#using some new brushes and they look fire

[yoursaltyqueen]

Still

warnings: eating disorder, angst, brokenhearted, trauma

I still remember the exact way he looked at me the first time I slipped him a stolen Hydra keycard.

Not like I was a savior.

Not like I was a traitor.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should thank me or kill me.

But he didn’t do either.

He just whispered my name — the real one — and it nearly undid me.

Because I’d spent years being someone else.

Just like him.

We were both ghosts in that place, trapped in steel and silence.

But something about Bucky Barnes — broken, beautiful Bucky — made me feel human again.

He didn’t know it, but he was my redemption long before I ever became his.

When we ran, we ran together.

Bloodied, hunted, exhausted.

He didn’t speak much.

But I could read him.

The way his hands shook when he touched freedom.

The way he stood between me and every gun, every shadow.

The way he reached for my hand in his sleep like it anchored him.

I loved him.

God, I loved him.

And I loved him more in Wakanda.

When his nightmares clawed at him like knives and he’d knock on my door, silent and shaking, and I’d hold him until morning.

We didn’t speak about the past.

We just existed in the soft present, in quiet touches and shared glances and the way his lips brushed my shoulder like a promise he couldn’t keep.

But promises were fragile.

And Bucky was still trying to find himself.

He needed space to heal — and I knew I was a reminder of the very thing he wanted to forget.

So I let him go.

Even when it broke me.

Even when he didn’t fight me on it.

It’s been months now.

Maybe a year.

And I still find myself glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see him walking beside me.

I still reach for his hand when I’m falling asleep.

I still make coffee the way he liked it.

I still wear the ring he gave me around my neck like it’s armor.

I see him sometimes — on screens, in news reports, next to Sam.

Smiling.

Alive.

But never looking for me.

And I tell myself that’s okay.

That I did the right thing.

That some people are only meant to find each other in the fire, not the aftermath.

Still—

If he walked through my door right now—

If he whispered my name again, broken and breathless—

I’d fall back into him like no time had passed at all.

Because I never stopped loving him.

Not once.

Not even when I said goodbye.

It started with a silence I couldn’t fill.

Bucky had been distant for days.

Quiet, like he used to be in Wakanda — but this time it wasn’t the nightmares.

It was me.

I could feel it.

He wouldn’t look at me that morning.

When I passed him his coffee, he mumbled thanks without lifting his eyes.

And when I touched his arm, he flinched — like my fingertips were memories he was trying to forget.

“Bucky,” I said, softly. “Talk to me.”

He didn’t.

Not right away.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.

And then he exhaled, like it hurt.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

It took me a second to understand.

And then the words knocked the breath out of me.

Like a punch to the chest.

I stood there — still in one of his old shirts, my hands trembling at my sides — and stared at him.

“What are you saying?” I whispered.

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t look at me.

“You remind me of too much. Of what I was. Of Hydra. Of all the things I’m trying to leave behind.”

It stung.

God, it stung.

Like I’d been carved out.

“I helped you,” I said quietly. “I loved you through all of that.”

“I know,” he said.

His voice cracked.

“I know. That’s what makes this worse.”

I knelt down in front of him, trying to force him to meet my eyes.

“I’m not them, Bucky. I’m not Hydra anymore. You said I was different.”

“You are,” he whispered, finally looking at me.

And I wished he hadn’t, because his eyes were filled with grief.

Not anger. Not coldness.

Just loss.

“I’m trying to become someone new,” he said. “Someone good. And I can’t do that while I still feel like the Soldier every time I look at you.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks.

“You don’t get to make me your sin, Bucky.”

“I’m not,” he said, his voice almost breaking.

“I’m trying to save you from what I’ll become if I keep dragging this weight around.”

I reached for his hand.

He let me.

But it was limp in mine.

Already letting go.

“Please don’t do this,” I begged, my voice shaking.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

He closed his eyes like it killed him to hear that.

“I already lost myself,” he whispered.

And then, softer—

“I’m sorry.”

When he stood and walked out of the room, he didn’t look back.

And I didn’t stop him.

Because I think I knew, deep down… he’d already left long before he spoke the words.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

It never has.

The worst part wasn’t when he left.

It was the days after.

The silence.

The stillness of the apartment.

The way his coffee mug stayed in the sink like it was waiting for him.

The way the bed stayed cold on one side no matter how much I curled into the pillows.

It wasn’t just heartbreak.

It was undoing.

Because I’d only ever had him.

No family.

No friends.

Just Bucky — the broken boy with a haunted past who still made room for me in the quietest parts of his life.

And when he left, it felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under me.

I stopped sleeping.

And when I did, the nightmares came.

Waking up drenched in sweat, my breath caught in my throat as flashes of Hydra — of blood, of screaming, of what I had done — clawed their way through my mind like barbed wire.

I saw faces.

Victims.

People I couldn’t name, couldn’t save.

And I’d reach out in the dark, still half-asleep, still hoping he’d be there —

A whisper away.

A hand to hold.

A voice to say “You’re not that person anymore.”

But he wasn’t.

He was gone.

And I was alone.

Some nights, I sat in the hallway, knees to my chest, crying so quietly it didn’t even sound like crying anymore.

Just… air escaping from something hollow.

I missed him.

Not just the way he kissed me or the way he held me like I was made of glass.

I missed how he understood without asking.

I missed how he could calm my panic with one look, one touch.

I missed us.

Even in silence, we were a rhythm. A lifeline.

And now, there was just… me.

Empty.

I didn’t know how to be on my own.

Because Bucky was the reason I left Hydra.

The reason I found something to fight for.

The reason I thought I could be more than a monster.

And now that he was gone…

I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.

Or if I was even worth saving without him.

The TV was on in the diner again.

I didn’t even have to look to know it was him.

The voice of the anchor cut through the clatter of cutlery and the hiss of coffee machines.

“Congressman James Buchanan Barnes—”

I froze.

Plate in hand, half-empty coffee cup on my tray.

I turned, slow, knowing I shouldn’t.

But I looked anyway.

There he was.

Smiling.

Suit perfectly tailored.

Hair shorter longer, neater.

Eyes brighter.

He looked like a man finally free of his past.

He looked… better.

Like I never existed.

The customers clapped, a few of them raising their glasses to the screen like they knew him personally.

“He’s a hero,” the man at table four said. “Used to be that Winter Soldier guy, right? Turned his life around.”

Turned his life around.

Without me.

I swallowed hard and blinked fast, willing the tears not to fall.

Not here.

Not on this floor.

My name tag felt heavier than usual.

Just Y/N.

Not an agent.

Not a fighter.

Not a lover.

Just a waitress at a half-dead restaurant off the corner of a city that forgot my name.

The shift went on.

Like always.

Smile. Refill. Clear plates. Numb. Repeat.

But his face kept flashing in my head.

That same smile he used to give me after a nightmare when I told him he was good.

Only now he was giving it to them.

The world.

The same world that once hunted him.

Now they cheered.

They loved him.

And why wouldn’t they?

He was everything I wasn’t.

Better.

Healthier.

Clean.

He got out.

And I…

I stayed.

Stuck in my memories, in my failure to be the woman he needed me to be.

He’d said I reminded him of too much — and maybe he was right.

Because now, without me, he was somebody.

A name.

A hero.

And me?

I was just another girl with a past no one asked about.

Wiping tables.

Serving people who looked through me.

Coming home to a bed that still remembered the way he used to hold me.

I gave him everything.

And all it left me with…

Was nothing.

|

She hadn’t meant to be there.

She never did.

The gala was for veterans, public officials, heroes — not washed-up ghosts in second-hand dresses. But she was working the event. Black apron. Hair tied back. Champagne tray balanced in trembling fingers. Another night of pretending she was invisible.

And then she saw him.

Bucky Barnes.

Congressman. Former Avenger. Poster boy for redemption.

He stood near the front of the room, suit crisp, eyes bright under the chandeliers.

People surrounded him — shaking his hand, clapping him on the back, beaming like he was the second coming.

She couldn’t breathe.

He was everything she used to know and nothing like the man who once kissed her goodnight.

He looked good. Healthier. Softer. Like the past had finally let go of him.

She hadn’t changed much.

Still haunted. Still stuck.

Just quieter about it now.

Their eyes met before she could look away.

And he froze.

The conversation around him blurred as he watched her — tray still in hand, barely balancing the champagne. Her eyes were duller. Cheeks a little hollower.

There was something… cracked in her.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

He stepped forward. Slowly. Unsure.

“Y/N?”

Her grip tightened on the tray.

God, she didn’t want this.

Not here. Not like this.

“Working,” she muttered, looking away, moving to step past him.

But he followed.

“Wait—wait,” he said softly, catching her by the arm. “Can we talk?”

She turned to him, and the pain in her eyes was something he’d never forget.

“Now you want to talk?” she laughed — but it was brittle, broken, and nothing like how she used to laugh. “Took you long enough.”

Bucky swallowed hard.

“You look—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, stepping back. “Don’t lie. Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice low. “I just—Jesus, Y/N, what happened?”

“You happened,” she hissed. “You left. You left, Bucky. And I get it. I was a reminder of everything you hated. You said it was better that way. And maybe it was… for you.”

Her voice cracked. People were watching. She didn’t care.

“I lost everything. You were everything. And when you walked out, you didn’t just take love. You took hope. You took the part of me that believed I was more than what they made me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You never looked back,” she whispered, the tears now falling freely. “I kept waiting. For a message. A letter. A sign. Something. But you just disappeared. And now you’re here, looking at me like I’m the one who left you.”

He stared at her, stunned into silence.

She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, trembling.

“I’m going back to the kitchen,” she choked out. “Don’t follow me.”

But as she turned, Bucky reached out again — desperate now.

“Y/N—please. Let me explain.”

She paused.

Then looked over her shoulder, eyes cold and red and tired.

“You’re too late, Bucky.”

And then she was gone.

|

The apartment was dark.

Not intentionally — just… she hadn’t turned the lights on in days.

The sun bled weakly through the half-shut blinds, casting shadows that stretched across the floor like fingers. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy. Suffocating. Too much.

She sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, wearing the same sweater she’d been in for three days.

The same one he used to tug off her shoulders when nights turned tender.

It didn’t smell like him anymore.

Nothing did.

The phone had stopped ringing.

They fired her two days ago.

The manager said it was “disruptive” — said he didn’t care who the guy was or what he meant to her.

“You embarrassed the house.”

She hadn’t fought back.

Didn’t argue.

She just nodded and walked out, the same way she’d walked through every door since he left — empty-handed.

Food?

There was some in the fridge, probably. But the idea of eating turned her stomach.

Sleep?

She tried.

Every time her eyes closed, she saw his face.

Not just the Bucky she loved — but the Congressman.

The man he became without her.

She didn’t cry.

She couldn’t.

There was a level of heartbreak so deep it numbed the soul. That’s where she lived now — in the quiet space between sobbing and silence.

Where even breathing felt optional.

The TV blinked in the background, muted.

His face popped up again — smiling at some event, hand over heart, flanked by senators and old friends.

Her chest didn’t ache anymore.

It ached for the ache.

She would’ve given anything just to feel again.

But she was hollow now.

Just… watching time pass.

Watching dust settle.

Watching herself disappear a little more every day.

She had nothing left to offer the world.

Nothing but a name no one remembered.

And a love that lived in silence.

He didn’t knock.

He didn’t have to.

She never changed the code.

Even now — after everything — the numbers still worked. His birthday. Her heartbreak.

The door creaked open and the stale scent of untouched air hit him.

It was dark. Still.

Like a place where time had stopped moving.

“Y/N?” Bucky called gently, stepping inside.

No response.

The TV was still on, casting dull flickers of light across the room.

And then he saw her — curled on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes open and hollow.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him.

She just stared through him, like he was part of the shadows.

“Hey…” he breathed, voice cracking.

She looked like a ghost.

Her arms were thinner. Her sweater hung off her frame like it didn’t belong to her. Her legs tucked beneath her looked fragile. Breakable.

Her face…

God.

The tiredness there wasn’t just sleep deprivation. It was soul deep.

She looked like she hadn’t eaten in days. Like she hadn’t been in days.

He moved slowly, cautiously, kneeling in front of her.

“Y/N… please say something.”

Nothing.

Not even a blink.

His throat tightened.

He’d done this.

He’d walked away.

Left her to carry the weight of everything alone.

“I didn’t know it got this bad,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to — I just thought you’d be better without me. You were always stronger than me. I thought you’d move on. I thought…”

He trailed off, eyes scanning her face.

Tears built behind his, but he didn’t dare let them fall.

“You should’ve told someone,” he said. “Told me. Yelled. Something. Anything.”

Still, silence.

She wasn’t ignoring him. She just wasn’t there.

Not really.

Whatever version of her had survived the fallout was running on instinct now.

Eating nothing. Feeling nothing. Saying nothing.

He reached out, slowly, and touched her hand.

Cold. Small.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You don’t have to talk. Or look at me. Or even forgive me. But I’m here.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t respond.

But she didn’t pull away either.

So he stayed.

Sat on the floor beside the couch as the muted TV flickered and night fell.

He watched her breathe.

Listened to the silence between them.

And promised — even if she never said another word — he wouldn’t leave her like this again.

Not ever.

Bucky didn’t sleep.

He sat on the floor beside her all night, legs stiff, body aching, eyes on her quiet, hollow form. She hadn’t moved once. Not to eat. Not to drink. Not even to blink enough. Her stare was vacant — haunting.

When dawn crept in through the slats of the blinds, he stood carefully, stretching the numb out of his joints. He looked at her again before stepping into the kitchen.

The fridge was almost empty.

Just a bottle of half-spoiled milk, mustard, and a near-empty jug of water.

He didn’t sigh. He didn’t curse.

He just grabbed a pot and filled it with water from the tap.

It was silent as it boiled.

He found a box of dried oats tucked in the back of a cabinet. Expired by a few months, but he didn’t care. He made them slowly, gently, stirring as if the calm of it might carry over into the next room.

He added a little honey. The last bit of it. Stirred again.

He poured a glass of clean water too.

When he came back into the living room, she was still there — same position, same blank eyes.

But her fingers had curled slightly under her chin, like the smallest unconscious shift.

He crouched down beside her again, setting the warm bowl and glass on the coffee table.

“You used to love honey in your oats,” he murmured. “Said it reminded you of your childhood. The part before all the bad.”

She didn’t look at him.

He reached out, slow as ever, and set the spoon in her lap.

“I’m not asking you to eat the whole thing. Just one bite.”

Nothing.

His voice broke a little.

“Please.”

Still nothing. But he didn’t move.

Instead, he took her hand — cold, limp, unfamiliar — and placed it around the spoon. She didn’t hold it… but she didn’t drop it either.

“Okay,” he said softly, like he was speaking to a ghost. “You hold onto that. I’ll stay right here.”

He gently lifted the glass of water, pressing it to her lips. She didn’t drink at first. But then, instinct kicked in — the smallest sip. A faint swallow.

His eyes stung.

He smiled.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

He didn’t push more.

He just sat there. Close. Present. His shoulder brushing hers, like old times.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty anymore.

It was healing.

Bit by bit.

And he would stay through every one of them — every breath, every small bite, every painful inch back to the world.

Because this time… he wasn’t letting her face it alone.

The sun had risen, high enough now that soft light painted the walls golden. Dust floated lazily through the air. The bowl of oats sat mostly untouched on the table, cooling, but the glass of water was nearly gone.

He didn’t speak again.

He just stayed beside her — still, patient, close enough to feel her shallow breaths.

And then, hours later, something shifted.

Her hand twitched.

Fingers flexed slightly around the spoon still resting in her lap.

Then… she blinked.

Slow. Painful. Like her eyes were remembering how.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t startle — he just waited.

“I…” Her voice cracked instantly, raw from disuse. It wasn’t much louder than a breath.

He looked at her — not with surprise, but with soft, shattered hope.

She swallowed hard, lips trembling.

“I don’t know how to be anymore.”

Bucky’s heart caved in his chest.

He turned toward her fully, voice low and careful.

“You don’t have to know how. You’re still here. That’s enough.”

She shook her head, tears brimming, eyes glassy and faraway.

“I’m not though. I’m… I’m stuck somewhere that hurts all the time. And it’s quiet and loud and I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and a sob slipped out before she could stop it.

And suddenly the dam broke.

Her body shook. Quiet at first — silent sobs that wracked through her frame, barely making a sound. But then it all came crashing out. The grief. The ache. The months of silence. Of guilt. Of feeling less than. Her arms wrapped around herself as she cried like the pain had been waiting, clawing, demanding to be released.

Bucky reached out, but didn’t touch her — not until she leaned, ever so slightly, toward him.

Then he caught her.

Arms around her shaking form, pulling her in.

He held her like something precious, something cracked and beloved, whispering her name like it was sacred.

“I’m so sorry,” she wept into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t more. That I ruined it. That I—”

“Stop.” His voice was a whisper, but it held weight.

“You didn’t ruin anything. I did. I left when I should’ve stayed. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

She clung tighter, fingers fisting the back of his shirt like she was trying to hold herself together through him.

“I missed you so much,” she sobbed.

“I missed you too,” he whispered. “Every day.”

He didn’t tell her it was going to be okay — because he didn’t know that yet.

But he did tell her the truth.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving. Even if it takes forever, I’ll be right here.”

And as she cried in his arms, something small and fractured inside her began to breathe again.

PART 2

[noorvell]

Splinter

pairing: Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

summary: silent hands reach for healing, while watching eyes burn with absence. one step forward, to steps back. pt. 1

The room had the scent of damp fabric and candle smoke, as if memory had become a smell, as if silence had steeped in the walls for too long and begun to rot. The curtain hung loose over the window—just one layer, thin as breath—and it fluttered every so often, not from wind exactly, but from something like the house exhaling, tired. There was no wind anymore, not at night. The world had long since grown still. Too still.

Joel sat in the chair, the same one he sat in every night. Wooden, creaking under his weight, tilted back just enough to brace his spine but never enough to let him sleep. He didn’t want sleep. Sleep had teeth. Sleep took him back to the barn, to the blood in the straw, to the sick realization that he'd miscounted the number of steps the girl was taking, had thought he had more time, more air, more life left in him before it all went wrong. And it had gone wrong. So very wrong.

You were on the bed. Not quite asleep. Not quite awake. You breathed shallow and even, but your eyes, when they opened every few minutes, had that dazed shine of someone who was only borrowing her own body. You had a way of lying very still now, not in rest but in something adjacent to resignation, as if your limbs had made a pact with gravity and would no longer rise unless commanded by a will stronger than yours.

You had not spoken in three days. Before that, only in murmurs. Broken syllables. You had not cried. That frightened Joel more than anything.

He hadn't touched you. Not once. Not since Ellie had dragged you both out of the snow, shaking and screaming and too young to be doing any of it and doing it anyway. He hadn’t even brushed your hair out of your face, hadn’t tucked the blanket in around your shoulders. He couldn’t. Because to do that meant acknowledging that you were still there, and acknowledging that meant allowing in the sickening wave of what if you hadn’t been. What if Ellie had been too late. What if he had failed you too.

So he sat, every night, boots unlaced, shotgun leaning against the doorframe like some useless relic of a time when protection meant something, when it was enough to be strong and quick and sure of your aim. He sat, and he watched, and he counted your breaths the way you count waves during a storm—waiting for the one that doesn't come.

Tonight, though—tonight was different.

You were lying on your back. That alone was new. For weeks now you'd curled inward, fetal, facing the wall, arms like barriers crossed over your stomach, as if shielding yourself from being seen even in dreams. But now—flat, arms at your sides, one hand resting on the blanket, fingers curled ever so slightly in the way a hand forgets it’s alone. You looked like a body waiting for resurrection. Or maybe like someone who had stopped waiting.

He should have looked away. He knew the rules. Your space. Your silence. Your pain like a thing that couldn't be crossed without bleeding. But his eyes, traitorous, heavy-lidded and stinging, drifted to that hand. The fingers. Pale under the moonlight. Nails short. One knuckle still scraped. That ring you always wore—gone. Or taken. He didn’t know.

And he thought: It’s a hand. That’s all it is. A hand. I used to hold it all the time. Except that wasn't true, not really. Even before, you'd danced around each other, always circling, like you were afraid of what would happen if you let your bodies remember how good it felt to lean in. You had always touched him first. Lightly. Like testing water. You knew the cost of touching someone who could vanish in the morning.

Even before the wound, before the blood and the breaking and the long crawl back into breathing, you’d had something quieter—steadier. Not all fire needs to burn. It had been hands, always hands. That was where it began. Your hands in clay, wrists moving like tides, pressing and yielding and reshaping what the world had hardened. His whittling knife in calloused grip, shaping birds or wolves or nothing in particular—just needing the rhythm. You would sit like that, side by side, tools in hand, saying nothing but speaking everything.

The first time you touched was almost nothing. Fingers brushing as he passed you a dull blade. But it caught. It stayed. Like static. Like a signal from some deep, buried part of him that still believed in touch.

You were always careful. Restrained. Measured the way one might handle glass or memory. You never clutched. He never pulled. But there was something sacred in how you handled each other. Like touching was an agreement, not an impulse. And God, how you’d let him hold your hands—just hold them—after a long day, when the joints swelled or the wrists went stiff. He'd rub circles into your palms with those scarred thumbs of his, slow and steady, until your fingers relaxed and your eyes grew heavy.

And in return, when sleep came hard, you’d scrape your nails lightly through his hair, fingertips moving like wind over wheat, trailing across his face until everything in him unclenched. Until the dark stopped pressing so close.

Your hands were where you lived. Not in confessions. Not in promises. In the way your pinky would brush his on long walks. In the way he'd tuck your hair behind your ear when it fell into your eyes, always asking without words.

But now—

Now his hand hovered above yours, trembling, thick-knuckled and calloused and stupid, so stupid, because what was he even doing, you weren’t asking, you weren’t even looking, and if you woke up and saw him—

But you didn’t wake up.

He touched you. One finger. The backs of yours.

Not even a real touch. Just the idea of one.

And you flinched. Of course you did. You pulled in slightly, shoulder tensing, eyes flickering open in that way animals do, fast, hunted, breath catching like a thread pulled tight.

He withdrew.

But you didn’t pull away. Not all the way. You turned your hand over.

You turned it over. Palm up. Open.

As if to say: If you must touch me, do it like this. Honestly.

Joel hesitated. Everything in him seized. Every tendon burned. His heart kicked against his ribs like a trapped thing, like it knew the rules and was begging him not to break them. But he reached. Slowly. Carefully. As if approaching a live wire. And he slid his hand into yours. Fingers threading through fingers.

You didn’t squeeze. Didn’t react.

But you didn’t let go.

The silence stretched like new skin. Fragile. Healing. Joel didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loudly. He just sat there, his thumb resting in the curve of your palm, like he'd found home and was afraid to claim it.

You slept.

Real sleep. He could see it settle over your face like dusk over water. Your mouth parted. Your fingers twitched once, then relaxed. Your chest rose deeper now, fuller.

Joel stared at the ceiling, then at the wall, then at your hands.

And finally, he whispered—not because you needed to hear it, but because he needed to say it:

“I’m sorry.”

A pause.

“I’m here.”

Another.

“I won’t go.”

The words felt old in his mouth. Words he’d said once, long ago, to another girl with haunted eyes. But he said them again. Because they were true. Or needed to be.

Outside, the snow fell. Quiet. Relentless. As if trying to cover the whole world in softness.

Inside, a man found absolution.

.

You woke in the early spill of morning, when the world was blue and half-drawn, and the edges of things—bedframe, curtain, his shoulder—had yet to remember their names. That hour when grief stirs but does not speak, when the mind rises but the body still floats, and pain, for a few short moments, forgets how to find you.

Your eyes opened to find your hands intertwined.

His hand. Yours.

His body, slumped in the chair beside your bed, head tilted too far forward, as if it had finally surrendered. His mouth parted, breath slow. Not snoring. Not twitching in dream. Just—resting.

You knew the difference. Joel did not sleep often, not since the incident, and when he did, it was the kind of sleep animals have—light, ready, one breath away from fight or flight. This was not that. This was something else. Something earned. Something stolen back from the wreckage.

You turned your head slightly, neck stiff, and stared.

He was here.

He hadn’t left.

And he was resting.

A lump rose in your throat—shallow, wordless. You did not cry. There were no tears in you. But the pressure behind your eyes was enough to remind you of a time when there might’ve been.

You had searched for him before. On the worst nights. Nights where memory turned to metal in your mouth and you’d wake with the taste of death slick against your tongue, heart hammering, pulse a wild bird in your throat. You’d open your eyes and he would not be there, but you always knew where to find him—outside the door, always outside, sitting in some other chair in some other shadow, his presence a quiet tether, not touching you, never touching you, just anchoring the space enough to keep you from drifting off the edge.

You had never woken him. Not once. It was enough to know he was there. It was enough to breathe again.

But this was different.

You had slept through the night. All of it.

And now he was here. Here. Beside you, not just guarding but sleeping. Resting.

Your hand curled ever so slightly into his. Not gripping. Just a whisper of movement. A hum in the bones.

You didn’t smile. But something inside you loosened, like a window long nailed shut being pried open by a quiet wind.

It had been weeks.

And you knew—knew—that the reason you had slept, the reason he was here, soft and real and dreaming for once, was that somewhere between silence and exhaustion, your hands had found each other.

And held on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hallway was narrow, like most hallways in Jackson—too much wood, too little light—and Ellie stood at the far end of it, by the window where the glass always fogged near dusk, letting her shoulder press into the frame as if that alone could steady her. She hadn’t meant to see them. It wasn’t spying. It wasn’t anything. She’d just been on her way to the kitchen. The sound of boots and soft tread had pulled her gaze sideways, and there they were.

You passed Joel without a word, just a glance, half-measured, your hand brushing your sweater like you were trying to remember something. Not ghost-like. Not quite whole either. But more than before. Ground under your feet again. Joel’s hand hovered, for a second, like he meant to reach, to say something, to stop you maybe—but then he didn’t. Just nodded. Small. Almost invisible. Like breathing out.

Something had passed between you.

Ellie saw it. Felt it in her throat, a thick kind of ache. Like a splinter. Or like jealousy. No—not just that. Something else. Relief. Resentment. A hunger she didn’t know what to call. She folded her arms tight across her chest like a shield.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t let herself be seen.

Because what would she even say?

It came back all at once—the red-soaked snow, the moan that wasn’t human, Joel’s legs twisted wrong, your blood painting the cabin door. She’d been the one who’d run. She’d been the one who kicked the golf cub out of that girl's hand, her throat raw from screaming. She’d been the one who stopped the bleeding, who dragged both of you through wind that howled like a living thing.

I did that, she thought. I saved them.

Not him. Not you.

Her.

But it hadn’t felt like saving. Not afterward. Not when you stopped talking. Not when Joel stopped looking anyone in the eye. Not when you flinched every time someone closed a cupboard too hard. Not when she sat with both of you in silence for hours, waiting for one of you to say something, anything.

She remembered your voice. Before. Laughing like it meant something, like you still believed sound could make the world better. Teaching her how to cut the sinew off venison, how to tell birch from aspen by the bark. You made everything feel easier. Softer.

And now—

Now you crossed the hallway like you were made of glass, still walking, still whole, but never quite looking up. Now Joel sat still too long and only answered in monosyllables. And Ellie—Ellie carried everything else.

She turned away from the hallway. From the window. From the way you looked at each other like there was something private between you again, like the long silence had finally thinned enough to let breath through.

She didn’t go to the kitchen.

Instead, she found the door behind the barn. The one she and Dina used to sneak through when the noise of the world was too loud. No one else knew about it. It led to the backwoods, the soft trails where snow fell slower. Where nothing screamed.

She walked. Fast. Barely breathing. Her hands clenched at her sides.

And when she was far enough, when the trees closed in just enough to feel like cover, she let it out. Not a scream. Not really. Not the kind that shatters glass. But something sharp. Short. Like a bone cracking. It left her throat raw. It didn’t echo. The trees swallowed it.

It didn’t help.

But something inside her shifted. Split. Made room.

By the time she came back, the sky was bruised. Lights flickered in windows. Woodsmoke lingered, clung to her jacket.

She passed your room.

Heard it before she knew what she was hearing: two breaths. Yours. Joel’s. Different cadences, but in rhythm.

She stopped.

Her hand rose.

She almost knocked.

Almost reached for the knob. Almost pushed the door open and climbed in between like she used to, back when nightmares were monsters and not memory, back when Joel would mumble half-asleep and you would hum her quiet, like a mother or a sister or something softer still.

But she didn’t.

She walked back to her room. Shut the door. Sat with her back against it like it might keep something out—or in.

She did not sleep.

She stared into the dark until her eyes burned.

And she thought: if they have each other, what am I now?

No answer came.

Only breath. Hers. And silence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: omg they held hands, this is so extreme. comments, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated. thanks for reading, see you next time. taglist and request are open here.

[jeysbxtch]

jealousy in the ring

word count: 887

content warnings: physical violence , jealousy , mild language (hell)

it had been 6 weeks since you got the call saying you had been picked for a try out at the performance centre. your boyfriend had a part in making it happen but you liked to think it was just pure luck, and not an uso. you were training every day and night with jey to make sure you were ready for your try out and today was the day.

jey had drove you to the centre and gave you a quick peck and wished you good luck before driving off. you made your way inside and was in awe at everything surrounding you, sure you had been in here before to watch jey train but it was different now because well, this was a chance to prove that you’re more than just an ‘uso girl.’

after a few hours of trying out different moves and practicing fights with other people you heard the words you were waiting to hear, “you’re in.” your body felt like electric just hearing it, you had goosebumps all over and you couldn’t wait to tell jey, you knew he’d be over the moon for you. you started to pack your things together when one of the other new recruits, luca, came up to you and started a conversation.

he chuckled to himself as if he had thought of something funny to say, but quickly stopped and looked at you, “i was wondering if you wanted to practice a few moves in the ring?” you thought about saying no for a second, thinking about if jey was waiting for you in the car park outside, but then again, he was at work. so are you now, so you agreed and followed him into the ring.

you started off just practicing some easy moves, he would ask periodically if you were okay with the moves and you agreed, after all he wasn’t all up in you like some other guy would probably try to be. that was until he started asking to practice submission moves, once again you didn’t think anything of it but when he had you ‘pinned’ in a rather, provocative way, he held it a bit longer than you had expected and you had to use all of your force to push him off of you.

normally you would’ve just brushed it off, maybe thought he got a bit into the training and would apologise, that was until you saw jey in the corner of your eye standing in the doorway and his face? mad as hell. he started walking up to the ring with a fire in his eyes, he jumped up onto the ring in a flawless manner and climbed through the ropes until he was standing in front of you, staring down luca.

you tried to put your hand on his shoulder but he brushed it off, his anger almost radiating, you didn’t understand why he was so angry, you were racking your brain for ideas before he spoke and snapped you out of your thoughts, “we got a problem here uce?” he spoke with such an authority in his voice that it made your knees want to buckle and your stomach do flips, you had only seen him like this a few times in the beginning of your relationship and if he was bringing out jealous jey? you’re all up for it.

luca looks at him, almost intimidated, but that look lasts all of five seconds before he plasters a cocky smile on his face, “nope no problem at all mate. just trying to learn some new moves and perfect some. you know how it is.” he slyly winks at you and that makes jeys blood boil, he either must not know that he’s your boyfriend or he does and is choosing it ignore it. either way, he’s not about to be disrespected.

“jey just leave it” you tried placing a hand on his shoulder again and pulling him towards you but he didn’t budge, you didn’t want him to start a fight on your technical first day of training. luca noticed you trying to get jey to leave and he decided to chime in with, “you should listen to the girl, she obviously doesn’t want you mate.” jey laughed and turned around to look at you, you thought he was going to be the bigger man and walk away but of course he wasn’t, that man’s too fiery for that.

instead he quickly turns back around and his fist lands on luca’s jaw, luca drops onto the mat and instantly hold his hand up to his jaw, he goes to shout something but it comes out more like a scrambled cry of pain. you think about kneeling down to check on his wounds but the quicker you and jey get out of there, the better. you grab jeys hand and he gives it a squeeze before pulling you in for a kiss, it’s tender but rough, you can tell he’s doing it just for show but you still melt into it, it’s the same lips that you melt into everyday so how could you not. as you pull away from each other jey looks down at luca and says to him, “don’t try to come between me and whats mine”

[seasnailfish]

us against the world or whateva 🙄

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

the setting itself can be the monster... but also... a lover? much to think about

[hayatheauthor]

10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[neptunecaptains]

In The Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You're finding it difficult to sleep in your new home. Bucky knows how to fix it.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), oral sex (f receiving; I like a giver), fingering, defiling a kitchen.

A/N: This is from a long time ago... was just going through fics I wrote when I used to love the MCU and came across this one. If there's anyone on here from way back then, it might sound familiar. Imagine this to be set in some multiverse where Steve never left in Endgame and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Hope you enjoy!

Previous Fic (masterlist coming soon!)

♡♡♡♡

The clock’s just gone ten past twelve when he feels you slip out of bed.

Bucky shouldn’t know that— the time. He should be dead to the world, asleep in the comfort of his bed with his girl warm by his side, full and sated and happy thanks to good company, good food, and even better liquor that can actually do something to him. Instead, he’s hyper-aware and questioning why you wouldn’t be dead asleep too and, before he knows it, he’s following in your footsteps.

It’s jarring, being awake at this hour in a mostly-empty home.

The halls feel too narrow and you still haven’t put the pictures up so the walls look bare and cold, and the dining table is missing a leg so you had to have dinner on the couch but you couldn’t find the box with the cushions which, now that Bucky thinks about it is probably still at the compound and god that means he has to go up there again— 

“Hey,” he hears, whisper-soft and cautious.

For a moment Bucky feels like maybe you’re the one who woke up to go after him, like how you used to do so long ago, worried about things neither of you could control. But no, it’s him, looking for you.

It’s him, finding you tired and rumpled in front of the stove, the red kettle Nat gave you as a gift steaming away on the burner. With the lights dimmed you look like a dream, but then again you look like that at any time of the day.

Bucky’s hands find your hips easily, skin and metal brushing over soft skin and worn cotton. They slip beneath your sleep shirt, a faded old thing he got as a gag gift some Christmases ago— Sam still asks him about the vulgar print on the front. Bucky tries to forget, but you never let him. Especially not on nights you wear the damn thing to bed.

He finds warmth, the same kind that should be next to him in bed right now, which— “Can’t sleep?”

You sigh, melting easily into the embrace. Your nose is cold, colder than it has any right to be with the heat on, nuzzling against the rough scratch of hair along his jaw. “Feels weird.”

It does— the house. Well, home, now, filled with your clothes and your furniture and the dishes you put in the dishwasher after your friends left a few hours ago because our first meal in our new home can’t be in paper plates, Buck and I already took the glasses out of the box, baby and he’s never been good at saying no. The house feels weird and he can’t wait until it doesn’t, with the pictures up, and the throw blanket on the couch, and those damn cushions he can’t believe he forgot.

“Bet you’d feel better back in bed,” Bucky murmurs, smiles, lips soft against the skin of your neck. “With me.”

You hum, could be a snort if it were any time except almost one in the morning and if you hadn’t spent the whole day hauling boxes and building whatever furniture you could before exhaustion won out. “I just put the kettle on.”

Bucky looks at the offending piece of kitchenware over your shoulder, willing it to somehow set on fire but wait, no. That would be very, very bad. Bucky has a mortgage now, shit.

“Okay,” he says instead, shrugging. “We’ll wait.”

He doesn’t notice the time. Instead, he notices your palms on his cheeks and your thumbs over his cheekbones; the way you taste of mint and something else, something like cloves and honey, no doubt from the sips you stole from his drink during the moving-day-turned-housewarming. He notices the way you sink into his body, held up by his arms caging you against the counter behind you, moaning softly at the wet sweeps of his tongue against the seam of your lips, parting under the pressure.

Bucky grips the countertop a bit too hard, gritting his teeth as he breaks the kiss. “How long ‘til that thing goes off?”

“We’re not defiling our kitchen so soon,” you laugh into his lips, sweet. The hands on his cheeks pull his face further away until you’re squinting up at him, lips spit-slick and shiny in the low light delighted and knowing all the same. “This is where we eat—”

“And I’m hungry,” Bucky grins, wicked, matches your own expression if only a bit dirtier. “Might as well use it for what it’s for, right?”

This time you do snort, forehead resting against his own. The sound settles deep in Bucky’s bones, spreading all over his body in places he didn’t know he had, warm and buzzing like a beehive. “You’re so gross.”

He is. He really, really is and he blames it all on himself and on you and the way you sigh into his mouth when he gets his hands above the swell of your ass, one of his thick thighs slipping between your own, warmth seeping everywhere you touch him. He blames it on those pretty eyes and that pretty mouth, those hands tugging at the bottom half of his hair that’s untied, that sweet voice moaning into the night when he nips at that spot behind your ear— 

“Baby.”

"Bucky," you laugh softly, glancing at him. It’s near-dark, the lights still dimmed, but he swears he can map out the marks on your skin, can count every single lash on your eyelids.

"Baby," he replies in the same tempting tone, watching your eyes with his own, so clear and expressive, so stunning.

You sigh, resigned. Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his grin.

“We’re gonna have to clean in the morning.”

“Guess I’ll have to suffer,” he says, hands warm on your thighs hauling you onto the counter.

He’s gentle as he parts your thighs, takes his time kissing the inside until you’re sighing all breathy and sweet, trembling on both sides of his head. Fingers hooking onto gray cotton, he slides your panties down your legs, bringing you closer to the edge of the counter and towards his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, eyes so blue when they flick up to your own.

Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tugging gently at the hair tie holding the longest strands back. Your lips part in a smile, wavering slightly at the edges as he ducks in, tongue soft and wet against your heat. He licks a broad stripe along your folds, takes in the way you shake almost imperceptibly— only knows it happens because he’s looking for it.

Bucky drinks you in, picks you apart with his tongue and his fingers, wet along his lips, his jaw, and his flesh fingers. He makes it messy, lets you whine and wail into your otherwise quiet home, grinding your hips onto his face and the two digits plunging inside your cunt, stroking that sweet spot deep inside.

You come apart on his tongue, slowly and quietly, a breathy gasp and the rhythmic clench of your muscles against his fingers the only warning he gets before he feels even more wetness pooling on his tongue, dripping down his palm.

“Oh!”

He kisses at the inside of your thighs, leaves it wet and sticky as you come down from your high. His thumbs caress your hipbones, feeling the slight quiver of your core against his touch, reveling in it.

To his right, the kettle starts whistling.

“Water’s boiling, honey,” he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin in the crease of your thighs.

You groan, fingers tugging at the hair tangled in them. “I hate you.”

Bucky laughs, throaty and with his chest, slightly loud at a time where the night seems to stand still. There’s only the rush of your breath and the whistle of the kettle, drawn-out and cut off as he turns the burner off and moves it onto a cold, unused one. He gravitates between your thighs once more, lips on yours like magnets. He kisses you slowly, takes his time and lets you bite at his bottom lip, slipping your tongue against his and pulling those sounds from his throat that play in your head like your favorite song.

“You think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

You sigh deeply, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “You’re gonna have to carry me to bed.”

Bucky feels it spread from the top of his head down to his toes, fingers on your waist curling into fabric and skin. It’s hot and cold, bad and good. He feels it.

“Anywhere you want, sugar.”

Happiness.

[not-neverland06]

you're not her

The 'Worst' Logan x fem!mutant!reader

a/n: really wanted to write for the worst logan so I found a streaming site so I could finally watch the new Deadpool movie (yay pirating) (this is totally hypothetical and a joke to the feds lurking) I was going to just read the wiki plot but I don’t think that was going to cut it Again, using the same superhero name/powers. It’s not an OC I swear, it just makes sense in comic book movies to have some alternate name and I’m not creative enough to come up with multiple different supe names. Summary: You hate him, you really fucking hate him at first. He’s cruel and constantly reminds you that you’ll never be the hero he knew. You’re not her and he’s made that abundantly clear. But what are you supposed to do when he’s suddenly your new roommate and you have no choice but to wake up to his face every day? I feel sad because I don’t think I did the angst justice with this one. But if I keep staring at it trying to fix it, then I’m never going to post it. (This is a long one guys) Angst with a happy ending (because I’m a little bitch) Makeout scenes and smut towards the very end 18+ MDNI

You don’t know how you got here, but you know you’re mad at whoever dragged you into this shit. You don’t think it would be wild to assume it was Wade’s fault. Usually, when something goes wrong in your life it’s on him. 

What you do know; you look like shit. Wade and Wolverine are both standing over you in their awesome ass uniforms and you’re still in your fucking pajamas. How are you supposed to be badass and save the world in pants that have Spiderman’s face plastered all over them?

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, Wade,” you growl at him. 

He places his hand daintily on his chest and waves you off, “Save that for the bedroom, pookie.”

You grit your teeth and glare up at him, Wolverine gives him a similarly disgusted look. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you grumble under your breath. You get to your feet and brush yourself off, finally looking around and taking in wherever the fuck he’s dragged you. “Where are we?”

“The void,” Wade responds, voice ridiculously dramatic. You look around and throw your hands up in defeat. 

“What the fuck, Wade? Why did you drag me with you into this?” You look over at the Wolverine beside him. He hasn’t stopped glaring at you both and his claws are out, clearly ready to just eviscerate you. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Okay, wow, language, Flux. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Eat me-”

You’re cut off by the knock-off Wolverine standing a few feet behind you both. “Flux?” He demands, voice so low you almost can’t hear him. Both you and Wade’s heads whip around to face him. Thus far he’s been relatively silent, you nearly started to wonder if he was mute. 

“It’s her X-Man name,” Wade tells him, gushing like it’s some big deal. “Impressive, huh?” You don’t bother correcting him that it was your X-Men name. Can’t exactly call yourself that if they booted you off the team for being a crappy superhero. 

Logan snorts and shakes his head. He stalks towards you and you nearly fall over in your attempt to scramble back from him. “You,” he demands, claws pointed at you threateningly. “You’re Flux?”

Wade hisses, watching as Logan swipes out at you. “Alright, peanut, let’s put the claws away and take a deep grounding breath.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps at Wade. He turns to glare at him and you take the opportunity to scramble behind your friend for protection. At least if he gets stabbed, he’ll heal. “You,” he scoffs and it trails off into a laugh. There’s no humor behind it, he's just a dick. “You are a fucking joke compared to my Flux.”

The ground underneath you rattles, pebbles bouncing off the cracked desert and ricocheting off their boots. Wade quickly moves away from you, shoving you forward so he’s not in the line of fire. “Yeah, well you’re just an alcoholic fuck who could never hold a candle to my Logan.” 

You can feel energy brewing at the tips of your fingers, waves, and waves of hate building up within you. The man across from you feels the shift, the static suddenly permeating the air around you both. You let your power build and build…

The pebbles drop back to the ground and you stumble back from Logan, nose bleeding from overextending yourself. “Shit,” you mutter, wiping at your face with the back of your hand and shaking your head. 

Logan laughs again, it echoes through the stormy sky and you wish you had any control over your powers so you could just send him flying. Or, better yet, turn his bones into liquid and flip him inside out. “Oh,” he lets out a long exhale, glaring at both of you. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.” The faux smile drops from his face and he raises his voice just loud enough to make you jump, “Just one big fuckin’ joke!”

You have about five seconds to dive to the side before Logan is lunging at Wade. “Wait, wait, wait we can talk about this!” Wade shouts, but it’s too late, he’s already on the ground getting his head caved in. 

You let out a rough sigh, stumbling off to the side. You’re drained from that shitshow of powers. You barely made a few rocks levitate and you feel like you’re going to pass out. You walk away from the two men and throw yourself on the ground, trying to reorient yourself while they fight like wild animals. 

You can hear them in the background, stabbing and shooting like they’re aiming to kill. Too bad neither of them can die. It’d save you a hell of a headache.  They run past you, Logan’s got his claws buried in Wade’s gut while Wade’s desperately firing off his gun into Logan’s chest. 

Your head rolls weakly to the side and you mutter out a pathetic, “No, stop. Don’t kill each other.” As expected, neither of them listens to you. They keep fighting, showing no signs of stopping. 

There’s a moment of silence after about ten minutes of nothing but grunts and insults. You peak your head up in interest. Logan got his claws posed over Wade’s throat. You wonder if decapitation would actually kill him or if he’d somehow manage to survive that. 

Wade doesn’t seem interested in testing out the theory, “They can fix it!” Wade shouts, “They can fix your timeline. I just need your help saving mine.”

Your eyes widen and you meet Wade’s masked gaze over Logan’s shoulders. The white slits widen and he minutely shakes his head, telling you not to say anything. Like, maybe, that neither of you has any fucking clue if the TVA is capable of even fixing timelines like that. 

You know Wade is desperate when he makes that promise. It’s the only reason he would say something so stupid. It’s a blatant lie, one pulled so far out of Wade’s ass you’re genuinely surprised that Logan can’t smell the bullshit. Whatever happened in his universe must have been horrible for him to ever believe anything that comes out of any Deadpool’s mouth. 

It’s a long moment before Logan finally pulls his claws out of Wade. Your friend slumps forward in relief as Logan stalks away from him. You glare at Wade from where you are on the ground, “That was fucking stupid,” you snipe at him. He gets to his feet, walks over to you, and forcefully yanks you to your feet. 

“Not a goddamn word,” he warns, but you aren’t exactly threatened by him when he's got three holes in his head from Logan’s claws. Still, you hold your hands up and acquiesce, following after him as he chases down Logan. 

Your mind is still fuzzy when you are captured by Cassandra. You're recovering from overextending yourself, eyes blurring and limbs going limp like jello when her army of henchmen circle you all. 

You finally feel yourself starting to come back to your body when you wake up tied to Johnny. “And,” Wade draws the word out, waiting until you lift your head to finish, “there she is! Happy you could join us, princess. Mind turning these ropes into dust for me?”

You groan and let your head slump onto Johnny’s shoulder. He smirks and glances down at you. “Oh fuck off, both of you. I can’t do shit right now and you know it, Wade, I’m drained.” 

Logan is glaring at you, but there’s less hate in his glare and more confusion now. “Can you do anything?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips screwed up while you try to decide if he’s being an asshole or genuine. “Hard of hearing or something old man? I’m drained,” you reiterate, your tone a little too bitchy. 

Logan narrows his eyes, grunting something foul under his breath. Wade interferes before you can piss each other off anymore. “She had an accident, her brain’s a little broken now. But it’s fine! Whose isn’t?”

You huff and throw yourself back against the cage you’re all being transported in. You feel eyes on the side of your head and slowly look over to see Johnny grinning at you. “Hey, you know I’ve met one of your variants-”

“Don’t give a fuck,” you interrupt. You hear Wade snicker under his mask, giving you an encouraging thumbs up even with his hands bound. You were both a little disappointed it wasn’t Captain America lurking under that cloak. But at least this guy isn’t such a prude he won’t cuss. 

For the next five minutes, you’re on the receiving end of a very enthusiastically vulgar rant about just what a cunt Cassandra Nova is. He’s still not even finished by the time you reach the gates to her lair.

Your eyes widen when you see all the people lurking around the walls. Most of them you recognize as people you’ve put away or killed in your world. But there’s something just minutely different about them than the version you faced in your timeline. Their eye color or outfit is always just slightly off. 

The familiar faces are almost a relief. But there is nothing comforting about knowing you're outnumbered two hundred to four. The cage is tipped over and you go rolling out, you grunt as Johnny’s elbow digs into your ribs. 

Before you can even attempt to shove him off, the ropes are whipped off of you and you’re dragged by an invisible force across the ground. Rocks and sand scrape across your tender skin and bury themselves deep in your pores. You hiss in pain when you finally come to a stop and your body is your own again. 

A groan slips through your parted lips unbidden as you struggle onto your knees. Your pajamas are ripped practically everywhere and you feel like you might as well be naked at this point. You really wished that you at least had a chance to change before you were kidnapped to another universe. 

The woman you presume to be Cassandra Nova is currently fucking Wade’s skull with her freakish telepathy fingers. Johnny’s a pile of guts and bones on the floor and you have no fucking clue where she flung Logan to. 

You get to your feet, shaking your head and reorienting yourself. In a second she’s in front of you, head tilted to the side while she regards you curiously. “Woah,” you jump back, glaring at her outstretched hand. 

“Careful,” Wade warns her breathlessly, still clutching his head. “Flux here has a pathological fear of bald people.”

You nod, “It’s true, you can imagine how strained my relationship with your brother was.” Cassandra circles you, a devious tilt to her lips. Your eyes track her, unwilling to take your gaze off her for even a second. You feel like a rabbit, facing down a fox that’s made its way into your burrow. 

“Curious,” she mutters. “I’ve seen quite a few of you down here before. But,” she chuckles and before you can move her hand is shoving its way into your brain. You scream, there’s an agonizing burn as her fingers probe under your eyes and dig through the deepest part of your subconscious. It feels like someone’s taking a shovel and ripping up your worst traumas. “None of them have been so weak.”

Wonderful, even she wants to insult you. You can feel the way she’s plucking through your thoughts, tossing aside the ones she doesn’t like. Images of your childhood are flashing across your vision. You can no longer see the world around you, it’s like every one of your worst memories is being played on a projector. 

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue and jerks your neck around until you’re looking at something you’ve tried to forget for years. “Here it is. How easy it would be for me to simply unblock those powers of yours.” She smiles, her face appearing before you and blocking out the bloodshed. “It would make this far more entertaining for me, what do you say?”

Your teeth are clenched so tightly you’re surprised they haven’t cracked yet. It’s hard to get the words out when her fingers are still dancing through your skull. “Fuck you,” you finally spit out. She releases you suddenly, and you surge forward with a gasp, clutching at your skull desperately. 

You half expect your brains to begin leaking from your nose and eyes. But nothing happens, despite feeling incredibly violated, everything is still in its proper place. Cassandra walks past you like everything is fine and dandy in the world. “Well, as much as I would love to see those powers of yours in action again, Flux, I’m afraid Alioth must eat.”

Before you can ask what she's talking about there’s a loud rumble. Like thunder cracking through the sky and land, the ground underneath you shakes. Cracks form under your feet and the henchmen around you all start desperately racing for cover. 

You turn around, staring wide-eyed at the purple cloud of death and destruction steadily moving across the sky. A face breaks through the clouds, grinning down at you. Purple lightning hits the ground and the villain next to you explodes into nothing but dust. 

“Shit!” You shout, turning around and running to try and avoid getting zapped up next. There’s no coming back from this one. Once this monster gets you, not even god could save you. 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your waist, lifting you off your feet. “No time for consent, we’ve got to get the fuck outta here!” Wade shouts in your ear. Logan is standing next to some robot leg, ripping out cords until a jet on the back fires up. Wade leaps onto the boot, wrapping an arm around Logan’s legs as you’re all shot into the sky. 

You’d scream if you weren’t trying not to throw up. You hurtle through the sky at speeds that have your skin nearly ripping off your skull. The rocket on the back of the leg starts to sputter out. The flames flickering out and then back to life. It steadily begins to drop until you’re plummeting headfirst towards the ground. 

Wade wraps himself around you, tossing himself off the boot so he can brace your fall. You hear and feel nearly all of his bones break under your weight. For a moment it feels like you’re laying on warm jello as you try and catch your breath. 

“Nailed it,” he mutters weakly. You’re pretty sure he can’t breathe, a rib having pierced his lung in the fall. A shadow looms over you and you glance up to find Logan glaring down at you. You stare at him apprehensively, half expecting him to unsheathe his claws and just end you right here. 

Instead, to your surprise, he holds a hand out. You look at it with suspicion, glaring back up at him. “Fucks sake,” he mutters. He reaches down, roughly grabbing your hand and jerking you to your feet. You feel the warmth of Wade’s blood on your back and grimace. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, still not entirely trusting of him. 

He purses his lips into a thin line, backing awkwardly away from you. He just nods and starts surveying the land around you. It feels less like trying to figure out where you all landed and more like awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

The whole interaction leaves you feeling odd. “Well, that was as awkward as two virgins on prom night,” Wade loudly announces as he jumps to his feet. You whip around and send him a dirty look but his attention has already been snagged by something else. Lately, you’ve been considering grounding up Adderall and slipping it into his breakfast, you think it might do him some good. 

What’s got to be the fugliest dog you’ve ever seen in your life bounds towards Wade. He drops to his knees, ripping off his mask and opening his arms wide to the mutt. You grimace, taking a step back when she starts licking his face. “Oh, that’s just wrong.”

Thankfully dogless, you steal Nicepool’s Honda Odyssey - much to Wade’s chagrin. Logan’s in the front seat, Wade beside him. You’re sitting in the back, rubbing your temples and trying to get rid of the raging migraine you’ve had since Cassandra finger blasted your brain. 

You’ve been zoning in and out of the conversation happening in the front seat of the car. But Logan suddenly slams on the brakes and you go hurtling forward. Without even looking at you, both their arms shoot out, blocking you from flying through the windshield. 

Your face scrunches up as you look at both their arms, it feels like being saved by an overbearing soccer mom. “Buckle up, princess,” Wade tells you. He shoves you back into your seat and you look between the two men suspiciously. 

“Did you just say if?” Logan growls, glaring at Wade. Your face drops, finally realizing what you’d missed. 

Wade lets out a weak chuckle, “Slip of the tongue?” Logan growls and the claws come out. Wade raises his hands, “Okay, let’s put a brake on the crazy train. I wasn’t lying it was just an educated,” for the first time in your friendship Wade is actually speechless. You’re shocked by the silence. Until, of course, he runs his mouth again and comes up with the lamest cop-out you’ve ever heard. “It was an educated wish that they could fix your timeline, alright?”

Logan doesn’t give much of a warning except a low growl before he shoves his claws deep into Wade’s thigh. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey!” You shout, jumping forward and ripping Logan’s claws out of Wade’s leg. “Look, we’re trying to save our whole fucking universe. Can you blame him for lying?” You regret opening your mouth pretty much immediately. 

You should have just stayed out of this, it wasn’t any of your business. And if they wanted to be two dumbasses and fucking tear each other apart then so be it. But you never should have drawn attention to yourself. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan shouts at you. It’s so startling, coming from him. You’re still associating him with the man you’d looked up to growing up. Your Wolverine was a hero. He was the reason you wanted to be an X-Man. And they look exactly the same, it’s nearly impossible for you to separate this one from the one you knew. 

But it's easier now. Because the man you’d known would never be so cruel and jaded to the world. Not like this. “Why the fuck are you even here? You’re just some watered-down knockoff of a real hero. You are nothing, you’re worth nothing. It’s a fucking joke that you’re alive and the woman I knew is buried six feet deep. If there was anything right in the world you would be in a grave somewhere crawling with maggots.”

Your eyes water without your permission. You don’t know this man. Yet, he has the face of your greatest hero and the man who you’d grown up hearing stories about. It’s like facing everything you’ve ever wanted to be and having it shout your deepest fears and insecurities back at you. He’s just confirming something you’ve known for years. You never deserved the title of being an X-Man. You never deserved the uniform or anything that came with it. 

Your breaths are coming short and fast, it feels like your lungs are constricting. You worry you won’t be able to get air in but he doesn’t care. No, he keeps going. “You follow this fucking clown around and you contribute nothing to the world. You’re never gonna save your fucking timeline. You can’t even make a few rocks float.” It’s not the words that hurt you next. It’s the way he says it. “You’re pathetic.”

He spits them at you. There’s venom lacing his tone like he’s seen into you and knows there’s nothing in you to offer. For the first time in a long time, you feel seen and you hate it. Because he’s looking past the sarcasm and the faux confidence you carry yourself with. 

He sees the empty husk of a woman you truly are and he’s forcing you to face it with him. It causes you physical pain, to know that everything you’ve ever feared about yourself is true. You don’t have anything to say to him, you can’t. 

Your lips tremble and you feel so fucking small. You can hear your parent's voices in your head, screaming at you and wishing you were never born. They’d rather have a stillborn than a fucked up mutant for a daughter. You see the way even other kids at the school would hide from you. You were made wrong, even as a mutant you were never truly accepted. 

Logan’s face drops ever so slightly at the prolonged silence in the car. Even Wade isn’t speaking, he’s just staring at you both. “I,” he starts, but Wade cuts him off. 

“I’m gonna hurt you now.” Wade’s never been one to let people run over you, even when you might just let yourself fall into the background. You shouldn’t be surprised when he draws a knife and stabs it into Logan’s throat. 

But the arterial spray that follows catches you off guard and suddenly your tears are dried. Instead, you’re throwing open the car door and diving out before one of them crushes you. You make it out of the car just in time, Logan having thrown Wade right where you had been sitting. 

Music starts up in the car as a result of their fighting. Divorced dad rock and the sounds of their, borderline, sexual grunting are your soundtrack for the rest of the night. You curl up at the base of a tree, waiting for them to be done with each other. 

Logan’s words continue to echo through your head. And the longer you linger on what he said the angrier you get. Not necessarily at him, but at yourself. You’ve let yourself linger in self-pity and wallow in regret for so long. 

You look in the mirror and you no longer recognize yourself. He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it, you’re a fucking joke. You toss your head back, slamming it against the trunk of the tree hard enough for it to hurt. 

There’s this manic, cloying feeling tugging at your chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on your ribs, crushing you until you can’t breathe anymore. You keep throwing your head back, letting the pain distract you until you feel warm blood leaking down the back of your scalp. 

“Shit,” you hiss, hand coming up to cradle the back of your skull. You wince when you feel the split in your skin. The blood leaks over the tips of your fingers, running through the cracks of your palm. 

You force yourself to relax, to move your head away from the tree. As you go to stand up, possibly to get Wade and Logan to quit their fighting, you notice something odd. The air around you is still, you can no longer hear them grunting or groaning as they rock the Honda. 

Leaves are suspended in the air. They’re not trembling from the breeze, they’re completely frozen. You take a step forward and gasp when you hit something solid. The air in front of you has solidified somehow. 

The realization dawns on you slowly but surely. This is you, you’ve done this. Manipulated everything around you on an atomic level. You’ve turned something you shouldn’t be able to feel into something you can touch. Frozen the world around you. Whatever Cassandra had done inside your head, it had knocked something loose. 

You haven’t had this wide a range of control for years. Any attempt to do something like this has been met with nosebleeds and long periods of blacking out. Elation fills you, the hurt from earlier is nearly gone. 

You glance through the wall of air and try to see if you can still see the Odyssey. To your horror, it’s gone. You wave your hands and the air returns to normal. The leaves drift back to the forest floor and you run back to where you’d left the two men. 

There are tire tracks dug deep into the mud. You know Wade wouldn’t willingly leave you behind, not here. You don’t know if Logan’s just kidnapped him or if someone else has. Whoever was driving was clearly in a rush to get out of here. 

You must have missed it all while you were having your meltdown. “Fuck,” you shout, your voice echoing into the branches above. You take in a deep breath and start walking. Hopefully, you can catch up to them before whoever has them does serious damage. 

You make it to a weird cave/hideout area. The Odyssey is parked outside and when you peek through the broken windows you find the interior completely destroyed. There’s blood soaking through every surface, anything and everything has been smashed and bent the wrong way. 

You don’t even know if this is from Wade and Logan or whoever had snatched them. Shaking your head you back up and slink towards the entrance of the den. You can hear shouting inside, it sounds like Wade, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. 

You haven’t seen action for a long time. At least not any that you could actually contribute to. It feels a bit like riding a bike. You’d practiced on your way here, making things around you float or eradicating a few trees into nothing but dust in the wind. But this is different. 

Your friend (and Logan) are inside, possibly being tortured. Maybe even dead. Though, you seriously doubt the universe is going to be that nice to you. You let the energy build in your arms, it’s like a warm tingling feeling. It shoots down to the palms of your hands until you feel static in the air. 

You take a step inside and spot three people. Each of them is decked out in weapons. One of them turns and spots you. “Who is-” 

You don’t let him finish, throwing your hands out and slamming them all into the wall so hard the whole interior shakes. Dirt rains down from the ceilings while their faces contort in pain. You run inside, spotting Logan and Wade. 

You shoot Wade a big grin but he throws his hands up and shouts, “Read the fucking room!” Your brows furrow and he points emphatically at the people you’re holding, “Good guys!”

“Oh shit,” you release them immediately, a guilty look on your face. “I am so sorry.” Logan cackles in the back, doubled over laughing while the three people in front of you brush themselves off. 

You don’t want to be out here with him, but it’s better than being in that cave with the others. Laura walks past you, sending you an uneasy smile. You’d noticed her sitting beside Logan and decided they probably needed a few moments to themselves. 

They were finished now, though, and he had the only bottle of liquor left in the cave with him. You trudge over to him, leaves crunching under your boots. Elektra, after that horrific introduction, had given you a uniform a different Flux had left behind. 

She was long gone, killed by Cassandra years ago, but she’d conveniently been your exact size. The uniform is nearly identical to the one you have buried under your bed. Black leather with a dark purple X going across your chest and matching purple seams. You’d never wanted something ridiculously flashy. Just something that people would see and associate with the X-Men. 

Because that’s all you’d ever wanted to be; a hero. It feels like a pipe dream now. If your pajamas weren’t so destroyed you would have just stayed in them. You don’t feel like you deserve this uniform, not when the woman who’d worn it before you had actually been a hero in her timeline. 

“Don’t want company,” Logan snarks, without even looking back to see who’s coming up to him.

You take a seat on the lawn chair closest to him and snatch the bottle of whiskey from his hands. “Good,” you tilt your head back, downing as much as possible. It burns the whole way and you revel in the slight tickle in the back of your throat. 

“Alright,” Logan mutters. He gently takes the bottle back from you, giving you an aggrieved look when he sees just how much you’ve stolen. He looks back into the fire and sighs, “Look, I’m not interested in hearing about your sob story or why you’re suddenly drinking all my liquor-”

“Gambit’s liquor,” you interrupt, not bothering to look at him. “And I’m not looking to dump my sob story on your lap. I just want to sit in silence and that’s impossible because Wade hasn’t stopped running his mouth since we got here.”

He looks a little surprised by the brusque way you dismiss him, “Alright,” he mutters. He takes another swig from the bottle and you both stare silently into the fire. It’s like that for a while, you don’t bother keeping track of time. 

All you hear is the crackling of the flames. All you can feel is the way your eyes burn from staring into the fire and watching sparks pop off the logs for too long. The breeze rustles the trees, makes the leaves shake free and dance around the logs of the fire. 

He breaks the silence first, to your chagrin. “About what I said,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, still refusing to look at you, “back in the car.”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice low. “Just,” you let out a long breath and shake your head. You finally look over and meet his eyes. He does actually look sorry, but you don’t want to hear it. “Just don’t, I deserved it all right.”

“No, no you didn’t.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives you a firm look that has your jaw snapping shut. “I was wrong, I don’t know you. And if my Flux had ever heard me talking to you like that she would have melted my fucking spine.” He laughs a little and you feel your lips twitch up slightly. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look anything but angry. 

Curiosity loosens your tongue and knocks you out of the dazed stupor you’ve been in. “What was she like?” You ask, tone earnest. “Your Flux, I mean, you make her sound so amazing. I just can’t,” you trail off, but the look on his face tells you he understands your unspoken words. I just can’t see myself as a real hero. 

He groans and leans back on the log he’s resting on. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the liquor bottle placed on the forest floor. You’re surprised, you figured the thing was glued to his hand. 

“Well,” he reaches up and scratches at the scruff of his chin, a wry grin on his face. “She was always giving me shit, never let me get away with anything.” You unconsciously lean forward, drawn into the endearing way he begins to describe this other version of you. 

It’s not ridiculous to assume this variant meant something to him. He’s got a shine to his eye that you haven’t seen in the whole time you’ve been together. His gaze has been empty, closed off to anything and everything. But now, his eyes are crinkling at the corners, there’s an easy smile on his face that you can’t miss. 

“Ah, she was fucking feisty. And strong, she was so strong. She was always a better hero than I was. She lived for that shit,” he trails off and shakes his head. You can see you’re losing him and you don’t want this to end. You’re in your own little bubble right now, getting to pretend there’s a version of you out there somewhere that actually lived up to her potential. 

“Her powers,” you blurt out, desperate for something to stop him from retreating back into his mind. “Did she have, um, good control over them?”

Logan nods, eyes darting down to the bottle of whiskey before flickering back up to meet your gaze again. “Yeah, Charles trained her, she was right up there with Jean. She could have,” he stops and suddenly you feel guilty for making him talk about this. You can see the tears in the corner of his eyes, the way the whites of them go red. “She could have been great.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t mean to pry.” But you did. You were being selfish and forcing him to talk about it even though you knew it would hurt him. 

“Look, kid, she would have liked you. I’ll tell you that much,” he says reluctantly. Like the words hurt to force out. You suppose he isn’t used to being genuine with anyone. 

You shake your head and look down at your hands. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it.”

Logan grabs the bottle again, gulping it down like it's water. His words have a slight slur to them as he speaks again. “I think I would know, bub. ‘Sides, you made it into the X-Men, tells me what I need to know.”

You scoff and fix him with a sardonic look, he raises his brows in question and you roll your eyes. “They’ll take fucking anybody. And I still wasn’t good enough for them.”

Logan shakes his head and frowns. “If what I saw in there,” he points back to the den and you feel your cheeks warm as you remember what you’d done, “is any indication, then I’m sure you were plenty good.”

You lean towards him, elbows braced on your knees. He follows suit, leaning so close you almost want to back up. The proximity flusters you slightly but you shake the feeling off. “You don’t even know me and the first real thing you said to me was that I’d be more useful as fertilizer.”

He sighs, face screwing up at your harsh words. He runs a hand over his cheeks and groans, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You lean back in your chair and idly twirl your hand through the air. The leaves around you lift up and flutter through the air above your head. Logan watches and you turn back to him, waiting until his eyes meet yours to speak again. “Yes, you did. And you were right. I’m fucking useless, powers or not.” The leaves drop, a few fluttering into the fire. “We’re irrelevant, Wolverine, two washed-up X-Men who never looked good in the uniform.”

There’s a twinge of hurt on his face but you can’t make yourself feel bad about it. Since he’s such a fan of brutal truth, you’re sure he can handle it. 

You watch as the leaves curl up at the corners, the fire burning them straight through the middle. You get to your feet and move past him. You’re nearly back to the den when he calls, “The suit looks right on you,” over his shoulder.

You pause at the threshold of the door. He’s already drinking again, staring into the fire and watching it burn. You take a few steps towards him, staring at his broad back. “What happened to her, your me?”

Logan looks down at his hands, his ring finger specifically. You wonder at the significance of the movement, what exactly you’d meant to him. “She married me,” he mutters, voice cold and closed off again. 

“Goodnight, Logan,” you whisper, finally walking inside the den. 

You miss the small goodnight he sends back to you, finally turning around only to watch you leave. 

There had been a very clear plan set in place. Get Juggernaut’s helmet, put it on Cassandra, and then kill that psychotic bitch. Which is why you’re so confused when you’re standing knee-deep in guts and watching Logan and Wade leap through a portal above you. 

You don’t have time to feel angry or even hurt that they left without you. Laura is grabbing your arm and you’re both running for your life, trying to escape Alioth again. You run into Cassandra’s lair ducking into one of the rooms and dragging Laura with you. 

You’re both holding your breaths and praying that he’s sated by the others still outside. After a few minutes, the cracks of thunder stop and you risk peeking your head outside. The clouds have retreated back to their usual spot in the middle of the void. 

You take in the carnage of Cassandra’s evil lair. Most everybody is dead. You only have to skirt around a few people to get back to the Odyssey. 

You throw yourself in the driver’s seat and sink back against the bloodstained cushions. You let out a relieved breath and look at Laura, “What do you do to entertain yourself around here?”

You acclimated to the idea of being stuck in the void pretty quickly. There wasn’t exactly a lot waiting for you back home. Besides, Laura was nice enough. You had food, beer, and company. You didn’t really need much else. 

You’re pretty sure if you linger too long on the thought that Wade left you behind you’ll fall into a depression that you’re never going to be able to claw your way out of. So, you forced a smile on your face and played cards. Nothing else to do but wait to die of old age or for Alioth to kill you. 

Of course, your plans had to be ruined. There was an odd rush of air against your back and then a slight whoosh. Laura glanced over your shoulders and her brows furrowed, you turned around to find three armored men waiting behind you. 

“Flux,” the man glanced from you to Laura, “X-23?”

“Laura,” you both correct at the same time. 

The man gives an aggrieved sigh and holds his arm out, “Come with me, please.”

You stand up, energy tingling in the palms of your hands while you regard them suspiciously. Laura comes up behind you, claws out and glaring at them. “Why should we?” You demand. 

Barely a second later you hear the most insufferable voice in the world. “Hiya, peanut!” 

“Wade,” you hiss. You follow the armored men through an oddly shaped portal and find Wade standing beside a shirtless Logan, smiling proudly at you. “You fucking left me,” you hold up your hands and his eyes widen. 

His hands quickly come up, trying to assuage you, “Hold on now-”

You throw him back, his body hurtling into a nearby building and caving in the wall. Logan watches it happen with a small smile, “Been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Once Wade had recovered he filled you in on everything that happened. TVA did a general clean up and then you were standing in front of your apartment door, keys in hand like nothing had happened. 

It was so bizarre, going from a mission to save your timeline and then you’re expected to just go about your life. You stay standing in that hallway for you don’t know how long before you hear someone behind you. 

You jump and drop your keys when Logan clears his throat. “Shit,” you hiss, whirling around and glaring at him while your heart races. He chuckles and bends over to grab your keys for you. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him, covered in blood and in a borrowed shirt. “Uh, Wade doesn’t have enough room at his place. Told me I should come over here.”

You look over his shoulder and see Wade peeking his head out of his doorway. He catches your eye, sending you a thumbs up. You almost smile but then he makes a phallic gesture with his hands, pointing at Logan and humping the air. You glare at him and he quickly backs into his apartment, but not before sending you one last encouraging shit-eating grin. 

You look back at Logan and he’s waiting expectantly for your answer. “Yeah,” you take your keys from him and unlock the door. “I’ve got a spare room but there’s no bed in it right now.” Your eyes widen when you see the mess that is your apartment. 

You quickly rush through, picking up empty take-out boxes and dirty laundry and shoving them into your room. He’s smiling at you when you come back and it's slightly off-putting. “Um,” you gesture towards the couch awkwardly. “You can take the sofa tonight and we’ll look at setting you up with something more permanent tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he hovers by the armrest and you engage in the longest stare-off of your life. Neither of you says anything for a few suffocating moments before he gestures at himself. “Shower?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your stupor and nod your head. “Yeah, right, of course.” You show him down the hall, “Here. I’ll go get you a towel.”

You rush towards your linen closet, leaving him behind in your bathroom. You grab a few clean towels and then figure he might want some clothes as well. You grab some pajamas that Wade’s left over when he’s crashed before. They’ll probably be a bit tighter on Logan, but you wouldn’t mind seeing that. 

You walk back to the bathroom and the thought of knocking doesn’t even run through your head. It should, honestly, but you’re already so thrown off by him even being here. You walk in and immediately gasp and drop the towels. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’s standing naked before you. Clothes discarded on the floor behind him. Everything on perfect display. Your eyes land on his abs, noticing a few prominent veins leading down-

You cover your face and turn around. “Sorry,” you mutter again. God, you’re such an idiot. You still haven’t even left. You’d just been shamelessly ogling the man naked and you don’t even have the decency to walk out. 

You really can’t help it though. It’s been such a clusterfuck, the last 72 hours. Your brain is fried and Wade’s little show hasn’t helped you at all.  

You hear Logan laugh behind you. “It’s alright,” he mutters. Something warm ghosts across your arm and you jump slightly. His hand firmly grasps your bicep, gently tugging your palms away from your face. 

You risk a glance over your shoulder and nearly gasp at how close he’s gotten. He's towering over you, something in his face you can’t place. “It’s alright,” he whispers again and you find yourself nodding without really thinking. 

He’s got both hands on your arms now, trailing up and down. The touch is so featherlight you can barely feel it at all. You don’t even realize how he’s gently coaxing you closer until you trip on the towels at your feet. 

You startle, looking down at them and moving to kick them aside. But he stops you, his finger nudging your chip up so you’ll look at him again. There is such blatant want painted across his face that it makes your heart skip a beat. Your breath catches in your throat when he wraps an arm around your waist and drags you closer. 

You can feel all of him. You can feel just how much he wants you. It catches you off guard, this sudden display of attraction. You don’t know where it’s coming from, what’s brought it on. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve been so lonely for so long. You just want to bask in the fact that he looks absolutely starved for you. 

No man has ever looked at you with such heartbreakingly yearning eyes - like he’s been looking for you his whole life. He dips down, lips ghosting gently over yours. Your breaths mingle together, you can nearly taste him. 

It’s unclear which one of you moves first, who pushes closer to the other. But it doesn’t matter because the second you put real pressure behind the kiss he’s all over you. One of his hands drifts down to your ass, squeezing the flesh there and dragging you closer, grinding his hips into yours. 

You moan at the feeling, your arms wrap around his neck and you press yourself even closer. He groans against your lips at the first swipe of your tongue. You part with a gasp when he picks you up, practically tossing you onto your sink. Your legs spread instinctually, making room for him as he slots himself between them. 

It’s odd, feeling so vulnerable even when he’s the one who's completely naked. It still feels like he’s holding all the power. 

His lips are moving frantically over yours like he’s terrified you’re going to disappear the second he lets go. You can taste something desperate on his tongue. Something deeply rooted inside him that you can’t identify. 

One of your hands drifts from his neck, trailing over the muscles of his chest. Your fingers carve a path down his abs, relishing in how muscular he feels under your palm. Your hand reaches his pelvis, nearly wrapped around him when he jumps back. 

He grabs your wrist in a grip so tight you know there’s going to be a bruise. A pained gasp slips out and he releases you immediately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I can’t.” He won’t look at you now, backing up towards the shower and shaking his head. “This was a bad idea, I can’t do this.”

You shake your head, slipping off the sink and hiding your bruised wrist behind your back. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

You feel too ashamed to meet his eye. He kissed you but you feel like you’ve forced yourself on him somehow. It’s a nauseating feeling and you want nothing more than to run back to your room and hide. 

He takes a step towards you, something pained on his face. “Kid-”

You just shake your head, step out of the bathroom, and grab the handle of the door. “Sorry,” you whisper again, closing the door behind you. You lean against the cool wood, trying to catch your breath. 

Your hand drifts up to your lips, still tingling from how desperately he’d kissed you. It doesn’t make any sense. He came on to you, he threw you up on the sink, and made out with you more passionately than any man ever has before. So why are you the one who feels dirty?

You rush down the hall and into your room, slamming the door behind you. You dive under your covers, closing your eyes even though you know you won’t sleep. No, your shoulders are tensed up to your ears and your bones are vibrating with an energy you need to release. 

You’re completely tuned into the other person lurking in your apartment. You can hear as he starts the shower, how he talks quietly to himself sometimes. Then when he gets out you can perfectly picture what he looks like while he’s getting dressed and it only makes you feel worse. 

You listen as he leaves the bathroom and pauses in the hall. You can see it in your mind’s eye, how he stares at your door. He walks towards it and lingers for a minute before cussing quietly and heading back into the living room. 

You suddenly remember that you didn’t lay sheets out on the couch for him. You feel guilty, but there’s not one part of you that will be dragged from this bed and face him. Not now, at least. 

He’s up for a little while longer, getting water. Turning the TV on and off. Rooting through your cabinets looking for booze you know you don’t have. Finally, he settles on the couch. You’re awake for another hour, unable to relax until you’re completely sure he’s asleep. Even as you drift off and your body finally relaxes your mind doesn’t. You keep seeing that stricken look on his face and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

It’s the smell of pancakes that wakes you up. You’re not sure when you finally managed to pass out last night but you know it was late. Which is why you’re so pissed off that you’re being forced to get up at seven in the morning. 

You’re used to being able to sleep in a lot later than that. You’re already in a pissy mood from last night and it only gets worse as you trudge around your room getting ready. You’ve never been more thankful to have snagged one of the rare two-bathroom apartments in the building.

You don’t want to have to share a bathroom with Logan. You don’t even want to use the other one after what happened last night. It’s too embarrassing and painful to think about. The emotional whiplash of feeling so desired and then absolutely hideous is making your head spin. 

You’re sure it was all just a problem on his end, but it really doesn’t make you feel any better. When you can’t stall any longer, and you know that Logan has heard you get up, you slip quietly out of your room. 

The curtains in your living room are open and he’s in the kitchen fucking around with your stove. The news is playing quietly on the TV and you’re astounded about how little he’s done and how much more homely your apartment feels. 

It’s never really been home to you. Not after you were booted from the X-Men. But he’s somehow made it ten times cozier than it ever has been. You almost resent him a little for it. 

“Morning,” he grumbles from the kitchen. “Coffee,” he motions behind him and you see a steaming cup already waiting for you. You silently slip behind him, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and pouring it until you’re sure it’s sweet enough to not actually taste the coffee. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, moving to sit at the table. You keep your eyes trained on the TV, pretending to pay attention to the news so you don’t have to look at him. He bores his eyes into the side of your head until you feel like you’re going to have holes in your temple. 

When you can’t take it anymore you finally look over at him. He doesn’t smile, his face barely even twitches, he just looks back to his pan and continues scrambling some eggs. “Didn’t know you cooked,” you offer up weakly, already growing anxious from the silence. 

It feels wrong, to be walking on eggshells in your own apartment. He grunts and shrugs, “Not really cooking. You had the mix in your pantry,” he tells you brusquely. His tone borders on rude and you scoff. 

The audacity of this man to have an attitude with you in your apartment. He was the one who threw a hissy fit last night. You roll your eyes and go back to the news, all it tells you is that the world is just as depressing as the inside of your apartment is right now. 

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way his shoulders slump forward. He leans against the oven, seeming not to care if he burns himself. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’d just heal. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds like it pains him to say the words. 

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath. You take a long sip of your coffee, slurping a little so you have something to fill the atmosphere. 

He puts some food on a plate and brings it over to the table for you. You usually don’t eat breakfast, preferring to just skip the meal and eat a bigger lunch. But it feels too bitchy to say that to him, so you just accept the food with a strained smile. “Thanks.”

He sits across from you, glaring down at your table like it insulted him. You drag your fork against the plate, letting the scrape of metal against porcelain drown out your worries. Finally, he looks at you. “Look, about last night.”

You tense up. You want to interrupt him, to stop him from explaining. You know it’s just going to hurt your feelings, whatever he says. Whether he tells you it was a mistake or he just realized he’s not attracted to you, either way, you’re fucked. But, it’s also kept you up all night so you just shut your mouth and let him speak. 

You keep your gaze trained on your plate, unable to fully face him. He lets out a long sigh and clenches his fork so tight you hear the metal bend. He drops it to the table and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times. 

“I just couldn’t kiss you, not when I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and you finally look up at him. “What?” You demand, disbelief coloring your voice. 

His eyes are boring into yours, an intensity behind the stare that leaves you feeling a little shaken. “You look like her,” he whispers, and the grief is so thick in his voice it makes your throat tighten. He pauses briefly before continuing. “There are,” he clears his throat like he’s trying not to cry. It makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossed over your stomach uncomfortably. 

“There are a few differences, obviously. You’re not a carbon copy. But your mannerisms, your attitudes, you’re so similar. And I,” he shakes his head and gives you one of the most genuinely apologetic looks you’ve ever received. You can tell he really does feel guilty for projecting on you but it doesn’t make you feel any less uncomfortable. “And I just wasn’t doing that for the right reasons. I was pretending you were her and that’s just not fair to you.”

You lean your elbows on the table, head falling into your hands. You let out a rough sigh and groan in irritation. You knew the reason would hurt but you didn’t think it would be this bad. You feel gross, icky under your skin knowing that he was pretending you were another version of yourself. The version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be; the hero. 

But you also feel such a deep sadness and sympathy for him. He’d briefly mentioned that he was married to this other you. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, to see your dead wife’s face staring at you and she doesn’t even know you. 

“I,” you don’t even know where to begin. You struggle to say anything for a minute and you both just stew in the tense silence. You take in a deep breath and look up at him. You do what you always do, forcing a smile and shrugging it off. “I appreciate the honesty, really.” You stand up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and busying yourself with cleaning up. 

“Clearly,” you snap, your voice crueler than it should be, “It was a mistake. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again, right?”

Logan sits silently at the table. He looks like there’s more he wants to say but you don’t give him the chance. You can’t take it. You finally thought someone had wanted you for you, flaws and all. You’re a fucking idiot, he barely even knows you. Whatever connection you thought was there was just brought about by your own loneliness. 

“I gotta get ready for work,” you tell his back because he isn’t looking at you now. 

He nods, scraping his fork across the plate as he aggressively cuts into his food. “Right.” You wait for him to say anything else but he doesn’t. 

You walk past him and head back to your room. You don’t even have a job, you don’t have to work. But you still grab your purse and head out of the apartment. Pretending you do just so you don’t have to look at him anymore. 

You really should have let him finish, though. You should have let him keep talking to you. Let him explain how as much as he sees her in you, that’s not why he wants you. He wants you for you. Because as similar as you can be, you’re still a completely different person from who his late wife was. You’re someone strong and incredible and he genuinely wants you. But he can never really let himself be happy. 

It takes a few days for you both to ease up around the other. The incident in the bathroom is never brought up again. You take him shopping for clothes after a few days. It feels wrong to keep giving him Wade’s hand-me-downs. You would have had your friend take him, but you don’t trust Wade’s sense of fashion at all. 

After that and getting lunch together while you were out shopping things got a little easier. You bought him a bed for the spare room because you felt guilty seeing him all cramped up on your tiny couch. 

You don’t initiate any physical contact with each other. The closest you’d gotten was your hands brushing when you both reached for some popcorn at the same time on movie night. But you hadn’t really minded that bad. 

Eventually, he starts to feel like a real roommate and a friend. He lets little pieces of himself slip out. Slowly opens up about his past. You haven’t made any existential discoveries of course. But he tells you stories of what his X-Men were like. 

You try not to dance around the topic of his wife, you don’t want him to think you’re avoiding asking about her. But you also don’t want him to think you’re obsessed with discussing her. 

He’s right, you two weren’t carbon copies of each other at all. You might share a few things in common but the more both you and Logan learn about each other, the more clear it is how different you both are from your variants. 

Sometimes you think he looks at you like he’s really seeing you, not her. But you can never be sure and you don’t want to put much strength behind the thought in case you’re wrong. You hate the idea that when you’re thinking of nothing but him, he’s just seeing her reflection on your face. 

There’s nothing you can do about it but it doesn’t stop the hurt. 

Tonight, at Wade’s suggestion, you’re both up on the roof waiting for a meteor shower that you’re ninety percent sure is never going to happen. You’re also one hundred percent sure that Wade just tricked you out of your apartment so he could have sex in it. He and Vanessa don’t really get a lot of time alone with Blind Al around. You’re already mentally preparing for the absolute fuck storm you’re going to have to clean up after.  

There’s a light nudge on your shoulder and you glance over at Logan. He’s got the whiskey bottle outstretched towards you and you take it from him with a smile. One thing about being his roommate, your alcohol tolerance has skyrocketed. His liver might regenerate, but you’re pretty sure if you keep going down this route yours will give out in a few months. 

“Think this is actually going to happen?” You ask, pointing up toward the clear night sky. 

Logan chuckles and shakes his head. He stretches out in your flimsy lawn chair and you try not to let your gaze be drawn to the sliver of skin peeking out from his shirt. “Probably not, but I don’t mind being out here.”

There’s an unspoken, with you, that makes you smile. You meet his gaze, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me either.” You lean back in your chair, pulling your legs up onto the seat and huddling under your blanket. “It’s peaceful.”

You drink together in silence for a little while longer. Then you have to tap out, you don’t want your brain getting too foggy. Tonight is nice, you want to remember it tomorrow. To your surprise, he caps the bottle and places it to the side. You don’t mention it but you do feel like you’ve noticed he’s been drinking a little less. The dark circles under his eyes seem to be easing away ever so slightly. 

He looks over at you with an odd light in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably under his stare when it lasts a little longer than it usually does. You chuckle awkwardly, “Do I have something on my face?”

There’s a soft uptick to his lips as he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, looking back out at the night. “You mind if I ask you something?”

Ominous, but whatever. “Sure.”

He still doesn’t look at you and you worry slightly about whatever it is he’s going to ask. He doesn’t ease you into it all, “Wade said your brain was broken?” A laugh springs out of your throat from how brusque that was. He rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ idiot mentioned it in the void, been wonderin’ about it.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. You’re relaxed enough that you don’t mind answering. You don’t want to pop the soft bubble you’ve managed to create around each other. “Here,” you hold your hand out for the whiskey bottle. He gives you an apprehensive look before handing it over. 

You unscrew the cap, “This,” you say and point your hand at the glass. The liquid inside lifts into the air and you freeze it before dropping it back into the bottle with a splash, a simple little party trick. “This used to be enough to put me in a coma for two days. That’s what he meant. Something happened to me and I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Logan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head in disbelief. You laugh a little, “I assume your wife never had problems like that?”

There’s always a fond smile when you mention his wife. Whether the memory is bittersweet or not. “She wasn’t perfect, much as I thought so. When she used her powers too much she,” he trails off and looks down at the floor. You frown, ducking your head down so you can catch his gaze. 

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you promise quietly.

But he shakes his head and gives you a weak, tight-lipped smile. “No, I want to. And I don’t want you to think you’re the only Flux who struggled. When she used her powers too much she would deteriorate. Parts of her would just disappear, I don’t even know how to describe it. They were destroying her from the inside out.”

You let out a low whistle, eyes widening slightly. “Well, maybe I didn't get the short end of the stick after all.” It’s quiet and for a moment you worry your humor was ill-timed. 

But he lets out a rough laugh, “No, I guess not.” He takes in a deep breath before looking back up at you. There’s no distant sadness in his eyes like there usually is when you bring her up. It seems to only be a familiar ache now, rather than something fresh and bleeding. “But what happened to you? Why couldn’t you use your powers?”

“Oh,” you look down at your lap, picking at the strings of your pants. It would be unfair to have him talk about his wife and then wimp out when it was your turn. 

“Um, There was this mission. A bunch of kids, mutants, were being held in this warehouse. It was actually pretty normal, just go in, retrieve them, and bring them back to safety. I must have done a dozen of these before, but, I don’t know. Something was this different this time around.”

You can still hear them screaming. In your mind, you hear the way they cried for help. And you see the look on your faces when they realize you can’t save them every time you go to sleep. 

You suck in a sharp breath and almost jump when his hand lands on yours. It’s gentle, he’s barely even touching you and he’s not even acknowledging what he’s doing. But you take his hand in yours and squeeze, it’s nice, grounding. 

“Long story short, they were heavily guarded and I was pretty drained from fighting off the guards. My powers were practically gone by the time we could even get to the kids. And, I don’t know, something must have gotten knocked over or hit the wrong way because smoke was filling the place and everything was on fire. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t breathe, and the kids were blocked off. There was nothing we could do to get to them. Everyone kept screaming at me, telling me to just use my abilities and get them out of there. I couldn’t,” your voice gets thick and you look anywhere but at him. “I,” your mouth hangs open and you don’t know what you could possibly say. 

There’s no excuse for what happened. “I just couldn’t,” you whisper. You sniffle and your eyes flutter rapidly, trying to stop any tears from coming. “Hadn’t been able to use my powers since then. Trauma block or something, I guess,” you dismiss yourself flippantly and shrug. 

Logan just squeezes your hand again. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to comfort you and you’re honestly grateful for the silence. You get so sick of people telling you there was nothing you could have done. Or that the others should have helped you. Because that’s not a fucking excuse. There’s no fixing what happened, no giving those parents their children back. You fucked up and you don’t appreciate people giving you cop-outs. 

You keep your gaze trained steadily on the ground, eyes going blurry while you try to slip into the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance, though. Logan is kneeling in front of you, hands slipping up your arms to cup your face. 

He forces you to look at him, to stay present in the moment with him. “You fucked up,” he tells you. It's so shocking that you can’t help but let out a loud wet laugh. You sniffle and he grins, wiping the tears out from under your eyes. His grip on your cheeks tightens and he makes sure you’re listening as he speaks, “You fucked up, kid. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t try your fucking hardest. And it doesn’t erase all the people you did help.”

Your eyes search him, trying to find any kernel of untruth. Trying to prove to yourself that this isn’t real. That he isn’t real. You don’t deserve this moment of such unwavering trust and faith. This is meant for someone else, for someone who deserves good things in life. 

You’ve never truly believed you deserved happiness or peace like this. But right now you don’t care because he is saying everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. And he actually means it. 

Your hand drifts up, covering his and tilting your head to press a gentle kiss to his palm. It’s tentative, a test, a way to give him an out if doesn’t want this. His grip on you tightens for half a second before he shoots forward and claims your lips with his own. 

It escalates quickly. You practically melt off your chair, straddling his lap while he leans back on the ground. Your hands tug at his hair while he moves desperately over your body. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do, where he wants to touch you. 

You love how fully his hands engulf you, the tight way they cradle you to his chest. You’ve never felt more secure in someone’s arms than you do right now. He’s got you, and he wants you. For you this time, you can tell. You can tell from the way he holds you that this isn’t a desperation born from grief. It’s something else, something you’re not ready to identify yet. 

His tongue laves across the seam of your lips, silently asking permission. You smile against the kiss, parting your lips and deepening it. He licks into you, tasting you with a low grunt in the back of his throat. You feel your hips start to move of their own volition. Gently grinding down against his lap. You moan when you feel just how bad he wants you. 

You lean back, parting from the kiss and pressing a finger to his chest to keep from following. You chuckle at his eagerness, grinding your hips down again and watching the way he thrusts up to meet your movement. “Didn’t know I was such a good kisser,” you tease. 

But he doesn’t return the joke or play along. His face falls slightly and he pulls further away from you, the look on his face distant. “What?” You whisper. “Do I have bad breath?” You joke, trying to keep the mood light. 

He shakes his head and runs a tired hand over his face. “No,” he mutters. He repeats the word more firmly and finally meets your gaze. “I think I need to take this slow, just because of…”

He trails off but you know what he means. His wife. You don’t know if he’s still projecting her onto you, you felt so sure he wasn’t earlier. But if every time you kiss he’s gonna pull back you’re not sure that you can do this. “Of course,” you mutter with a bite to your voice. It’s hard not to feel a little rejected every time he acts like this. 

You move to get off his lap but his hands clamp down on your hips and he shakes his head again. “You don’t have to get up.”

You hesitate, thighs still hovering over his. You should get up and put as much space between you as possible. But he’s so warm and you want to be held for a little while more. You nod and he looks relieved. You lean back down, pressing your chest against his and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. 

He wraps a heavy arm around your back, keeping you close while the other reaches up to stroke your hair. It makes you feel small, in a good way. Like you can just relax and he’ll take care of you. 

“Goddamn,” he laughs a little and you sit up. He nods to the sky above and you turn around, gasping. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, “he wasn’t lying.” For once, Wade was telling the truth. Above you, it looks like the sky is falling. Glittering stars dart across the sky, streaks of blue following behind them. You grin, “It’s so beautiful.”

Logan keeps his eyes on you and nods, “Yeah, it is.”

“Ah, look, my favorite fuck buddies.”

”Wade,” you greet tightly. You shove the bottle of wine you brought into his chest and he stumbles back. “Just let us in, you freak.”

He frowns, placing a hand over his heart. “You know, it really hurts when you talk like that. I think we all need to hold hands and have a good old-fashioned jerk circle.”

You roll your eyes and flick his thick forehead. “It’s share circle, dumbass.”

”Not the way I do it,” he moves to the side and lets you both in. “Well, mi casa es su casa, especially since Vanessa and I had rockin’ sex in your bed last week.”

He walks off before you can hit him or even begin to respond to that. “I fucking knew it,” you hiss, glaring at his stupid Hawaiian shirt while he mingles with the rest of the people at the party. 

Logan chuckles behind you, “How did you two ever become friends?”

You roll your eyes and turn to face him. “I moved in next door,” you respond dryly. “This was a nonconsensual friendship because god hates me, clearly.” You shrug your jacket off and he takes it from you, hanging it up on the hook by the door. He comes back, slinging an arm around your shoulder, and leading you towards the kitchen. 

You hear Wade laughing loudly in the background and he grunts, “I’m gonna need a drink for this,” he mutters. You nod your head in agreement. You don’t get very far, though, because without any warning Wade is in front of you. He’s got his ridiculous dog in his arms and shoves her in your face. You grimace and jump back. Logan abandons you and you narrow your eyes at his retreating back. Traitor

Wade says your name with disappointment. “You know, Mary Puppins is a part of my life now. As my best friend, you need to bond with her. I can’t have you two fighting like this.” He shoves the dog into your arms without any warning and you flinch away from her wandering tongue. 

“If this thing licks me, I’m putting her down,” you warn him gravely. 

He gasps and snatches her back. “You are no longer welcome in my home,” he tells you with a snotty huff. You roll your eyes and watch him go. When he’s out of sight your lips curl up in a grin and you glance at Logan. 

He’s by the sink, making himself a drink and taking a deep swig straight out of the bottle. You creep up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiles, hand coming down to gently hold your arm. “What’re you doing?”

”Come with me,” you whisper. You take his hand and lead him through the apartment. You both skirt around the partygoers, giving them vague greetings and waving them off when they give you odd looks. 

Logan leans down, lips brushing across your ear as he whispers, “Where are we going?” Your knees nearly give out when you hear that low tone of voice of his. You just shake your head and lead him down the hall. You can sniff out Wade’s room from the permeating stench of his axe body spray. 

You throw the door open and drag Logan inside behind you. His nose wrinkles up at the stiff socks littering the floor and the smell. Other than that, it’s relatively clean. You actually thought this would look so much worse. 

“Now,” Logan demands, “are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

“Well,” you lock the door and turn around with a devious grin. “Seeing as Wade has ruined my favorite sheets, I feel like we need to get him back somehow.” You glance around the room, trying to figure out something of his you want to destroy. 

You don’t hear Logan moving towards you. You’re too busy rooting through Wade’s desk and trying to find something good to shred up.  All you’re seeing is increasingly more disturbing porno mags. He has got a serious problem with pegging. You briefly wonder if you should set up an intervention or something for him. 

You nearly yelp when Logan’s hands grip your shoulders, whipping you around to face him. “I’ve got an idea of what we can do.” That’s your only warning before his lips cover your own. You melt into him immediately, hands fisting his shirt and dragging him closer. He grins against your lips, lifting you and placing you on the edge of Wade’s desk. 

“Mm,” you moan but shove his chest back and shake your head. “Wait,” you hop off the desk and take a seat on Wade’s bed instead. “There’s no point in this if we’re not on the bed.”

Logan shakes his head with an amused huff. He walks towards you but instead of taking a seat on the bed next to you like you'd expected, he kneels before you. Your brows furrow together and you frown. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

He gives you a gentle smile, hands coming up to rub gently over your thighs. The warmth of his palms soothes you almost immediately. “You trust me?” He asks, voice a low rumble against your chest. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. He nods encouragingly and leans forward, kissing you gently. There’s nothing expectant in this kiss. He’s doing it just to be close to you. Then you feel his hands drifting higher, fingers running over the buttons of your jeans. Your lips part, ready to ask him a question. But he just takes the chance to dip his tongue into your mouth, eagerly tasting you. You moan into it, not protesting when he presses you back into the bed. 

His fingers dip under the waistband of your jeans. You lift your hips to help him tug them the rest of the way down until they’re dropping to the floor quietly. You have a million questions dancing on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find it in yourself to actually voice any of them. You don’t want to break the moment. This is the first time he’s seemed comfortable going further than kissing and some heavy petting. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your hips jolt as he runs a thumb over the wet spot on your panties. “All this just from kissing?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his tone. You feel your face flush, cheeks warming when you realize he’s never actually seen just how much he affects you. “Relax,” he tells you, squeezing your thighs once before slipping a few lithe fingers under the band of your panties. 

He tugs them down, but the second he sets eyes on you he gets too impatient to take them off the rest of the way. They dangle off one ankle while he lifts your thighs, setting them on his shoulder and dipping down to press a gentle kiss against you. You gasp at the contact, head tilting back while you instinctually grind your hips up against him. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve actually been with anyone and you already know you’re going to cum embarrassingly quick because he fucking devours you. You’ve had boyfriends who liked to eat you out before, but this is something completely different. 

He drags his tongue over you, sucking on your clit like it’s his only true joy in life. You can’t even make noises, your jaw hanging slack while you cant your hips higher. He groans when you grind against his face, shaking his head and flicking his nose across your bud. You nearly come from the sight of him smiling against your cunt alone. You feel it building slowly, and it’s like your powers are swelling up along with your release. 

Wade’s knicknacks are floating off the shelves, some of them rotating in the air, others fluctuating between liquid and solid forms. You can’t control yourself, you’re barely aware of the chaos happening in the room around you. You just feel a warmth at the tips of your toes, swelling over your body, making your skin feel too tight. There’s little to no warning when you cum. He dips his tongue inside you and you let out a long moan, drenching his face. 

The sheets are soaking wet underneath you and you know you’ve ruined his shirt. You’ve never come that hard before and you would reflect on that more if he wasn’t still fucking eating you out. You think your brain is going to melt out of your ears, you're so overwhelmed by all the different sensations.

He dips his tongue into you, dragging out your orgasm and drinking as much of you down as he can. Your hips keep twitching, you’d be thrashing out of his hands if it wasn’t for the near brushing grip he has on your hips. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you reach down, grabbing his hair at the roots and tugging. He groans at the feeling, barely leaning an inch back. “No more,” you whisper, chest heaving. 

He smiles, palms smoothing across the skin of your thighs, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” you hum weakly. Your head falls back against the bed with a dull thunk and you struggle to catch your breath. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?” He doesn’t answer, just laughs. You jump slightly when he presses a tender kiss on your thigh, every part of you oversensitive. 

He moves slowly up your body, hands dragging your shirt up until he’s pulling it over your head. He cups your cheeks, letting you recover while he kisses your cheeks and face. You laugh slightly at the feeling of his beard tickling you. 

You pull back, meeting his gaze for a long drawn-out moment before you lean forward to finally kiss him back. You can feel yourself slowly coming back into your body. Your limbs tingle back to life while you lazily make out with him. 

His hands drift down your chest, squeezing your breasts. You laugh against his lips, arching into his touch. You reach back, unclipping your bra and throwing it off somewhere in the room. In the far reaches of your mind, you make a mental note to take that when you go. You don’t want to think about what Wade would do with it if he found it. 

Logan pulls back from you and your lips tip down at the serious look he wears. Your fingers trace the lines of his face and you tilt your head in question. “What’s wrong?” You whisper. You’re completely naked before him and he’s still clothed, you don’t want him to leave now. 

He can’t keep doing this to you. He can’t keep forcing you into these vulnerable positions and then leaving. There’s only so much rejection you can take before you start to resent him for it. 

He tilts his head down, gaze dragging across your body appreciatively. He’s looking at you like you’re art and it makes you feel like you should be in a museum somewhere. Finally, his hand drags down from your chest, wrapping around your waist and dragging you onto his lap. 

You brace your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He leans towards you, lips trailing lightly across your jaw. “You’re not her,” he whispers against your skin. Your mouth parts, a pained breath slipping through. You try to move back from him. You hadn’t expected something like that, not now, not when you thought you’d made so much progress together. 

To have you naked, vulnerable like this, and then say something like that to you. It was fucking despicable. You shove his shoulders back but he barely moves. You shift, trying to cover yourself and fighting off the urge to cry. Why won’t he let you go? Why does he keep doing this to you? 

He reaches out, snatching up your wrist before you can get far. “I don’t want you to be. I never wanted you to be her, I need you to know that.”

He tries to kiss you but you snatch his jaw in your hand before he can. You let your nails dig in until there’s red blooming under your fingertips. He hisses, but he’s not mad, you can feel how much he enjoys the little pinpricks of pain. 

“No more pulling away,” you warn. “I’m not playing this damn game with you anymore, Logan. You want me, then commit.” You release him with a shove and his pupils dilate with want. You appreciate the gentle way he’s been treating you, but you know you’re both holding back. 

He’s the first partner you’ve been with that can actually take what you give and vice versa. There’s something only mutants understand sometimes. You normally have to hold back, have to make sure you don’t scare a guy off by making the walls shake when you come. 

You push him down onto the bed. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt and running over the grooves of his muscles. You haven’t had a chance to appreciate just how gorgeous his body is before, but nothing is holding you back now. 

You snap your fingers and the buttons rip open, he surges forward catching your lips with his while you both frantically push his shirt off. He throws it off to the side and his fingers fumble with his belt buckle while you trail kisses down his neck. You glance up at him for a second before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot. 

He groans, head rolling back while you grin against his skin. You make your way back to his lips. “Don’t hold back,” you tell him, trailing your hands down to his fists and running over the spots where the claws come out. 

“Sweetheart,” he starts tone apprehensive. You shake your head, shutting him up with a kiss. 

“Don’t. Hold. Back.”

It’s like a switch flipping. Even the way he looks at you changes. You’re not something to be cherished and adored. You feel like a deer pinned by a wolf. He’s got you in his clutches now and there’s a real possibility you might not survive this. 

He stands up, dropping you on the bed and dragging your hips off the edge. He doesn’t kick his jeans off, just lowers them enough for his cock to hang out. You’ll address the fact that he wasn’t wearing boxers later, you’re too worried about what’s hanging between his legs right now. 

You’re no virgin, but goddamn, there’s no way that’s going to fit. 

He laughs, the noise cruel and it makes shivers crawl down your spine. “We’ll make it work, kid.” He spreads your legs and you tilt your hips up, making it easier for him to just sip inside. 

There’s a slight stretch, but you’re already soaked for him. You’ve been waiting for this to happen since you walked in on him naked in your bathroom. “Oh, shit,” you toss your head back, taking in a deep breath while he pushes in. It feels like he’s rearranging your insides, molding you to fit him perfectly. 

You can already feel yourself clenching down, just being so close to him is enough to make that tingle in the tips of your toes start. He leans down, placing your legs over his elbows and rutting into you like a wild animal. There’s nothing gentle or slow about this. 

You’re both so pent-up, tired from the weeks of dancing around each other. Your nails drag up his back, blood following your movement. Your powers are actively surging against him, pain only driving you further into each other’s arms. 

You can hear his breathy grunts and groans in your ears and it’s music to you. Neither of you cares about the party going on just outside the door. You’re loud, skin slapping against skin while you loudly call out his name. 

God, you hope they hear you. Hope they realize just how thoroughly you’re wrecked for each other. You can feel yourself getting closer, hips stuttering against his while you struggle to match his pace. “Come on,” he mutters in your ear. He releases one of your legs to reach down and rub your clit. 

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching up and tugging at his hair while your back bows. It only takes a few more tight circles of his thumb before you’re spasming around him. He’s quick to follow behind you. 

He pins your hips to the bed, dropping your legs while he thrusts faster. He loses his rhythm, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he cums inside you. It’s like a mini death, you feel like you’ve lost time when you finally manage to come back to yourself. 

And when you roll your head to the side you realize just how much damage you’ve done to Wade’s bed. “Shit,” You glance up at the sound of his voice and notice little droplets of blood on your hips. Logan’s claws are out, stuck in the fluff of the bed. 

You force the words out, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Do that often?”

“Not really,” he mutters. The claws retreat and he rubs his fingers over the blood. It’s not bad, you’ve honestly done worse to yourself. It’s like a big paper cut. When the rough pad of his fingers presses against the cut you hiss at the sting, nearly enjoying it. 

“Must be special,” you tell him with a cheeky grin. He shakes his head with a laugh and takes his time pulling out. You hate the loss of him inside you but it's a slight relief. He's larger than any partner you’ve ever had and it’s almost overwhelming to be so full. 

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” He pats your thighs, glancing around for your clothes. 

“Uh, Logan,” he looks up and you glance at his still very hard cock. “I thought you came?”

The smile he gives you is slightly terrifying. Because there’s a promise in it. He’s not getting you dressed for no reason. He’s taking you back to your apartment so you can have more fun where there are less people and fewer reminders of Wade. “Stamina's part of the deal, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, voice breathless in shock. You wipe the cum off your legs with Wade’s sheets. You feel like you’ve thoroughly gotten revenge on him for destroying your favorite bed set. Maybe, you’ve gone a little farther than revenge, though. 

You feel guilty, looking around the room and seeing everything you destroyed. Once you’re dressed, you wave your hand, putting most things back where they belong. But there’s nothing you can do about the bed. The sheets are soaked with a mixture of yours and Logan’s releases and there are six holes dug deep in the bed from his claws. 

When you step out of the room with Logan, struggling to press down your hair and get it back into place, Blind Al is waiting by the door. She’s doing a line off the back of her hand when you pass by. You think you’ve almost made it scott-free when she yells, “Man, I wish I couldn’t fucking hear,” at you. 

You tense up, shoulders to your ears while you run to the door. Logan laughs, grabbing your coat for you and pressing a hand to your back while he leads you to the apartment. “Weren’t feeling so embarrassed earlier,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, dragging him into the apartment to finish what you couldn’t on Wade’s bed. 

You’ve managed to keep any holes out of your bed, you just have to use your powers to keep his at bay. It’s nice, not having to explain why everything around you is levitating to the person you’re having sex with. There were a lot of awkward conversations that came from that. 

You’re lying on Logan’s chest, fingers idly running over the veins in his biceps. “I want to be serious about this,” you tell him. 

His hand pauses from where it’d been stroking your back. You sit up on your elbow so you can get a better look at him. “I mean it, I,” there’s no way to say this without sounding like a complete bitch. You just have to rip the bandaid off. 

You take in a deep breath, “I know that you still miss her,” you say, unwilling to say her name. Logan sits up, looking more serious now. “But I don’t want to be with you if you think that I’m going to turn into her. Or if you think that I’m the last connection you have to her. I’m not her, Logan, and I'm never going to be her.”

You expect anger on his face or regret, maybe. But you don’t expect him to laugh at you. You roll your eyes, lips pursed while you wait for him to finish. He notices the pissy expression on your face and quiets down, but you still see a smile fighting on his lips. 

“I know you’re not her. You could not be more different” he tells you with a slight smirk, like there’s an inside joke you’re missing out on. “I was married to her for a long time and I loved her. But we had our time together. Now, I just want my time with you. You’re not her,” he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “That’s why I want you.”

You feel your heart flutter in your chest and have to fight to keep a stupid grin off your face. “Okay,” you whisper. “Good, well as long as we’re on the same page,” you tell him, faux serious. He just rolls his eyes and pulls you back into his arms. 

You’re going to cuddle up beside him when you hear your phone going off like crazy on your nightstand. Your face pinches in confusion and you reach over to grab it. 

Wade

Did you fuckers have sex???

In my bed!!!!

And you didn’t invite me?!

….

Wade

Tell Logan I want his claws in me next

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” you mutter, throwing your phone somewhere on the bed. Logan laughs again, drawing you closer. 

a/n: i have a really weird tendency for masochism, idk what that’s about. I just feel like if you were having sex with this man, he’s taking you like a wild animal. also feel like I might be a one-hit wonder. the smut just wasn’t doing it for me this time guys nor was the angst, i’m disappointed in myself

I just don't think I did justice to his character in the movie, I might have made it too OOC/ if I did PLEASE let me know

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus ♡

[flwrkid14]

The Curious Case of Phantom

It starts during patrol.

At first, Tim barely notices the small, white blur with eerily green eyes trailing behind him as he scales rooftops and darts through alleys. Gotham’s stray population is no joke, so he figures it’s just another cat—until it keeps happening. Night after night, the same cat follows him like a shadow, no matter how far or fast he goes.

He tries to lose it, but somehow, it always finds him. And soon, he realizes the cat isn’t just following him—it’s helping.

One night, the cat leaps from a rooftop and claws a mugger who’s sneaking up behind Tim. Another night, it leads him to a drug deal in progress, meowing insistently until Tim follows.

It’s eerie how good the cat is at finding trouble, but it’s also undeniably useful. Tim names it Phantom, mostly because of its hauntingly white fur and the way it moves like a ghost in the shadows.

He’s not ready to admit that he’s started looking for the cat on patrol, waiting for it to show up like some unofficial partner.

———

Then Phantom starts showing up at Tim’s apartment.

The first time, Tim finds the cat sitting on his fire escape, staring at him through the window. He brushes it off as coincidence. But then it happens again. And again. Every night, Phantom is there, waiting.

Tim tries ignoring it, but Phantom doesn’t scratch or meow—it just stares, patient and expectant.

Eventually, Tim gives in and lets the cat inside. Phantom struts in like he owns the place, jumps onto Tim’s desk, and curls up right on top of his notes.

“Guess I have a cat now,” Tim mutters, scratching behind Phantom’s ears.

Phantom quickly becomes a fixture in Tim’s life.

He lounges on Tim’s lap during stakeouts, naps on his keyboard, and somehow always knows when Tim needs a break. Phantom is weird, though. His movements are too precise, too deliberate, and sometimes Tim swears he’s glowing faintly green.

But Tim doesn’t question it too much. Phantom’s good company, and Gotham’s seen stranger things.

———

The family eventually notices Phantom soon enough.

“You adopted a stray?” Dick asks when he visits Tim’s apartment. He crouches to pet the cat, who immediately swats at him. Dick recoils, laughing. “Okay, wow. Even the cat thinks I’m beneath him.”

“He doesn't seem to like new people,” Tim mutters, watching Phantom hop onto his desk like nothing happened.

Steph is obsessed. “He’s adorable! Can I post him?” she asks, taking a hundred photos of Phantom lounging on Tim’s keyboard. “He’s like your spooky little sidekick.”

Jason, on the other hand, has a reaction.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” Jason yells the first time he sees Phantom.

Tim frowns. “It’s a cat, Jason. Calm down.”

“No, it’s not! That thing is glowing green, Tim! It’s haunted or radioactive or something!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “He’s just a cat.”

Jason isn’t convinced, but Phantom doesn’t care. He just glares at Jason like he’s the dumbest person in the room and stretches out on the couch.

Damian, though, reacts... differently.

The second Damian sees Phantom, he freezes.

“This cat,” Damian says, voice trembling with reverence, “is extraordinary.”

Tim barely has time to blink before Damian has his hands full of silk-lined cat beds, imported food, and custom collars engraved with “Phantom, the Great.”

“He’s my cat, Damian,” Tim says when Damian tries to scold him for not brushing Phantom’s fur properly.

“You are unworthy of him, Drake,” Damian snaps. “This is a creature of unmatched perfection, and you’re treating him like a common house pet.”

Tim sighs, but Phantom climbs into his lap and starts purring loudly. Damian looks betrayed.

“Traitor,” Damian mutters at Phantom, who clearly doesn’t care.

———

But Phantom isn’t just a cat.

Danny Fenton—currently stuck in his ghost form as a cat and unable to shift back—has been following Tim for weeks, hoping the smartest Bat could help him figure out how to fix his situation.

At first, it was desperation. Danny didn’t know how to communicate with Tim or explain what had happened to him. But then Tim let him in, fed him, and started treating him with such quiet care that Danny couldn’t bring himself to reveal the truth.

Phantom became his escape. For the first time in ages, Danny didn’t have to fight or run or worry about anyone discovering his secrets. He could just... exist.

And, okay, messing with the family was a bonus.

Danny knew he couldn’t stay a cat forever, but with the way Tim scratched behind his ears and muttered soft compliments, he thought, Maybe I can stay like this for a little longer.

Or maybe a lot longer. Phantom had a good thing going, after all.

[blueicequeen19]

Crash Out

Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, angry JJ, orgasm denial, edging

“You can’t be here!” You hiss, pushing at his chest and urging him toward the door but JJ doesn’t budge. He’s slick with sweat while panting to catch his breath. That’s when you notice the bat hanging at his side and the sound of sirens drawing closer.

“What did you do?” You demand, eyes hard as you stare back at him. The fire in his eyes seems to morph into something else as he takes in your sleep attire.

“Fair is fair.” JJ rasps, his voice gruff like he’s been yelling.

“What does that mean?”

“They took what’s ours.” JJ’s jaw clenches as he takes a step forward, the bat still in his hand.

“Who did?” You step back as he advances. Your back meets the wall in the hallway and his chest brushes against yours. Your nipples harden against his chest and his eyes are glued down your cami.

“You and your Kooks.” JJ growls, causing you to flinch when he suddenly drops the bat, making it clatter on the hardwood floor.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Your daddy is the mayor. You had to know what they’ve been planning. Another fucking club? Don’t you people have enough? Why do you have to take from us too?” JJ’s hands slam against the wall on either side of you, caging you in as he presses harder against you. He was hard. So hard that you could feel every ridge through his jeans against your stomach.

“JJ—.”

“Turn around.” JJ snarls, not giving you a moment before he spins you around. Your cheek meets the wall, your body buzzing as he presses his erection against your ass. You knew what this was, what he needed. So you pressed back, grinding your ass against him in a silent plea.

“Don’t make this more than it is.” JJ rasps, yanking your sleep shorts and panties down in one go. The cold air hits between your legs, making you shudder against the wall. His warm, callused hands find your ass, caressing the flesh before landing a sharp smack. You gasp, attempting to pull away but he yanks you back, slapping your ass again.

“JJ—.”

“Shut up.” You attempt to turn around but he holds you in place, dipping a hand between your legs and stroking your slit. “I don’t want to see your face.” A thick finger enters you forcing you up on your toes with a loud groan.

“So fucking wet so me. I wonder what your daddy would think.” You open your mouth to argue but he adds another finger, making you lose the ability to think or speak. JJ fingers you hard, the sloppy sound of your wetness echoing in the dark hallway. Just when you’re close, he stops, quickly replacing his fingers with something much thicker.

“JJ..”

“This is for me, not you.” JJ growls in your ear, yanking back on your hair as he sinks in balls deep in one go. You whimper loudly, his cock so deep that it hurt. He shoves your legs farther apart before he starts to fuck you. It’s hard and it’s fast. Your moans echo down the hall as JJ pants in your ear. His cock was so deep and hard that you could feel him wherever while you tried to meet every thrust.

Suddenly, he was pulling out and shoving you onto your hands and knees on the rug. You look back over your shoulder, savoring the way his eyes start to roll back as he enters you again from behind. You notice he’s ditched his jacket and t-shirt at some point, leaving him in just his low hanging jeans. Then he’s quickly shoving your face down against the rug as he starts to move.

You bite your lip to keep from crying out, his movements so rough and hard, the new position even deeper than before. Your knees scrape against the rug and his hands leave a bruising grip on your body. It’s too much. Your hand flies back to push at his thigh for some sort of break but he simply uses the opportunity to pin your arms behind your back. Your nails scrape against his abs, making him hiss as he fucks you harder.

“JJ.. I’m gonna cum.” Your body tightens, legs shaking uncontrollably as you near your peak.

“Don’t you dare.” His punishing pace slows, causing you to cry out in frustration as you claw at his abdonmen and move your hips back against him, desperate for friction. His hands release yours to grip your hips to halt your movements as a mocking laugh leaves him.

“I bet your daddy would lose his mind over his pretty little daughter desperate and wet for Pogue dick.” You angrily move to sit up but he shoves you back down, thrusting in hard, just once. Your body trembles and your pussy pulses, seeking the pleasure he’s denying.

“Fuck me or get out, Pogue.” You bite out, reaching between your legs to stroke your clit. Your walls clench around his dick, making him groan, deep and sexy.

“You’re not in charge, slut. So shut up and take what I give you.” JJ’s strokes turn punishing, so hard and fast that you can’t catch your breath and tears fill your eyes from the intensity of it. You were on the verge of something explosive. The two of you didn’t go beyond sex but something about you craved his darkness and the way he took it out on your body. He never failed to leave you spent in a puddle of your mixed releases before letting the door slam shut behind him.

“JJ—I—I—.” Your words trail off, toes starting to curl as your eyes begin to roll back in your head. But the promise of pleasure is ripped away when he stops abruptly to shove you on your back. You’re too caught off guard to do anything but watch and blink up at him as he strokes his cock almost angrily, grunting with each rough tug until he erupts, painting your chest and part of your face in his cum. Your tongue darts out, tasting what landed on your lips as he releases one last, panty dropping groan and the last drop of cum falls from the swollen tip. JJ’s eyes lock on yours as he tucks himself away and stands, leaving you in a mess on the floor. You sit up, watching him tug his shirt on and wiping the sweat from his brow on the nearby curtains.

“I didn’t know about any of it.” You finally say, feeling his warm cum start to slide down your chest. JJ shakes his head as he throws the back door open without another backwards glance.

“I don’t fucking believe you.”

Then the door slams shut behind him.

[bcksbarnes]

hearts on fire

pairing: au!bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: in an alternate universe, bucky never falls to his death and instead is with steve rogers when the plane crashes to destroy hydra's base. decades later they are found and bucky is an original member of the avengers. his only problem besides adjusting to the new century? he can't help but mercilessly flirt with his teammate.

word count: 2.7K

a/n: based on this request!

Living in close quarters with your co-workers everyday would be most people’s idea of hell. For you? It was a part of the job, a requirement really. Luckily, the compound was spacious enough where most days you could get some peace and quiet, but on mission days … it was usually quite the shit show.

You were sitting in the lounge, it was your hideaway. There was something about it that made you feel at ease. Maybe it was the way your body sunk into the dark brown leather couch after a long night or the way the fireplace was always on, illuminating the dark grey walls. Regardless, it was your haven. 

“You’re needed,” a voice calls out to you, interrupting your peace and quiet.

Your head looks up from the book you’re reading to catch the eye of Bucky Barnes, your teammate and the permanent pain in your ass.

He’s leaning against the entrance to the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a smirk on his features as he watches you. There always seemed to be a fire in his eyes that only ignited when he looked at you.

“By who?” you ask, placing the bookmark in the page before letting the cover fall close.

“By me,” he responds back, sending you a wink.

You can’t help but roll your eyes in response, that was his usual move with you, flirting relentlessly to see you get all flustered. He may have missed decades of his life frozen in ice, but it was actually quite remarkable how good he still was at it. 

Standing from the couch, you take a few steps forward towards him, Bucky’s eyes never straying from you as you do. Actually, it only makes him stand straighter, flexing his arm muscles hoping to impress you. The veins popping on either arm, his shirt sleeves rising a bit from the tension. Bucky loved the attention.

“For what, Barnes?” 

He hummed in response, licking his bottom lip as his mind filled with all the ways that he really could use your help. You playfully shove his shoulder when you realize that’s what he’s thinking about.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he protests.

“You didn’t have to. I know what goes on in that big head of yours,” you tease.

Bucky’s laugh fills the air, his eyes crinkling at the edges that make you melt a bit on the inside. As much as you hated to admit it, you did have a bit of a crush on Bucky, though you tried to keep your work separate from your personal life. Even if living in the tower tended to muddle that line.

“Jerk,” he mutters. “Okay, seriously … Steve’s calling a meeting in the briefing room. Asked me if I’d come get you.”

“Let me guess, you couldn’t say no, could you?”

“And miss out on such a beautiful sight?” His eyes wander over you again before settling on your gaze. “Absolutely not.”

You do everything you can to stop the blush from sinking into your cheeks, your face suddenly hot. When you can't, you dip your head down and brush past Bucky, your shoulder accidentally colliding with his as you make your swift exit.

There’s a haze around you as you make your way down the hallway, the grey walls blurred, trying to ignore the way your body feels after that conversation. Both full of want and completely confused; that seemed to be normal when talking to him. Bucky had a way of getting under your skin that was hard to ignore, especially with that stupid smile of his. 

It takes a moment but he follows after you, the sound of his footsteps against the tile floor as he keeps his eyes trained on your back. You were too good of a sight to let go of.

The briefing room is mostly full by the time you arrive. The team had picked a random office to hold as the formal briefing space, boxes still scattered around as the team tried to make it feel less like a boardroom and more of a place where important world-saving-issues were discussed.

Bruce is sitting in the corner, his glasses low on his nose as he types on his computer, Tony and Steve arguing at the front of the room, Clint muttering something to Natasha - whose arms are crossed over her chest and her eyebrows seem to raise as you and Bucky enter the room only seconds apart.

“Shut up,” you mumble to her as you take a seat next to her.

“I didn’t say anything.” Her voice is quiet and oozing with sarcasm, the smirk on her lips enough to make you want to roll your eyes, but you control yourself.

“He just came to find me. That’s all.”

Natasha hums in response, turning to watch the man that followed you.

Bucky sits away from you, which is a blessing in disguise because the last thing you needed was a distraction. These missions were important and you didn’t need Bucky making googly eyes at you the entire time to undermine your need to understand the assignment.

“He’s staring, you know,” Nat says, her head now looking straight ahead at Tony and Steve who were getting more and more into it.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re a bad liar,” Nat calls you out before continuing. “Besides, what’s the harm? He’s cute.”

You swallow at her words, obviously he was cute, but you didn’t have time for that right now. Not when the Avengers initiative was still so new, not when there were so many threats in the world. 

“He follows me around like a lost dog, like he’s waiting for me to look in his direction,” you reply, though you’re not entirely convinced that’s the reason you won’t give him the time of day.

“Oh poor you. Handsome super soldier who would do anything for you, it must be super hard.”

Before you can respond, Tony claps his hands together to start the meeting.

You kept your attention ahead, although you did find yourself sneaking a few glances at Bucky a few times. When he was paying close attention his jaw would flex and his fingers would drum on the table. You never realized how long his fingers were –

Focus.

The briefing was quick but thorough. There’s a small group of ex-SHIELD members who have been robbing high level tech out of ammunition depots around the country, they strike late into the night and leave no traces behind. The whole team, minus Bruce and Thor, would be stationed at what is assumed to be the next, and final, depot waiting to ambush the group.

Sounded easy enough.

The artillery room was always the last place the team stopped at before making their way to the quinjet, it was where all the gear needed for the mission was stored; behind locked cabinets and drawers with combinations. 

Not everyone was Tony Stark and had their suit in the palm of their hands.

Zipping up your vest, you make a mental note of everything you had on you and what you still needed to grab, mumbling under your breath as you try to remember.

“Gun, knife, ammo …” you repeat to yourself, nodding your head along with your words.

“Wanna make a bet?” 

Bucky’s voice breaks through your checklist causing you to look over at him, watching as tightens his utility belt around his waist. You can’t say you’re not intrigued at both the sight and his offer.

“Depends,” you grab the gun in front of you, inspecting it. “What’s the bet?”

“If we can neutralize this group in less than an hour, you’ll finally let me take you out.” 

The words come out of him so easily that you’re taken aback. Your hand freezes on the gun for a half second but you try to quickly recover, not wanting to show him how his words affect you. Your eyes stay locked ahead, though you can see him smirking down at you in the corner of your eye.

“And if we don’t?”

He considers your words as he loads his utility belt, grabbing his signature switchblade and opening and closing it absentmindedly as he tries to think of a good enough counter to his side of the bet.

“If we don’t … then I’ll let you pick my training out for the next month.”

“Two months.”

“Deal.”

You load your gun into your own utility belt before turning towards Bucky, your hand shutting the locker door in one swift movement. He towers over you in a way that makes your head dizzy and your pulse race. You hate how that shit eating grin on his face is purposeful.

“Hope your super soldier stamina can keep up for when I win.”

Bucky chuckles as he flips the knife in his hand, the metal blade twinkling in the dim light in the room as it closes shut mid-air so he can safely catch it and place it in his utility belt. Leaning down, his lips right next to your ear. 

“Make sure you’re ready at six, I have somewhere special in mind for us,” he whispers.

He bumps past you the same way you did on the way to the briefing and it leaves you stunned into silence. You’re almost positive there’s a spark of electricity that goes through your body. 

Sure, he was a flirt and always had been when it came to you, as if it was just in his nature - but it seemed like he had picked up more steam recently. Like he couldn’t help himself.

You take a deep breath. You needed to focus. You couldn’t be this flustered.

Turning on your heels you follow Bucky and the rest of the crew onto the jet. It would take just under two hours to get to the location. Enough time to get you into the zone and focused on the mission at hand.

Not on Bucky.

Not on the way that he kept talking to Clint but making eyes over at you.

Not on how you were almost positive you heard him say your name.

Absolutely not. It was time to get shit done.

The depot was a giant warehouse in the middle of nowhere, hidden by a deep forest, which meant that most people wouldn’t stumble upon it unless they were looking for it. 

Inside were crates of weapons, tech, plans - basically anything you could think of that would help build an empire - stacked as high as the eye could see. It was slightly cold and damp, but temperature never affected the way the Avengers worked. And for you? It helped cool you down since all you could think about was Bucky’s lips next to your ears

Steve was stationed with his shield in the front of the building, Tony surrounded the perimeter from above which left Nat, Clint, Bucky and yourself all patrolling some area of the warehouse. Sprawled out to cover more area.

You kept your hand on your belt as you waited to hear any clearance from the team. When you looked to your right you could see Bucky at the other end of the room, his finger tapping his watch. 

The timer had started.

And judging from the disgruntled sounds of Steve and Tony ringing in your earpiece.

So had the fight.

Truthfully, when the brief was read you didn’t think it would take longer than an hour, but you were shocked by how fast the team was able to dismantle the group. Thirty seven minutes and twenty five seconds according to Bucky’s timer, which he made sure to promptly show you the moment the team stepped back onto the jet.

He was breathing heavily, covered in a thin layer of sweat as he beelined his way over to you, his chest rapidly rising and falling. It was distracting how good he looked as if the world seemed to zero in on him for a moment. 

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, it was short but somehow still tidy despite the mess everyone was caught in. His face was clean shaven and a bead ran down the side of his face, almost as if to mock you.

“Told you,” he muttered, elbowing you playfully.

“Damn, I was really looking forward to torturing you too.”

There’s that twinkle in his eye again when he looks at you, one that makes you feel like maybe the galaxy was created there. 

“I know the idea of staring at me shirtless and sweaty is tempting, but I won.”

“Remember what I said earlier today about you having a big head?” you tease.

“I remember everything you say,” he replies, as if it’s the most normal statement he could make.

You decide to ignore him and take a seat, grabbing a water bottle for the both of you as you do. Handing it over, your fingers brush lightly but enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Quickly, you uncap the bottle and down the contents inside, trying not to pay close attention to how close the two of you were when seated; the way your thighs are touching, or how, you could hear him gulping down the water. 

The rest of the flight was quiet, it was early in the morning. The windows showed the beginnings of a light blue sky, sprinkled in with some dark purples from the fading night. 

All you could think about was sleep. And this date that Bucky had won fair and square, but sleep first. 

The exhaustion was seeping into your bones, your eyes could barely stay open as the adrenaline started to fade. Bucky was absentmindedly playing with a strand on his vest, his mind working in overdrive as if he was nervous - which he rarely, if ever, was.

“Cat got your tongue, Barnes?”

“You’ve got my heart, is that the same thing?”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” you mutter, shaking your head. “Do you happen to flirt as often as you breathe?”

“I can’t help it,” he holds his hands up in defense, though it’s clear he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong … which he really hasn’t. “You intrigue me.”

Your eyes are still heavy as you look up at him, drooping slightly as you let out a yawn, but you won’t deny that it feels good to be wanted, even if it was a game of cat and mouse most of the time. Though now you’d have to admit to Nat that you accepted this date and that she was, ultimately, correct.

“How so?”

Bucky searches your features for a moment, biting down on his bottom lip as if he was deep in thought. And he was, about you. About all the ways he wanted to get to know you. About all the ways you make him feel like he’s floating on air. 

He had a new profound look on life since being found in the ice, he wasn’t going to let time slip past him again.

“I don’t know …” his voice is delicate as he speaks. “Something about those eyes.”

The blush that you so desperately tried to resist all day creeps its way back onto your features. There’s a need in the air to say something - anything , but the jet is lowering and you know you’re almost back at the tower. 

Sleep is finally within reach.

“Mmm,” you half moan, half hum as you stand, stretching your back out. “These eyes have to go to sleep.”

The jet docks and the ramp opens allowing you to finally allow the crew to disembark. Bucky watches you carefully, making sure you’re okay as you begin to follow the crowd.

“Sweet dreams,” he calls out, still sitting in the seat you left him in. “Maybe you’ll see me there.”

You don’t look back, but your heart beats a bit faster with each passing second as you make your way back to your room. A quick shower and change is over in a blink of an eye, settling down into the bed to sleep soundly. 

You do, in fact, dream of Bucky.

You thought about him before your eyes were even closed.

You would think about him again when you woke later that afternoon; waiting patiently for six o’clock to come.

[milkdough]

꣑ৎ spraying a pheromone perfume without much mind.

hair gripping, marking, biting, rough kissing, scissoring, strap on use, paige’s intense approach to intimacy. manhandling.

paige was in the bathroom, getting ready for some event, a team outing or drinks with friends, you weren’t entirely sure.

she’d mentioned it earlier, but you were too distracted by the parcel that had just arrived to really listen.

it sat on the coffee table, a small cardboard box begging to be opened.

you paused your game, setting the controller down, and grabbed a pair of scissors to cut through the tape. inside was a sleek glass bottle labeled “pheromone essence.”

you vaguely remembered signing up for some subscription box ages ago probably a PR gift or something you’d forgotten about.

shrugging, you spritzed some on your wrist and neck.

the scent was warm, musky, with a hint of sweetness that lingered pleasantly. not bad. you set the bottle aside and dove back into your game, the controller vibrating in your hands as you focused on the screen.

the shower shut off, and a few minutes later, paige sauntered out, a towel wrapped loosely around her hips, her damp blonde hair clinging to her shoulders.

you didn’t look up, even as you heard her rummaging through her dresser for clothes. “make sure to be home by dinner,” you called out eyes locked on the TV, fingers flying over the controller.

paige’s low chuckle filled the room, her voice dripping with that playful tone that always got under your skin. “mh, you know i never miss dinner, baby.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “yeah, right. don’t get sidetracked by your fan club out there.” she laughed louder, the sound rich and teasing as she pulled on a fitted shirt and jeans.

“jealous already? damn, i haven’t even left yet.” you heard the clink of her belt buckle, then her footsteps as she approached the couch.

before you could react, she leaned over the back of it, her arms wrapping around you, her lips brushing your cheek in a series of quick, warm kisses.

“relax, im all yours.” you were about to fire back with something sarcastic when paige froze, her nose grazing your neck.

whe inhaled deeply, her hands tightening on your shoulders. “woah,” she said, her voice dropping, rough and low. “why do you smell so damn good?” you blinked, thrown off. “it’s just some perfume from that box, chill, bueckers.” you tried to sound nonchalant, but the way her breath hitched against your skin sent a spark through you.

paige didn’t pull away. instead, she pressed closer, her lips hovering over the spot where you’d sprayed the perfume.

“nah, this ain’t just some perfume,” she murmured. “fuck, you smell like you’re tryna kill me.” you laughed, but it came out shaky.

“paige, don’t you have somewhere to be?” she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze dark and intense, like she was seeing you in a whole new light.

“yeah, but fuck that. plans can wait.” before you could protest, she vaulted over the couch with that effortless athletic grace, landing beside you.

she snatched the controller from your hands, tossing it onto the coffee table with a clatter. “hey!” you started, but paige was already on you, her hands gripping your waist as she pulled you onto her lap.

her lips crashed into yours, rough and demanding, all teeth and heat.

you gasped into the kiss, and she took advantage, deepening it with a possessive edge that made your head spin. “paige, what the—” you managed between kisses, but she cut you off with a low growl, her hand sliding up to grip a fistful of your hair.

she tugged, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck. “keep talkin’, and i’m gonna lose it,” she warned, her lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear.

then she bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.

you let out a soft whimper, and she smirked against your skin. “yeah, that’s what i thought.” the perfume was doing something to her, you could tell amplifying every touch, every breath.

or maybe it was just paige, always so intense when it came to you, like she could never get enough.

her hands roamed, tugging your shirt over your head in one swift motion.

her lips were back on you, leaving a trail of marks across your collarbone, your shoulder, each bite and kiss claiming you like she needed to prove you were hers.

“you’re gonna make me late,” she muttered, but there was no real annoyance in her voice, just raw desire, her fingers worked at your shorts, pulling them off with practiced ease.

“fuck it. they can wait.” you laughed, breathless, your hands gripping her shoulders. “you’re insane.”

“for you? hell yeah.” she pulled you closer, her fingers digging into your hips as she guided you into a slow, grinding rhythm against her.

the friction was electric, and you could feel her growing more impatient, her kisses sloppier, more desperate. “god, you drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

“paige, slow down,” you teased, but your voice betrayed you, laced with need. “slow down?” she scoffed, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“baby, you don’t know what you just started.” she stood suddenly, lifting you with her because of course she could, her strength was no secret and carried you to the bedroom, her lips never leaving yours.

she kicked the door open, dropping you onto the bed with a bounce that made you laugh, but the sound died in your throat as she climbed over you, her body pinning you to the mattress.

“you’re not goin’ anywhere,” she said, her voice low and commanding, the way it got when she was fully in control.

her hands gripped your thighs, pulling you closer as she kissed you again, rough and unrelenting.

“you smell too good for me to leave. fuckin’ dangerous.” you arched under her, your hands tugging at her shirt. “then do something about it.” her grin was pure trouble.

“oh, im about to.” she reached for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out the strap on she knew you loved.

her movements were deliberate, confident, as she fastened it, her eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“you ready for me, baby?” you nodded, but she wasn’t having it. “use your words,” she demanded, her hand gripping your hair again, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“yes,” you breathed, and that was all she needed. paige didn’t hold back. she moved with a wild intensity, her hands gripping your hips as she fucked you, each thrust deep and deliberate, like she was trying to etch herself into you.

her lips found your neck again, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew you’d feel tomorrow. “mine,” she growled against your skin, her voice rough with need.

“all fuckin’ mine.” you moaned, your hands clawing at her back, pulling her closer. “paige, fuck—”

“yeah, say my name,” she urged, her pace relentless, her hand sliding up to grip your hair again, keeping you right where she wanted you.

she kissed you hard, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, her tongue claiming every inch of your mouth, the room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, her groans, the bed creaking under the force of her movements.

she shifted suddenly, pulling you into a new position, your legs tangling as she guided you into scissoring, the friction was overwhelming, her body grinding against yours with a rhythm that had you both cursing under your breath.

her hands never left you one gripping your thigh, the other tugging your hair to keep your eyes on her. “look at me,” she demanded, her voice hoarse. “wanna see you fall apart.” you couldn’t look away, not with her staring at you like that, all intensity and want.

her nails dug into your skin, leaving faint crescents, and she bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to make you hiss. “fuck, paige,” you gasped, your body trembling under hers.

“that’s it,” she murmured, her lips brushing the mark she’d just left. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” she didn’t let up, her movements growing rougher, more desperate, like she was chasing something she couldn’t quite reach.

she pulled back just long enough to adjust the strap, then flipped you onto your stomach, her hands gripping your hips to pull you up. “gonna make you feel this all night,” she promised, her voice low and dangerous as she thrust into you again, deeper this time, her pace unrelenting.

her hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back, making you arch for her. “you like that, don’t you?”

“yes,” you managed, your voice muffled against the sheets. “fuck, yes.” she laughed, a low, satisfied sound, her thrusts growing harder, faster, like she was possessed by the need to claim you completely. her lips found your neck again, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of marks that burned in the best way.

“god, you’re gonna be the death of me,” she groaned, her hand sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you back against her with every thrust.

the intensity built, your body shaking under hers as she fucked you like she meant it, like she was pouring every ounce of herself into you.

her kisses were rough, her teeth grazing your skin, her hands leaving bruises where they gripped.

you could feel her losing herself in it, in you, her groans growing louder, more desperate, as she pushed you both closer to the edge.

“paige, im—” you started, but your words dissolved into a moan as she hit just the right spot, her pace never faltering.

“i know, baby,” she said, her voice tight with effort. “come for me. let me feel you.” that was all it took, your body shattered under her, a wave of pleasure so intense it left you gasping, clinging to the sheets as she rode you through it.

paige wasn’t far behind, her groans turning into a low, guttural sound as she collapsed against you, her breath hot against your back.

for a moment, the room was quiet, just the sound of your ragged breathing and her soft curses as she caught her breath.

she rolled onto her side, pulling you against her, her lips brushing your forehead. “fuckin’ hell,” she muttered, her voice still hoarse. “guess im not goin’ anywhere.”

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 51: Back To The Start

Summary: Now that you're back on base there's some adjustments that have to be made in order to make things as painless as possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,471 words

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, angst, emotions, flashbacks, PTSD, angst, military inaccuracies, weapons, angst, language, some rehashing of previous chapters events

A/N: So this went in a different direction than I planned but we'll get there soon enough. This story is going to be 392040 chapters long atp

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“We didn’t have any choice.”

“There were ways to do this that could have avoided bringing her here.”

John stares hard at Simon, into the gap in his mask where his eyes stick out. He had donned the mask before they left the cottage, reverting back to old habits. He knows why Simon does it, why Simon insists on keeping himself hidden from those outside his pack.

He would have preferred to have this conversation in his office, away from where you might overhear, but the alpha had been on him as soon as they were away from the rec room.

“Like what?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“We could have gotten an apartment.”

“She couldn’t be left there by herself. That would be too dangerous.” John counters.

“We could have taken her to one of our families. Let her stay with them.” Simon says.

“I don’t know how long this will take. It’s not fair for us to burden them with taking care of our omega.”

Simon stares at John for a long moment. “You’re afraid of separation.”

John swallows thickly. Of course Simon would be able to read him so easily. “The last time I left her I nearly lost her. I’m not willing to risk that happening again.”

“So you’ll keep her here where she’s unhappy?” Simon gives him a look. “What are we going to do when we have to train or run drills? We don’t have anyone to lean on this time. We can’t leave her in here alone.”

“One of us will stay here with her, or we’ll bring her with us. We’ve done it before.” John hates to admit that Simon is right, but there’s no other option. “It’s only for a few weeks. This is the best option and we’ll do our best to make this as painless as possible.”

Simon stands up straighter, getting close to him. “It’s going to be painful for her no matter what. She’s not like us, John. She can’t just forget.”

Simon brushes past him, heading down the hallway before turning left towards the rooms. John hates that Simon is so right, but he’s brought up good points. They don’t have Dr. Keller to lean on this time. He knows if he called she’d come back without hesitation, but he won’t. She’s moved on to her new life and she deserves to live it. He can’t leave you here alone again, not after what happened the last time he did that. He’s worried, but he knows there really is no other option for them. They have to do this, have to make it through the next few weeks and hope his paperwork gets processed sooner rather than later.

The couch is just as uncomfortable as you remember. It never was comfortable, but it was what you had available. Now, after seeing what you could have, it’s almost unbearable. You miss the soft couches, the soft light, the crackle of the fire in the fireplace. You miss the soft colors and the warmth, the freedom that the cottage presented.

Now you’re trapped back in a prison, a prison of nightmares. It’s not just unwelcoming, it’s depressing and full of horrible memories. Broken promises, insecurity about yourself and your pack, anxiety about every aspect of your life, fear that something might happen to you or your pack, terror from the threat on your life. So much heartbreak has happened here that being back in it feels as if your heart is breaking all over again.

“I know it’s hard.” Kyle says softly. Your head is pillowed in his lap, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. There’s a blanket tossed over you, one Johnny had dug out of the boxes currently stacked in the hallway.

They’d abandoned unpacking and moving boxes as soon as your panic attack happened. If you weren’t so upset still, you’d almost find it endearing. How much they’ve changed from the cold, battle-hardened soldiers you met over a year ago.

Johnny is cleaning the rec room, keeping his hands busy after affirming you were going to be okay. Were you really? Debatable, but you knew he needed to do something. The barracks haven’t been cleaned in months and there’s quite the build up of dust across every surface. There’s a stale smell as well, not musty but like air that’s been stagnant too long. No one’s been inside to disturb it, to bring it back to life until now.

John and Simon went away to argue. You know that’s what happened as soon as Simon got you settled on the couch with Kyle. You wish John were in here now, comforting you, but you know they’re having a discussion leader to leader, alpha to alpha. What do we do? What can we do?

Nothing.

You can do nothing.

You’re stuck here in your nightmare until John’s retirement paperwork gets processed. That could take weeks. You’ll be stuck here in hell for weeks, forced back into old routines in a place you’ve always hated. Now you have even more reason to hate it.

Quiet footsteps approach the couch. Even after months they’ve never lost that ability. Always light on their feet, always agile and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. You’d never see it coming. You’re lucky McKinney had been far less skilled.

The thought of him sends a shiver down your spine, your leg aching where that scar is. You’ve tried not to stare at it, blanking your mind every time your fingers grazed over it in the shower. You wear a mark now like them. They all have those scars revealing close calls. Now you’ve had your own.

John sits down on the coffee table facing you. He leans his elbows on his knees, reaching out a hand to cup your face. His thumb is rough as it strokes your cheek, running over dried tear tracks. You managed to stop crying. That’s saying something.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice soft.

You almost scoff. “You want me to answer that?” You murmur.

“I know.” He breathes. “I should have thought about that before you came in.”

Yeah, you should have, you think. You wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“We’ll get the door fixed and keep it closed.” He says. “You won’t have to go in there unless you want to.

I won’t want to. You’d be happy to never set foot in that room again.

“You won’t have to stay here alone, either. You’ll come with us if none of us can stay here with you.” He says, pulling his hand back. “We’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

It’s never going to be painless. Every moment spent here will be misery.

He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back, Kyle’s hand still in your hair, gently rubbing your scalp. There was a time you could have slept like this, but now you can’t relax. Your body is stressed, adrenaline high as fight and flight battle in your brain. You can’t do either, instead stuck in the limbo of freezing. You should feel safe, comforted by his words, his promises...but this is the place of broken promises.

“Now,” He says, putting his hands back on his knees. “We need to go check in, then we’ll get some dinner.” He gives you a weak smile. “Take a minute and breathe. Then we’ll go.”

He pushes himself up to stand, leaving the rec room. Johnny follows, but not before casting a glance your way.

Kyle pulls his hand away, resting it on your arm. “Come on,” He squeezes your arm gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You’re numb as you push yourself off the couch, your legs shaking just a bit from the drop in adrenaline and the nerves still coursing through you. You’re not sure which is worse, being trapped in the barracks or having to leave and face down the rest of the base.

Kyle takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom across the hall. He wets some towels with cold water before gently pressing them against your face. “I know,” He says, moving from one cheek to the other. “I’ll be glad once my paperwork’s in and approved. Won’t miss this place.”

His words don’t do much to quell the twisting in your stomach. “What about Johnny and Simon?” you ask quietly.

“They’ll stay here.” He says, pressing the paper towel against your forehead. “Simon will take over as leader of the team. He might work with Laswell to find new members, or it’ll stay just the two of them.”

“They’ll still get to see us, right?” You ask.

“Of course.” Kyle smiles, gently cradling the back of your head to press the towel over your eyes. “They’ll get to go on leave just like everyone else.”

He dabs at your face, the cool water helping calm your shaking body just a little. You can’t wait for the next few weeks to be over with, when you can leave this place in the dust and never have to return. You love Simon and Johnny but you wouldn’t come back here if your life depended on it. Even if it means going months without seeing them.

Kyle moves the towel to the back of your neck, his thumbs stroking your jaw as he holds it there. There’s a soft smile on his face as he stares down at you. “You’ll be alright. We’ll make sure of that.”

You wish you could believe him.

As much as you the to admit it, the cold water has helped a bit, grounding you out of your state of panic and nervousness slightly. You lean forward, wrapping your arms around Kyle’s waist. He tosses the paper towel towards the trash can where it lands with a wet plop. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest.

A moment of silence passes before you speak. “You missed that, didn’t you?”

He’s silent for a second. “...No…”

A small smile pulls at your lips as you hold him.

You wish you could say being outside the barracks was better than being in them, but that would be a lie. The nerves are back as the five of you walk towards the main building on base, the one in the center of everything. The last time you were there, you met General Shepherd for the first time, when the cameras were put up in your room. That idiotic moment when you left the barracks with a stranger.

Even now walking with your pack, you feel that nervous edge that had been there the first time. You’re in the middle of them, John leading the way, Kyle and Johnny on either side of you, and Simon picking up the rear. You remember all those times walking back and forth exactly like this. They only did it here, not when you went to town while you were at the cottage. Maybe because they knew you were more in danger here than out in the real world. These are well trained soldiers too, not easily intimidated like the average civilian.

It’s cool inside the building. Apparently no one on base has heard of heating. Not that it was really cold enough outside for it, but you’re beginning to crash from your heightened emotions and your body feels cold and shaky.

John guides you to a chair near the front, easing you down into it. His hand stays on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.” His fingers slide to your chin, lifting your face so you’re staring up at him. “You know what to do if someone approaches you.”

You nod. Whether or not you could actually do it is debatable. John stares down at you for a long moment before releasing you, turning his back to guide the rest of the pack away. You watch them go until they disappear behind a door, your nerves starting to pick up. There’s hardly anyone in the building aside from the stray soldier walking by. They give you hardly more than the occasional glance in passing. You doubt they’ve forgotten who you are in the months you’ve been away. Those orders still stand. They’re to leave you alone no matter what.

Time seems to crawl by, your legs starting to shake nervously as you wait for their return. John said it wouldn’t take long, but the minutes are starting to feel like hours. Time seems to pass differently here, slower than it did at the cottage. There’s more to be aware of here. You can’t relax in safety and security like you did there. Even when the threat of Shepherd was still looming over your heads there was still a sense of security at the cottage. You were far from anyone and everyone, free to do what you wanted.

Now you’re going to have to stick to a tight schedule, surrounded by the constant need for hypervigilance lest you face the threat of a cocksure alpha brave enough to approach you, even with your pack around.

That would always be a threat to you as an omega, but here it seems extra prevalent. Here there are rules, here there are expectations. They know better, but that hasn’t stopped them.

You let out a breath of air as your pack walks back through the door, heading towards you.

“Aright?” John asks, his hand on your back as you stand.

You nod. Are you really? Debatable, but nothing happened while they were gone so you have to say yes.

“Let’s get some dinner then we can work on unpacking.” He says, glancing at the rest of your pack before taking your hand.

You walk with him, the others following as you make your way towards the mess. It’s late enough it’s going to be full. You didn’t miss the mess. You didn’t miss having to eat in front of others at set times. The guys liked to keep a schedule, but it was your schedule at your own times. Now it’s entirely dictated by someone else.

You can’t wait to finally be free again.

John keeps his hand on your back as you enter the mess, eyes turning to you. They’re all staring, all glancing your way as you make your way to the line. They’re all wondering why you were gone for months, why you came back. They want to know but they never will. They’ll wonder again in a few months when you and John and then eventually Kyle drive away and never return, when it’s just Simon and Johnny showing up. You wonder if any of them will be the ones chosen to join the task force, which of them Simon would choose, if any.

You do wonder if he’ll choose anyone. It would be different, since they wouldn’t be part of your pack. You know Simon would never allow anyone else to join. It’s the five of you and that’s it. You have your dynamics, your balance settled. Anyone else runs the risk of disrupting it, turning it on its head.

Most of all, you know they wouldn’t be allowed near you.

John fills your tray for you, not forgetting his duties even back in this setting. At the cottage he made your plate, here he fills your tray with what he knows you might eat of the offerings tonight. It all looks so bland, so...beige. Formless slop with a side of mushy peas.

The five of you find a table near the back of the room, thankfully away from most of the prying eyes. You sit between Kyle and John, Simon and Johnny facing you. It’s like riding a bicycle, back to the automatic patterns even months spent away couldn’t break.

You stare down at the unappetizing meal on your tray, your mind already back to home cooked food, even if they were only okay at cooking. It was still infinitely better than this sad excuse for a dinner that you just know it’s going to be bland as hell.

They have no problems diving in. They’ve been eating this food for years, no doubt only thinking of nourishment and not what they’ve left behind.

You’re fighting tears as you attempt to cut what you think is chicken. It’s slightly tough, overcooked most likely. It doesn’t taste any better than how it looks, seasoned with hopes and dreams of what might have been good chicken. You wish you could go in there and cook your own dinner for your pack, give them the food they deserve to eat.

You pick at your food, eating and chewing slowly as you try not to think about it. You lived on this food for months, you even enjoyed eating it sometimes. You can do that again, slip back into that headspace where you had to do things, where you had no choice. You have no choice now?

“Everything okay?” John asks, glancing down at your still full tray.

“Yeah, just...not hungry.” You say. You’re starving, but you’re too busy grieving food with flavor and defined edges.

You should eat. There’s no snacks to go back to. They’re all probably expired and stale after months of sitting. Besides. Most of them are probably in your room anyway. The last place you want to go is in there, even out of desperation for some kind of good food.

“At least eat your peas.” John says, nodding to the mush of green in one of the sections of the tray. They don’t look in the least bit appetizing.

Tears gather in your eyes again as you acquiesce despite your reservations, spooning a bit into your mouth. They’re just as mushy and bland as they look, and you don’t waste much time chewing.

They’re all watching you as you eat, their own trays mostly clear. You feel a bit like a child forced to eat your vegetables before you leave the table. Shame burns hot in you and you quickly finish off your peas before downing the rest of your water.

“Good girl.” John says, patting your back before taking your tray. Your stomach is churning, and you feel a bit like you’re about to be sick, but you hold it down. This is the last place you want to cause a scene...another scene. You’ve already done that once.

You won’t be doing it again.

You cough a little as more dust flies up into the air. There’s a thick layer of it over everything and it’s currently being kicked up into the air by John’s dusting. You’re seated on his bed on a blanket, the sheets stripped to be washed. All of the washers are going right now, one for each of them filled with blankets, sheets, and clothes. Tomorrow they have to go back to wearing their uniforms again. You’ll miss the look of Simon’s ass in jeans.

There’s a bear in your arms, squeezed tight against your chest as you watch him clean his bookshelf. You’re trying to silence the quiet gurgling of your stomach. Whether it’s hunger or your body’s protest to the mushy peas you’re not quite sure.

“You doing alright?” John asks, deeply focused on cleaning the shelf he’s working on. The books are stacked next to him, each one getting a thorough wipe down.

“Yeah.” You say, rubbing some of the bear’s fur between your fingers.

“You want something to read?” He asks, glancing up at you.

You shake your head. “No, that’s alright.”

He sits back on his heel, pausing what he’s doing to stare at you. “You’re turning down a book?”

You shrug, dropping your gaze to the bear in your arms. “Just don’t feel much like reading right now.”

John hums before pushing himself up to stand. He sinks down on the bed next to you with a sigh, his arm wrapping around you to pull you against his chest. “I’m sorry you have to do this. I wish I could make it easier.”

“I hate it here.” You murmur, still holding your bear close to your chest.

“I know. I know you always have. You were here because you had to be and now that we’ve all gotten a taste of what life could be like...it’s hard to come back.” His hand rubs your arm. “Even if I hadn’t already decided to retire, I think I would have been pushed in that direction after coming back. If nothing else I’d suck it up and take a desk job and move us off base.”

His words give you pause for a moment. “Why didn’t you do that? Why fully retire?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. I’ve always been a man of action, out in the field, fighting to save the world. Better to be out completely than sitting behind a desk knowing I could have been out there myself.” He squeezes you gently. “At least if I retire I can learn to relax.”

It falls silent between the two of you for a moment, John’s scent soft and relaxed. It’s helping ease the turmoil in your mind just a bit. He’s trying hard, you know that. You know he means it when he says he’s sorry for bringing you back here. He really does feel guilty for what happened to day, for what this place means to you.

He sits up straighter, his arm dropping from around you. “I have an idea.”

He pushes himself up to stand, holding out a hand for you. You take it, frowning a bit as he pulls you up to stand next to him. He kneels down, putting the books back on the shelf before standing again. He starts to dig through the boxes, pulling out blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows before stacking them on the desk and underneath on the floor.

You take a couple steps back towards the bathroom door as he grabs the mattress, sliding it down to the floor. He shoves it up against the desk before standing. “Be right back.” He disappears out the door.

You stand there, watching the doorway as he makes his way down the hallway, calling for all of them to bring their mattresses and blankets. It’s not hard to figure out what he’s doing. You’re just not sure why.

John reappears in the doorway, a small smile on his face. Simon’s not far behind him, dragging his mattress into the room. He shoves it in next to John’s, dropping a pile of blankets on it. You didn’t even know he had so many blankets. He’s always seemed like a one rough, ratty blanket kind of man.

Kyle and Johnny appear at the same time, nearly getting stuck in the door at their excitement to add to the growing nest. It’s a nest. John’s making a nest for you.

John starts to arrange your blankets across the four mattresses squeezed onto the floor. They’ve all brought their own blankets, likely ones picked up while at the cottage or ones they washed and dried. You stand there as they arrange the pillows and blankets, trying to make a perfect nest for you. You haven’t nested in months and here they are trying to build you one instead.

Tears start to slide down your cheeks, a quiet sob leaving your lips. All four of them look up at the sound, pausing in what they’re doing.

“What is it?” Kyle asks.

“Is it wrong?” Simon asks at the same time.

You shake your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. “It’s so sweet.” You cry, holding your bear tight against your chest.

“Aw bon, c’mere.” Johnny holds his arms out and you move forward into his hold.

The other three surround you, folding yourselves into a group hug as you cry. The action nearly makes you cry harder as you’re enveloped in their warmth and comfort. Their scents surround you, seeping into your brain and deep to where your omega has been pacing back and forth, awakened thanks to your fear and the perceived threat looming in the back of your mind.

It’s nice, being held by them, surrounded safely in their arms. You don’t think you’ve ever been held like this by them, all of them at once, securely in the middle of their protective circle. It makes you feel warm, fighting off the inevitable chill of the barracks that seeps into your very soul.

You don’t want them to let go, but you let them. You can’t stay that way forever, no matter how badly you want to. You don’t doubt they’d stand there until their legs gave out if you asked them to.

“Better?” Johnny asks, gently wiping your tears.

“Yeah.” You breathe, sniffling still. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Kyle kisses the top of your head. “You know we’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” You give him a small smile. “Even murder.”

“Just tell us who.” Simon says, looming behind you.

“Thankfully no one right now.” You say, plopping yourself down into the nest. “But I’ll let you know.”

“Good.” Simon says, staring down at you for a moment before heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“Gotta get ready for bed.” He shrugs before leaving the room.

“Right.” You say, looking down at your clothes. You should probably get ready too.

You crawl over to the boxes of clothes, popping one open before digging through it. It’s a box of John’s stuff but that’s alright. That’s what you were looking for anyway. You pull out a t-shirt for you, before moving on to another box, looking for John’s pajamas.

“What are you doing?” John asks, watching you dig through his neatly folded clothes.

“Looking for your Pj’s.” You say.

“Probably won’t need them tonight.” He says. “It’s going to get warm in here.”

You sit back on your heels. He’s right. The last time you’d all slept in the same room it had gotten unbearably hot. You shrug before pulling your shirt over your head, ditching your bra and pants before pulling John’s shirt over your head. You turn to stare up at him, his eyes hooded as he stares down at you.

“What?” You ask, wiping your face in case you’ve been wearing remnants of mushy peas that no one told you about.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, pulling his shirt off. “Just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

Your face warms at his words, your stomach fluttering. “Don’t,” You say unconvincingly. “You’re gonna distract me.”

“Good.” He smirks, undoing the button on his jeans. You watch his fingers as he pulls the zipper down before looping those fingers into the waistband and tugging.

Your eyes follow them down before trailing back up his body to his face. He’s watching you as he steps out of his pants, kicking them over towards the bathroom door. You lick your lips, staring at his face for a moment before crawling past him, grabbing your big bear from the spot on the floor at the end of his bed. You drag it over to the middle of the nest, situating it next to where you’re going to lay. Right in the middle between them all.

You situate the bear before getting up, heading to John’s bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

“Bloody hell.” You hear Simon say, no doubt about the bear. It has a smile tugging at your lips.

You try to hide that smile as you step out of the bathroom, climbing back into the nest. Simon has settled himself closest to the door, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. Your mood has been steadily improving since this new development, your eyes trailing across Simon’s back as he sets his phone on John’s shelf.

Johnny and Kyle enter, both of them forgoing shirts as well. Johnny is in nothing but his boxers, Kyle a pair of shorts. They’re trying to kill you, you know it.

Distraction: successful.

You settle yourself in the middle next to your bear, slipping under one of the blankets. Kyle tosses a couple more onto the pile, still warm from the dryer. Johnny plops down on your right, between you and Simon. He wraps his arms around you, tugging you against his chest. You just barely manage to get your arms around your bear, pulling it with you.

“No fair.” Kyle pouts, settling himself on your other side.

“Shoulda been faster.” Johnny says, spooning himself up against you.

You wrap your arms around the bear, holding it close against you. Johnny’s arms stretch across your middle to wrap around the bear as well, nearly suffocating you between them.

Kyle huffs, laying on his back. “I’m starting to realize why you hate the bear so much.”

“Insulting, isn’t it?” Simon mumbles from behind Johnny.

“Give into the bear.” You say, reaching over it to blindly find Kyle’s arm. You tug him over, or at least try to. He scoots closer, letting you pull him close against the bear.

He drapes his arm across the bear and across you to rest it against Johnny’s side. The room goes dark as John turns out the lights, making sure the door is closed and locked before moving to lay on the other side of Kyle.

“Can you breathe in there?” He asks before settling down.

“Yes.” You answer, your voice muffled from the fluff of the bear.

“Get some rest.” He says to everyone, his phone thunking as he sets it on the desk. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Kyle and Johnny grumble, no doubt dreading what tomorrow is going to bring after being spoiled for months. There will be no sleeping in, no lazing around, no more slow mornings. Now it’s only rise and grind, something you’ll have to get used to as well. You don’t want to be left alone here, no matter how badly you want to sleep in. If getting up early means getting out of the barracks sooner, you’ll take it.

You lay there, listening to their breathing even out. You’re jealous of their ability to sleep anywhere at any time. A learned skill in the field, you know. They never know when they’re going to get the chance to rest, so you have to be able to drop off at any time. You’re not so lucky.

It’s quiet in the barracks, too quiet. You can hear every breath, every small creak of the building as it settles. The door is locked and you have four very well trained soldiers surrounding you, but still you can’t shake that paranoid thought. What if someone gets in? What if someone comes back for revenge? What better time to strike than at night when you’re at your most vulnerable? It was dangerous coming back here.

You won’t be getting much sleep tonight.

It’s still dark out when his alarm goes off. He’s wide awake as soon as the sound starts, his hand reaching behind him to grab his phone and quickly silence it. It’s enough to rouse the others, quiet groans of displeasure reaching his ears.

Simon lets out a breath, wrapping his arms around the soft body against his chest for a moment. A soft body. Too soft.

He turns on his phone screen, glancing down.

He’s snuggling the bear.

He lets out a scoff, shoving it down off the end of his mattress.

4:30 his phone screen tells him. He’s been getting up early since the arrival at the cottage, unable to retrain his natural clock. Only, instead of getting up most days he just laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, pondering his life choices, thinking about what was going to happen next in his life, worrying about who might come after them on Shepherd’s behalf. It was senseless to worry, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop the racing thoughts, the fears that filled him, the images in his head. Shepherd would get rid of them to cover his ass. He’d never be safe so long as the 141 was out there, just as they’d never be safe so long as Shepherd was out there. Two missiles heading right for each other where they’d inevitably meet in the middle.

Now it’s over. Now they have nothing to worry about. Shepherd is gone, the threat has been removed from over their heads. John trusted they were safe enough to return here to base. Simon wishes he could be that positive.

He pushes himself up to sit, rubbing his eyes. The others have settled again. They won’t get up for another thirty minutes, maybe an hour. He’s always the first up, always the one starting the earliest. It feels good, getting back into this routine, this predictability. He likes it. He needs it.

He casts a glance across the four sleeping bodies next to him. John had gotten up to plug in your nightlight, giving the room a soft glow. Johnny is starfished across an entire mattress, Kyle curled up next to him. Simon’s startled to see you sitting up rubbing your eyes. John is on his side next to you, arm outstretched where you had been laying.

Simon crawls over, your head lifting to look at him. “Go back to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a quiet sound, half murmur, half whine as he eases you back onto your back next to John. He tosses a blanket over you before standing, stepping back over Johnny’s legs towards the door. He steps on the bear on his way, not even looking down as he unlocks the door before turning the nob.

It’s bright out in the hallway, his eyes burning as he squints. He can understand your hatred of overhead lights in moments like these. He’s more than capable of moving in the dark, but the eternal fluorescents in the hallway render that skill useless.

He quickly changes into his gym clothes, slipping on his runners before hesitating, his hand hovering over the drawer to his nightstand. It’s been weeks since he’s put on a mask. He got so used to not wearing one it almost feels strange to don the characteristic skull-print balaclava once more. He could go without one. He could choose to bear his face to the many soldiers on base for the first time, but anxiety churns in his stomach. They’ll stare, they’ll point, they’ll talk.

No, he doesn’t want that.

He opens the drawer, pulling out one of the masks from the stack of them that have been sitting for months. It’s free of dust from having been shut in the drawer but he dusts it off anyway, staring down at it for a moment. He could choose not to, but that could complicate things. He pulls it over his head, situating it in place before heading out the door. There’s still an early spring chill to the air as he makes his way across the road towards the gym, his breath visible. It’s quiet on base, not many up this early since they don’t have to be. Usually there’s only movement this early when there’s a drill being run.

Soon he’ll be the one running those drills. Well, he’ll be running Johnny through those drills. Soon it’ll be just him and Johnny against the world.

He can hardly believe it. He never thought John would retire like that, though things have changed since your arrival, he supposes. You’ve changed all of them and priorities have shifted. John did what he needed to do. He eliminated the threat against his pack and now what’s left for him? He’s seen how you reacted to being back here, they all have. It’s torture for you and Simon hates it.

He enters the gym. It’s quiet, no one up yet. Just the way he likes it. He steps into the weight room, setting his phone on a bench before he begins stretching. He tried to keep up on his fitness at the cottage. Pushups, situps, jogging when he could. He knew coming back would be hard regardless after months away being spoiled. It had been nice, despite his inability to accept that kind of life.

Sometimes he wishes he could retire that easily. When he saw your face, how happy you were when John revealed his decision...it struck something inside of him. He always knew he’d be in this life as long as he could. He’d either die in the field or be forced to retire. Most days the former seemed the most likely option. The idea of being forced behind a desk was enough to drive him crazy.

That’s why John is leaving, though. He’d never be able to survive behind a desk. Better to be out completely than forced to watch others out saving the world knowing that could have still been you. It’s going to be hard. People like them don’t make that shift to civilian life easily. He’s glad Kyle is going too. John’s going to need support that you can’t give him. You don’t know what it’s like. You won’t understand when the nightmares hit, when the itching begins beneath your skin, when your hands start seeking out the comfort of a gun between them again.

What is he going to replace it with? What is he going to do to keep his mind and his hands busy? Fishing? Farming? Maybe he’ll get a dog. A big one he can take on runs. Long runs to keep his mind clear, give him some sort of familiarity of the life he’s spend more years in than out of.

Maybe he’ll fully settle down and you’ll have pups.

The mental image of you greeting him at the door with a fat baby on your hip has him twitching in his shorts.

Fucking hell, Simon, he grunts as he racks his weights.

That would be down the road though. The first battle is getting settled, figuring out how to live in the civilian world. That’s going to take time. He almost wishes John would get a place in Hereford where Simon and Johnny could stay, but he understands. He knows John wants to get as far from this life as he can, get you as far from this life as possible. He’ll get you your little house by the sea, let you live out your domestic fantasies.

Simon’s happy for you two. He’s happy for Kyle.

That doesn’t stop the bitter taste of jealousy from rising in the back of his throat.

It’s still dark out when the next set of alarms go off. Two of them ringing loud in the air. Kyle and Johnny move almost in sync as they reach for their phones on the floor above the nest, silencing the alarms. You’ve been awake since Simon’s went off. You’ve been awake most of the night, the hours crawling by as you drifted in and out of a light sleep. You wanted to get up with Simon, go sit with him in the gym or something, but he’d forced you back into the nest, back into a sleepless hold. John stirs beside you again, his arm shifting from beneath your neck. You wonder if he’s going to get up now too. You wonder what he’s going to do with his day. Go on like normal or is he going to do only what he has to for the next few weeks?

You can’t be sure.

Johnny and Kyle both sit up rubbing their eyes. No doubt it’s rough going from sleeping in and being lazy to having to be up early and start the day right away. You’d probably be feeling the same if you could have slept. You go to sit up too but John’s arm wraps around you tighter, keeping you down with him.

“Morning, love.” Kyle rasps, leaning over to kiss your sweaty forehead. “Get more sleep.”

You wish you could.

Johnny rolls over as Kyle stands, rolling until he’s face to face with you. “Enjoy sleepin’ in while ye can.” He says quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll see ye later.”

Both of them leave, your eyes squinting against the stream of light from the hallway. Silence falls once they’re gone, John breathing evenly behind you. You want to get up, go get ready with them and head to the gym if only to sit and watch them, but John’s grip around you is firm.

“Did you sleep?” He asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Not really.” You admit, knowing he’d probably know if you were lying.

He hums, his face pressing against the back of your head. “We’ll stay here until they get back.”

“Not going to work out?” You ask.

“I’ll do it later.” He says. “We’re running drills after breakfast. See just how out of shape we all are.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Yes.” He answers, tightening his hold around you. “Wouldn’t be fair to leave you here alone.”

“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.” You say despite your relief at his decision to bring you along with him. “I’d be fine.”

“I’m not sacrificing anything.” He says firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not after what happened last time.”

“You’re scared.” You say quietly, laying there in his tight hold.

“Of course I am.” He breathes, shifting slightly behind you, almost as if you realization is uncomfortable for him. It probably is. It must take a lot for him to admit that he’s afraid. For a while, you weren’t sure he could feel fear. “I nearly lost you.”

“John?” You breathe, tears gathering in your eyes. “Would it have happened anyway?”

He pauses for a moment, just a brief second but you hear it loud and clear. “Inevitably. They would have used you no matter what. It was a fail-safe. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

“It’s not going to happen again, is it?” You ask, speaking aloud your fears even if they are irrational.

“No.” He says, his lips brushing your ear. “I won’t let it.”

“I’m scared.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek.

“Don’t be.” He says, tightening his hold around you until it borders on painful. “I’m right here.”

You’re not sure how long you lay there, pinned tightly against his chest. You wish you could sleep but you’ve been awake too long. Your pulse races in your ears, muffling any sound that might indicate something is wrong, your paranoia heightened in your exhausted state. You want to believe John, but you know men like him have enemies. Perhaps you’ll never be safe, no matter how much he tries to reassure you. They all have their enemies. Sooner or later one of them has to come for you.

An hour goes by fast, your brain in turmoil as the thoughts race. John doesn’t let up, his hold around you tight. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s nothing he could say. All he does is hold you, breathing slow and even, his chest pressed against your back.

The barracks door opens and you flinch, the squeak of tennis shoes coming down the hallway. You hold your breath, preparing for the worst. You’re in front of John, you’re the one in the line of fire. You brace yourself, squeezing your eyes closed as the door handle turns.

“It’s pishing it doon out there.” Johnny says, sticking his head in the door.

He’s soaked, mohawk flat and dripping water into his eyes. That explains the squeaking shoes. No one trying to sneak in would take that risk.

“English MacTavish.” Simon’s voice floats down the hallway.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Ye know what I mean.” He turns to look back at you two still in bed. “Dress warm.”

He closes the door, heading off to go shower most likely. John doesn’t move for a moment, still holding you tightly. No doubt he felt your flinch, sensed your fear before you realized it was Johnny. The paranoia is running rampant this morning, your mind stuck in a loop of fear.

“Come on.” John says softly, finally releasing you. He sits himself up behind you, leaning over your body. “Let’s get dressed. Go and get some food.”

You don’t want to get up. The prospect of moving your body feels daunting. Yet, you don’t want to lay here either. You push yourself up to sit too, John leaning over you to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s so soft and gentle, the opposite of the thoughts racing through your head.

He pushes himself up to stand, moving to his closet to pull out a uniform. Back to playing the soldier. He really is playing this time. In a few weeks he’ll be officially retired and the two of you will leave base never to return again. You’ll move on to some semblance of a normal life, playing at domesticity. Not long after Kyle will join you and it will be you and your pack with Simon and Johnny playing the satellite. Maybe some day they’ll take the plunge and join you.

You crawl over to the boxes, digging through to find your own clothes. You wonder if he’ll bother unpacking anything from these boxes. Or if he’ll just leave them so they’re easier to grab once the two of you do leave.

John goes into the bathroom while you decide what to wear. Sweatpants or jeans. T-shirt or long sleeves. Johnny said to dress warm so you decide on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt with jeans. Hard clothes meant for a military base. No more lounging around in the barracks all day. You’ll be out there with them, watching them run drills for the first time in months.

You quickly change, stepping into the bathroom after John is done. You’re quick, not wasting any time. The more you dally, the more time your brain has to focus on the fear swirling in the back of your mind.

John is waiting for you when you exit the bathroom. He’s close to the door, crowding you as you step out into the room. Your eyes trace his form from his feet to his face. He grips your chin, holding you still as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes minty, like toothpaste, his lips soft against yours.

“What are you doing?” You murmur when he pulls away.

“Trying to distract you.” He breathes.

“Do it again.” You say.

He kisses you again, this one harder as his hand slips from your chin to your throat. You hate to admit that it’s working, the swirling emotions in the back of your brain quieting as you kiss your alpha.

He pulls away too soon, your lips parted and eyes still closed as he releases you. “Better?” He asks.

You nod. You do feel a bit better. Your thoughts aren’t quite so loud now.

“Come on.” His hand slips into yours, squeezing it gently as your eyes finally open.

It’s time.

He leads you out the door, pausing to put his boots on once he’s over the nest. It stays where it is, messy and rumpled. None of them bother making the beds and you wonder if it’s driving them crazy. No doubt that need to make sure their bed is made carried with them to the cottage. You hardly ever bother as you usually wind up back in it at some point in the day. You wonder how crazy you drive them with that habit, or lack there of.

You walk with John at the head of the column as you step out into the rain. It is raining hard, and you’re glad you went with something with a hood. You should have dug out the rain jacket John got you at the cottage. That probably would have been smarter.

You’re cold and wet when you make it to the mess. It’s early enough it’s sparsely populated. You wonder if John did that on purpose, or if it’s just coincidence. You hold onto his hand until you reach the front of the line, letting him fill your tray for you with plastic looking eggs and far too watery porridge. Once again you’re reminded of how much you were spoiled at the cottage and how far you’ve fallen into the world of bland, tasteless food.

Or, as you would call it, British food.

John graciously chooses a table near the back, keeping you out of sight for the most part, away from prying eyes. You sit between him and Kyle again, staring down at your depressing looking tray of food. The only thing that looks good is the fruit, so you focus there first. They go down the easiest, filling your desperate stomach. You haven’t eaten a good meal since you all stopped to get food on your drive back to Hereford. You underestimated how much you’d struggle adapting to mess hall food again.

Granted, the last time you were coming from the CIA and their cafeteria food, and before that the institute. You can’t remember how long it’s been since you had a home cooked meal before the cottage. Maybe that’s why you were struggling so much.

How you wish you could go into the kitchen and make your mother’s enchiladas.

You struggle your way through breakfast, using the fruit to get you through the porridge. You leave most of the eggs, unable to stomach more than a few bites. Of course the rest of your pack clears their trays. This food must be heaven compared to stuff they eat while they’re away on missions.

It’s mostly stopped raining by the time you leave the mess hall, now just a drizzle. You’re clinging to Kyle’s hand, letting him lead you after John as he heads across the base towards one of the hangars. Time for training, you assume.

You recognize this one. You’ve been here before months ago. It was one of the first times you got to see their training. Hell, you yourself had participated in it once. You wonder if John will do that again, or if he’ll take pity on you and let you just watch.

“We’re going back to basics today, lads.” John says as the boys line up. “Testing where you’re at after months away. You’ll be timed on how long it takes you to get through the course as usual. Stay sharp and watch those corners. Who’s going first?”

“I will.” Johnny says, not even hesitating.

“Good luck Sergeant.” John says before turning to you. “Come on.”

He leads you up into the viewing area where the screens are located. You’ve been up here before a couple of times.

“Don’t want you catching a stray bullet.” He says.

You give him a sideways glance. The last time you were here they hadn’t used live rounds.

“Rubber bullets still hurt.” He says, giving you a grin.

You shake your head, watching as Johnny prepares himself to run the course.

Their times aren’t quite as good this time around. Even Kyle is dragging a bit, not quite as sharp as you remember him being. Granted it has been months. They’re all rusty and out of shape. You’re going to miss them being all soft and gentle. Even John will lose some of it before retirement, you think. The yo-yoing of his body is going to be hard on him. Strong and fit to soft and gentle to partially strong and fit again to permanently soft. You doubt he’ll give up everything completely. Morning runs, weight lifting, keeping himself sharp. He’ll never fully relax. He can’t.

“Not bad, muppets.” John says, standing in front of them. You hoist yourself up onto a crate. “But not good either. That’s to be expected after months of going soft. We’re going to focus on re-polishing those skills again. Building stamina and strength, sharpening those weapons skills again.” John stands up straighter. “Let’s hit the range next.”

He turns to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You hop down off the crate, taking his hand. You’ve never been to the shooting range here. John always tried to keep you away from live fire as much as possible, god forbid there be some freak accident.

At least now you know what it feels like to be shot.

You have to accompany them now though, in fear of being left in the barracks all day. This is still far better than being cooped up in a place full of nightmares.

The range is in another hanger, and unfortunately not empty. It’s loud inside, two other soldiers inside firing at targets. You put your hands over your ears as you follow John towards the far side of the range. He grabs a headset, slipping it over your head. It offers just enough protection from the loud banging of the guns being fired. The sound in the enclosed space is enough to drive your adrenaline up. You can only imagine what it’s like with hundreds of guns going off all at once while half of those are shooting back at you.

You’ll never understand how they manage it.

You stand back out of the way behind them as they line up. Even John lines himself up this time, all of them firing down the line at targets. You keep yourself pressed up against the wall, watching them. It’s louder with the four of them shooting, your heart hammering in your throat. You can’t help but wonder what kind of firefight there was when they rescued you, if there was much of one at all. Their skills were sharper then, their abilities honed. Going up against trained soldiers would have been a walk in the park back then.

Had you known they were coming you might have waited, might have let them have their hostage rescue instead of having to chase your wild omega through the woods in her attempt to escape herself. You can still remember bits and pieces of it, the feel of blood on your hands, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, the wild freedom to not care about anything but survival.

It makes your hands shake.

You squeeze them into fists, nails biting into your skin as they fire round after round, adjusting stances, reloading and then firing again. You can only see Simon’s target ahead, all of his shots hitting the outline of the body on the paper. You don’t think something like shooting would be a skill lost easily. Like riding a bike, you suppose.

You wonder how good it must feel to them to have a weapon in their hands again. That thought concerns you, but then again, there’s a lot about them that should concern you. You’ve gone numb to most of it, those thoughts you had early on not even in the back of your mind anymore. They are who they are, they’ve done what they’ve done and there’s no changing that. It simply comes with the territory.

“Hey,”

Your eyes dart up as a knuckle pushes your chin up. Simon is standing before you. He smells metallic like gunpowder. It meshes well with his natural scent creating an intoxicating blend.

“C’mere.” He tilts his head towards his now vacated spot. You follow him, his hands moving you into position. He slides the warm gun into your hands, clicking the safety off. “Take a shot.”

You stare down the line at the fresh target, gulping a bit. The gun feels heavy in your hands. The others have stopped, and you can tell they’ve gathered around, watching, waiting for what’s going to happen. You half expect John to stop this before it starts, but he lingers back, letting this play out.

Simon’s arms wrap around you, moving your hands into position around the gun. He lifts them up to proper height, holding you there for a moment before releasing you and taking a step back. Your finger twitches as it hovers over the trigger as you stare at the target. You take a deep breath in, holding it for a second before squeezing the trigger.

You fire three shots.

All three hit the paper of the target, missing the body but still hitting the paper. You lower the gun, clicking the safety back on before turning to face them. They’re all staring at you with faces of shock and mild amusement.

You glance at all of them before shrugging. “I used to live in Texas.”

Johnny and Kyle laugh, Simon shaking his head. “You need to work on your form.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you back around to face the target.

NEXT ->

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[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 3

(Rafe Cameron x reader, series, 5.7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

additional chapter cw: suggestive language/themes, heavy drinking, mature readers only please

⇢ series masterlist

The game was on, and Carter wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

You however, were much less invested in her scheme to set you up with Tom, already feeling tired and confused after 24-hours of this little reunion trip. You laid in bed for quite a while replaying the almost-moment you’d had with Rafe in the kitchen in your head before taking a long, dreamless nap. It was the smell of the barbeque wafting through your bedroom window that woke you up. You threw your hair up in a bun, too groggy to care about putting any more effort into your appearance.

As you reached for the handle, you heard two hushed voices arguing behind your bedroom door. You opened it slowly to reveal Carter and Topper facing each other, both with their arms crossed as they carried on a heated whisper-argument.

“What are you even doing up here Topper?” Carter demanded.

“I don’t know, what are you doing up here Carter? Trying to get a leg up?” Topper snapped back, towering over her in height yet still somehow looking small under her glare.

They were so locked in on each other that neither of them had even noticed your appearance.

“Um, hi,” you waved your hand between their faces to get their attention. “Can I help you?”

They looked at you, startled as their arms fell and stances softened. Carter eyed your outfit up and down, trying to hide her distaste at your choice of leggings and a t-shirt.

“Well, I don’t know what he’s doing up here but I came to see if you needed help getting ready,” Carter replied.

“I am ready,” you said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You’re, uh,” Topper scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You squinted at him, you could understand Carter critiquing your outfit, knowing she was trying to set you up with Tom, but what stake did Topper have in your outfit choice?

“We’re literally just going downstairs,” you countered.

“Maybe throw on something a little nicer,” Carter urged gently.

“Okay, fine,” you gave in. “You two are being so weird today.”

Topper gave you a thumbs up as you closed the door in their faces.

A few minutes later you reemerged in a new outfit, a crocheted halter top and some cut-offs. You had let your hair down and ran a brush through it, dabbed on some mascara and lipgloss. It was the maximum amount of effort you were willing to put into a big night out in the backyard.

Despite everyone’s relentless teasing, Topper actually was a pretty good cook. The food was great and everyone thanked you, Rafe, and Tom for going out to get it.

“Tom paid!” you announced. “So everyone make sure to be really nice to him or he won’t bankroll us anymore.”

You smiled at Tom, who grinned back and waved you off in joking modesty. You let your eyes linger as he leaned over the firepit on the other side of the sprawling patio, skillfully stacking the wood before lighting a match and holding it under. He crouched low to blow gently on the kindling, causing the fire to roar to life. You could see a sliver of his toned lower back peeking out from his shirt as he reached for another log, dropping it straight into his newly sparked flame with a bare hand. The whole thing was unbelievably attractive.

The only thing better was the stoney look on Rafe’s face when you caught his eye, realizing he’d noticed the way you were looking at Tom like you wanted to have him for dessert. Good. 

Playing and replaying the scene from the kitchen in your head all afternoon, you came downstairs determined to freeze Rafe out. Sure, he remembered your favorite candy and maybe almost even apologized, but it wasn’t enough to erase the sting you felt when he pulled away from you like you had the plague as soon as anyone else entered the room.

After dinner, you were perched on the railing of the porch, sipping something strong and chatting with Carter and her childhood best friend, Maddie.

Maddie was nice enough, the Kook academy prom queen two years in a row, but she had never shown much interest in you. Until you showed up here looking much more instagram-worthy than you had in high school.

“So, omg,” Maddie started, playing with a strand of your hair like you were the closest of friends. “When are you gonna drop the workout routine? You look gorg.”

Never once had one of Carter’s friends complimented your looks. 

“Thanks,” you grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I play a lot of volleyball and jog a little.”

“Well it’s working!” Kelce hollered from across the porch, already wobbling slightly from his inebriation.

There it was again, your blush, always showing up at the least opportune times. All eyes were on you, such open talk about your body making your skin crawl with self-consciousness. You looked over the railing to the sand a few feet down, wondering how badly the jump would hurt.

As always, knowing you better than anyone, Carter felt like she could read your mind. Protectiveness roared in her chest, she set her hand over yours to silently tell you she understood before turning to the party and announcing, “okay, we’re playing a game! Everyone around the fire pit!”

No one argued with her wishes, they never did. The group gathered around the bonfire, each with a full drink in hand as Carter unnecessarily explained the rules to never have I ever as if this same group hadn’t played it a hundred times in high school. 

You appreciated Carter moving the attention off of you, but clearly she didn’t know this was your least favorite game in the world. The second the name of the game came out of her mouth, your heart dropped to your stomach, hit with memories of sitting off to the side while her friends played, all of your fingers embarrassingly still up, revealing you had done nothing interesting or scandalous in your life.

Sure, you’d definitely added a few notches to your belt since then, but you knew these people and had no doubt you were still way behind. The sad thing is you didn’t even care, but you knew they would and you couldn’t help that nagging desire to prove that you were just as cool as them. You sighed as you settled in your chair next to Carter, frustrated that just as you were starting to feel somewhat normal, you were transported right back to your loneliest days.

Carter went first, “never have I everrr…shoplifted.”

Sabrina took a giggly sip from her solo cup.

“Isn’t your dad’s networth like a billion dollars?” Kelce asked.

“Yes, but he never would’ve bought me those red panties, so I took ‘em,” she winked at him, and he scooted his chair closer to her.

Everyone else still had all ten fingers up, making you think maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

But your relief didn’t last long. One by one they went around the circle, revealing each other’s secrets and leaving you with ten fingers up.

“Never have I ever done a body shot.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.” Your fingers stayed up.

“Never have I ever hooked up in a public place.” Your fingers stayed up. 

As the group got tipsier, the revelations got dirtier. You were sure some of them were lying and there was some temptation for you to put a finger down as a lie too just to level the playing field, but that was such teenage bullshit. You might not have as a high of a body count as some of them, but you still had your pride. 

The blood rushed from you face when Maddie said, “never have I ever been with two people at once” and Rafe put his last finger down, smirking as he finished off his beer.

A few more rounds passed and everyone else had put at least a couple fingers down while you still hadn’t done a single one of the things listed. You chewed on your lip, wondering how early was too early to excuse yourself to go to bed.

You were about to make a break for it, when a now sloppily drunk Sabrina pointed at you and slurred, “aww bambi’s still got ten!”

Bambi was another one of the many teasing nicknames they’d called you in high school, and it might just be your least favorite. 

“You’re still such a good girl,” Sabrina jibed. 

She must’ve been beyond wasted. She wasn’t necessarily nice, but she wasn’t usually this much of a bitch.

Your breaths got short, the anxiety erupting like fireworks in your chest. You could feel Carter’s mind spinning next to you, trying to come up with some way to defend you, but another voice beat her to it.

“Well,” Rafe said, drawing all eyes off of you and across the firepit towards him. “Never have I ever gotten so crossfaded at a boneyard party that I pissed my pants in someone else’s truck.”

He shot Sabrina a vindictive smile.

“Rafe!” She protested. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” 

At her admission, everyone broke out into laughter, aimed at her.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Rafe chuckled, “you just did.”

“Bruhh,” Kelce hollered. “That’s nasty!”

Sabrina went red, completely humiliated. You tried to be a girl’s girl, but after years of her teasing and making you feel like a loser, you couldn’t help but join in the laughter at her expense. 

As she emptied her cup spitefully, you caught Rafe’s gaze across the fire, the air between you wavy with the flame’s heat. He smiled a crooked, satisfied smile at you, and you mouthed “thank you.” He gave you a reassuring wink and your stomach did cartwheels. 

Carter straightened in her lawn chair next to you, kicking herself for giving Rafe the chance to save you before she could.

“I’ve got one!” she announced, and the crowd hushed to hear their queen. “Never have I ever skinny dipped in the campus fountain and got caught by campus security but successfully flirted my way out of a citation and ended up getting the cop’s number.”

Everyone looked around the circle quizzically, wondering who that incredibly specific anecdote was aimed at.

“No fucking way!” Topper shouted when he saw you put down your pinky finger with a bashful smile.

Topper and Kelce whooped, and the girls all gave you impressed looks.

“Okay baddie!” Maddie gasped. “Was he cute? Did you call him?”

“I mean he wasn’t not cute,” you mused, taking the obligatory sip of your drink. “We hung out a few times.”

“So does that mean you’re into handcuffs now orrr…” Kelce chimed in.

“Oops, I put the wrong fingers down,” you lifted your hand and theatrically put all down except your middle finger, aiming it at Kelce.

The crowd erupted with laughs and amused ohhhh’s. Even Rafe was smiling, and you couldn’t help but wish you knew what he was thinking, noticing his soft eyes on you as you bantered with his friends, all attention on you. This time, you weren’t blushing, you were just enjoying yourself. It felt so nice to have such a naturally fun and easy moment, but it was short lived.

“Never have I ever,” Sabrina interrupted, hiccuping. “Failed an entire semester of college.”

The crowd fell silent once again, no one daring to bring their eyes to Rafe, the clear target of her comeback. He just rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, like it didn’t bother him at all. But you could see the hint of shame in his eyes, a rare glimpse of vulnerability hidden under his tough facade. You used to spend so much of your time digging for those deeper layers that it was easy for you to pick up on them when they rose to the surface, even if it was just for a second.

Maybe you should let him flounder, leave him hanging like he’d done to you so many times before. But tonight, for the first time ever, he had jumped in to defend you, and maybe one act of kindness wouldn’t kill you.

“Fuck this game. Topper, didn’t you say something earlier about a beer pong tournament?” You prompted him, hoping desperately he’d see what you were trying to do and play along.

Topper looked confused at first, so you smiled tightly and flicked your eyes to Rafe and back as quickly as possible, urging him to understand.

Ever the king of subtlety, Topper’s eyes went wide as he mouthed “ohhhh!” 

Rafe saw the whole thing.

“Beer pong! Yes!” Topper said, excited to finally be in the loop. “Let’s do it!”

“I wanna play!” Sabrina stood quickly from her chair, immediately tripping over her own feet.

“Woah,” Carter caught her and held her up with some effort, Sabrina so far gone she couldn’t even use her legs. “I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

Carter stabilized Sabrina and guided her towards the house. You knew she was pissed at Sabrina for picking on you, but Carter would never leave a drunk girl to stumble around a party by herself. She looked at you apologetically, but you nodded to let her know you were fine.

After they disappeared into the house, Topper and Kelce got to work clearing the long outdoor dining table for beer pong, filling cups and placing them with great attention to detail. You chuckled at the way they were arguing over correct cup spacing and fill levels as you reached down into the cooler for another drink. When you stood, Tom appeared by your side.

“I didn’t realize I was sharing a house with a criminal,” he drawled, mouth quirked with a crooked smile.

“Oh yeah,” you played along, popping the top of your drink. “I’m wanted in four states and Puerto Rico.”

“And Puerto Rico, wow,” he leaned his arm against the porch rail, his body angling towards yours in a way that made your skin prick with goosebumps. “I need to hear that story.”

“I’d tell you,” you lowered your voice and lifted your mouth towards his ear to whisper. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

“You’re in that deep, huh?” He placed his other hand on the railing on the other side of you, effectively caging you in, though he held himself back far enough to give you some space. You didn’t want space, though, the enticing scent of whiskey and the smoke from the fire drawing you to him.

“Mhm,” you leaned in so your chests were almost touching, a smile tugging his full lips when he noticed the way you intentionally closed the space between you. “If you thought the campus fountain story was bad…”

“I didn’t think it was bad,” he shook his head.

“No?” You grinned, eager to see where he was going with this.

“Not bad, kind of hot, but not bad,” he confessed.

“Only kind of?” You furrowed your brow in mock offense.

He broke into a smile and blushed, flustered as he said, “I mean, uh…”

You giggled. His bashful, dimpled smile was so painfully cute you were suddenly seeing the value to Carter’s matchmaking plan.

The alcohol in your system mixed with the warmth radiating off of him made your body go hot, tingles shooting up your spine as his eyes fell to your lips. He was so damn pretty. Warm brown eyes and messy hair you wanted to tangle your fingers in.

Rafe grabbed the fire poker and busied himself by tending to the flames, which didn’t really need it, considering Tom had built such a sturdy fire. The sound of your sweet giggles floating through the air as you flirted with Tom made him want to walk straight off the porch and into the ocean. He’d surely put his lifelong friendship with Sabrina on the line, not to mention his own pride, to keep you from running away in embarrassment, and now Tom was reaping the rewards of his chivalry. 

He remembered, though. Maybe you didn’t think he did, but he remembered. The nights you sat in the corner, lonely, pining, and the go-to butt of his friends’ stupid jokes. And he’d just sat by and let it happen, so many times. It’s no wonder you were leaned up against someone else, sharing stories about a whole chapter of your life he’d missed. He only had himself to blame.

Once the table was set up, Topper turned and frowned at the way the group had split, you and Tom cozy in the corner while Rafe stood by the fire alone, shoulders tense. He needed to step up his Cupid game, like, now.

He clapped his hands loudly, voice booming as he announced to the party that it was time to play. The startling sound forced Tom away from you just as you were about to ask him if he wanted to walk down to the water. Topper pointed right at you and pronounced you would be on his team. You were going to protest before you remembered beer pong was your idea in the first place, your ruse to protect Rafe. You couldn’t back out now.

Beer pong was another thing you’d added to your skill set in college. In high school, you were never asked to join when parties inevitably broke into a tournament. Instead you’d sit quietly and watch with hearts in your eyes as Rafe played with the competitiveness of an Olympian in a gold medal race.

He was known for his terrible sportsmanship, everyone expected a full tantrum if he didn’t win. The same went for school sports, you’d spent every night after a rare loss up on the phone with him listening intently while he ranted about all the ways the refs were wrong or the umps were blind. At the time, you took it as an honor that you were the one he wanted to find solace in. Now, grown and mature, you saw it for what it really was; no one else wanted to listen to him bitch and moan, so you were just his only option.

“Let’s go, Little Carter!” Topper raised his hand for a high five as you approached the table.

“If you call me that, I’m not playing,” you left him hanging.

“My bad, my bad,” he conceded.

You gave in and high fived him, stepping up to the table with your game face on. Kelce and Maddie stood across from you. They were both terrible shots, and you sunk every ball, but Topper was keeping them in the game with his many misses. 

Topper was great at beer pong in high school and you were sure he’d had plenty of practice at U of F, so there was no reason he should be playing so horribly.

“Dude, what the hell is up with you?” You scolded him after another throw that was way off.

“I dunno,” Topper said with an exaggerated drunken slur in his voice. “I think I’m just too wasted to play. You might need another partner.”

Before you could mock him for his dramatics, he had called over to Rafe, who was sitting back in a lounge chair looking at his phone, anything to keep his eyes off of you.

“What?” He grumbled, eyes lifting from his screen and avoiding yours.

“Need you to sub in for me,” Topper fake hiccupped and you rolled your eyes.

You were sure Rafe would see you were his proposed partner and pass on the opportunity, but then he and Topper had some kind of silent conversation with their eyes that you couldn’t interpret, and Rafe stood from his chair.

“You don’t have to,” you offered as he stepped up and took the ball from Topper.

You hated that your instinct was to apologize for inconveniencing him. He shrugged and lined up his first shot.

“Someone’s gotta show ‘em how it’s done,” he said with an easy grin that made your heart beat a little faster. 

If only your younger self could see how your night was progressing. Impressing everyone during never have I ever. Flirting with a gorgeous boy from another school. And now, Rafe smiling at you and acknowledging your presence in front of all these people, willingly agreeing to be your teammate. She’d have died and gone to heaven.

He had every right to be cocky; he was really good. And to his great surprise, so were you. You and Rafe made quick work of Kelce and Maddie, then Kelce and Jack, then Kelce and three more partners that tried to step up to the plate, Kelce’s aim worsening as he teetered on the edge of a blackout.

“When did you get so good at this?” Rafe asked you after a partcualrly skillful shot.

“I was always good at it,” you scoffed. “You just never let me play.”

After that comment, Rafe was suddenly an extra encouraging teammate. Before each shot he’d pull you back, leaning down to whisper in your ear conspiratorially about which cup you should call, like an NFL coach rallying his quarterback.

“I can’t hit the far corner, my aim isn’t that good,” you said when he proposed the risky shot. 

Self-doubt filled your face as you bit your lip, Rafe recognizing the nervous tick instantly.

“Nah you got it!” he grabbed you by the shoulder and shook you playfully. “You just gotta believe in yourself.” 

Despite yourself, you broke into a smile, making a feeble attempt to brush him away, though he could tell you didn’t mean it.

“Let’s go slugger,” Rafe placed the ball in your hand and guided you into position by your shoulders. He stood behind you and leaned in to bring his mouth close to your ear. “You got this.”

You loved it. You hated it. Your head swirled with conflicting thoughts, but when you sunk the ball with a flick of your wrist, they all faded.

“Let’s fucking gooo!” Rafe yelled.

He lifted his hand for a double high five and you stood on your tiptoes to reach. Your arms came down, but your hands were still in his.

“Told ‘ya,” he said tenderly, smiling down at you as his large hands enveloped yours. “You just gotta believe in yourself.”

Despite the alarms blaring in your head, telling you to run, you let it all linger. The deep sound of his voice in the air, his eyes on your lips, his rough hands folded in yours.

“Okay!” Carter chose that minute to emerge from the house after Sabrina finally fell asleep. “That’s enough wins for y’all, time for some real competition.”

The sound of her voice snapped you out of the moment, and you pulled your hands away from Rafe quickly, nervous about all the eyes on you for the first time since you’d started playing.

“I need a partner,” Carter said, surveying the group on the patio. “How about…”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where she was going with this show and wishing she’d just fast forward to the end.

“Tom?” She raised her eyebrows in his direction, as if it was a crazy idea she had just come up with. “Do you play?”

“I may have taken part in a tourney or two,” Tom said humbly.

“Bullshit,” Kelce exclaimed, slumped in a chair as his head spun. “This guy was the Alpha Tau champion all four years. He’s got a plaque and everything.”

“Damn, I didn’t know we had Alpha Tau royalty in our midst!” Carter bantered.

“Jesus, enough with the fanfare, are you playing or not, dude?” Rafe snapped.

Carter eyed you, her lips twisted in a satisfied smirk. No one was surprised at Rafe’ gruffness, more than used to his competitive mean streak. It was not one of his more attractive qualities. The pull you’d just felt to him faltered a little at the reminder of this particular weakness. You were sure that’s exactly what Carter was hoping for.

“Alright I’m in,” Tom said, stepping up to the table and rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ‘ya.” He winked at you.

“Yeah, yeah, just call your shot, champ,” Rafe said.

The four of you reset the cups, not much work needing to be done on you and Rafe’s side of the table since almost no one had scored on you. As Tom lined up his first shot, he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, adjusting and readjusting his stance to get comfortable.

Rafe crossed his arms over his chest mumbling something along the lines of “this fuckin’ guy” and you couldn’t help but smile, admittedly also kind of getting the ick from how seriously Tom was taking this. 

Then he sunk every ball. After a few particularly good rounds, he made his third shot in a row, and Carter called “fire.” She handed him balls one after another like he was taking free throws, wiggling her eyebrows at you to make sure you were paying attention to his triumph.

You drank each cup obediently, ever the rule follower. After your fourth, you were getting so sick of the stale beer, you and Rafe’s cups had been sitting untouched all night and the cheap hops had soured significantly. When Tom sunk another one you grabbed the cup hesitantly, queasy, nearly gagging.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Rafe volunteered, grabbing the cup from you.

“Y’all don’t have to drink those if they’re really that bad,” Tom offered, pausing his next shot when he noticed how disgusted you looked.

“I got it, man,” Rafe waved him off, holding his nose and shooting back the beer as quickly as possible. He dropped the empty cup with a grimace.

“We can just call it a game,” Tom suggested, clearly feeling bad.

“Do you want to forfeit?” You asked Rafe, dropping your voice so Carter and Tom couldn’t hear.

“What and just wave the white flag?” Rafe replied, eyebrows raised. “Do you?

Your lips spread in a slow smile, “not a fucking chance.”

“Atta girl,” he nodded, returning his gaze to Tom. “We’re no quitters, hit us again big guy.”

And he did, over and over, until there was only one cup left on your side of the table. As he prepped for his final shot, Rafe turned to you, a playful, tipsy smile on his face.

“We had a good run,” He said, reaching out shake your hand. You took it with a smile.

When Tom and Carter won, high fiving each other in a loud celebration, all eyes fell to Rafe, waiting to see how he’d react to losing. You tensed, hoping his chipper attitude when you were winning would carry over into a graceful loss. But then he rounded the table, striding towards Tom, and you cringed in anticipation of a classic Rafe Cameron Temper Tantrum.

“Oh boy,” Carter mumbled under her breath. “Here we go.”

But there was no blow up, just Rafe extending his hand to Tom, who took it with a friendly shake.

“Good game, man,” Rafe said. 

“Yeah, you too, dude,” Tom smiled, not realizing this show of sportsmanship was a historical first.

Rafe tilted his head in a friendly nod towards your sister, “Carter.”

“Rafael,” she returned his sarcastic tone, purposefully using his least favorite nickname.

With that, Rafe walked away from the table, one last glance towards you as he returned to his seat by the fire. You watched him go, feeling sad not that you had lost, but that your fun night with Rafe had seemingly come to an end.

It was dizzying, your ever-changing emotional state, and you suspected it had very little to do with the beer. Thinking over all the events of the day gave you whiplash. One second you were about ready to ask Tom if he wanted to come back to your room, the next it felt like you and Rafe were finally sharing the moment you’d dreamt of for years. All the while, you weren’t sure you actually wanted either of them, or if you even wanted to be here at all.

“Wanna play again?” Carter asked, noticing the distracted look on your face.

“I’m good,” you smiled at her appreciatively, deciding you’d had enough excitement for one day. “I think I’m probably just going to bed now.”

“Aww, but it’s so early grandma,” Topper called over to you from the firepit.

You walked over to his chair and peched on the armrest.

 “Ah yes, another one of my favorite nicknames,” you joked. “No one’s called me that in four years.”

“Another inside joke?” Tom inquired, joining the circle, he and Carter each grabbing a chair.

“In high school, she was always the first to leave parties. She’d rather be at home in bed with a book by 9pm,” Topper explained to him.

You rose from his chair, eager to ditch this little trip down memory lane before it got too embarrassing. You almost made a clean escape, but then a very drunk Kelce decided to chime in.

“Unless Rafe asked her to stay,” he laughed. “Then she’d be there allll night.”

Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’ve been embarrassed a thousand times in your life, but this was something different. You looked down at your feet, not sure what you were supposed to do. No quick, face saving remark was coming to mind.

Carter smacked Kelce on the arm, while Topper shook his head with a disapproving, “dude…” 

Your eyes drifted to Rafe, who was looking down at his hands uncomfortably. Whatever protective instinct that had inspired him to stand up for you earlier was clearly gone as he left you to drown in the painfully awkward silence.

“Oh, were you two…?” Tom asked, pointing between you and Rafe quizzically.

“Nope,” you told him with a stiff smile.

He looked like he was about to ask more, but caught on at the last second, reading in between the lines. There it was, the last person here who didn’t know about your pathetic past was now caught up to speed. Yeah, you’d definitely had enough.

“Kelce, you’re such an asshole,” Carter began reprimanding him.

“Just stop,” you urged her. “It’s fine, I’m just going to bed.”

“Wait!” She called after you, but you were already walking toward the house, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. She gave Kelce one last slap and rushed after you.

Kelce, barely conscious, still hadn’t caught up with his own party foul.

“Where’s she going?” He asked Topper.

Rafe stood from his chair suddenly. 

“Will you get him out of here please?” He spat at Topper, sidestepping the fire as he stormed off toward the house.

Rafe followed your path into the kitchen, not sure what he was going to say when he caught up to you, but suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make it right. He should’ve said something as soon as Kelce put his foot in his mouth. He’d deal with that dumbass later.

He slid the kitchen door open, headed towards the stairs that lead to the second floor, but he stopped short when he heard your voice. He stayed back, out of sight but close enough to hear your conversation with Carter on the stairs.

“Carter, it’s fine,” you sighed.

“No it’s fucking not, he made you cry,” Carter practically growled.

Rafe’s heart dropped. You were crying? He was gonna kick Kelce’s ass as soon as he was sober enough to feel pain.

“I’m just tired,” you sniffled. “Please, just drop it for now. I just wanna go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Carter said, her voice starting to crack. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to stay.”

“It’s not your fault,” you assured her. “I knew he was gonna be here.”

Rafe frowned. Was the ‘he’ you were referring to still Kelce, or was it him? Was his presence really so distressing to you that you were in tears?

Carter reluctantly bid you goodnight, and Rafe slipped into the pantry so she wouldn’t see him when she descended the stairs back into the kitchen, storming towards the backyard, surely on her way to give Kelce hell.

He stood in the walk-in pantry for a minute, collecting his thoughts. 

Maybe he should be the one to leave. If his presence really was such torment to you, it would be the right thing to do. But you didn’t seem tormented earlier when you were playing beer pong with him, cheering each other on and laughing like friends. Or before, at the fire, when you’d come to each other’s defense. Even his two best friends hadn’t seen that Sabrina’s words actually hurt him, but you did. You always knew him better than anyone.

While he stood in the pantry, illuminated only by the single light bulb above his head, his eyes grazed over the shelf. Between a stack of paper plates and some hamburger buns, sat the candy he had picked out for you at the store. He smiled at the memory of your many car rides as teenagers, fueled by the snacks you had brought when you picked him up. Maybe you regretted those times now, but something about the fact that this was still your favorite candy made him feel better.

His stomach twisted with worry that after what Kelce had said, you would decide to leave. The only worse thought was that he might let you go without finding the courage to say the words he’d been holding onto since he saw you on the beach. Maybe you’d slam the door in his face, but he couldn’t let you leave without trying.

Rafe grabbed your candy off the shelf and climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to knock on your bedroom door before he lost his nerve.

(Chapter 4)

a/n: I LOVED hearing all your Team Tom vs. Team Rafe opinions!! The competition is heating up!!!! (not my outline for this chapter starting with “note: google rules to beer pong” lol)

Ch 4 predictions? 👀

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[fenrislorsrai]

Justice 40

Joe Biden is boring and often bad at tooting his own horn, but by god, he is good at process.

Justice 40 is simple but powerful application of that. its a shift in how the executive branch works. 40% of money from a bunch of existing programs should go to census tracts that are overburdened with pollution, at higher risk for climate change, and have been historically underserved.

The shorthand here is basically "communities that don't have enough internal resources to deal with long term problems". So yes, communities that had been redlined for decades, ones that have Superfund sites, ones that have high rates of asthma from air pollution.

and this is by census tract. Not city. census tract. So parts of New York City qualify... but other parts don't. And the city HAS to use the money in the targeted part. it doesn't go into the communal pool. it's for THAT tract specifically.

Also all land federally recognized as belonging to a Native American tribe and all Alaskan Native Villages qualify, specifically.

And again, this is for existing programs that are already running and have existing staff and budgets. They're supposed to prioritize grants and projects for those areas specifically. And that's everything from Department of Agriculture, to FEMA, to Labor, to Environmental Protection.

Does it instantly get rid of all the baked in racism from decades past? No, not even close. But it puts in a countermeasure that has a concrete and measurable goal to aim for rather than a nebulous "suck less." even if the administration changes, many of those changes will stick.

And as things improve, some tracts may come off the list! Some may go on that weren't there before!

You can see a map here. Blue highlighted tracts are "disadvantaged" so qualify for that extra assistance! Check and see if you live in one or part of your town does. Because if you've been hearing constantly "we can't afford to fix X problem..." and you're in that tract.... there's money available. For you. Build that sidewalk, fix those lead pipes, get that brush truck your volunteer fire department has been asking for.

And tell your local officials that! "did you look at Justice 40 for funding". And even if they're doing their best, particularly people in little towns.... being a government official isn't their full time job. They may have missed it. Just asking them about the program may suddenly open a world of possibilities.

[baronessvonglitter]

Sweet Summer Peach

dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader | wc: 3.7K

Summary: when your dad's best friend Joel catches you with his younger brother Tommy, it sets off a spark of jealousy that can only be tamed by showing you how a real man treats a woman.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, big ol' girthy age gap (reader is between 18-21, Joel is in his 50s, Tommy is in his 40s), Tommy is a womanizer and Joel's just trying to save you from him while also getting a little of you for himself, innocence kink, first time/loss of virginity, fingering, dry humping, truck sex on a hot day in July, unprotected p in v sex (not stated whether reader is on birth control but we'll assume she is), creampie, come eating, praise and pet names (angel, darlin', baby from Joel; sugar, sweetheart from Tommy) definitely a daddy kink as you've known Joel your whole life and he's like a second father to you, once again your dad is clueless as to what's going on, reader is also Sarah's best friend but she is only mentioned not seen. Reader has hair that Joel can pull and wears a bikini and a sundress. No use of y/n.

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Why don't you ditch that silly little wine cooler and let me give you a taste of somethin' else, sugar?" Tommy Miller's voice is sinful in your ear. "Somethin' a little stronger."

It's over a hundred degrees outside, with no comfort in the shade. The Millers are hosting their annual Fourth of July barbecue, and plenty of people are over, eating, drinking, chatting, swimming in the brand new pool. You've known Tommy and his older brother Joel for years, the latter your dad's best and oldest friend. You and Sarah, Joel's daughter, have been best friends as long as you can remember, being the same age and living just across the street from each other. Joel himself has always been like a second father to you, having watched you grow up. He took you and Sarah to ball games, to the zoo, on fishing expeditions, helped with homework, practically helped raise you. Sarah was his Baby, and you were his Angel.

Tommy, on the other hand, hasn't seen you in years. But he definitely likes the woman you've grown to be.

He's been making eyes at you all afternoon, not-so-subtle glances your way, obviously enticed by your new, revealing bikini. You're garnering a lot of attention from people today, just as you'd expected when you bought it. Your dad would sure have some comments to make on how underdressed you are, but he's not here, working until the evening, and you're taking advantage of your freedom.

Tommy awaits your answer, and with your drink gathering condensation in your hand, you tell him, "Okay," with a soft smile.

He takes your hand, fingers weaving around yours. "Let's dip into the house for a few minutes," he murmurs, eyes gleaming with mischief. Taking a quick look around you notice Joel's eyes on you, his gaze unreadable but you can sense he's on the verge of moving to stop you. But the sight of his glare only serves to stoke the fire of your excitement. It's highly likely he does not like watching Tommy lead you away to privacy.

"Where are you takin' me?" you ask, a giggle bubbling in your throat as you leave your drink behind. He's guiding you to the side entrance of the house, down the hall and to a small den. The blast of the AC hits you with sweet relief and you nearly sigh with satisfaction.

"Away from all the heat," he says, gently pushing you to the wall.

"Tommy," you giggle, half anxious, half excited.

His hands go immediately to your hips, his grip warm and firm as he pulls you close. A low, primal growl rumbles through his chest and he leans in, his nose brushing against your neck. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I got ya." His breath his hot against your skin, his teeth graze your throat, sending a shiver of want down your spine.

"You like that, sugar?" he whispers, his hands exploring your soft thighs, caressing upwards until they brush against the fabric of your bikini.

"More.." your voice comes out in a whimper.

Tommy's eyes gleam with pleasure at your desperate plea. "Greedy girl." His fingers find their way beneath your bikini bottom, gliding across your folds, grinning when you begin to grow even more wet under his touch. He teases without pushing inside, wanting to see you grow absolutely uninhibited with need. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" he teases.

"Not.. used to bein' touched like this," you tell him, brow furrowed in concentration of desire.

"Mm. I can tell." His touch is gentle and insistent, seeking out the spots that make your knees buckle. "You only ever had your own fingers in ya? That it?" He drinks in your sounds of pleasure as you nod at his question. He traces over your clit, watching your hips jerk. "There ya go.." he coaxes, lips on your neck as he continues touching and teasing you. "You like that, huh? Like how I'm touchin' ya?" His fingers circle your clit until you feel yourself grow tighter and tighter, soon to unwind..

"Yes.. yes.. oh my god, oh my god," you moan, and when you open your eyes Joel is there, watching both of you. He looks pissed. You shriek as you meet his searing gaze.

"Get your fuckin' hands off her," he growls menacingly.

Your blood freezes and you're vaguely aware of Tommy's fingers slipping away as he moves from you. Then as you realize your state of dress you try to fix your disheveled bikini, a feeble attempt to cover yourself. "Joel.. I'm sorry," you whisper.

Joel's eyes stay locked on you, a possessive rage smoldering in his black depths. He steps towards you, his movements deliberate and calculated, like a predator stalking its prey. "Sorry?" he mocks. "What the fuck are you doin' in here with my little brother's hands all over ya?"

"I.. I wasn't thinking." It's the truth. For once you'd let your hormones think for you.

His expression hardens. "You weren't thinkin'? That's all you have to say?" His gaze flicks to Tommy, the simmering anger still present in his eyes. "You. Get out," he commands, his voice sharp and authoritative.

Tommy hesitates briefly, all former bravado gone in the presence of his older brother's ire, and leave you and Joel alone.

You feel ashamed, scared, still dizzy with desire if you're honest, the ache Tommy created in you still lingering. "Joel, I'm sorry.. you won't tell my dad, will you?"

Joel's gaze is intense. "You're damn right I won't. Your daddy would rip my brother limb from limb if he found out what just happened." He steps closer to you, his eyes roaming your body, taking in your scantily clad appearance. "But you and I, darlin', we need to clear some things up."

"Like what?" you ask in a small voice, expecting the worst.

"First: I don't want you alone with Tommy ever again. Am I understood?" His voice drops to a low growl. "Second: I'm not done with you, angel. You're comin' with me."

Despite knowing you're in trouble already, you're recalcitrant. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm not a child anymore!"

Joel's eyes flash with anger, and before you can react, his hand quickly clamps around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "You're actin' like a child, darlin'. Now you can either come with me quietly, or you can put up a fight and I'll carry you outta here. Your choice."

For some reason the thought of him carrying you out sends a jolt straight to your center. But you relent. "Fine," you growl back. Joel hands you your sundress and you put it on, not caring to ask why he had it in his possession while you were in here with Tommy.

"Good girl," he mutters, leading you to his truck outside. He opens the door for you, the gentlemanly gesture a stark difference from his earlier demeanor. As you get in, Joel climbs into the driver's seat, his large frame filling the small space.

"Where are we goin'?" you ask as he starts up the engine and drives away with you.

He doesn't turn to look at you as he drives, his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled and tense. "Somewhere we can talk, darlin'," he says gruffly. "Somewhere my meddlin' brother can't get his hands on ya."

You blush with shame as you think of what Joel saw you doing with Tommy, even though it was mostly innocent. "You don't see me as your little angel no more. do you?"

Joel's gaze flicks to you for a moment, his expression showing disappointment. "You stopped bein' an angel the moment you let my brother touch ya."

He pulls his pickup into a dirt parking lot, the location surrounded by trees and secluded from prying eyes.

"Better him than someone I don't know," you say lamely, looking around the deserted area.

"That's a low bar, angel," Joel mutters, voice thick with restraint. "You're not the only one who's noticed ya, darlin'. Hell, the whole damn town's been watchin' ya grow up."

"Tommy's the one who approached me. It wasn't my fault."

"Of course. He'd be blind not to want ya," he mutters darkly. "But you're not the first girl he's had his eye on, baby, and you ain't gonna be the last either."

It stings, but you try not to let it show. "I'm not tryna marry him, we were just havin' fun."

Joel scoffs, his eyes betraying his jealousy. "Fun, huh? Is that what you call it? You have no idea what my brother is like. He's no good for you. You're too young, too innocent, too damn pure."

"Evidently I'm no longer pure by your standards," you shoot back, arms crossed. "A girl can't enjoy herself without bein' a slut, right?"

His jaw clenches. "That's not what I meant. You're not just some toy for my brother to play with and toss aside. You don't know what he could do to you."

You remember Tommy's gentle, sure touch, the way his fingers glided over your most secret parts. "I got a sense of what he could do to me," you can't resist goading Joel. "And it felt so good.."

Joel looks like he's trying to swallow glass. "I bet he made you feel things you've never felt before, didn't he?"

"Almost.. not quite.." Blush fills your face.

"You mean he didn't make you come."

To have it put so bluntly makes you blush all over again. "No.. he didn't."

Joel wets his lips. "I bet it drove you crazy, havin' him touch you like that and not bein' able to finish.. must've driven you wild, huh?"

This is crazy. This conversation is crazy. This whole thing is crazy! It's like you're a kid again and Joel's trying to explain the birds and the bees because your own father doesn't want to.

"Yeah," you answer softly. "It's like an ache that won't go away."

His gaze darkens, drinking in the image of you all desperate, unable to get what you want. "And you're still achin', aren't ya, darlin'?" His voice is low, husky, intimate.

You feel small under his gaze, like a piece of meat being dangled before a hungry lion, like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. "Yes," comes your whispered reply.

Joel leans close, his large hands reaching out to cup your face. "Tell me what you want, angel."

He's giving you a choice, unlike Tommy who did what he wanted to do. Joel is giving you a choice.. "Make this ache go away for me.. please.."

His desire burns fiercely as he hears the plea in your voice. "You sure that's what you want, baby? Because once you let me in, there ain't no goin' back." His hands slide down to caress your neck, his touch both possessive and gentle.

You whimper. Once you let me in.. You're a fool not to think he means anything else. "I'm sure," you whisper, keeping your gaze on his dark eyes.

It sounds like a dare, like a threat, as he says, "All right, darlin'. You asked for it," and grabs hold of your waist, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him. You let out an involuntary gasp. His hands slide down from your waist to grab handfuls of your round ass, squeezing and kneading your cheeks firmly. "I've had a mind to do this for a long damn while," he growls. "You've been fillin' out lately, and those tight little shorts you wear 'round my house ain't doin' nothin' but teasin' my cock."

All your breath leaves you, the way he's grabbing you sends waves of heat and longing throughout your body.

His eyes burn as he feels your reaction to his touch. "You like that, baby?" he continues to grab and squeeze. "I've had to look at those tight little shorts of yours every time you come over.. always showin' off that perfect peach. Even now, this lil' sundress ain't barely coverin' anything." He kneads your cheeks again, giving them a light slap each.

You gasp at the sweet little stings, and each insistent knead of his hands on your ass pushes you forward onto his hard-on that tents his jeans. "That's it, angel. Ride my lap, just like that," he grunts. Your palms are planted on his shoulders, fingers gripping tightly as you grind yourself against him. Your heart is liable to shoot out of your chest but he feels so damn good, and so dangerous. "Like this?" you ask.

"Yeah, just like that, baby." Joel looks up at you, the mask of his authority slipping just a little as he watches you. "You feel that? That's what this pretty lil' ass does to me." Another quick little slap on your butt.

"Mm hmm," you reply, too caught up in the feeling to give a proper reply. "Oh my, I'm makin' such a mess on you," you whisper, noticing the wet spot on his jeans where you've been grinding on him without a care.

"Don't worry about me, darlin'. That's what I want." His voice is thick with desire and need. "I want you all wet and messy for me."

Jesus, the man knows just what to say.. "Joel," you whine. "You said you'd make the ache go away but you only made it worse.."

He quirks a brow. "That so? Well then I better do somethin' about that." One hand snakes its way between your bodies, his fingers easily finding your pussy through the thin material of your bikini bottom. You bite your lip as a curse word leaves your mouth, your head tilted back as he finds you wet and wanting. His fingers glide easily through your folds. "You're soaked, angel." He presses a kiss against your neck, grazing his teeth upon your skin as his fingers finally enter you, pressing into your sweet, welcoming warmth.

Brows furrowed, you start moving against his touch, sighing darkly as you feel his gentle love bite. "It's all.. for you," you sigh.

"I know it is, darlin'. Always has been." As his fingers rock inside you his thumb rubs small circles against your clit.

You ride his fingers, your breath shaking, gasping at the sweet intrusion. "Joel.. don't stop.. don't stop, I'm gonna come!"

"Go on, angel," he gruffs out. "Come for me.."

He holds you tight as you come undone on his lap, your pussy walls contracting around his fingers. "That's it.. good girl.." he praises. He withdraws them gently, shiny and covered in your thick, stringy slick. In a haze of pleasure you watch as he brings them to his lips, licking them clean. "You taste even better than I dreamed."

"Let me taste," you whisper, grabbing him for a kiss and swirling your tongue against his, tasting the remnants of your fulfillment. Your heart leaps as he goes to unbuckle his belt, and your body pulsates with unbridled need that overshadows all other thoughts.

"I need to be inside ya, darlin'."

"Yes.. please," you beg shamelessly.

"Lift up, angel," he whispers, pulling his jeans and boxers down halfway as you give him room. His cock springs up from his nest of dark brown wiry curls: a perfect, slightly curving length, thick and veiny, reaching up past his belly button, his precum already dribbling from the tip. His balls are heavy and full, lifting slightly as he pulls on himself, getting him primed for you. "You ready for me, baby?" he asks, voice low and thick with desire.

"Yes," you nod eagerly.

With your bikini bottom pushed to the side, he puts you over him again and starts to press into you. A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as he firmly holds your hips. You gasp at the surrealness of the moment, straddling him in the driver's seat of the truck he taught you how to drive in just a couple short years ago. You whimper his name as you take a little of him at a time.

He claims your lips in a deep kiss, tongue delving into your mouth as he slowly sinks deeper inside you. Just when you think it's impossible to fit all of him, his kiss eases the way and you sink further down. "God," you sigh.

"You're doin' so good, baby. You feel so damn good around me," he soothes, completely. He starts to lift you up, to go slow and steady as already you're dripping onto him, your juices flowing down his shaft and drenching his pubes. You spread your thighs wider, feeling every inch of him inside you, a pleasure and yet a small pain. "Let me feel you like this for a little bit," you tell him, sheathing him with care.

"Whatever you want, darlin'. It's all yours," he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, trying to still his heart, trying to catch his god damn breath.

"All mine," you whisper back, your breath tickling his ear. "My first.." You kiss him again and let your tongue tease his.

"Damn right," he growls. "And I'm gonna make sure you remember it forever. You're gonna feel me for days.." With that he starts to move, slowly, generating the friction your unsatisfied body so craves. "Grind yourself on me, just like that," he whispers, pulling the front of your sundress down to reveal your bikini top, and peels that back to expose your breasts, your nipples like pert raspberries. He palms them roughly before tasting each one, swirling his tongue around one bud while pinching the other.

You squirm in his lap, moving up and down his shaft, coating him with your cream. "You're so fucking deep," you moan, cupping his head as he feasts on your tits.

"There ya go.. take all of me. Lemme fill ya up," he grunts. His body tenses under yours as you speed up, mesmerized as your tits bounce up and down right in front of him. "That's it.. ah, such a good girl for me. How much more ya want? How much can ya handle?"

"I want.. fuck!.. I want more," you moan. "Fuck me, Joel!"

At your command he thrusts up, deep and rough, pulling your hair back so he can watch your body, gleaming with sweat, pulsate with pleasure as he taps into your primal need. The truck windows are fogged up as the vehicle gently bounces with your movements. His long, thick fingers leave marks on your hips and your ass cheeks.

He pistons up into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing in the truck, along with his grunts and the heavenly crescendo of your sweet moans. He keeps up the rigorous pace and you're on the edge, about to topple over into bliss. "Come on, baby," he urges you. "Yeah, that's it.. come for me.."

Only a few more fierce, upward thrusts and you come, with him nestled in up to the hilt so that every inch of him can feel you quake with pleasure. Your pussy flutters and convulses around him as you rear your head back, basking in the sublime pleasure. Joel follows soon after, unable to resist as he comes deep inside you. You give a little gasp at the warm bursts of his release, unlocking something primal in you. "Give me every drop," you whisper.

"It's all yours, darlin'," he hisses, holding onto you as he pumps stream after stream of his thick white cum within you.

Your eyes meet as he finally stills, slumping back down in his seat, still holding you close so you can feel the thundering beat of one another's hearts. "God.. you filled me up," you say in amazement, feeling him drip out of you already though he hasn't made a move to disengage from you yet.

"Imma fill you up any damn time you want," he rumbles. "Even if I gotta sneak into your room at night. Your daddy ain't gonna know a thing."

You bite your lip, realizing he's not kidding, he's not giving promises he doesn't mean to keep. "He'd probably kill you if he knew what we just did."

Joel's eyes burn with a determination that scares you a little. "Well he ain't gonna ever know. I got ways of keepin' things quiet." He gazes at you and his eyes soften, as if he's looking upon the most beautiful and innocent thing in all the world. "I always knew I wanted ya, ever since you turned into such a sweet little treat."

His phone rings and he groans when he realizes it's your father. He puts a hand over your mouth even though you wouldn't dare let on that you're with him, and makes the conversation as quick as possible before hanging up. "We better go, darlin'. Your daddy's waitin', wonderin' where you are," he says casually, as if he hadn't just had a conversation with your dad while balls-deep inside you.

You lift yourself off him wincing a little at the soreness between your thighs. The remnants of Joel's sticky seed start to trickle down your leg. He runs his thumb along your inner thigh, gathering his cum and brings it to your lips. You suck the salty fluid off his thumb. "I'm not wasting any of it," you tell him, licking your lips as you swallow.

"God damn," he mutters hotly. "You're killin' me, angel," he says, helping you arrange your clothes so you're decent again.

"Not anymore.. you just turned this angel into a devil.."

"Hey pumpkin, where ya been?" your dad greets you as you get out of Joel's truck in his driveway. Walking is a little painful as you're still sore, but you try to act natural.

"Beer run," Joel answers for you, holding up a twelve-pack of Corona Extra.

"Joel took me on a ride," you can't help saying, "It was fun." His cum is still collecting in your swimsuit bottom. "Hey Daddy, Sarah asked me to spend the night with her, so I'll be here all night. Is that okay with you, Joel?" You suppress a smirk as you address both the men.

Joel's heart rate spikes and his imagination runs wild in the quick span of a moment before he says, "Of course it is. You're always welcome here."

And later, when the Fourth of July fireworks cast their multi-colored lights on the black horizon, no one notices as you and Joel sneak away together, the booms overhead concealing your noises of gratification.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑