans, and dreaming about the life you would build together. The prospect of marriage and starting a family became a beacon of hope and joy, something to look forward to, something that made each day even brighter.

But then, everything changed. You always knew the past would eventually catch up with you, but little did you know that Logan’s had never truly gone away.

Logan was at work at the lumberyard, and you were home, going about your usual routine. The sun was high in the sky, and the air filled with the scent of freshly cut wood, as Logan went about his tasks. It was a day like any other—until he saw him.

William Stryker.

Logan’s blood ran cold the moment he recognized the man standing at the edge of the yard, watching him with that familiar, calculating gaze. Stryker hadn’t changed much in the years since Logan had last seen him—still exuding that air of authority, still holding that unsettling glint in his eyes.

Logan stopped what he was doing, his entire body tensing as Stryker approached, his stride confident and purposeful. “Logan,” Stryker greeted him, his tone deceptively casual. “Been a long time.”

Logan clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides. “What do you want, Stryker?” he asked, his voice low and edged with anger.

Stryker smiled a cold, calculated smile that told Logan everything he needed to know. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “Just want to have a little chat. Thought you might be interested in rejoining Team X.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his entire being rejecting the idea before Stryker had even finished speaking. “Not a chance,” he growled. “I’m done with that life.”

Stryker tilted his head as if considering Logan’s words. “You say that now,” he said slowly, “but things change, Logan. People change. I know you’ve built a life for yourself here, but how long do you think that will last? How long before you get bored… before you start craving the action again?”

Logan’s mind flashed to you—your smile, your laugh, the way you felt in his arms. The life you were building together, the plans you’d made for the future. That was what mattered to him now. Not the past, not the violence and chaos of Team X.

“Not interested,” Logan said firmly, turning his back on Stryker and walking away.

But Stryker wasn’t done. “You think this little dream of yours is going to last?” he called after Logan, his voice cutting through the noise of the yard. “You think you can escape what you are? Who you are?”

Logan stopped in his tracks, his muscles tensing with barely restrained fury. Yet, he didn’t turn around. He wouldn’t give Stryker the satisfaction.

“I’ll be around if you change your mind,” Stryker continued, his voice now calm and almost friendly. “You know where to find me.”

Logan forced himself to keep walking, his mind reeling from the encounter. He couldn’t let Stryker get to him. He couldn’t let him ruin what he had with you.

But even as he tried to push Stryker’s words from his mind, a sliver of doubt began to creep in. Could he escape his past? Could he keep that part of himself buried, hidden away, and focus on the future he wanted with you?

He didn’t know the answer, but as he made his way back home, one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let Stryker destroy the life he had built. He wouldn’t let him take away the happiness he had found with you.

When he walked through the door that evening, you were there waiting for him, your smile bright and welcoming but as you looked into his eyes, you could see something was wrong.

“Logan?” you asked, concern lacing your voice as you reached out to touch his arm. “What happened?” 

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if he were trying to shield you from something. His heart pounded against your chest, a frantic rhythm that matched your own.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face for answers. “What is it?”

Logan sighed, his expression pained. “Stryker found me.”

The name sent a chill down your spine. You had heard of William Stryker—Logan had told you enough about him for you to know that he was a man to be feared. A man who had once held power over Logan’s life in ways you could barely comprehend.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice barely holding steady.

“He wants me to rejoin Team X,” Logan said, the words heavy with regret and anger. “He thinks I’ll go back to that life, but I told him no but he doesn’t take no for an answer.”

A wave of fear crashed over you, chilling you to the bone. You had known that Logan’s past was dark, but the reality of it coming back, threatening the life you’d built together, was more than you could bear.

“What are we going to do?” you asked, your voice small and trembling.

Logan took a deep breath, his grip tightening around you as if he could somehow protect you from the storm that was brewing. “We’re going to keep living our lives,” he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil you could see swirling in his eyes. “I’m not letting him take this away from us. I’m not going back to that life.”

“He's not going to stop, you just said so.” you pressed, fear and uncertainty creeping into your words. “He’ll keep coming after you.” 

Logan’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, the tension in his expression giving way to something more tender. “I’ll handle it,” he promised. “I’ve fought worse battles, and I’ve come out the other side. I’m not going to let Stryker or anyone else take away what we have.”

His words were meant to reassure you, but the dread in your heart wouldn’t completely fade. You knew Logan was strong, but Stryker was a force that wouldn’t be easily deterred. Still, you nodded, wanting to believe that Logan could protect you, that he could protect the future you had planned together.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice steadying as you looked into his eyes. You wanted to say a million things, but at that moment, nothing else mattered.

Logan shook his head slightly, as if to quiet your worries, before leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, as if he could somehow transfer some of his strength to you. “I know,” he murmured, sensing the uneasiness that you couldn’t quite hide. “But I need you to promise me something.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding as you waited for his words.

“If things get dangerous, if Stryker makes a move—promise me you’ll get out of here. Go somewhere safe.”

The thought of leaving him, of running away while he faced whatever Stryker had planned, made your stomach turn. “Logan, I can’t just leave you—”

“Promise me,” he interrupted his voice firm but laced with desperation. “I need to know you’ll be safe. That’s the only way I can fight this without losing my mind.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of the situation sinking in. Logan was willing to do whatever it took to protect you, even if it meant facing his past head-on and as much as it pained you. You knew you had to respect his wishes.

“I promise,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “But only if you promise to come back to me.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I promise,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “I’ll come back to you. Always.”

Deep down, a part of you couldn’t shake the fear that the life you had built was about to be torn apart.

The days that followed were tense, filled with an undercurrent of dread that neither of you could ignore. Logan continued to go to work, determined to maintain some sense of normalcy, but you could see the strain in his eyes every time he left the house.

You tried to keep busy, distracting yourself with everyday tasks, but the shadow of Stryker’s threat loomed over everything. You found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder, jumping at every unexpected noise, your heart pounding with the fear that Stryker could appear at any moment.

And then, one day, he did.

You were at home, going through the motions of your daily routine, when a knock at the door sent a chill down your spine. You froze, your heart racing as you stared at the door, knowing in your gut that this wasn’t a friendly visit.

Slowly, you approached the door, your hand trembling as you reached for the knob. You hesitated, your mind racing with thoughts of what could be waiting on the other side.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and opened the door.

There he stood—William Stryker, his cold eyes studying you with a calculated intensity that made your blood run cold. He was dressed impeccably, his posture calm and composed, but there was an underlying menace in his presence that sent every alarm in your body screaming.

“Hello,” he said, his voice smooth and unnervingly polite. “You must be Logan’s little lady.”

Your throat tightened, and you gripped the edge of the door, resisting the urge to slam it shut in his face. “What do you want?” you managed to ask, your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you.

Stryker’s smile was thin, more of a predator’s smirk than a sign of friendliness. “I’m here to talk to Logan. I believe he’s been avoiding me.”

“He’s not here,” you replied quickly, praying that Logan would stay away until Stryker was gone.

Stryker nodded as if he expected that answer. “I figured as much. He can’t avoid me forever. Sooner or later, he’ll have to face the truth.” 

“What truth?” you asked, dread settling like a heavy stone in your stomach.

“The truth that no matter how far he runs, he’ll never escape who he really is,” Stryker said, his voice dropping to a low, ominous tone. “He’s a soldier, a weapon, an animal. Deep down, he knows it.” 

You shook your head, refusing to let Stryker’s words get to you. “Logan is more than that. He’s not the person you’re trying to make him be.”

Stryker’s eyes narrowed, and momentarily, the facade of politeness slipped, revealing the cold, calculating man underneath. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice hard.

He turned to leave, but then hesitated, sighing as he turned back toward you. There was a faint, unsettling look in his eye, something almost resembling concern, but you knew better.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” Stryker paused, his tone deceptively casual. “Some of the guys on the team have… gone missing. I assume they’re dead—because of Victor. He’s big on revenge, I suppose. Anyway, do let Logan know. Victor will probably be here sooner rather than later.” 

Stryker’s words hung in the air like a dark cloud, their weight pressing down on you. You stood there, frozen, as the full meaning of his warning settled in. The mere mention of Victor’s name had always carried an edge, a hint of danger that now felt all too real.

Before you could find your voice, Stryker gave you a cold, almost dismissive nod and turned on his heel, walking away with the same calculated confidence he had arrived with. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, but the chill he brought into your home lingered long after he was gone.

You closed the door slowly, your hands trembling as you locked it as if that simple action could keep the world outside from crashing in. But you knew better. Stryker’s words, his warning about Victor, had already set things in motion—things that couldn’t be undone by a locked door.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the dread coiled in your stomach like a snake ready to strike. Victor was coming and if what Stryker said was true, he was out for blood.

Logan. You had to warn Logan.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

You threw the truck into the park, barely taking the time to turn off the engine before jumping out and running across the lumber yard. Panic fueled your steps as you searched desperately for Logan. He sensed you before he saw you, your scent unmistakable to him. He turned just in time to see you rushing toward him, a terrified look on your face.

“Logan,” you called, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “Stryker came to the house.”

Logan’s entire body went still, his breath catching in his throat. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his tone hard as all traces of calmness vanished.

“He—” you hesitated, the weight of Stryker’s words still sinking in. “He warned me about Victor. He said some of the team members have gone missing, and he thinks Victor’s behind it. Logan, he said Victor might come here… soon.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and fear. “Damn it,” he muttered, his mind racing as he processed the information. He turned to you, his expression grim, the weight of his decision clear in his eyes. “You need to leave. Now.”

Your heart dropped at Logan’s words. The thought of leaving him now, in the face of such danger, was unbearable. But the look in his eyes—so fierce and determined—told you that he wasn’t giving you a choice.

“Logan, I can’t just leave you,” you protested, your voice shaking with emotion. “Not now, not when—”

“You have to,” he cut you off, his voice firm but laced with desperation. “If Victor is coming, I can’t let you be here when he arrives. I need to know you’re safe.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of the situation sank in. “Where will I go?”

Logan’s gaze softened slightly, but the urgency remained. “There’s a motel on the edge of town, near the highway. Go there, stay out of sight. I’ll come for you when it’s safe.”

You shook your head, feeling a mix of fear and helplessness. “What about you?”

Logan stepped closer, placing his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “I’ll handle Victor. I’ve dealt with him before. But I can’t focus on that if I’m worrying about you. Please, just go.”

You could see the fear in his eyes, the fear of losing you. It mirrored your own. But you also saw the resolve, the determination that had always been a part of him. He wasn’t just asking you to leave—he was begging you to trust him.

You swallowed hard, nodding even though every part of you wanted to stay by his side. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “But promise me you’ll come back to me, Logan.”

Logan’s expression softened further, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. “I promise,” he murmured into your hair, his voice filled with emotion. “I’ll come back to you. I swear it.”

For a moment, you held onto him, memorizing the feel of his arms around you, the warmth of his body. But the clock was ticking, and you both knew it. Reluctantly, you pulled back, looking up at him one last time.

“I love you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute.

Logan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I love you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Now go. Don’t look back.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from breaking down completely. With one last lingering look, you turned and ran back to the truck, your heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

As you drove away, the lumberyard fading in the rearview mirror, your mind raced with thoughts of Logan, of Victor, of what might happen next. The fear gnawed at you, but you forced yourself to focus on getting to safety, on doing what Logan needed you to do.

The road ahead was dark, the highway stretching out before you like a path to the unknown. Every mile felt like a thousand, every minute an eternity. But you kept going, knowing that this was what Logan wanted—what he needed.

You reached the motel just as the first signs of dawn began to streak the sky. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you checked in, barely registering the details as the clerk handed you the key. The room was small and plain, but it felt like a sanctuary amid chaos.

Once inside, you locked the door, double-checking it as if that would somehow keep the world at bay. Then you collapsed onto the bed, your mind and body finally giving in to the weight of everything that had happened.

You wanted to sleep, to escape the fear that clung to you like a second skin, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan—wondering if he was safe, if he was already facing the man who had haunted his past and now threatened your future.

You curled up on the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could somehow replace the comfort of Logan’s embrace. The room was silent, but your mind was anything but. The uncertainty of what would come next loomed large, the fear of losing Logan gnawing at your heart.

And as the hours stretched on, you could only hope that Logan would keep his promise—that he would come back to you, safe and whole, so you could face whatever was ahead together.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

Hours had passed, each one stretching out longer than the last. You stayed at the motel, anxiously waiting for Logan to return, clinging to the promise he had made. But as the hours turned into days, the silence became unbearable. The weight of not knowing gnawed at you, a constant ache that you couldn’t shake.

Logan hadn’t come back.

You tried to convince yourself that he was okay, that he was just being cautious, making sure everything was safe before coming to get you. But as the days dragged on without a word, your worry grew into something more—a cold, suffocating fear that something had gone wrong.

By the time the third day arrived, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to know. You had to find him.

With a resolve born from desperation, you packed up your things and checked out of the motel. The drive back into town felt surreal, the familiar road now filled with an ominous tension. The closer you got, the tighter the knot in your stomach grew.

When you finally pulled into town, the sight of the lumber yard where you last saw Logan filled you with both hope and dread. The place was eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by an unsettling stillness. You parked the truck and stepped out, your heart pounding as you scanned the area for any sign of Logan.

But there was nothing—no sign of him, no indication that he had ever been there.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. If Logan wasn’t here, then you needed to check the house. Maybe he had gone back there, maybe he was waiting for you. The thought gave you a glimmer of hope, just enough to push you forward.

You drove through town, your eyes darting to every corner, every shadow, searching for any hint of him. But the town was quiet, almost unnaturally so, as if it too was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

When you finally reached the house, your heart sank. The front door was slightly ajar, and the wood splintered as if it had been forced open. Panic surged through you as you hurried out of the truck, running to the door.

“Logan?” you called out, your voice trembling with fear.

There was no answer.

You pushed the door open, stepping inside cautiously. The house was dark, the only light coming from the early morning sun filtering through the curtains. Everything was in disarray—the furniture overturned, the walls scuffed as if there had been a struggle.

Your breath hitched as you took it all in, your mind racing with the worst possibilities.

“Logan!” you called again, louder this time, hoping against hope that he was somewhere inside, that he was okay.

But the house was silent.

You moved through the rooms quickly, checking every corner, every shadow, but Logan was nowhere to be found. The fear that had been gnawing at you for days now took root, sinking deep into your bones.

As you made your way to the bedroom, your heart nearly stopped. The bed was untouched, the sheets still neatly made—the way you had left them. But what caught your attention was the blood on the floor, a dark stain that hadn’t been there before. Your knees nearly buckled as you stared at it, the implications crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to think. The blood could be Logan’s, or it could belong to someone else. But either way, it wasn’t a good sign.

You turned and rushed back through the house, your panic growing with every step. As you reached the front door, you paused, your hand trembling on the doorknob. You didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that something had happened to Logan—but the evidence was all around you.

You had to find him. You had to know the truth.

Grabbing your keys, you ran back to the truck and sped off, your mind racing with possibilities. You thought about Stryker, about Victor, about the people from Logan’s past who might be responsible for this. You had no clear plan, no idea where to go or who to turn to—but you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

You drove to the lumberyard again, hoping someone there might have seen or heard something. The few workers you found there were no help; they hadn’t seen Logan in days. The town felt like it was closing in on you, every shadow hiding a new fear, every corner holding a new dread.

Next, you tried the local bar—one of the few places where Logan had gone to clear his head when things got tough. But the bartender shook his head when you asked if he had seen Logan.

It was as if Logan had vanished into thin air.

What else could you do? You had no idea where Logan had gone, and even if you did find Victor or Stryker, you knew you’d be no match against them. 

You sat in the truck, gripping the steering wheel as the tears began to fall freely, blurring your vision. The weight of everything crashed down on you all at once—the fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. You had done everything you could think of, but it felt like you were hitting one dead end after another.

You closed your eyes, letting the tears stream down your face, your sobs quiet but deep, shaking your entire body. You didn’t know what else to do, or where else to turn. All you could do was sit there, trapped in your fear and despair, hoping that somehow, some way, Logan would come back to you.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

A year had passed since that terrible day. A year of searching, of moving from one town to the next, chasing down rumors and whispers, but finding nothing. Not a trace of Logan, Stryker, or Victor. It was as if they had all vanished into thin air.

You had driven countless miles, crossing from small towns to sprawling cities, hoping to catch even the smallest lead. But every time, the trail went cold. The hope that had once fueled your search had slowly started to fade, replaced by a growing despair.

Logan was gone, and no one knew where.

Some days, you imagined the worst: that Stryker had found a way to kill Logan despite his Regenerative Healing Factor, or that he was being kept somewhere being used as a weapon, far from the life the two of you had started to build together.

You tried to move on, tried to convince yourself that Logan was gone, that there was nothing left to find. Yet, deep down you couldn’t give up, even when every sign told you that the man you loved was lost forever.

It was that stubborn hope that had led you here, to a small town on the border of Canada and the U.S. It was a place like so many others you had visited—quiet, unassuming, the kind of place people went when they didn’t want to be found. You had been here for a few days, following another dead-end lead, and you were ready to move on again.

However, something drew you into a local bar, a small, dimly lit place that smelled of stale beer and old wood.

You pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses filling the air. You weren’t expecting much—maybe just a drink to help you sleep, to drown out the endless questions and fears that haunted you. But as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, something—or rather, someone—caught your attention.

There, sitting alone at the bar, was Logan.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. It couldn’t be. You had been searching for so long, and here he was, just sitting there as if nothing had happened.

He looked different—more worn, intense, but it was undeniably him. The same rugged features, the same broad shoulders, the same haunted look in his eyes that you had come to know so well. But something was off. He seemed distant, detached as if the world around him barely registered.

Heart pounding, you approached him slowly, your mind racing with a million thoughts and emotions. Relief, disbelief, hope—all of them battled for dominance as you took each step closer to him.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached his side.

He didn’t react. His eyes were fixed on the glass in front of him, the amber liquid inside swirling as he tilted it slightly. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the weariness etched into his features.

“Logan,” you said again, louder this time, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and hope.

Finally, he turned to look at you, his gaze slow and deliberate. But the moment his eyes met yours, your heart dropped. There was no recognition there—no spark of familiarity, no hint that he knew who you were.

“Can I help you?” Logan asked, his voice gruff, with no trace of the warmth you had once known so well.

It felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under you. The Logan you had known was gone. The man before you looked like him, sounded like him, but had no memory of the life you had shared.

It took everything in you to fight back the tears. “Sorry, you just… you look like someone I used to know,” you stammered, your voice barely steady.

Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion, and he shook his head slowly. “Sorry, lady. I don’t know you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless with sorrow yet there was no way you were going to leave not after spending so much time looking for him.

You swallowed hard, forcing a small, tight smile as you tried to play off the hurt that threatened to overwhelm you. “Yeah… must be a mistake,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan gave you a brief, puzzled glance before turning back to his drink, seemingly dismissing the encounter. He took another sip, his attention already drifting away, back to whatever thoughts were occupying his mind.

Your heart felt like it was being crushed under the weight of your emotions, but you fought to keep your composure. You couldn’t fall apart now—not here, not in front of him.

Taking a shaky breath, you moved to the stool next to him and sat down, trying to steady yourself. The bartender approached, wiping down the counter with a practiced ease. “What can I get you?” he asked, his tone polite but disinterested.

“A whiskey, neat,” you replied, your voice steadier than you expected. It felt strange, almost surreal, to be sitting here, ordering a drink like nothing was wrong. Like the man sitting beside you wasn’t the love of your life who had somehow forgotten everything you’d shared.

As you waited for your drink, you stole a glance at Logan. He was staring into his glass, his expression distant, almost lost. He looked tired—exhausted, even—but there was something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. It was as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet had no idea why.

The bartender set your drink in front of you, and you nodded in thanks, wrapping your fingers around the glass. For a moment, you just sat there, staring at the amber liquid, trying to make sense of the situation. How could this have happened? What had Stryker done to him but more importantly, how could you possibly bring him back?

You took a sip, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through your chest, grounding you in the moment. You needed to find out if his memories were completely gone. If they weren’t, there was a possibility you could bring them back. It was risky, especially since you had never tried something like that before.

Logan glanced at you briefly, his brow furrowing again. “You’re still here?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“It’s a public bar,” you quipped back, the words slipping out more sharply than you intended. “If you don’t like it, then leave.”

You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the situation was fraying your nerves. Logan didn’t seem fazed, though. He simply rolled his eyes and took a long sip from his glass, his expression unreadable.

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound between you the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation from the other patrons. It was both comforting and heartbreaking to be near him despite the divide that existed between you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Logan spoke again. He glanced at you briefly. “You from around here?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head slightly. “Just passing through.” The words felt hollow, a cover for the deep truth you couldn’t share with him—at least, not yet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Logan spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “You said I looked like someone you used to know. Who was he?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. How could you possibly explain? But you couldn’t ignore the question either, not when it was the first real hint of interest he had shown in you.

“He was… someone important,” you began, choosing your words carefully. “Someone who meant the world to me. We went through a lot together, and I lost him… a while back.”

Logan’s gaze flickered with something—curiosity, maybe—but he didn’t press further. Instead, he simply nodded, as if understanding something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his tone sincere. “Losing people… it’s hard.”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion. “It is.”

Another silence fell between you, but this one felt different—less strained, more shared. Even if he didn’t remember you, didn’t know who you were, there was still something between you, a connection that hadn’t been completely severed.

As the evening wore on, you both finished your drinks, the conversation dwindling into companionable silence. It wasn’t the reunion you had hoped for, but it was something—a starting point, maybe. You didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if you could ever bring Logan’s memories back, but sitting there with him, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t going to give up on him.

Logan eventually pushed his empty glass away and stood up, reaching for his wallet. “Well, it was nice talking to you…,” he said, trailing off as he realized he didn’t know your name.

You offered it, hoping the familiarity would spark something in him, ignite some glimmer of recognition. Logan just nodded, handing the bartender some cash. “Nice talking to you,” he replied, his tone polite but distant.

He gave you a final, almost apologetic glance before turning and heading toward the door. You watched him go, your heart aching with every step he took away from you.

You drained the last of your whiskey, setting the glass down with a quiet determination. This was just the beginning of a new chapter and no matter how long it took, you were going to fight for him. Deep down, you believed that the man you loved was still in there, somewhere.

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

For the next few days, you camped out at the bar, hoping Logan would return. It felt helpless, a long shot at best, but all logical ideas had vanished from your mind. How else could you find him, connect with him, or get another chance to help him remember?

You sat at the same stool each evening, nursing a drink and watching the door with a mixture of hope and dread. Every time the door creaked open, your heart would leap, only to sink again when it wasn’t him. The bartender had started giving you curious looks, probably wondering why you kept coming back. But you didn’t care. You had to be there, just in case.

On the third night, as you sat swirling the whiskey in your glass, lost in thought, the door opened again. This time, when you looked up, your breath caught in your throat.

Logan had returned.

He walked in with the same weary expression, the weight of the world on his shoulders. He glanced around the room, his eyes passing over you briefly before he moved to the bar. There was no recognition, no sign that anything had changed for him.

But it was enough. He was here, and that meant you had another chance.

You watched as he ordered a drink, his movements methodical, almost robotic. He looked like a man going through the motions, detached from everything around him. It hurt to see him this way, so far from the Logan you had known, but it only strengthened your resolve.

After a moment, you took a deep breath and approached him, sliding into the seat next to him as casually as you could manage. “Back again, I see,” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

Logan glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he replied simply, taking a sip from his glass. There was no recognition in his eyes, just the same detached politeness as before. 

You hesitated, searching for the right words. You couldn’t push too hard, couldn’t overwhelm him, but you had to do something—anything—to get through to him. “So, do you come here often?” you asked, the cliché question sounding awkward even to your ears, but it was a start.

Logan set his drink down, his brows furrowing as he turned to you. “Look, lady. What do you want from me? Who do you work for?”

The abruptness of his question caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a defensive suspicion that hadn’t been there before. It was as if, deep down, some part of him sensed the truth—that this wasn’t just a casual conversation, that there was something more beneath the surface.

“I don’t work for anyone,” you replied quickly, trying to keep your voice calm despite the sudden tension. “I’m just…”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, studying you closely, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “You don’t just ‘talk’ to strangers like this. So why me? What’s your angle?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of his scrutiny, but Logan wasn’t easing up. He leaned in closer, his presence overwhelming, the familiar scent of him invading your senses. “You think you’re clever, darlin’? I’ve sat across the street watching you come in this bar for days—waiting for me.”

His words cut through you, and your heart raced as you realized he had been more aware of you than you’d thought. There was an intensity in his eyes, a mixture of suspicion and something else—something darker, more dangerous.

“I’m not trying to trick you,” you said, your voice steadying even as your pulse quickened. You needed a lie, a good one. “I’m just lost. I thought maybe—” 

“Maybe what?” Logan interrupted, his tone harsh. “You thought you could just waltz in here, play nice, and I’d spill my guts?” 

You shook your head, desperate to break through the wall he was putting up. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not here to hurt you.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on you. You couldn’t tell him everything—not yet.

For a long moment, Logan just stared at you, his eyes searching yours for answers he couldn’t find. Then, with a frustrated growl, he pushed back from the bar, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

“Look, lady, I don’t know who you are or what you think you know, but I’m not the guy you’re looking for,” he said, his voice hardening again. “So fuck off.”

The harshness of his words hit you like a blow, but you nodded, too scared to even speak again. You watched as he turned away, your heart heavy with the realization that the man you once knew was buried even deeper than you had feared.

You decided you weren’t going to leave, not yet. You needed to see if there was any part of the man you knew still inside him. Maybe if you gave him some space, and kept your distance, you could still figure out a way to reach him.

The bar was getting busier, more people trickling in as the night wore on. You wandered over to the pool table, where a couple of guys were already playing. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cocky grin, caught your eye. He gestured toward the table with his pool cue, clearly inviting you to join.

You forced a smile and nodded, figuring it was as good a distraction as any. You needed something to take your mind off the encounter with Logan, something to keep you grounded in the here and now. Playing pool with some random guy would help pass the time and give you a chance to stay in the bar without drawing too much attention to yourself.

“Mind if I join?” you asked as you approached, keeping your voice light.

“Not at all,” the guy said with a grin, handing you a cue. “Name’s Jake. What about you?”

You hesitated for a split second, before offering a fake name. “Anna.” 

“Well, Anna, let’s see if you’re any good,” Jake said with a wink.

You tried to relax, focusing on the game as Jake racked up the balls and took his first shot. He was good, but you weren’t bad either, and soon you found yourself getting into the rhythm of the game. Jake kept the conversation going with light banter and flirtatious comments, but you brushed most of it off, keeping your responses neutral.

As the game went on, Jake’s flirting grew bolder. He stood a little too close, his hand lingering on yours when he passed you the cue, his compliments becoming more suggestive. You tried to keep things light, laughing off his advances, but you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that was starting to settle in the pit of your stomach.

Finally, after you sank a particularly tricky shot, Jake leaned in close, his voice low. “You know, you’re pretty good at this,” he said, his breath warm against your ear. “But I bet there’s something else you’re even better at.”

You stiffened, pulling back slightly. “Thanks for the game, Jake,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual as you turned to set down your cue. “But I think I’m done for the night.”

Before you could move away, Jake’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” he said, his tone still playful but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m just having a little fun.”

“I said I’m done,” you repeated, trying to pull your arm free but Jake tightened his grip, pulling you closer. You tried to squirm your hands to make direct contact with him, but his grip tightened making your powers useless. 

“Don’t be so uptight,” he said, his voice darkening as he backed you up against the wall. “We were just getting started.”

Fear spiked through you as Jake pressed closer, his body trapping yours against the rough wood. You could feel the tension in his grip, the predatory look in his eyes, and you knew this was about to go very wrong.

“Jake, let me go,” you demanded, trying to keep your voice firm despite the fear clawing at you.

Jake just smirked, leaning in even closer. “I don’t think you really want that,” he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek.

Panic flared in your chest, but before you could react, a hand suddenly clamped down on Jake’s shoulder, yanking him back with surprising force. Jake stumbled backward, catching himself on the edge of the pool table, but froze as three long, metal claws pressed against his throat.

“Get your hands off her,” a low, familiar voice growled.

You looked up, your heart pounding, to see Logan standing there, his expression dark with anger. He didn’t look at you; his eyes were locked on Jake, who had sobered up instantly, clearly not expecting to be interrupted—especially not like this. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jake asked, panic seeping into his voice as Logan’s claws pressed closer to his throat. You watched in horror, realizing that something was different about Logan—his once bone claws had been replaced with metal.

“What’s it matter to you, bub?” Logan snarled, his voice carrying a deadly edge.

Jake’s eyes darted between the claws and Logan’s face, fear widening his eyes. “Alright, man, just… just take it easy,” he stammered, his bravado completely shattered. “I didn’t know she was yours.”

“She’s not,” Logan snapped, the metal claws glinting under the dim bar lights. “But that doesn’t mean you get to put your hands on her.”

Jake swallowed hard, nodding frantically as he tried to lean away from the deadly claws. “Okay, okay, I got it. I won’t touch her, I swear.”

Logan held Jake’s terrified gaze for a moment longer before finally stepping back, retracting his claws with a sharp metallic sound that echoed through the now-silent bar. Jake nearly collapsed with relief, scrambling to get as far away from Logan as possible.

“Get out of here,” Logan growled, his voice still low and menacing.

Jake didn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolted for the door, not daring to look back. The bar patrons, who had been watching the scene unfold in stunned silence, began murmuring among themselves, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.

Yet the tension in the air was still thick between you and Logan as he turned, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury. “You trying to start a bar fight?” he asked gruffly, his voice still edged with anger.

You shook your head, your heart pounding as Logan stepped closer to you. He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of the emotions warring inside him. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just a fraction. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

He stepped closer, just inches between the two of you, as he brought his hands up, bracing them on the wall behind you, closing you in between his arms. The heat of his body radiated toward you, his presence overwhelming as his gaze locked onto yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you crackled with tension, a mix of fear, longing, and something deeper that neither of you could fully name. Logan’s breath was warm against your skin, his closeness intoxicating, but there was a wariness in his eyes—a warning that this was a line you shouldn’t cross.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispered, his voice rough, tinged with something almost vulnerable.

Despite the warning in his words, he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, inches from you as if torn between the urge to protect you and the desire to completely ruin you.

“You did that shit to get my attention, sweetheart. Go on, admit it.”

You shook your head again, pressing your body flat against the wall, but you couldn’t deny the heat spreading through you. Desire was building, stirred by the way Logan had protected you, by the raw intensity in his eyes.

Logan tsked softly, his lips brushing against your cheek before he whispered in your ear, his voice low and teasing. “So, you’re just wet for no reason?”

“I—I…” You stumbled over your words, your mind racing as you completely forgot that Logan could smell your arousal. It had been so long—one year, two days, and three hours—since he last touched you. This was a terrible, horrible idea, but if you could make direct contact, you might be able to see if his memories were still there.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk, his breath hot against your ear. “If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

Your heart pounded, a mixture of fear and longing swirling inside you. You knew this was dangerous, knew that giving in could complicate everything—but the thought of being close to him again, of maybe finding a way to reach the man you loved, was almost too much to resist.

“I want you to touch me,” you finally said, your voice a bit weak, but resolute. “To make me feel good.”

Logan smirked, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you toward the bathroom. In a blur of motion, he had the door locked and pushed you against it, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, almost desperate intensity.

Slowly, you snaked your hand up his shirt, hesitant but determined, and placed it on his chest. The contact was electric, your palm pressed against the hard planes of muscle beneath the fabric. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, unyielding, grounding you in the moment. For a second, you closed your eyes, focusing on the connection, willing yourself to find something—anything—that would prove the man you loved was still in there.

As your hand remained on his chest, something shifted. Recent memories flashed before your eyes, unbidden and vivid. You saw Stryker, his cold, calculating gaze fixed on Logan, and then Victor, throwing Logan against a wall with brutal force before stepping on his bone claws, breaking them in half.

You saw Logan submerged in water, long needles being injected into every inch of his body, before he broke out of the tank, screaming. Every recent memory was filled with regret, pain, and fear, flooding your mind until you could barely hold on.

Your chest tightened as the images surged through you, the reality of what Logan had endured washing over you in relentless waves. His pain, his anger, his confusion—it was all there, just beneath the surface, trapped within him. The memories were fragmented and disjointed, but they were enough to confirm what you had feared and hoped for the man you loved was still there, buried beneath the torment.

Logan pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, as if sensing the shift in you. “What’s wrong?” he muttered, his voice rough but tinged with genuine concern.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the intensity of what you had just seen left you speechless. The man standing before you was the same Logan you had always known, yet he was different—burdened by new memories and experiences that had left him deeply scarred.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to push the memories aside, to stay in the moment with him. “Just… don’t stop.”

Logan’s eyes searched yours as if trying to read the truth behind your words, but then he nodded, pressing his forehead against yours. You gasped as his hand lifted your dress, pushing your panties aside before sliding two fingers into your entrance. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice low, almost guttural.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to steady yourself. It was impossible to focus as his fingers thrusted in and out of you, the pleasure making your body tremble. But you pushed it aside, forcing yourself to slip back inside Logan’s mind, determined to find the man you knew was still there.

More images flickered by—scenes from his childhood, memories you had glimpsed before. Little Logan—or James—was sick in bed, his father comforting him by reading a story. You felt a pang of sadness, but you skipped ahead, not wanting to lose yourself that far in the past, knowing you needed to stay focused.

Then, suddenly, you saw it. A memory of you flickered by. Logan standing there as you danced around the living room, wearing his plaid shirt and grinning at him. You remembered that moment so well—the joy, the love, the simple happiness of being together.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slower this time, more deliberate, pulling you out of his mind. You sighed into it, letting the memory linger as his kiss deepened. Your desire was building, but you felt something else—a flicker of recognition, a spark of the man you loved. It was faint, buried under layers of pain and confusion, but it was there. Logan might not remember everything, but at this moment, in this connection, there was a part of him that was still yours.

You pulled back slightly, your breath shaky, as the weight of it all pressed down on you. “Logan…”

His voice, low and rough, sent a shiver through you. “You take my fingers so well, darling.”

You closed your eyes, trying to anchor yourself in the moment, trying to hold on to that spark of recognition you’d found. “Logan…,” you whispered again, your voice trembling with both need and the deep, unshakable love you felt for him.

He paused, his fingers still buried inside you, his breath hot against your neck. There was a beat of silence, thick with tension and unspoken words as if he was struggling to hold onto something—some part of himself that was slipping away.

Your eyes flickered open as Logan’s fingers slowly slipped out of you, his expression shifting from raw intensity to something more distant, confused. His brow furrowed, and he took a small step back, almost as if he were trying to retreat within himself.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern threading through your voice as you tried to take a step toward him, but the space between you suddenly felt vast.

Logan shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. His eyes darted away from you as if he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze. “I must be losing it.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the raw vulnerability in his voice cutting deep. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you gently cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “Logan,” you said softly, willing him to hear the certainty in your voice.

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if seeking some kind of anchor in the storm raging inside him. Yet when he opened them again, they were clouded with doubt, the flicker of recognition you had seen earlier slipping further away.

“Everything’s so messed up in my head,” Logan whispered, the words carrying the weight of his turmoil.

You swallowed hard, the pain in his voice making your heartache. “Then let me help you,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek. “I can help you remember.”

Logan searched your eyes, the conflict within him clear as day. For a moment, you thought he might pull away completely, and retreat into the walls he had built around himself. But then, something shifted in his gaze—a flicker of the man you knew, the man who had always fought for you, no matter what.

His voice hung in the air, rough and hesitant, echoing with uncertainty. “What if I don’t want to remember?”

The question lingered between you, heavy with unspoken fears. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his eyes. You had been so focused on helping him remember, on bringing back the man you loved, that it hadn’t occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to return to who he was before. Perhaps the memories he’d lost were too painful, too overwhelming to reclaim.

“Logan,” you began softly, your heart tightening at the sight of his troubled expression. “I know you’ve been a lot, but I know the man you are deep down, even if you don’t remember him right now.”

His eyes darkened, conflicted as if he was grappling with something he couldn’t quite articulate. “What if… what if remembering makes it worse? I get a glimpse every night of what it feels like—all the pain I’ve been trying to get away from.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the intensity of his emotions washing over you. “I can’t promise you it won’t hurt, but you don’t have to go through it alone. You once told me that the pain lets you know you’re still alive.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but the uncertainty still lingered in his eyes. He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your heart ached for him, for the weight of the burden he was carrying, but you refused to let him sink back into that darkness. “You are strong enough, Logan,” you said firmly, your grip on his face tightening slightly. “You’ve always been strong enough.”

Logan closed his eyes again as if absorbing your words, letting them settle deep within him. When he opened them, there was a glimmer of something new—hope, perhaps, or at least the beginnings of it. “I’m scared of what I’ve done… of who I’ve become.”

You could see the fear etched in his features, the same fear that had been lurking beneath the surface since the moment you saw him at the diner. “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become,” you said gently, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still the man I love. And nothing is going to change that.”

Logan stared at you, his expression a mixture of disbelief and longing as if he was daring to hope for something he thought he had lost. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’m here because I choose to be. Because I love you, Logan. All of you, no matter what.”

For a long moment, Logan didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his forehead still pressed against yours, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something to hold onto. Then, slowly, he nodded, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the storm in his gaze.

“Fine,” he whispered, the word filled with a fragile hope. “Alright… we’ll try.”

You felt a surge of relief, the tension in your chest easing slightly as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “We’ll try,” you echoed, your voice soft but filled with determination. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Logan’s arms encircled you, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. It wasn’t the end of the struggle, but it was a beginning—a chance to rebuild, to find each other again, and to face whatever memories surfaced together.

The dingy hotel room smelled of stale cigarettes and spilled alcohol as you walked in. It was clear Logan had been living like this for a while, drifting from town to town, drinking away his misery.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking beneath you, as Logan shut the door behind him. The atmosphere felt heavy, laden with the weight of what had happened earlier at the bar. It was strange to be here, in this small, dark room, after everything that had transpired between you.

“So, how does this work?” Logan eventually asked, his voice gruff as he leaned against the wall. Despite agreeing to this, he kept a noticeable distance between you, as if unsure of what might happen next.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead, trying to collect your thoughts. This wasn’t easy for either of you, but it had to be done. “I just need to have direct contact with you,” you explained, your voice calm and steady despite the uncertainty you felt. “I can go through your memories and hopefully bring them forward for you to see.”

Logan nodded, but his eyes were distant. “In the bathroom—” His voice trailed off momentarily, making your heart race. “Did you… look inside my mind?”

“I did, but look, I’m sorry,” you quickly responded, your voice trembling as you took a step closer to him. “I just wanted to know if you were still—” Tears welled up in your eyes as the words caught in your throat. “I needed to know you were still my Logan. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t desperate.”

Logan shook his head, walking past you over to the bed. “You can’t do that shit to people,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, avoiding your gaze as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied, wiping at your tears, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. “I was desperate. I’ve been looking for you for over a year, and—”

“What?” Logan spat, his eyes finally darting to meet yours, the intensity of his gaze startling you.

You went silent, feeling the anger bubbling up inside him, the tension in the room thickening. His posture tensed, his fists clenching as he tried to rein in his emotions.  

You stood there, his gaze heavy on your shoulders, as the silence stretched between you. Logan’s chest heaved with restrained anger, his eyes burning with a mixture of betrayal and hurt that cut through you like a knife.

“You’ve been looking for me for over a year?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, the words laced with disbelief. “Why didn’t you think to tell me that before? Instead, you just… violated my mind without asking?”

His words stung, each one landing with the force of a physical blow. You wanted to reach out, to soothe the pain you saw in his eyes, but you knew he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared and it wasn’t like I could just dump all this information on you hoping it would jog your memory. I thought I lost you forever, so when I finally found you…I didn’t know what else to do. I just needed to know if there was any part of you that remembered us, remembered me.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his every movement. He looked away from you, his jaw clenched tight. “I get that you were scared. I do. But that doesn’t make it right,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, knowing that you had crossed a line, even if your intentions had been pure.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat tightening with the weight of your regret. “I should have asked. I should have trusted that you’d come back to me on your own.”

Logan finally looked back at you, his expression softening just a fraction. There was still anger in his eyes, but there was something else there too—confusion, maybe even a trace of understanding. “I’m not good at this… at letting people in,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with vulnerability. 

“I know,” you said, taking a cautious step closer. “Trust me. I know because you didn’t let me in right away. It took time but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help you through this. If you need space, I’ll give it to you. If you need time, I’ll wait. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his emotions warring within him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to reconcile his anger with the love he still felt for you. His breath came out in a shaky exhale, and he finally nodded, though his expression remained guarded. 

“Something tells me I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won’t,” you assured him, your voice firm with conviction. “We’ll get through this, Logan. One step at a time.”

He nodded again, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension left his body. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But no more going into my head without asking. I need to be able to trust you.”

“You have my word,” you promised, taking another step closer until you were standing right in front of him.

Logan searched your eyes as if looking for any sign of doubt, any hint that you might betray him again. But when he found none, he let out a heavy sigh, his expression softening as he finally allowed himself to relax.

“Alright,” he said quietly, his voice still tinged with uncertainty but also with a glimmer of hope. “Let’s try again… together.”

You smiled, the tension in the room finally easing as you reached out to take his hand. He hesitated for just a moment before lacing his fingers with yours, the contact a small but significant step toward healing the rift between you.

“Are you ready?” you asked gently, searching his eyes for any last-minute hesitation.

Logan gave a curt nod, but the tension in his grip told you all you needed to know—this was as ready as he was going to be.

You took a deep breath, centering yourself before focusing on the connection between you. Slowly, you let your power flow through you, using the contact to delve into Logan’s mind, searching through the tangled web of memories that had been locked away.

“I’ll try to go slow but sometimes the mind is an unpredictable place.” You said in a soothing voice. 

At first, it was chaotic—flashes of scenes, emotions, and images that didn’t quite make sense. But as you guided your power deeper, you began to find the threads that mattered, the memories that had shaped who Logan was before he became lost.

His breath hitched as a particularly painful memory emerged—a moment of betrayal, the image of Stryker’s cold eyes flashing in his mind. You squeezed his hand, grounding him, reminding him that you were there, that he wasn’t alone.

And then, slowly, the fog began to lift. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as more memories surfaced, clearer this time. Moments of his past life, of battles fought and bonds formed. And then, there were glimpses of you, moments that had once brought him solace and peace.

You felt his body start to relax, the tension easing as the memories became more familiar, more real. His breathing slowed, his eyes focusing as he began to piece together the fragments of who he once was.

When you finally pulled back, the connection severing, Logan let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was a new clarity in his gaze, a recognition that hadn’t been there before.

“How do you feel?” you asked, your voice filled with hope. 

Logan stared at you for a moment, his expression a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. “I remembered... some things but it’s still a mess in my head.”

“That’s okay,” you said, squeezing his hand gently. “It’ll take time. We’ll keep working at it if you want to.” 

For the first time since you’d entered the room, Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Yeah. I saw those moments of me…with you. I can see why you are fighting so hard.” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

You returned his smile, feeling a sense of hope that hadn’t been there before. It was a start—a fragile, tentative start, but a start nonetheless. 

─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────

Five years had passed since that night in the bar. The road had been long and difficult, but together, you and Logan had faced every challenge, every memory, every fear. Piece by piece, memory by memory, you helped him reclaim his past, using your powers to bring back what had been taken from him while soothing the pain that came with it.

Sometimes, you blinked forgetting so much time had passed. The two of you have built a life far away from the chaos that once defined both of your existence. 

Nestled in the serene wilderness in the middle of nowhere you had found a home—a place where the past was put to rest and the future was whatever you wanted it to be. 

What surprised you most was how Logan had found peace in this quiet life and had blossomed into the role of a loving husband and father. 

The sound of laughter filled the warm, sunlit kitchen as Logan chased your daughter around the table pretending to be a tickle monster. At four years old, your little girl was a whirlwind of energy and curiosity. You chuckled as her little feet pattered across the wooden floor trying to escape Logan’s playful clutches. 

“Gotcha, kiddo!” Logan said, his deep voice filled with joy as he peppered her face with kisses. Your daughter giggled uncontrollably, her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she wriggled in his arms.

“No!” she shrieked through her laughter, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “Not the tickles!”

Logan grinned, the sight of his daughter’s pure delight warming his heart. He finally relented, setting her down on the ground and ruffling her hair. “Alright, alright, you win this time,” he said, his tone mock-serious.

She beamed up at him, her wide grin showing off the tiny gap where one of her baby teeth had recently fallen out. “I always win!” she declared, her voice filled with the confidence only a four-year-old could muster.

You watched from the kitchen counter, your heart swelling with love as you took in the scene. It was moments like these that made everything worth it—the struggles, the pain, the journey you had both endured to get here. You placed a hand on your slightly rounded belly, feeling the gentle flutter of the new life growing inside you. The little one would be arriving in a few months, and the thought filled you with both excitement and a hint of nervousness.

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,” you teased, smiling as Logan walked over to you, your daughter still clinging to his leg.

Logan shrugged, giving you a sheepish grin. “What can I say? She’s tough to resist,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips before placing a gentle hand on your belly. “How’s our little one doing today?”

“She’s been kicking up a storm,” you replied, your smile widening as you felt a little nudge against your hand. “I think she’s excited to meet you.” 

Logan’s eyes softened, his gaze full of love and contentment. “I can’t wait to meet her too,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint lines that time and life had etched into his face. “I love you,” you said softly.

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the simple, peaceful life you’d built together. When he opened them again, the love you saw there was so deep, so powerful, that it took your breath away.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you and our girls more than anything in this world.”

“We love you too,” you replied, your heart full as you leaned in for another kiss, this one slower, more tender.

Your daughter, never one to be left out, tugged on Logan’s pant leg, demanding attention. “Play with me again!”

Logan chuckled, pulling back slightly from the kiss to glance down at his eager daughter. “Alright, alright. What do you want to play this time, kiddo?”

“Hide and seek!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Hide and seek it is,” Logan agreed, lifting her again and spinning her around before setting her down. “But you better hide good, ‘cause I’m the best seeker in all of Canada!”

“Dinner’s almost done, so don’t play too long,” you called as your daughter dashed off to find the perfect hiding spot.

You watched Logan, your heart brimming with love and gratitude. This life, this family—this was everything you had ever wanted. And knowing that Logan had found happiness here, with you and your daughters, made it all the more precious.

With a deep sense of peace, you turned your attention back to preparing dinner, listening to the sound of your husband and daughter’s laughter filling the house. It was a sound you’d never grow tired of, a reminder of just how far you’d come and how much you’d overcome together.

[scribs-dibs]

gilded

sunday x reader, established relationship i suppose, ooc sunday perhaps, refs to sunday's trauma and a lot of his unwelcomed thoughts, ummmm it's very short guys idk

wc ; ~700-ish words

this is my (late) submission from the stellaronhvnters sillay halloween event! i used the prompt foliage this time :-)

"doesn't he owe this to you?"

Sunday lived in a gilded cage, and he liked it there.

It was safe in there, sacred, with the bars perfectly, evenly spaced, just enough room for him to see out of, just enough to see what a proper child should not  do,  just enough to see what he should be better than, just enough for him to see what naughty, rowdy children look like.

So when the cool breeze reddens your nose, and your eyes peek at him from over your scarf, and you ask him:

"Sunday, wanna play in the leaves?"

Of course, his careful, calculated answer is:

"I'll pass, thank you."

He doesn't quite understand why your face falls the way it does, but it sends a shiver down his spine. That response was wrong.

But who can blame him, really? His shirt is crisp and clean, and the leaves have crinkled and curled on the ground for ages. They're dirty. Proper, well behaved children stay at Gopher Wood's side, back straight and posture proper, safe inside his gilded cage. He longs for it, sometimes. The safety. The sacredness. The cleanliness.

But this isn't all bad either, he muses. This is as close to safety as ever— your hand is placed securely in his own, your bared flesh against his gloved one, and every so often you make sure to give your joined arms a hardy swing. You've all but shut him out of his office for the day, the sky turning a mellow pink as the sun sinks beneath the clouds. "Autumn" you had called it; Penacony removed the harsh breezes and early darkness from this season, and its reality would be distasteful if not for your unabashed enjoyment of it.

Your favorite part of this time of year, you've told him, is how the leaves change color. Greens disappear into warm gradients, and he supposes he can see the appeal of that.

But that doesn't mean he has to roll in them.

You nudge his shoulder, and he realizes he's spaced off. Uncouth. Pay attention.

"Come on Sunday! Can't we live a little?"

Sunday allows a short, clipped chuckle to escape him. Your face is scrunched lightly, the way it always gets when you want to pout at him uselessly. You refrain from doing that, sure, but Sunday can tell it's only a few minute twitches away from forming such an expression.

"We? I never said you couldn't indulge," Sunday presses a finger against the knit in your brow, ironing out the crease formed there. Such an expression causes wrinkles. "You can go ahead. I'll be here."

You shake your head immediately.

"It's not the same," you sigh, and Sunday knows that tone. It's disappointment, hard and sharp and cold. Though it is faint, a different flavor when encased in your gentler, kinder, form, he can still detect it a mile away. "But it's okay, we can still go to the cafe as planned."

You don't seem disheartened. You've moved on, gracefully, with the ease he both envies and admires from you.

Everything was set out for him in his cage. He had a role to play, and fulfilled it properly. Played all his pieces properly, too, made sure everything set out for him stayed in its proper place. When that all shattered, he was lost. It was your guiding hands that found him and picked up what was left of him. You...loved what was left of him in fact.

Now that he plays the role of "boyfriend," doesn't he owe this to you? Would this simple act be enough to start balancing the scales for the sin of loving him?

"Sunday?" 

Pay attention. Uncouth. Shame on you.

"It's not that big of a deal, okay?" Your own finger rubs at the crease in his brow. Normally, his facade is perfect, practiced. Ease is supposed to be the neutral face for a leader. He let his guard down.

"Look," you point, and overhead the trees shimmer with their reds and oranges and yellows, shining with the little scraps of sunlight that remain, "This is enough, isn't it? We don't have to jump in the piles if you don't want to."

Your hand in his grows tighter, and the reprimands that Sunday has repeated to himself again and again suddenly feel distant.

"Walking with you is more than enough, Sunday."

Sunday had lived in a gilded cage. But he supposes life outside isn't so bad, now.

Sunday takes a deep breath, and walks with you amongst the leaves.

•------------------------•

ty for reading 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ rbs & comments are appreciated !!

[stevesgother]

Savior Complex - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.9k

Warnings - Blood. Mention of vomit. Partial nudity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors note - This is my first fic...ever. Constructive criticism always welcome but pls be nice. Takes place directly after the events of S3. Hurt/comfort, angst, acknowledging Steve’s trauma bc damn.

Summary: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending but not a lot of resolution, friends to ? lovers? idk its up to you!

Inspired by my favorite poem of all time, that has always reminded me a little bit of Steve.

“In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch”

The air inside Steve’s car was heavy with tension and the thick July heat.

You sat parked in his driveway, the rest of The Party having dispersed to their own homes; their parents waiting for them with open arms and misty eyes. 

Not you. 

And Certainly not Steve Harrington.

You and Steve weren’t what you would call “close”. Until now, that is. Shared trauma tends to have that effect. He knew you had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize his parents weren’t in the picture. Barely in Indiana, let alone spending anything close to quality time with their only son.

The idea of spending the last few hours of this nightmarishly long day in his big, empty house was sounding lovelier by the minute. On the grounds that it ‘wasn’t safe to be alone right now’. You didn’t read too much into it; he was right, after all. Part of you wonders if he just didn’t want to be alone. Sluggish, and noticeably more bloodied than you, Steve made his way to the front door with you in tow. His house was silent; eerily so. Everything pristine and well manicured, as if no one lived there at all. 

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, and a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Towels in the cabinet next to the shower.” He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. You try not to feel like you’re burdening him, blaming his avoidance on the exhaustion and not the unwelcome presence of you in his home.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He finally meets your gaze. The shiner he sports on his left eye is still swollen, but less so. The front of his sailor suit you once thought so endearing, is now stained with blood and vomit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly. “You have -” you wince, “- open wounds on your face Steve. Probably a concussion too and that’s if we’re being modest.”

He wears a tight-lipped expression you can’t quite read. You can tell he’s frustrated, and his exhaustion is bone deep. It nags at your heart. Maybe that’s why you don’t just drop it when he answers you.

“Not my first rodeo, I’ll be fine just-” He pauses, “go shower, and get some rest. God knows this shit won’t just be over come tomorrow.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Please just…just let me help. I can disinfect the cuts around your eye. I was a girl scout! Though in hindsight I realize how useless that sounds and-” you’re rambling now; nervous.

“Stop.” You’re taken aback slightly by his tone, you haven’t known Steve to act hostile. Not in a long time. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not ‘pity’ Steve! Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might want to help you?” You take a step forward from where you stand a few feet from him. You reach up to touch his forehead with the hope of better assessing his injuries.

‘Enough!” He swats your hand away, “God, I should’ve never offered for you to stay here. You think you’re some type of savior, but you’re not.”

His words feel like a knife to the chest. You knew what he was trying to do, you knew he didn’t really mean the things he said. Not when he’s like this. For the first time since you arrived tonight, you thought of how many times he’s had to come back to this empty, soulless house all alone. Damaged, emotionally and physically. Wounds he’s had to patch alone. No gentle caress of another’s hands. Just the stinging of antiseptic in his nostrils, and the heaviness of everyone he’s ever loved abandoning him.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, shaking your head in a disbelieving way.

He laughs, humorless, “Yes I do. I really, really do.” A bitter sharpness to his words. It burns like liquor washing down your throat. “Go.” 

“No!” Now you’re the one raising your voice. “Being stubborn is for when someone is haggling you at a flea market. Not when someone is trying to love you.”

Love. You realize what you’ve said a beat too late, but you stand defiant despite it. You do love Steve. This fact, collecting cobwebs in the back of your brain for months, being spat out onto the floor in front of you both is what compels you to what you do next.

Steve, who was previously standing with this index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, is now staring at you like a deer in headlights. Before either of you can blink, you’re closing the gap between the two of you, sure of yourself. You wrap him in a suffocating embrace and he struggles against your grip.

“Stop! Please I don’t need you-” He all but shouts. Still, you sense a dent in the armor.  A crack in the wall he’s spent so long building to keep you out; to keep everyone out.

Eventually, he stops struggling. His knees give out from underneath him as the trauma and the pain and the events of today catch up to him. But not just today; a year ago when his girlfriend broke his heart at Tina’s stupid party. When Michael Harrington cut him off on the grounds of him being a disgrace to the family name. Everything flooding back to him all at once. Everything he’s spent his youth avoiding.

You sink to the ground with him, still holding him tight. He stops making an effort to hide his sobs, but instead clings to you like you’re the only tangible thing keeping him here. You sit beside him, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and your free hand cradling his head to his chest so he can hear your heartbeat. A heart that finally beats for him.

“I know.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The hair you’re gently stroking, which is usually so voluminous and perfectly styled, is now dampened with blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, “I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.” 

He cries harder at that. Shoulders shaking and breath shallow, he looks at you. You cradle his sweet, bruised face in your hands. You think, like a pomegranate, Steve Harrington is beautiful, and worth the mess. Wiping his tears with your thumbs and careful to avoid the cuts and swelling that decorate his face, you give him a smile. Shy, but earnest.

“Can you take me to bed?” He asks you, eyes bleary.

–

Neither of you speak as you turn on the faucet and watch the porcelain tub fill with scalding hot water; still not hot enough to wash away the memories this day has tainted you both with forever. Tentatively, you lift your shirt over your head, and slip your shorts down your scraped legs, revealing your mismatched bra and underwear. A pang of guilt washes over you when you look down and realize Steve took the brunt of the Russian soldiers. He was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met.

You give him a look that asks “is this okay?” as your fingertips brush the cotton of his ruined Scoops uniform. You aren’t sure what the boundaries are anymore. Momentarily Steve worries this will irreparably change things between you two. He nods anyway. You lift the shirt over his head, catching a glimpse at the real extent of his injuries. His ribs were badly bruised, and he had clotting cuts all over his abdomen. Something swirls in your stomach at the sight of his chest hair. You wish the circumstances of this moment were different.

He pulls his own pants and socks down with a hiss, eyes screwed shut, leaving you both in just your undergarments. He steps into the tub and slowly sinks beneath the hot water. You step in behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a look of confusion contorting his features. You don’t bother to explain, for the fear that speaking would break the trance you both seemingly were under. You had built a space here for each other, one you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Sitting behind him now, you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him flush to you. You rest your chin in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and close your eyes. You can feel how he tries to match his breathing to yours; slow and rhythmic.

You reach up to the hanging shelf on the wall above your head, and grab the cedar and sandalwood body wash. The second you open the bottle, your senses are flooded with him. Only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get to smell his scent in any way other than passing. A slight brush of shoulders in the hallway; a friendly hug when you’d gotten back from a month long vacation.

With a dollop of body wash on a washcloth you found on the edge of the tub, you gently start to scrub the blood and grime off his freckled skin. Like this, you can see every birthmark, every scar, the way the hair at the nape of his neck curls up around his ears in the damp bathroom air.

Steve rests his calloused hand on your knee and squeezes. A silent reassurance that what you’re doing is okay, that he’s okay, that he’s here. Everything feels overwhelmingly intimate as your hands explore his body. You lather his thick, brown locks with the shampoo you found next to the soap. With a heavy sigh, Steve allows his head to fall back into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t tell you, but this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in the tub together, but at some point he turns to face you, cupping your jaw in his larger hand. The look he gives you is so tender, you think you might cry. His caramel eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes, so fast you would’ve missed it if your senses weren’t dialed up to 11.

With the delicacy of someone touching a flower petal, he closes the gap and presses his cut lips to your soft ones. Hesitant at first, giving you the option to pull away. He fears he may have misread the moment when you separate from him, a look in your eyes that he can’t read. His worry dissipates as you take his face into both of your hands and kiss him deep and slow. You only break when the air feels too stiff to continue, the water droplets accumulating in the air and Steve's kiss making it difficult to catch your breath. His hands slide from where they were grasping your hair, and down to your neck where they stay.

“I love you, too.”

[aforestescape]

i’m not a fan of writing about the 141 as actual soldiers but i am in the mood for some good ole fashioned despair so

simon/141 x reader, assumed to be a mole + the aftermath

content includes: gn!reader, no pronouns used, very brief descriptions of torture, panic attacks, memory loss from trauma

waking up in the hospital felt like the closest thing to heaven you could find. the silent noise of electricity and beeping of monitors next to your bed. the dimmed lights revealing a slate white ceiling as your blurry eyes adjusted to the feeling of being awake. your body felt numb, the drugs running through your system to keep you from feeling all the marks of torture you had endured.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking as you gained your faculties. your mind drawing a blank on what you were doing here until you heard a rustle of noise in the room. you tried to sit up, wincing and hand coming to lay against the bandaged injury on your side. eyes darting over to where your mind was whispering for you to look. trying to remind and warn you of horrors you couldn’t piece together until you came in contact with a skull-faced balaclava.

the peace draining from your body as you grew tense. loud beeping noises of the monitors feeling light years away as your mind focused on the fear coursing through your veins. the horror of wanting to die as the people you grew to see as family cut you down. piece by piece.

your mind reeling and loud in your ears to remind you of everything you’d been through in the past week? two or three? how long were you kept in that room? tied up to a chair and left to wait for your torture to resume. the sick twisted light you swore you saw in eyes you loved as you screamed in pain. sobbing and begging for it to stop.

mind trying to come up with a reason for the betrayal you were facing as your team took turns to get information from you.

no one could blame you when you fell off the face of the earth. not knowing if you were still alive, if you could call anything after what happened living.

or

you didn’t understand why your fingers were trembling. you tried to take a deep breath, get them to stop but it only made them shake more. your breaths uneven and labored with every passing second. the sound of the machine hooked up to your heart rate beeping incessantly in the dull, out of reach corner of your mind. along with reality that seemed to warp and bend to the shuffle of fabric in the corner of your room.

you looked up, eyes easily finding brown ones you were long used to. a familiar pair that once gave you solace through the storm now had your chest squeezing tight. eyes widened to saucers as you felt your breaths pant out faster and faster. your gaze still stuck on brown that used to be so much warmer to you, now cold and hollowed. pain ringing through them as they watched you.

you could distantly hear the sounds of voices and the beeping getting louder yet somehow faded. dulled by the rushing distortions howling in your ears. your trembling hands clutching onto the thin white cotton blanket as you try to ground yourself.

it was just a panic attack, you’ll be fine you tell yourself. mind scrambling to catch up. trying to seek out an answer to what was making your body shake and fear lick up your spine. it was those eyes, that’s what you knew. but a strange thought to have when they were connected to someone you adored. someone you looked up to and admired as a superior to your station.

so why were you so afraid? you could feel yourself hyperventilating, felt like you might pass out from a lack of oxygen before a figure cut through your eyes path. colorful scrubs of different nurses and a massive shadow moving behind them out the door.

you could hear a little easier, breathe a little better as the world stopped spinning around you in the stationary space of your hospital bed. you blinked through a daze, finally noticing how wet your face was. salty tears ready to dry and leave an itchy reminder behind.

a reminder, that’s what you needed. what was it that you were forgetting? were you even missing something? you weren’t sure how long you’d been in the hospital. couldn’t remember how you’d ended up here in the first place. your last few memories were pools of honey brown. swimming inside them, getting lost in the labyrinth as it leads you closer and closer to a beast you couldn't ignore. couldn't subdue the large, inhumane creature that blocked trespassers.

why are you swimming? how did you ever get so lost that you trusted a spirit, a ghost in sheep's clothing? you winded in pain trying to recall what it was. eyes closing on a breath, a flicker of three more sets of eyes staring back into your mind.

i wrote this on my birthday (all the way back in august mind you) but my beta reader forced me to told me i should write more🙄so that's what the second bits for

as someone who’s experienced lost memory from trauma i tried to reflect that a bit in this

---

i haven't been into writing anything but poetry lately. as a "damn my bad" for not posting for two months ill be posting something lighter right after this.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Consider me Gone-Part 4

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader x Jay Halstead/ Gerstead x Reader

What's worse? Someone you love being out of your reach? Or them being close yet further away than they've ever been?

After you finally got Mouse and Jay to go home and profusely apologized to Maggie for the intrusion even though she told you multiple times it didn’t bother her and that she understood why they had taken over her porch you were about to attempt sleep when Ethan called you. Crap, you’d forgotten the meeting. “Hey Ethan. I am so sorry I forgot the meeting. Is there one tomorrow or the next night? I really need to get into one but I had a lot going on”

He chuckled lightly “Yeah I came by Maggies to check on you” you groaned “Did they say anything rude to you? Because I swear I will get dressed right now and go kick their asses” he laughed “Easy ranger, they were civil enough. We just talked” “Good” you breathed, feeling your shoulders relax a bit to know they weren’t rude to the one person you had who knew exactly what you’d been through and was in your corner on that. “How ya feeling after seeing them? You have laid eyes on them for what, a week?”

“Yeah. I don’t know… how would you feel if it was April?” “That good huh?” he replied and you laughed lightly “Yeah. The only way I got them to leave is by telling them I would consider talking to them” “If it’s weighing on your mind you need to get it off. You’re carrying enough” he offered and you smiled slightly “Wise words Dr Choi” he spoke away from the phone then said “April said if you need her to call and that she loves you” “Tell her I will and I love her”

After you hung up with Ethan you still couldn’t sleep so you texted Erin Babe, you up? And she replied for you? Always you smiled and texted back Can we meet for breakfast before work? You laid back on the couch and leaned your head back on the pillow as your phone chimed Ok but I’m buying the pretty little trauma nurse her food

After you’d had breakfast with Erin the shadows in your head felt a little less dark. There was something about having someone who’d fallen down into her own hole and dug herself up right at your side that helped. She listened to everything you had to say, offered her opinion and never judged you. 

You had come to a decision so at lunch time you unlocked your phone, ignoring where Mouse had hacked it days before and changed the wallpaper to a photo of you, him and Jay and clicked the group text thread. There were dozens of texts from both of them, some you’d read others you’d just swiped so the new message alert would go away. 

You took a deep breath and typed You know that diner down from the precinct? Within seconds messages from them both popped up M:Yeah?  J:Yeah?  You hesitated before replying My shift ends at 6. I’ll meet you there at 6:30 ao we can talk you didn’t wait to see their answers right then you just locked your phone and slid it into your scrub pocket then heard Crocket call your name so happily you had an excuse to fall right back into work. 

BORDER

Jay and Mouse both sat staring at their phones. “I’m reading this right, aren’t I?” Jay asked and Mouse nodded slowly “She wants to talk to us” the only question was what did you want to talk about? “Is she telling us to stay away from her for good?” Mouse asked quietly and Jay shrugged “Your guess is as good as mine. The only person here that would know would be Erin. Hell I heard her telling Al she met her for breakfast. Not like she’s telling us anything though”

“Can you blame any of them for choosing her over us?” Mouse asked, cutting his eyes at him. Jay shook his head “No, I didn’t mean to ever make her think what she went through didn’t matter. How do you think I feel every time I see her without a shirt and know those scars are there because she chose to pull me out?” “How do you think I feel, especially knowing she came here looking for comfort after having a panic attack because of my OD?” Mouse questioned and both men fell silent.

Jay stood up and slapped his leg “C’mon. We got work to do. Sitting here wondering isn’t going to change what she plans to tell us” Mouse nodded, standing up and following Jay out of the tech room and upstairs.

When you finally sat down in your car you pulled out your phone to check the text thread J:We’ll meet you there baby  M:We’ll be waiting sweetheart you shook your head at the names. Yeah this was going to be interesting to say the least but you had to take this step, especially after their performance at Maggies. You were not about to inconvenience your friends like that, not when your name was still on that damn mortgage.

________________

You spotted Jay’s truck and parked next to it. You almost checked your reflection in the mirror then remembered it didn’t really matter. You climbed out of the car and headed for the door. The moment you stepped inside you spotted the two of them. They were sitting in a booth in the corner and their eyes locked onto yours. Same as that day you were introduced to the unit. Sky blue eyes and seafoam blue staring you down. 

You took a deep breath and walked towards them. They both stood up when you got closer but you shook your head “Just sit down. Damn” a slight smile slipped onto both of their faces as they sat down. The moment you were across from them the waitress brought over coffee. You raised an eyebrow and Mouse shrugged “I thought you may need some after a shift” 

“Thank you” you spoke low before making the coffee to your taste. You took a sip before finally raising your eyes to meet theirs. “Do you know how bad that pissed me off, you coming to Maggies like that? Not only did you intrude on my privacy but you intruded on hers and you used CPD equipment to do so”

They dropped their gaze to the table but didn’t reply beyond that. “How am I supposed to stay anywhere when I know you two could show up at any given moment and refuse to leave?”

They didn’t raise their gaze so you knocked on the table “Hey, that wasn’t a rhetorical question. What the fuck am I supposed to do?” “Baby we didn’t know what else to do” Jay offered and Mouse met your eyes “Sweetheart just come home”

You swallowed hard “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about” you saw their eyes light up so you shook your head “Don’t do that. I’m not moving back in. My name is still on the mortgage, along with Jay’s. I’m going to come back and sleep in the guest bedroom until Jay can get the mortgage switched over completely in his name and at that time I can try to get a loan to get my own place then”

Mouse blinked fast a few times and you looked away because you knew he was trying to not cry. You couldn’t let him break your heart. You loved him and Jay so damn much but if they couldn’t meet you halfway, if you weren’t indeed the answer to their hearts then why stick around? You were in a battle with your own head half your days as is, all three of you were. Why be in a relationship that only one of you was in with both feet? 

“So we’re supposed to let the love of our lives sleep in the guest room and I’m supposed to go get your name off the mortgage so you can walk away from us?” Jay asked and anger flickered to life in your stomach as your eyes flew to his. 

Both of you had unshed tears shining in your eyes but your tempers were luckily winning out at the moment “Do you love me Jay? Really, do either of you actually love me? Or do you love the woman who has consistently saved your lives from the moment she met you? The one who ran into firefights to ensure you were ok. The one who disobeyed direct orders to get you two out of that humvee. The one who ran after you while you were fucking everything you could get your dick in to try to feel something just to make sure you weren’t getting yourself killed. The woman who dragged herself off a fucking cliffside in Tennesse when she could’ve ended her fucking pain to come home to Chicago to help yours? The woman who went in a window to find Greg half dead on the floor and didn’t care that he threw up all over her only winter coat? The woman who has put you two back together time and again? Do you fucking love me or do you love being saved?”

“We love you” they spoke in unison, voices low. You nodded slowly “Then do this and prove it. Give me a roof over my head until I can provide myself one. That’s all I ask of you” 

Jay nodded first “Ok” Mouse dropped his gaze to his hands “Ok” you nodded “Ok. Now, can we leave? I’m not hungry and I don’t want to be in public”

“Of course” Jay spoke and you looked from him to Mouse, gaze lingering on Mouse. You’d held him in your lap begging him to stay awake, stay breathing. He had Jay, he’d make sure he stayed ok. 

“When we get there, I’m just there. I don’t want to talk. I don’t need anything from either of you. Act like I don’t exist” Mouse raised his eyes to you and you could see the tears in them “How are we supposed to have you there and act like you’re not?” you shrugged “It’s that or I have nowhere else to go” 

He shook his head then cut his eyes at Jay. They shared a long look before Mouse nodded “Ok”

“So we just act like she’s not there?” Mouse asked as Jay’s truck followed your tail lights in the direction of your place. “What other option do we have Greg? It’s that or she’s couch surfing or worse. Do you want her to leave Chicago?”

“Of course I don’t but can you really tell me it’s gonna be a walk in the park for her to be there and not have any reaction to her?” Mouse asked and Jay shook his head “She’s coming home. She’ll come around and talk to us” “And if she doesn’t?” Mouse pushed but Jay just shook his head again “She will”

_______________

You parked your car next to Jay’s truck and climbed out to get your duffle bag out of the trunk. Jay took a step towards you and you knew he meant to carry it but you shook your head. He stepped back and nodded. You hoisted it over your shoulder and walked up to the door. Mouse walked up next to you and simply held a key out “I’ll get your key out of the drawer in the kitchen later�� 

“Thank you” you whispered before unlocking the door and pushing it open. You could feel their presence behind you and tears started to threaten your eyes. You shook your head and walked straight for the guest room without another glance backwards. If you looked and saw their faces, how broken you knew they looked..there was a chance you’d give in and if they couldn’t prove that they actually loved YOU not just their savior then you didn’t need to be there. Your energy could only last so far burning it off.

 You closed the door and locked it behind you. The lock wasn’t for them. No matter what you trusted those two men with your life. The lock was to give yourself those few extra seconds worth of thought.

____________

Jay and Mouse stood in the center of the living room staring at the guest bedroom. “How do we prove that we love her?” Jay asked, your words echoing in his mind. You thought they didn’t love you. You thought that they only loved that you always saved them. The memories of you fighting some woman he’d taken to bed because her husband had beat his ass when he’d caught him drunk flashed through his mind along with that damned cliff..that cliff that almost took you from them..the darkest time for you. They had to prove it to you.

Mouse remained quiet, memories of you arguing with your C.O. The day of the convoy flashed through his mind because he’d still been semi conscious. How you’d told them they were welcomed to court marshal you but you were saving your boys first. The pain in your eyes when he’d woke up in your lap, how he’d apologized for throwing up on you but you’d shook your head and told him “No, I want you to get that crap out of you”

You thought that they didn’t love you, that they only loved you for what you’d done for them and that crushed him along with the memories of that fucking cliff..they came so close to losing you.

“We don’t give up on her like she’s never given up on us” Mouse answered finally after a moment and Jay nodded.

___________________

Jay and Mouse had dozed off somewhere around midnight when the sound of your scream broke through the silence in the apartment. Both men were on their feet and moving without having to say a word to each other. They scanned the living room, front door, guest bedroom door. Did someone come in your window?

They moved towards it and Jay reared back to kick the door in when you made another low pitched whining sound. “Jay, wait!” Mouse stopped him. “She’s hurt!” Jay argued and Mouse nodded towards the door “Listen” they pushed their ears to the door and listened “No no no…please…fucking breathe! Breathe dammit!”

“It’s a nightmare” Mouse spoke low, shoulders dropping as realization sat in at just how bad things were getting for you again. Jay wiped a hand across his face “Should we try to wake her up?” it was breaking both of them to hear you sobbing in your sleep and being helpless. “Let’s go back to sleep out here so if she happens to wake up and decide she wants to talk” Mouse offered and Jay nodded “Good idea”

You were used to not sleeping by this point because even when you slept you didn’t rest. You got up and dug around in your duffle to separate clean and dirty. You would do a load of laundry when the guys left for work, you had a night shift so you could go buy your own detergent and all later. 

You needed a shower. You gathered a bundle of clothes and opened the door. You did not expect Mouse to be asleep on the floor on one side and Jay to be asleep on the floor on the other side. What the actual hell? Didn’t matter. You needed to shower and either leave before they roused or be about to leave. The less time you were in close quarters with them the better because more than once when you woke up the night before, knowing they were that close you wanted them.

__________________

Mouse woke up when the hall bathroom door clicked shut. He glanced up and saw the guest bedroom door was cracked open. Ok, you were awake. He stood up, stretching as he did so and nudged Jay with his foot on the way to the kitchen “Wake up man”

Jay flinched awake “What?” Mouse nodded towards the hall bathroom “She’s up” Jay wiped hand along his face and nodded “You making coffee?” Mouse waved towards the coffee maker in front of him “No, I’m making waffles. What’s it look like” “Smartass” Jay grumbled.

_________________

You stepped out of the shower and could hear Jay and Mouse’s voices coming from the kitchen. Your eyes closed for a moment. Ok, you were ok. You quickly dried off and got dressed. You could do this. Head held high. You put the towel in the hamper, it was the only one in it since this bathroom was rarely used.

You stepped into the hall and could feel their eyes on you. You walked towards the guest bedroom. “Morning” Jay spoke first and you didn’t respond. You’d meant it when you asked them to not speak to you. “Want some coffee?” Mouse asked and you walked into the guest room, closing the door behind yourself. 

You grabbed your keys and purse and slipped your shoes on before walking back out. You didn’t look their way as you walked out the door. You had to keep walking. 

_______________

“We’re losing her more and more each day. You realize that, don’t you?” Mouse asked and Jay spun to face him “Dammit Greg, I know ok! I know. I fucked up thinking she was just angry. Do you honestly think this isn’t killing me too? That hearing her in pain and not being able to hold her for the first time in years isn’t ripping my heart out?”

Mouse felt his shoulder sag, he hadn’t meant to snap at Jay. They were both hurting, scared of losing you.  “She wouldn’t even look at us” he whispered and Jay nodded “I know, believe me I know” 

_____________

You managed to make it far enough down the block you knew neither of them would see you before you had to pull over and park. The tears were blurring your vision a little too much. You were exhausted. The only time you could focus was when you were at work. It gave you a purpose, someone to help. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen back into that pattern yet here you were. A hull of yourself. For years it was you, Jay and Mouse. One stumbles and the other two pick them up but now you questioned everything. You felt alone, alienated. 

You leaned your head over on the steering wheel and sobbed. Your hands shook as you reached for the phone and hit Ethan’s number. He answered on the second ring “Hey” “When’s the closest meeting?” “Let me make a call. Where are you?” he asked and you swallowed hard “Just call me back, ok?”

You hung up and dropped the phone into your lap. You wanted Jay. You wanted Mouse. You wanted them to wrap their arms around you and convince you that you weren’t broken, that you weren’t a waste but now you even doubted their feelings on that.

@desimarie12

@alterna123

@fifitheragertot

@allisonargent144

[thesunfyre4446]

Rhaenys reaction to Corlys infidelity is so disappointing. This wasn’t Corlys sleeping with some whore, barmaid or camp follower once. Corlys had an actual bond and prolonged relationship with this woman. He made a baby with her and then did it again. He was playing house with her and the babies for a time.

Rhaenys is now childless, she lost her 2 children- really because of Corlys ambitions. Then she sees that Corlys has 2 more children? She should’ve raged.

Rhaenys is way more passive than she and team black accuse Alicent of being. In the end there’s nothing a woman can do about her husband’s infidelity and bastards in their society like divorce. They have rights over your body, you can’t withhold sex. The only thing she is allowed is to show her displeasure and anger about the situation and fans are applauding Rhaenys for not embracing that tiny bit of resistance??

The writers fail every time they refuse to let team black have any inner conflict when they have just as many issues as the greens. Everything is solved by good faith and some self righteous speech.

Everything must be neatly packaged with a bow on top by the end of the episode, while they have TG carrying generational trauma and several ongoing plot.

I suppose Jace’s issue with Rhaenyra is solved because she told him that irrelevant ass bedtime story that will soon be lost to history. He’s now a grown man and his mother has never had an honest discussion about his father’s. There is no anger or resentment towards her for the situation she put him and his brothers in. Team Black collectively blame Alicent more for not pretending to be blind than they do Rhaenyra for making an immensely dangerous decision 3 times, 1 time was after an 8 year age gap.

Rhaena now fully accepts her claim to Driftmark died with the pretender Luke. She’s now reconsidered her original feelings about becoming a nursemaid to Rhaenyra and her father’s children (because Rhaena is never treated like family, Rhaenyra never appeals to her by calling them her brothers. Poor Rhaena has had to live the last 6 years of her life as an outsider looking in on her “family”) because Rhaenyra gave her a task to make her more pliant and agreeable like you do with little kids when you hand them a shopping list because you want them to behave and stay out of the way.

Daemyra isn’t even over, he is still tb’s tortured misunderstood devoted malewife “babygirl”. Eventually Daemyra will reunite and talk about twin flames, burning together, a dragon alone in the world or some fake deep shit like that. Rhaenyra is going to accept him back into her heart. He’ll be magically cured of his jealousy and tendency towards domestic violence because Alys sent him some dreams at Harrenhal. While on the other side you have Alicole taking the blame from the writers and the fandom for the murder of their grandchild that Babygirl- Daemon had committed, entrenched in Catholic guilt, fucking and fighting and having secret abortions.

This is why watching team black scenes is like watching white paint drip down a wall. When a team black scene comes on, I can look away from the screen, have a conversation, go online shopping, zone out a little and answer texts or scroll the socials.

They’re dreadfully boring. I saw something yesterday that I never thought I would see from team righteous. The comment section of a promo video HBO posted on IG, a lot of people who said they are team black admitting to finding team green characters more interesting because they have flaws. Saying that they enjoy team green scenes more because the blacks are boring.

literally why i'm team green. anon ATE and left no crumbs. that was amazing please let's be mutuals

[avonne-writes]

“how embarrassing would it be if i told you i’d dreamt of this since i first met you?” is so clegan <3

Thank you 🥰 The drabble is set in my a/b/o au where Gale is an omega who doesn’t have normal heats due to childhood trauma.

Edit: you can consider this set in the same universe as @anachilles's lovely smutty one-shot ❤️‍🔥

If there's one thing that Bucky learned in the ten years since his first time in bed with an omega, it’s that you'd better talk about what you want before you pop your knot rather than regret the whole fucking thing when you wake up alone again. His previous partners never seemed to care to linger once he had given them that satisfaction. Not that he blames or resents them for it - it’s his own damn fault that he came across as an omega-chaser, just a fun partner for the night, instead of an alpha longing for a mate.

Don’t make this out to be more than what it is, they said if he caught them before they slipped away. You're a sweet man, but I can’t stay. Countless versions of the same story, leaving Bucky sitting alone with his head in his hands and his heart hollow again.

But not this time. No, with Gale, he’s determined to do it right. He courted him the way he deserved, with all the gifts and love and care Bucky could heap on him without drawing the kind of attention Gale didn’t want. No throwing himself at Gale’s feet in the barracks, no sweet talking in public, no jealous outbursts even if it killed him. It was all in the small details with Gale, and in the unwavering devotion he craved. Grand gestures didn’t appeal to him, no matter how Bucky's instincts urged him to belt it out for all the world to know that he’d do anything for his Buck. His best friend, his beautiful mate.

Well, all right, they’re not mated yet. But they’re going to be. Bucky can feel the warm certainty of it deep in his chest, spreading through his veins with every swipe of Gale's thumb over the juncture of his neck as they kiss lying on top of each other in the hotel bed they rented for the night. Would Gale touch him like this if he didn’t want it too? No, Bucky doesn’t think so.

He draws back just far enough to look into Gale's eyes and comb through his short blond hair. When he shifts his hips to the side, Gale’s slim thighs part to let him sink between them, a perfect fit. "Are you comfortable?”

Gale nods, watching Bucky's face with lazy affection. He slides both of his hands down Bucky’s back and untucks Bucky's shirt to get to the bare skin of his lower back.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy.”

"Don’t start on this now." Gale drawls, the contentment in his tone at odds with his words. He pushes his hands between their stomachs to undo their belts. He smells happy, his scent heady like the warmth of the sun on a humid summer afternoon.

They kiss again, grinding together slowly. John wonders if Gale's all wet for him already or if he needs some help - he’d gladly put his mouth to use. But first, they need to talk.

"Can I ask you something?" He starts. They're so close that he sees the flash of concern in Gale's eyes and feels the minute tightening of the cradle of his thighs.

"You’re a good alpha, John." Gale says quietly, stroking John's face with his right hand. "I'll let you knot me tonight if you want.”

John can’t help the way his lips purse at the answer given before he could even ask anything. He doesn’t know why Gale assumes that's all he’s after, when he has done everything he could to show that he isn’t.

"It’s not what I want." He says, a touch too firmly, if Gale's startled blink is anything to go by. "I want to mate you." He clears his throat, reining the emotion in his voice back. "That’s what I wanted to ask. I want to be your mate.”

Out of all the ways this played out in his head, Gale pulling away from him was one of the worst. Cracks cut sharply into his heart as Gale pushes at his shoulders, then sits back against the headboard. Bucky ends up kneeling beside him on the mattress, a pleading look in his eyes. The change in Gale's scent feels sharp in his nose, but it's not acrid like disgust or fear. It’s sour distress, deeply pained. The way Gale pulls his knees up to rest his arms on them makes him look achingly young.

“Why?” He asks. The disbelief in his eyes hurts.

“Because I love you.” When Gale closes his eyes, Bucky presses on. “I love you. I want to be yours. To take care of you, protect you… I want to be your mate. And I want to do it before we ship out.”

Gale worries at his lip, then gives Bucky a look full of tumultuous emotions.

"That’s not something you should do on a whim." He tells Bucky. His voice is calm, but he’s digging his own nails into his arm. "Think it through carefully. You know I don't have normal heats. I don't think I can get pregnant, John. It’s the way it's always been. Ain't ever gonna change. I'm not the kind of omega you deserve. I don't mind if we -"

He cuts himself off. A soft "damn it" gets caught in his suddenly tight throat. He rubs the bridge of his nose as if to keep his tears in, then shoots Bucky a wry smile. "I don't mind if it’s just sex and nothing more.”

The noise that escapes Bucky's throat is filled with helpless frustration. He scoots closer and cups Gale’s cheek with his right hand. "To hell with sex, Buck! It’s not what I want. I would rather not knot anyone ever again if that's the only way I can be your mate.”

For a moment, Gale doesn’t say anything, just searches Bucky's eyes, then his scent starts changing again, becoming gradually sweeter with hope. Something eases in Bucky too in response, and he lets his body lean forward until his forehead is pressed to Gale's. When he gives Gale a soft kiss on the lips, Gale slides his arms off his knees to wrap them around Bucky’s neck.

“You actually mean it.” Gale says quietly. There’s still some uncertainty in his voice, but there’s growing hope too.

“I do.” Bucky replies. Then, because he can’t keep holding it all bottled up anymore, “Please be my mate, doll. I'll be so good for you, the best alpha you can ask for, I’ll take care of you -”

“Shh.” Gale shushes him with a small chuckle, pulling Bucky’s head to his neck to let him scent Gale there and lick at the spot he’s going to bite if Gale says yes. Soothing fingers comb through his hair, and Gale’s thumb presses to the base of his neck again. It’s so calming that Bucky could fall asleep just like this in Gale's arms.

“How about -” Gale starts, stroking Bucky’s back now. “- we wait until the morning. If you still want it when we wake up, then… we can do it.”

Bucky lifts his head to look at Gale with wide eyes and the wobbling beginning of a grin. “Is that a yes?”

The curve of Gale's cheeks turns rounder as he smiles. “It is.”

Bucky crows in joy and tackles Gale sideways on the mattress, trying to kiss him through a happy laugh and babbling the first thing that comes to Bucky's mind. “How embarrassing would it be if I told you I'd dreamt of this since I first met you?”

Gale hugs him tight and nips his neck. “Is that why you gave me your own goddamn name?”

Feverish with happiness, Bucky nips Gale back, shuddering at the thought that tomorrow, he'll get to bite him for real. “Had to claim you.”

“Possessive.” Gale hums, his linden blossom scent intoxicating to Bucky's nose.

Bucky’s love thrums in his chest like a song. “You love it, Buck.”

Gale laughs. He doesn’t deny it.

[persephone11110]

A Web Of Lies | J. Seresin

warnings: past physical abuse, past domestic violence-> old traditional views of how women are supposed to be,victim blaming—self victim blaming, hurt/comfort, protective jake seresin, mentions of throwing up and being on your period, oc death-> mentions of alcohol abuse and car accident

summary:“Y/n sometimes it best if women are seen and not heard,sometimes its best if you just take the hits and don’t react”. Mama tells you while holding an icepack to her swollen eye.

AN: do i need therapy or do i need keep writing oc’s with childhood trauma?

ocs: Betty L/n, Harry L/n, Darren

—

THIS STORY IS ABOUT DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND GENERATIONAL TRAUMA AND MISOGYNISTIC SOCIETIAL VIEWS SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL

—

Women are seen not heard.

It’s a phrase you learned as a little girl, it’s an assumption youv’e lived by for awhile, taking it in consideration when saw your dad first hit your mom, when Darren first slapped you. Its always the women fault— it can never be the man fault.

You didn’t learn this lesson until your eight years old, when your father facade cripples quickly. Before this happened he was sweet to you, always calling you his princess, having tea parties with you—throwing you over his shoulder.

His laughter was loud and clear , just like yours until it isn’t. Your dad is everything a man is supposed to be until he isn’t. The loudness that once meant happiness turns into—loud agressive shouting, when it’s him and mama alone together.

Well they think their alone together. Your wandering down the staircase to see were he went as he promised to read you the cinderella story again—like he did most nights, reading to you until your snores filled the room.

They’re fighting again which isn’t surprising to say the least. Your parents always argued whether it was in hushed tones or it was so loud that your neighbors next door would come over and make sure everything was fine.

“Betty it wouldn’t be like this if you just made me happy!”,his voice booms, bouncing off the walls. He doesn’t look like he usually does, his hair was messy opposed to the gel back look he normally wore, his clothes has stains on it- something that was unheard of until tonight.

You swear mama not breathing after you watched daddy ball his fist up, striking her across the face. The cracking sound echoes throughout the living room, mama on the ground holding the right side of her face.

You go to open your mouth, worried for your mama. But before you can your nanny Louisa gently wraps her hand around your mouth. “Shh little one, lets get to bed–theres school remember”. Louisa picks you up and you lean your head on her shoulder, leaving your mama bleeding on the cold floor alone.

It makes mama stop arguing with daddy, his combat boots were heavy aganist the floor as he leaves through the front door— using all his strength to slame it.

In the morning you notice how quiet mama is, how red and swollen her face is. “Louisa taking you to school today Y/n” her voice is small and soft.

“Mama why did daddy hit you?”. She almost drops the kettle onto the ground, mama didn’t know you were there watching the vicious scene unfold.

Thats the day your mama infamous words get stuck in your head,“Sometimes mama makes daddy mad, sometimes women must be seen and not heard”.

It words that stay with Y/n for over an decade.

—

Circa of 2002

Your in your junior year of college when the lesson your mom taught you is sitting in the back of your mind.

Just take the hit Y/n, it makes life easier.

Your relationship with Darren is so fresh, yet your already mimicking how your mom acts around your dad. Your already walking on eggshells with him, he already rolls his eyes when you forget to give him the answers to the psychologyhomework—it meant your walking on thin line of his frustration.

Sometimes you think you deserve the bruises that riddle your body, how many times have you forgotten to call him back, when he tells you to. Sometimes he’s annoyed with how much you move in your sleep, “I can’t sleep Y/n if you move so much”.

Your relationship with Darren was the true epitome of Opposite Attracts. Like today you got excited telling Darren about the release of the book Coraline. You remembered him reminding you to calm down, him telling you didn’t care about his day.

Or when your on your period and he insists that your fine, and how you had the tendency to overreact when it came to your pain. How he’s sighs when your own the ground cleaning up your throw up as the cramps had gotten worse. Telling you its 2AM in the morning and he’s desperately trying to sleep, and now he can’t.

The guilt eats away at you for days, now when you get your period you slept on the bathroom floor.

You don’t have friends anymore, as Darren had grown controlling of your social life. “Am I not enough for you, Y/n?”. Your friends grow tired of seeing you so bruised, they grow tired of trying to help someone who didn’t want the help. Its just you and Darren now–at least he didn’t grow tired of you.

It took ten years for you to leave, your about two years into your nursing job. Your a hypocrite, as you stood infront of a woman in a coma, her husband had beaten to her within an inch of her life and the only chance she had at living was a medical induced coma.

Here you were holding her hand telling her it wasn’t her fault. “Sometimes we believe we don’t deserve better and we believe there is no one out there who will ‘love’ us”. You sighed, lifting one hand to wipe away your tears.

You left him-leaving the state and finding a job all the way in Miramar, California—changing your cell number and email. A phone call from your mother makes you almost burst out laughing,“Y/n I’m so sorry for your loss sweetheart he was such a nice boy”. Darren drinking habit has gotten worse, he managed to flip his car over on its side. You didn’t feel like telling her about the break up - there was no use anway, as she’ll tell you to beg for his love again, like all the other times.

Present

You sitting across from Jake, staring at him waiting for him to tell you how much you suck at cooking. Waiting for him to pick up the dish and chuck it over your head—listening to him pop open another beer, the plate and flood sliding down the wall.

It doesnt come, its never going to.

Jake gives you a soft smile, and he reaches for your hand to hold it, as he eats.“God damn darlin, you put your entire foot in it”.

“Thank you Jake”, You push your chair back, moving to collect his dish. He softly grips your hand, stopping you from moving.

“Darlin I have legs—finish your food first”. He drops a kiss onto your head before walking to the kitchen. His southern drawl thicker than usual.

Darren did always say you were stubborn. You were standing infront of the sink washing all the dishes that had been used for dinner. Despite Jake telling you didn’t have to.

“Y/n is cleaning so hard for you?”.

“Is it so hard for my girlfriend to clean up after herself?”, your holding a cold beer to your swollen face.

“Darlin, no”. Jake wraps his arms around you not caring about your wet clothes. “Let me do it Y/n”. He gently pushes you into the kitchen chair.

Jake doing the dishes right now.

Something your dad wouldn’t dare do for your mom,“Betty I’m tired the least my wife can do is clean up for me”. Darren wouldn’t neither—“Goodnight Y/n, or I’m watching the game”, leaving you in the dark kitchen alone.

Jake Seresin isn’t them, Jake isn’t the man you’ve spent majority of your life scared of. It’s takes time for you believe that, it takes time for you to believe his words,“I will never lay a hand on you Y/n”.

It took some time but staring at him washing the dishes singing along with Beyoncé you start to believe him. You know for certain that Jacob Grant Seresin is not like them—he can’t be.

[theshiftingwitch]

You're not doing anything wrong!

Whether you're manifesting, or shifting, or simply living, I think you have to be reminded that you're not doing it wrong.

You're going through your days, wondering why nothing is working, why your reality isn't conforming, why everyone else is getting everything they wanted and you're stuck in the same place with no forward movement, and you end up blaming yourself.

I mean, who else are you going to blame?

No one. The answer is no one.

You're not doing anything wrong, nor did you do anything wrong as a child either. This is what that's about, isn't it? That mean voice in your head calling you stupid and lazy and unworthy, that poor self esteem that's keeping you stuck in a constant loop of self hatred, those people pleasing tendencies that make you put everyone else above you.

Those are not your fault either. You see, most likely, those things are a result of childhood trauma. Somewhere along the line, someone put you down and called you names so they can feel more powerful. Someone accused you of something you didn't do and didn't give you the chance to defend yourself. Someone guilted you into doing something you didn't want to do for their own benefit over and over and now you don't know how to say no. Someone made you think everything going wrong in life was your fault.

It wasn't.

You were just a kid.

You deserved better.

All those things you carry with you today, and you look around and wonder why your life is a landmine of terrible events and missed opportunities, not knowing that those events shaped your beliefs and how you see the world. You take them with you everywhere, and now you're trying to manifest a new reality, and your brain is resisting every step of the way.

It's not your brain's fault. It's only trying to keep you safe.

But in order to change the story, you have to rewrite the old beliefs, you have to rewire your brain.

Aren't you tired of carrying all of that shit with you? Aren't you tired of all that self sabotage, self hatred, and cruel inner monologue?

If you've been trying to manifest for a while, and nothing seems to work and you falter every two business days, you need to address your subconscious beliefs. Do your shadow work, figure out your triggers, and rewrite the story so that you don't have to carry that burden with you for the rest of your life.

You deserve better!

And if you have no idea where to start, there are a lot of free shadow work prompts on Pinterest! Give those a try, and then check out my journals. I've been at this for 6 years, and it kicked my ass, but it made me a better version of myself, and it will do the same for you.

I hope you love yourself enough to expel that cruel voice out of your head ❤️

[shallowseeker]

Was feeling silly over Sinatra and I wanted to break out one of my Dean and Jack metas by itself. It's from this monstrosity, but I love it so. I'm pulling it out to ponder over today.

//

Dean’s answer to the Harper-coded ideal of perfection:

So, last we left off, Harper was writing dreamily about how she’s gonna find Jack and everything’s gonna be PERFECT.

Which is why it’s so beautiful to me that Dean, who has struggled with some of the same abandonment trauma and overall clinging to his first familial loves out of desperation, is the one to narratively provide a rebuttal to that!

Harper sighs dreamily and picks up her coffee mug of domesticity:

And the scene cuts to Jack, as if he’s right there across from her. (He’s sitting in her empty spaces, hundreds of miles away.)

And Jack is so satisfied. The coffee didn’t taste good to him at the very beginning of the episode. He “couldn’t get it how he liked it.”

Now, it’s very satisfying.

///

Harper and Jack are both satisfied is different ways. Harper, because she left her past behind, and Jack because he’s proved himself as a capable hunter worthy of being brought into the family business. It’s all part of growing up.

They are still thinking about each other and what they learned in meeting each other. Jack is specifically asking Dean about love:

JACK: And that’s, love? DEAN: Eh, actually love can get crazier than that. And it might get crazier with Harper still out there. But, uh, you did good, kid.

In Jack’s family kitchen, we find Dean sitting in the narrative “Harper position,” fielding Jack’s questions about love and providing important guidance.

But Harper’s “mentor” space is sadly empty. She has no one to guide her. Only a stack of books. She gets her ideas about love…from books.

///

As for Jack, Jack leans a little too far into being Righteous here. He says to Dean: “I was right! I should be going on more hunts!”

This reminds us a little bit of Claire Novak, in 11x12 Don’t You Forget About Me:

"I was right!"

///

But Dean?

Dean gently redirects the conversation. Dean doesn’t talk about perfection. It’s not about being right. Or righteous, for that matter.

DEAN: Okay, alright. It’s not about being right. Kay? You’re gonna make mistakes, hell, I make them all the time. But it’s how you handle yourself once you’ve made those mistakes and you’ve learned from them.

Dean’s entire season 8 arc was about accepting the imperfect family: “love, and love.” This is echoed again, just a few episodes later, with AU Michael taunting Dean specifically about Cas’s mistakes:

AU MICHAEL: …he “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.” Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

AU Michael doesn’t grasp the complexity of love and all its imperfections. Real, lasting love allows for mistakes and growth.

Anyway.

Mistakes! (And accepting them! It's an amazing theme!)

And that lands for Jack. He considers the words, assessing, and like how he was with Harper, he gets a Very Good Emotional Read on Dean.

(Unlike Sam, a “brain” character, Jack’s very much a heart character. He’s GOOD at this aspect of humanity. He connects almost effortlessly, even when he’s awkward.)

And especially because he and Dean (and Mary) are built similarly in their emotional cores and neuroses, he figures out exactly what Dean needs to hear, echoing their earlier convo about Michael—

(HERE'S THE CONVO B/T JACK & DEAN, EARLIER IN THE EP:)

JACK: Dean, what happened with Michael, no one blames you. DEAN: Cool, well I blame me, so… /////// JACK: Dean, I need to do something. You don’t understand. I could have killed Michael. Here, when I was strong enough, I could have. But there was so much going on and then everything else happened because I was distracted and stupid and DEAN (angrily): Hey! You didn’t do anything wrong. JACK:  And neither did you! But that doesn’t make it any easier does it?

Jack takes this earlier conversation and echoes it—and reflecting a cheeky, wry sense of comfort…right back at Dean himself.

DEAN: ...it’s how you handle yourself once you’ve made those mistakes and you’ve learned from them. JACK (comically throwing Dean’s own advice back at him): —and how to not beat yourself up over [those mistakes].

Aw.

It hits its mark. ❤️

We get his, “Stop seeing right through me, Kid,” look:

DEAN: You know Jack, you’re pretty smart sometimes. 

Dean tries to hide his smile in his drink.

And Jack knows his words hit, that he’s cheered Dean up. He’s so pleased about it, too! He got ‘im.

They’re, very unfortunately for both of them, very much on the same wavelength with this sort of thing, with their neuroses and emotions, and they know it.

///

(Who's giving who advice here? hehehe. Maybe it's a little give and take. They comfort one another because their hearts are made of the same stuff.)

[waynewifey]

aporia — b.w

part one : dear mr. wayne

part two: aftermath

part three: aporia

epilogue

sumary: aporia suggests “an impasse”, a knot or an inherent contradiction found in any text, an insuperable deadlock, or “double bind” of incompatible or contradictory meanings which are “undecidable”. [reference]

pairing: battinson/bruce wayne x reader

genre: drama & romance

warnings: mental health struggle, miscarriage, car crash, a lot of internal dialogue

word count: 2k

A/N: the more i write, the more i put myself in this story. i feel like this ‘you’ is so complex i can’t help but try to explain her further. part four will be bruce’s perspective on all of this + an epilogue. i’m so grateful for the amazing feedback given on the last two parts and for the new followers, thank you so so much. i hope you enjoy this. (also this gif??? HELLO???)

GOTHAM. USA.

— bargaining.

the uncomfortable silence makes you want to scream. she told you that was a normal reaction and they couldn't get rid of those moments, they were essential for your self reflection. the problem was being alone with your thoughts, even for just one minute. they keep deciding you won't recover any time soon. everyone keeps holding you like a cracked vase. even negligence was better than being put under the microscope.

"i don't know what you want me to say" you respond, your gaze anxiously shuffling between the objects in the room. the woman's eyes, however, don't ever leave your face. she holds that journal like a scientist analysing a mutation. like you're some weird thing.

"you should say whatever you feel like saying." that's what she always answers. dr. quinn was extremely stoic, even for a therapist. you still liked her, though, because her pragmatic approach helped you shift your point of view and see yourself from an outside perspective, which made you want to help yourself. after weeks of feeling extra irritable, still trying to forgive your husband for lying to you, you realised maybe everything was too much for you to handle by yourself. you wanted to go back to the real world but before that, you had to do this. a quick chat with your psychiatrist and he gave you the contact to harley quinn.

"i think i've been way too mean to bruce" your confession has her nodding, like that observation had been made sessions before and she was waiting for you to realise that. "he's been so supportive and helpful, but sometimes words just fly out of my mouth and i don't even mean them"

"do you think it's easier to blame him than to come to terms with what actually happened?" you can't answer, because this was all you've asked yourself lately. you were a coward, hiding behind his suffering to prevent confronting yours. it's easy to curse him, to reject him, but it's not what you want to do. lately it feels like you don't have any control over your emotions and actions. you thought maybe if you pushed away the last person that still cared for you, you could disappear in your loneliness and finally stop hurting. "y/n you've been through something terrible. the kind of thing we never think it's gonna happen to us. i know it doesn't feel real, but you have to face it that it is. the thing about trauma... you have to keep living with it. you have to keep going, because it doesn't go away. but this is your life and you don't get to stay on standby. you hurt the people you love because it's better than hurting yourself. you told me you feel bad about it, so why won't you change?"

why won't you? you don't even know where to start. it felt comfortable living in sorrow forever. horrible, but comfortable. again, it was in fact easier to blame him than to accept this was reality. but he's right outside, been waiting for you for two hours, as he has done twice a week for over a month. you weren't being fair to him. he didn't deserve this. dr. quinn sees the defeat in your eyes and sighs in a mission accomplished type of breath.

"think about this, okay? we'll talk on friday." you nod, as if you weren't already overthinking it.

bruce sees you before listening to you. he's created the habit to stay in the waiting room with headphones in, blasting loud music. he didn't want you to feel like he was prying on you. he also didn't want to listen anything you had to say about him. you had the right to be mad at him, given everything that had happened. he knew you didn't mean it when you bomb dropped the word 'divorce' every now and then. it would take you some time to get back to normal and he wouldn't rush you.

you walk to the car quietly and get into the driver's seat. he agreed to let you drive to and from therapy. the office was actually in dr. quinn's house, a little bit on the country side of the city, if you could call it that. it was a 50 minute drive with no traffic, roads empty enough for you to drift off in you thoughts. he watches you drive, eyes brightening up a little more everyday. he realised that trying to shield you from the world wasn't going to work out. you need to learn how to be on your own. he needs to learn how to care for you while away.

"i'm sorry," you caught him off guard, observing the curves of your face. he frowns at the unexplained sentence. you glance at him but look back at the road. "for the way i've been acting. for pushing you away. for being too complicated. i know you're trying to help… thank you for staying."

"darling, of course. for better or for worse, remember? i'm never leaving you. we're getting through this, together. and don't you worry about me, i'll be okay when you are too, alright? you're doing great, i can see how much you're working towards it." he holds out a hand for you and you take it, intertwining your fingers. his calloused palms are softer now, courtesy of the months without batman-ing. they still embrace yours entirely and warm the cold tips of your fingers.

"i love you" the sweetness of that feeling dominates your tastebuds and it's almost like the day you started dating. that innocent type of love that consist of the pure enjoyment of each others company. however, your attempt to savour the moment is ruined by a shape in your peripheral eyesight.

"i love you too" bruce's voice is muffled by the anxious thoughts taking over your mind. the panic starts to overflow. he notices your body getting stiff and the wheel looking loose on your hand. your breathing lost it's rhythm to creaking gasps. there's something wrong. your eyes are frozen in a vehicle. he's seen this van before. maybe not this one, but an identical one, in a security camera tape in court. it looks exactly like the one that took you. "baby, hey, hey. i'm right here." you don't pay any mind to the man beside you. you can't, not when your instincts are telling you to run. not when you can feel the gun getting knocked on your head over and over again. bruce is saying something. the tears are blurring your sight. this is too much.

he's calling you screaming at this point, tears are rolling down your cheeks and you still haven't looked away from the van. there's a bump coming up, the car is dangerously fast and you're not driving at all. he goes for the wheel but isn't quick enough. the tires wiggle, going in their own direction. the car changes lanes, getting in the wrong way of the street. another car is coming and the impact isn't light. your head is thrown forwards, the airbag covering your face. the windshield shatters and little pieces of glass get stuck in your hair. the crash isn't too bad, you're both still awake and only the front has been smashed. but you get out hyperventilating, falling onto the ground and weeping.

bruce gets out as well, only a scratch on the forehead. he has to kneel on the dirt to hold you up. for a while, he doesn't say anything. the other driver is standing, phone in the ear. he's also fine. the cars were the only damage. two other drivers stop by, offering help. you wish he could help you, but it seems as if there's something inherently wrong with you.

— depression.

the weeks following the accident were harsh. it took a while to get you believing in recovery again. you still weren't sure. somehow there was press at the site, so pictures of you crying next to a car crash made it to the papers. there's minor commentary online about you faking it for your husbands popularity. most of the netizens feel desperately sorry for you and have painted you to be their new princess diana, the comparison seems wild to you.

you only go online every three days or so, because you can't resist the urge to know what bruce hasn't been telling you. jokes on you, he's actually been a lot more transparent lately. you agreed that the batman would show up to the sentence of edward nashton, to pressure the jury with his presence. it worked and the criminal got life without parole. the lawyers said that your public presence impacted on his trial, as 20 years was the standard. you were just glad he wouldn't do that to anybody else ever again. the case got national and your family from outside the state, that you not-so-kindly kept in the dark, started making contact, victimising you all over again.

but things were getting better, gradually. it had been almost a year and it felt like that chapter of your life was finally being finished. you were trying to get your life back, including your driver's license. it was suspended for a while after the accident, so now you had to submit a bunch of medical records to prove that you were mentally fine to drive again. that's how you found yourself in bruce's home office, searching everywhere for your documents. you could've asked him where he put it, but he had just fallen asleep in the living room and you didn't want to disturb him.

in one of the desk's drawers, you find a folder with the local hospital logo on it. you open it, shuffling through the papers you've seen before. only one stands out, with "ob/gyn" on the top of the sheet. you wonder if there's anything helpful there. your eyes start reading the words one by one, listing the examinations they've done on you. the subject changes abruptly.

the ultrasound analysis reports the miscarriage of an unknown pregnancy to the patient's spouse.

you feel like you're about to throw up. the world starts spinning as you force yourself to continue to read.

the fetus was estimated to be in the development stage of the beginning of the second trimester. the miscarriage was most likely a result of several mechanical trauma. dilation and curettage was performed with the patient in a medically induced coma.

you try to remember to breathe in and breathe out just like dr. quinn taught you. you expect the tears but they don't come out. the panic doesn't come. it's suddenly so quiet. it's not like a hole has been punched through your chest, it's like you have no chest at all. it's like you don't even exist. you somehow sit down, your body does. you feel as if it's moving on it's own and you're just watching from afar. your thoughts sound so distant, so irrelevant. you can only think of the baby that had once been inside of you and you didn't even realised. you didn't have the time to love him. you've had him there, right there, the thing you wanted the most in the world and he was taken from you. everything was taken from you.

if a tree falls on a forest, and there's no one around to hear, does it still make a sound? it felt like your fall was silent.