Big Bad Wolf

“Don’t think about him when I’m the one kissing you, darling.” I’M UNWELL

I was giggling and kicking my feet writing that

I’m just a sucker for angst

Apparently in Wolverine 8# 2011 (you can see the page in google images) his sexual fantasies looks like a BDSM room and we know our boi likes a lil pain.

ITS CANON 😭

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 

It hadn’t gone over well for him. 

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 

“All good?” You ask. 

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 

“Logan,” you scold. 

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it. 

I don’t want you tagging along. 

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 

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 @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 

Sooooooo

Why have I not seen anyone absolutely wailing over Astarion's reaction if tav is downed in battle after you've got affinity high enough for trust?

"No! You can't die, get up goddamn you!" In the most horrified voice.

Thought about letting myself get merced again on purpose just to make sure I actually heard what I heard.

Alone and Forsaken

one-shot

Joel Miller x fem!reader

A/N: I got COVID and haven't had a coherent thought in five days, so if this doesn't make sense it's not my fault, it's the virus. (Thank you @benkeibear for the dividers)

Summary: You're aren't anything to Joel Miller. You're a comfort, habit, and necessity. But you've never been anything more. It gets to you and you do what you always do, you run. When you make the permanent move to Jackson you've got no choice but to face the truth of what you are to each other.

WC: 9.4K

Part two here

You glanced down at Ellie, sweat was beading on her forehead and she was shivering in her sleeping bag. You glanced towards Joel, he was staring down at his gun, he’d been cleaning it for the past ten minutes. 

“We’re right near Jack-”

“No,” his voice was rough, a command rather than an interruption. You sighed and went back to crafting some arrows for Ellie. “We’ll find some medicine tomorrow.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, you could hear him sigh from across the fire. You’d managed to clean out an old office today, you were camping out on the roof. Joel had determined the fog provided enough cover to not have to worry about others seeing the smoke. 

He placed his gun down and leaned his elbows on his knees, you could feel his stare boring into you but you refused to give in. He wasn’t the only one who could be a stubborn bastard. “Y/N-”

“You’re acting like an old fool.”

He scoffed, “I’m not that old.”

“Joel,” you finally glanced up. “Ellie needs medicine, we’re right near your brother’s we might as well see if he’s got anything.” He stared at you for a long moment, not saying anything, until his shoulders slumped and he shrugged. He went back to cleaning his gun and you could tell he had conceded. 

You’d made it to Jackson a year ago after the Firefly incident at the hospital. But it had been too much for all three of you. Years of killing, fighting to keep yourself alive, all on your own, it was too jarring to be in such a quaint little place. 

You couldn’t wake up every morning to a “Howdy, neighbor!” like nothing had changed. There were too many people and it was too forceful a transition from fighting for every last resource to suddenly having everything willingly handed to you. 

Eventually, when it became too tiring to keep fighting, you were sure you would move back to Jackson. For now, each of you enjoyed the freedom of not having to fight for anyone but yourselves. It was an occasional pit stop for supplies and a dose of normalcy. 

You’d been on the road for about six months now, it was time to cycle back onto the path towards Tommy. 

Good timing too, about two days ago Ellie had a sore throat and now she’s pretty much deadweight behind you both. “We’ll head out at dawn.” Joel stood up, nothing more to say, and took first watch. You tucked your arrows away and laid down, hoping to get some sleep before you were on the move again. 

“How much further?”

“Another few miles,” Joel glanced over his shoulder at you. “How’s she doing?”

“I’m doing fine,” Ellie interrupted. But it was hard to believe her when her voice was a barely audible croak and she was leaning against you for support. 

Joel sighed and glanced towards his right, there was a creek and a sunny patch of grass. He started towards it, dropping his pack on a rock and coming to a stop. “We’ll stop here for a break.”

“I said I’m fin-” 

She interrupted herself with a cough that was so jarring you winced. It sounded like her throat was being ripped apart. When she finally caught her breath she reluctantly followed you towards the creek next to Joel. “I’ll check out the area, we shouldn’t be out here long.”

Joel nodded, standing guard next to Ellie while she wheezed trying to catch her breath. You moved away from them, going to check the surrounding area. Just when you deemed too much time had passed and were about to turn around you could feel something cold pressing into the back of your head. 

“Don’t move.”

You slowly dropped your rifle to the forest floor, raising your hands in surrender as the person behind you pulled back the hammer of their gun. “Okay, it’s okay, we can talk about this.” The gun pulled back abruptly and then they were in front of you. 

“Y/N! Damn girl, almost killed you.” Tommy tucked his gun into his holster and pulled you into a brief hug. You sighed and picked your gun back up. 

“The hell are you doing this far out?”

“Been seeing a lot of infected, had to start patrolling out further.” Tommy peered around you, looking for something. “Joel with you?”

You nodded, leading him back to Joel. There was a brief reunion, nothing much considering they’ve been seeing each other a lot more than they used to. Tommy took Ellie on his horse back to Jackson, said it would be faster that way. 

You and Joel still had a few more miles left, walking in silence side by side. 

The silence, as always, had you contemplating your something with Joel. Because you wouldn’t say you and Joel were in a relationship. You’d both loved and lost too much in your life to ever truly be open to something like that again. 

But you granted each other a softness you didn’t offer anyone else. There was an unspoken connection between the two of you that never went acknowledged. You glanced over at him, nudging his arm with your elbow. “More excited about coffee or a shower?”

“More excited about you finally showering.”

You scoffed in faux offense and shoved him lightly. His eyes crinkled, the crow’s feet becoming more prominent as he smirked at you. “Jerk. I smell amazing,” that was a blatant lie. Neither of you smelled great. It’d been about a week since you’d had a chance to really freshen up. Still, it was always fun to mess with him a little bit. 

When you finally made it to Jackson you moved quickly through the inspection station, showing the medics your bite-free body and then headed towards Ellie. 

She was already knocked out, whatever flu medicine they’d managed to scrounge up had done its job quickly. Maria led you to a house at the far end of town, you watched as Joel entered the one across from you. 

You showered, enjoying the foreign feeling of fresh, hot, water running over your skin. You used the clothes Maria provided you, but after an hour of just wandering around the house you were starting to feel restless. 

You had sat on the couch, stared at the black screen of the TV, and gotten back up about three times. You huffed out an irritated breath and headed towards the door. You weren’t sure where you were going but the quiet was starting to feel suffocating. 

The pristine, cozy house, was overwhelming you with memories of a past best left forgotten. You opened the door-

“Why!”

“Shit,” Joel grimaced, offering you an awkward pat on the shoulder instead of an apology. You rubbed your forehead, pain radiating from where he’d hit you. “I was trying to knock, didn’t think you’d open the door.”

You sighed, glancing up at him and shrugging. “I can’t stand being in here. House is too…”

“Big,” he finished. You nodded, stepping outside and joining him on the porch. You both started walking, heading towards his house, the one that actually had chairs on the patio. Luckily the houses you were staying in this time around were farther away from everyone else. 

People walking with their families was a distant noise that was barely discernible. 

Families

The thought made you want to scoff. Families in the apocalypse, fucking ridiculous. “It’s peaceful here.”

“For them,” you glanced at Joel and he seemed to share the same thought as you. You’d changed too much, spilled too much blood to ever let yourself be fully comfortable in a place like this. 

“Do you think you could ever be happy here?” 

You glanced across the street at the large looming house you had just been in. “Not in there, it’s too big for one person.” He nodded, his fingers drumming a soundless tune against his jeans while he sat with you. 

“Went down and saw Ellie while you were cleaning up. She’s making friends.”

You looked at him in astonishment. Hard to believe she was bedridden and being pleasant. He laughed a little and shook his head. “Well, I suppose they were interrogating her more than anything.”

You smiled slightly, “That’s more like it.” 

He was looking off at the town, viewing the few distant people you could see. “She’s been asking to come back a lot more. I think she likes movie nights.” You sighed, knowing where this was going. You supposed the change was inevitable, you had just really hoped that you could push it off a little while longer. 

You just weren’t ready. 

“House is too big for me, too. Maybe it needs two people.” He was already looking at you when you turned to face him. His face didn’t betray anything but a type of tiredness that was set deep in someone’s bones. 

You could say no, go off on your own. You’d make it a little while longer but the loneliness would get to you and eventually you’d slip up. Be torn apart or turned. 

Besides, you weren’t ready to leave them, leave him. Not yet. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

One Year Later

“Morning.”

You groaned at the sound of Joel’s voice, rolling over and covering your head with a pillow. He laughed and you could feel it reverberate through your back where his chest was resting on you. 

“Come on, darling. It’s noon, you have to take care of the sheep today.” 

You weren’t exactly verbal when you’re woken up abruptly. So you just grumbled-most likely something incredibly rude-under your breath and curled up into a ball.

Joel chuckled again, his arms wrapped around your waist and rolled you over. He dragged you out of the warmth of the blankets and directly back into the sunlit room. “Joel,” you groaned. “Five more minutes.”

“Nope.” He stood up, you still slightly in his arms. He half carried and half dragged you out of bed. You held onto the blankets and kept your eyes closed as long as you could. But when your feet touched the cool wood you conceded that your day had started. Whether you wanted it to or not. “Ugh, you’re a real piece of work. You know that?”

Joel let out a surprised scoff as you walked past him into the bathroom. You could hear him muttering under his breath about who was really the piece of work in this home. But he didn’t say anything to you, just joined you at the sink to brush his teeth.

Sometimes the normalcy was nice. You’d wake up and most days Joel was there next to you. Or he was making you both breakfast, or occasionally a note left next to a plate of food telling you he was out on patrol. 

You spent most of your time together, sharing the big old house while Ellie slept in the converted shed out back. But days like today, where he tried to joke with you while he brushed his teeth but his voice was too thick with sleep and you couldn’t understand his accent, they made you ache. 

Your heart would pulse painfully and you’d have to look away from him. You shared the same bed, lived in the same house. But you didn’t mean anything to him. You were just an old friend there to keep him warm at night. 

You’re pretty sure you’d both been traveling together for so long that it was habit and necessity that kept you together more than anything. You wished, yearned for more from him, but you knew he could never give it to you. You knew it was an impossible ask. 

Which made staying with him start to feel more suffocating. You feel like another part of his routine. Something akin to brushing his teeth rather than genuinely wanting you around, a chore. And you couldn’t handle that feeling anymore. 

You were drowning in the comfort of Jackson. But you were too much of a coward to ever fully leave him. Too hopeful to let go of that one fleeting feeling that maybe one day you could be more to him.

Joel smiled at you as you made your way downstairs. “I got your lunch, you should probably head out now. You’re already late.”

You took the bag from him, thanking him and left for the sheep. And that night when your shift was over you’d look over at Joel’s house. You’d see him strumming lightly on his guitar as he waited for you and you’d slip out of Jackson’s walls. Unwilling to face another night of heartache that made you feel so ridiculous. 

2 Years Later

“Y/N in here? Jesse’s looking for her.”

Joel glanced up from his guitar, he had been tuning it when Ellie’s head popped over his porch rail. “No, haven’t seen her in a couple days.”

He’d known being in Jackson was too much for you. Sometimes when he was getting a drink at the bar he could feel his skin crawling with how many people were surrounding him. His instinct to always be on guard, always be alert, was not easily lost after so many years. 

There was the siren’s call of peace here in this town, but he still had to patrol. Still had you, Ellie, and himself to look out for. He could never afford to let himself fully settle into the calm reprieve of Jackson. It would end up screwing him over only when he was outside the safety of the walls. 

So he sat, always a curling, burning feeling in his stomach as he tried to untense his shoulders. Join his brother for a ‘family’ dinner. Plaster on as friendly a grimace as he could when his neighbors would wave in the morning. 

You were not the same. You didn’t bother with pretending to be happy for Ellie’s comfort. You patrolled near constantly, outside the walls more than you were in. Which set him even more on edge. You’d be gone for days at a time before mysteriously appearing in his bed one morning. 

You’d smile then, as genuine a smile you could manage. Every time he’d ask where you’d gone and you would tell him you needed some air. He never asked what you did on the outside, where the bruises came from or what you’d done to earn them. 

You would eat breakfast, listen to him strum on his guitar and in a few more days disappear again. He thinks one of these days, now that Ellie’s grown, he might just disappear alongside you. Ellie sighed, “What’s Jesse want with her?” Joel asked. 

“He was gonna have her patrol with him today,” she had a shit-eating grin on her face as she propped her head in her hand. “I think he’s got a crush on her.”

Joel barked out a laugh, imagining Jesse pining after someone as disinterested as you. He’s sure he just admires you like he admires Joel. He looks up to you, probably just presents differently. “I’d love to see him try something,” he said through laughter.

Ellie shook her head, walking up the stairs and sitting next to him. “I’m pretty sure he’s terrified of her.”

He shook his head, “Rough combo.” Poor kid probably didn’t realize you weren’t mean, you just had a real bad resting face. “Ya know, I gotta head out soon. I can see if I can find her.”

Ellie perked up, crossing her legs as she leaned back in the rocking chair. “Would you?”

“Sure,” Joel went to place his guitar down but Ellie stopped him. 

“What’re you working on?”

“Oh,” he glanced at the instrument and shrugged. He wasn’t sure, really. He’d had to step back from patrolling as much as he used to. The cold was fucking with his back and knees. Made it harder for him to be as fast as he should be. You liked to tease him about it, call him an old man, but he caught you rubbing your shoulder every time it was about to rain. 

But without the ability to go on rides or kill infected, he was beginning to feel restless again. An uncomfortable thrumming under his skin that screamed at him to move, do something. So he screwed around with the guitar, tried to sing something, but nothing came out. 

He passed it over to Ellie, she immediately propped it on her lap, strumming something soft. “Nothing really, just needed something to do.” He sat with her a little while longer, giving her pointers as she went over some songs she’d been writing. 

He groaned as he got off the old rocking chair, saying goodbye to Ellie and heading to the stables. He was sure you were nearby, somewhere in a three mile perimeter of town. You’d been gone about four days, usually you’d be coming back by now. 

Tommy was waiting for him as he got his horse. “Partnering up today.”

“Alright,” Joel rode up to the barred gate of Jackson, waiting for the doors to open. “Ellie wanted me to look for Y/N while we’re out here.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed as he glanced at him. “She still gone?”

Joel hummed an affirmative, brushing the hair out of his eyes in irritation. You’d have to cut it again, it had gotten too damn long. He felt like one of the stupid teenage boys in town, always blowing his damn hair out of his face. 

“Where’d ya wanna head first?”

“She likes lurking around that old ski resort. We’ll see if she’s there first. If not, I’m sure she’ll pop up soon.” 

They rode in silence for a little while before Tommy sighed. Clearly growing bored with the lack of conversation. Joel let his brother suffer, watching in amusement as he shifted back and forth in his saddle and tried to think of what to say. 

He finally broke, showing Tommy some mercy. “Jesus, boy, spit it out.”

“It’s just,” Tommy paused, slowing down his mare to match Joel’s slow pace. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Her being out her on her own all the time. I mean, if Maria left as often as Y/N does I’d be losing my mind.”

“Well,” Joel sighed, “I’m a lot tougher than you are.”

Tommy scoffed, glaring at him. “Whatever smartass, I wasn’t screwing around, I want to know.”

“Fine. Don’t know why you’re so damn interested.” Joel shrugged, thinking about it before finally answering. “Yeah, I guess it bothers me, a little. I mean, I’ve known her a long time. I know she can handle herself, I’m not really worried about her dying or nothing. I’m more worried about her just deciding she wants to be gone for good and leaving.”

Tommy was quiet for a bit, leaving Joel uncomfortable. The answer wasn’t very deep. It didn’t share a lot, but it left him feeling a particular shade of vulnerable that had him shifting around. He rolled his shoulders back, focusing on the feeling of snow nipping at his cheeks rather than his younger brother’s nosy stare. 

“I woudln’t worry about that.”

“Yeah,” Joel’s voice was curt, snappier than usual. “Why’s that?”

“Well, I don’t fucking know why, but she likes you. Likes Ellie, she might not love Jackson, but she wouldn’t just leave you guys.”

“Since when the hell are you an expert?”

Tommy smirked, “Since I got married.” Joel rolled his eyes, his brother had gotten entirely too smug when he married Maria. Suddenly, being married, made him an expert in anything and everything. He certaintly didn’t know a damn thing about Joel’s love life. 

Or lack thereof. 

Because you’d never talked about what you were, if you even were anything. That’s probably why it set him on edge so much when you left. You weren’t his to love or keep-honestly he wasn’t sure he was capable of that type of love anymore. 

You were friends. Allies more than anything, which was arguably more important in this world. There was nothing to tie you to him or encourage you to stay. 

He wasn’t deluded enough to believe you’d stay for Ellie. She was pretty much an adult now, and you’d never been a parent before. You didn’t know what the pain of losing a child was, she wasn’t as important to you as she was to him. 

He had no damn idea what had kept you here for so long. But he knew you were getting restless and he didn’t know how to help. 

They made it to the ski lodge and immediately leapt off their horses. There were screams coming from inside, screams that sounded a lot like yours. Joel ran for the doors, finger already on the trigger when the doors blew open. 

You looked up at him in surprise, “Joel! What’re you doing out here?” He drew back, stopping himself from slamming into you. 

His eyes scanned your form, you were covered head to toe in gore. The bandanna pushing your hair back had been a light blue, but now it was completely dyed red. Your jacket was in shreds. But you were still smiling up at him, then Tommy. 

“Jesus H Christ woman,” Tommy muttered behind him. 

You looked down at yourself, “Oh, yeah.” You sighed and once again were staring at Joel. “Fucking clickers, weren’t here before.”

“Are you alright? Were you bit?”

You waved off Joel’s concern like he was being dramatic. Like you weren’t standing before him covered head to toe in guts. “I’m fine.”

“Dammit,” you jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. He was getting a little louder, voice a little deeper as his frustration grew. He hated when you were this flippant about basic safety. “I told you to stop coming out so much, that we’d been-”

“Seeing more hordes. I know, sorry Joel, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll,” you trailed off, your eyes darting around before reluctantly landing back on his. “I promise I’ll stop leaving.”

Joel glanced behind himself, but Tommy had wandered back over to the horses. He was the opposite of subtle as he whistled, clearly giving you as much privacy as he could. Joel turned back towards you and took a step closer. 

“I’m not telling you to stop coming out here completely. I don’t want to take that from you.”

You shook your head, stepping closer as you shivered. Joel figured your jacket was in tatters and you were probably freezing your ass off. He took off one of his own coats and draped it over you. “I’m being reckless, risking infecting you and Ellie by coming out so much. Besides, it’s starting to get a little lonely.”

“Well,” Joel gave you a brief smile, “maybe one of these days you should wake me up when you slip away. I’ll come out here with you.”

You grinned, “Think you’d be able to keep up, old man?”

He scoffed, slinging an arm over your shoulder and leading you back to his horse. “Could you?”

You laughed, “With you? Probably not.” He was just about to join you up on Sunny when all three of you heard a strange noise coming up towards the lifts. You had cleared out the resort. So, what could it be?

You hopped off Sunny quickly, pulling out one of your guns and following Tommy and Joel as they went back through the clicker infested hellhole you’d just cleared. The noises got louder, it sounded a lot like feet pounding up the mountain. 

You made it outside, near the resort's old supply sheds. You were checking out the area, double checking you didn’t miss any infected. You were about to turn back around when you heard a scream. 

You ran towards the source of the noise, watching as a woman was crushed under a swarming body of infested. The only thing separating her from them was a flimsy metal gate. Tommy rushed forward before either you or Joel could stop him. Grabbing her and dragging her out from the bodies. 

“Fuck!”

“Tommy!”

Both of you wanted to scream at him. That was such an unbelievably stupid thing to do. She’d had at least fifty infected on top of her, there’s no way she wasn’t bit. But beyond that she was a stranger, you had no idea if she was a piece of shit that would lead raiders right back to Jackson or not. 

You didn’t have time to scold him, though, the swarm was screaming, racing towards you all. You ran back into the resort, heart racing as you slammed the doors to the lift closed behind you. “Tommy!” Joel called out, “Help me move this!”

They worked on wheeling a broke down lift towards an open window. You turned towards the hulking woman, “Got a gun?”

She nodded and you tossed her some ammo, “Good. Don’t fucking miss.” You raced throughout the station, trying to keep infected off Tommy and Joel while they moved the lift. But there was only so much you could do. Your rifle had jammed and you had used most of your supplies taking the clickers out earlier. 

And these bastards were fast, they seemed faster than normal. Maybe the cold irritated them or something. 

You screamed, taken off your feet as a runner threw itself at you. You rolled over, shoving your gun in its mouth and pulling the trigger. Brains splattered onto your face and before you could even roll it off of you there was another one leaping at you. 

Before it could sink its teeth in your neck there was the warm feeling of blood trailing down your chest. Joel stood over you, machete buried in the infected’s back as he yanked you to your feet. He didn’t let you walk, grabbing you and practically sending you flying towards Tommy. 

You scrambled up the lift and through the window, running towards the horses and mounting Sunny. You grabbed Tommy’s mare and rode the horses back to the open window. You watched the others spill out, keeping an eye out for any more infected and letting Joel hop up in front of you. 

Tommy and the woman shared a horse as she screamed out instructions to head towards the old mansion at the top of the mountain. You were too busy keeping infected away from your group to fully realize where you were going until it was too late. 

You were already through the gates of the mansion, infected being set on fire behind you when you grasped the situation at hand. 

You’d just wandered into some stranger’s camp, nearly completely empty on ammo, battered and tired. You didn’t know who she was or who her people were. Joel and Tommy seemed to be realizing that too, each of them tensing up as they got off the horses. 

“Thanks for the help back there. I’m Abby.”

Joel offered you a hand down, you hopped off Sunny and glanced around the garage. You were definitely fucking outnumbered and they had way more ammo than you. 

You hid slightly behind Joel, taking in the amount of people and trying to gauge how many guns were in the garage. Your eye snagged on a lone shotgun on a workstation and the bullets surrounding it. 

“I’m Tommy, this is my brother Joel…” Tommy’s voice trailed off before he could introduce you. Instantly everyone in the room had turned to stare at Joel, and every single one of them looked hostile. Like he’d punched each of them in the face at one point. 

And honestly with the amount of people he’s screwed over you wouldn’t be surprised. Still, this was not promising. 

Joel tensed up in front of you, nudging you slightly behind Sunny. You ducked behind her, hoping to go unnoticed by the rest of them and praying that Sunny didn’t buck out at you. 

Abby sucked on her teeth. She stared at Joel for a long minute before nodding her head towards the door and heading up the stairs. “Joel,” you whispered.

He shook his head, subtly waving you back into place as he was forced to follow the others up the stairs. You watched them herd him and Tommy out, one of the men in the back checked his ammo was loaded and you felt your throat seize in panic. 

Shit shitshitshitshitshit

Okay, this turned into a clusterfuck so insanely fast. You waited until every set of footsteps was a distant echo to move out from behind the horses. You were nearly out the door when you double backed for the shotgun. 

You heard a shout from upstairs, your head whipping towards the open door. You raced up the stairs, “Tommy!” It was Joel shouting, panic lacing his voice. 

You can never say what happened next exactly. You made it up the stairs, heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked and you’d never run that fast in your life. 

The door to the room was open, all you could see was Abby with a gun in hand, pointing it towards Joel. Your finger was on the trigger before you could even aim properly. The shot missed, hitting the wall behind her, grazing her back slightly. 

But it caused enough of a distraction, Joel wrenched the gun from her grasp, using the butt of it to knock her out. You shot at one of the men pinning Tommy down, it caught him in the side and he dropped to the ground. Crimson pooling out around him. 

The room went quiet, each of them staring at their dead comrade. “You cunt,” the woman leapt at you, knife raised in the air. You didn’t notice her protruding stomach until you had pulled the trigger. Her legs flew out from under her, nearly completely blown off from the shotgun blast. 

There was a primal sound of pain. One you’d heard many times in your life. It came from two directions, the pregnant woman bleeding out on the ground and the man who was now  flying at you. 

He knocked you to the ground. You wrestled for control of the shotgun, his hips pinning your pelvis painfully to the floor. You groaned out in pain and panic, shoving all your weight into the gun, bringing it up to catch him in the jaw. His head knocked to the side and you shoved him off of you. 

Shots were firing all around you, different screams and insults flying past your head. You were tuning in and out, ears ringing as you wrapped your arms around the man’s neck. You pulled until it snapped. When you were done you swiped his pistol from his holster, stepping over the twitching woman below you. 

There were only three people left when you walked back into the room, Tommy and Joel disposed of them quickly while you grabbed some rope and tied up Abby. She was still knocked out, a bad bruise forming on her head. You can imagine her day was going to get a lot worse when she woke up and saw the carnage around her. 

It was a slaughter, each of her friend’s lay brutally destroyed at her feet. 

But, it was their own damn fault. They shouldn’t have tried and fucked with you all. 

“Are you okay?” It was your turn to fuss over Joel. He had clearly been their target. It had to have been someone you’d screwed over, Joel had screwed over. But the list was too long and you’d never seen this woman before. 

Joel nodded, but there was blood soaking through his jacket. You ignored his protests, ripping the jacket off and inspecting the wound. It wasn’t anything too bad, a bullet must have just skimmed his bicep. You wrapped it up pretty quickly, then you let your head fall to his chest. 

He chuckled slightly, his hand coming behind you to rest on your back. “You okay?”

“I was scared.”

Your voice was quiet, quiet enough that you almost hoped he had missed your small confession. “What?”

His hand had stilled before it moved up your back and lightly cupped your neck. He tilted your head back so you had to look at him, had to make eye contact. “I was scared.” You huffed out, nearly ashamed at presenting yourself like this to him. 

You didn’t get scared, the entire time you’ve known him you’ve each been fighting for your lives. This wasn’t anything new. But something about this really got to you. It felt more final this time. “They were after you, Joel. Had a gun pointed to your head.”

“I always have a gun pointed at my head, darling. Comes with the territory.” You rolled your eyes and stepped away from him, ignoring the way his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment before it dropped to his side. 

The door behind you all flew open and all three guns were pointed at the intruder. Ellie raised her hands and stumbled back in shock at the sight of the dead bodies around you all. “Holy shit. What the fuck happened?”

You sighed and lowered your gun, Tommy and Joel doing the same. “Ellie, head back to Dina,” you instructed. You were going to have to get some information from Abby, you were sure Joel didn’t want her to see the methods about to be used. 

Ellie opened her mouth to argue but Joel cut her off. “Do as she says, Ellie. Head back to the others and say everything’s fine and that we’ll be back soon.”

She seemed like she wanted to stay, desperately. Instead she conceded and closed the door behind her as she left. You, Joel, and Tommy each shared a look before you got to work. 

Abby was tied up in a chair, you’d wrapped her up more than you would have with anyone else, mainly because her biceps were the size of your head. 

When she finally woke up, she immediately started screaming. You’d moved the bodies of her friends, propping them up in front of her so they were the first thing she saw when she woke up. 

Tommy had left for Jackson, made sure no one would suspect why you and Joel were gone for so long. Now you were sitting on a table behind Abby while Joel started. “What are you doing here?”

“Fuck you,” she spat. 

Joel sighed and tried again, “Does anyone else know you’re here?”

Same response. It happened a few more times, she was unphased by anything Joel did to her. Just telling him to fuck off more times than you could count. You got sick of it after a while. 

You hadn’t had to torture anyone in a couple years, you were hoping to just get this over with as quickly as possible. You stood up and Joel let go of Abby’s chair, backing away from her. 

“My partner,” you started, “prefers brute force to get the answers he wants. Me,” you stood in front of Abby and pulled out your hunting knife. “I’m a little more creative.”

You dug the knife into her skin, peeling back a layer or two of epidermis and ignoring the way she screamed. Twenty years ago, you might have felt guilty for this. Now, she’d tried to hurt Joel, she’d brought this on herself. 

Five pulled nails and a lot of skin later she finally squealed. No one knew they were out here. They were stationed in Seattle and wouldn’t come looking. Joel had killed her father, the doctor from the hospital, and she wanted revenge. 

You rolled your eyes, pointing out the hypocrisy of her actions. How many fathers had she killed on her way here to get to Joel. How many lives had she taken to protect someone she loved. When she tried to argue you slit her throat and dragged the bodies to be put in the pile of burned infested. 

“Damn.” You sat behind Joel on Sunny, watching the bodies go up in flames. He turned her around, heading back towards Jackson. “What a way to start the day.”

The bed was empty when Joel woke up. He felt surprised, usually you gave him a few days before you left again. But before he could linger on the thought for too long the door to the bedroom was opening and you were walking in. Your back was to him, you were carrying something in your hands. 

When you turned around you frowned when you saw him already waiting for you. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What are you doing?”

You swatted him away when he stood and tried to help you carry the tray in the room. You put it on the nightstand and shoved him back in bed. He could have resisted, pushed against you, but he let himself fall as he chuckled at the determined look on your face. 

You hummed and shrugged your shoulders, placing the tray in his lap. “Thought I’d bring you breakfast.” He glanced down, a plate with a stack of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Most importantly; coffee. 

“Where the hell’d you get all this?” You didn’t answer, just had a mischievous little smirk on your face while you tidied up the room. Joel caught your wrist as you passed him, he tugged you into bed next to him, careful not to spill the tray. “Come on, help me out with all this. Can’t eat it all on my own.”

He could, and would do so eagerly. But it had been a while since he’d eaten breakfast without you rushing out the door. And for once, he was feeling domestic without the crushing weight of guilt turning the taste of your pancakes bitter in his mouth. He wanted to enjoy this, however long it lasted. 

You didn’t bother arguing, picking off some of his food while you both sat in contented silence. Eventually you broke it, sitting at the end of the bed so you could face him while he sipped on his coffee. 

Lord, he had missed the taste of caffeine. 

“Where are you working today?”

“Promised Bob I’d help him out with shoeing the horses today. You?”

“Helping Maria with fixing up that new classroom in school.”

“You're not leaving? You've been hangin’ around here a lot.”

He knew instantly he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. 

What once had been easy silence instantly turned tense. The warm sun that had filtered through the blinds was right in his eyes and causing a headache. The sheets were scratchy and that blank look on your face was oppressive. 

Your easygoing smile, one he hadn’t seen in a long time, dropped from your face and you shifted uncomfortably on top of the comforter. “Yeah, guess you're right.”

“Didn’t mean it like-”

You stood up, patting his leg with an awkward stiltedness and moved to the closet. “I should head out, promised Maria we’d get it done by end of day.” 

He knew what he said had been wrong, but he wasn’t completely sure what about it was so wrong. He watched you leave without another word and sighed to himself, getting out of bed and forcing himself from the comfort of the house. 

He’d only had a moment, one singular moment, where he’d finally been able to relax for once. And he didn’t feel restless, or anxious, or guilty about it. He’d felt at ease, a feeling so foreign it was halfway through the day before he’d finally been able to identify it. 

He was in the middle of cleaning Sunny’s hoof and he’d nearly gotten kicked in the face with his distraction. 

But he didn’t have any sort of epiphany over what could have possibly upset you so much. 

A normal person, not you apparently, would be completely unbothered by Joel’s question. Because that’s all it was. A question, a simple, understandable, inquiry about why someone as flighty as you had been in one place for so long. 

Still it stung. He’d said with a tone like ‘Why the hell are you still in my house?’ And in a crazy, uber-paranoid-lady way, it was confirmation of what you were to him. You were a daily task, necessity, and required comfort, but you were not something permanent. And you’d deluded yourself into believing you were something more. Your own fault, not something to place on Joel’s shoulders. 

Still, the bitter taste of rejection was a hard one to get off the tongue. 

“God, I’m insane.”

“What was that?”

You glanced up at Maria, momentarily having forgotten you weren’t alone. “Um, nothing, sorry.” You let yourself get lost in the repetitive motion of painting the walls of the classroom. Using old stencils they’d found or created to do a row of ABC’s and numbers along the perimeter of the wall. 

How is this what you turned into? 

You’d gone from a deadbeat smuggler who’d kill without a second thought to someone painting an elementary classroom worrying about boys. 

Well, men, you supposed. Seemed unfair to put Joel in the same category as someone like Jesse. 

Even though you were sure that Jesse would never make you feel like a chore instead of a person. 

Annnnnd… new low reached, considering Jesse as a viable option for dating. Damn, you needed a hobby or something. 

Around noon Tommy stopped by, he had sandwiches from Seth and you didn’t want to think about the lengths he’d gone through to get them from the cantankerous old asshole. 

“So,” there was a certain tone of voice Tommy would get when he was about to meddle in someone’s business. You stopped midchew to stare at him in suspicion while he smirked. Maria eyed her husband and simply sighed, resigned to let him interrogate you. “You and Joel.”

You huffed, swallowing the rest of your food and throwing the sandwich down on the plate next to you. “This was a bribe wasn’t it?”

He laughed, “Yep.” 

It was interesting to you how different Joel and Tommy were. Joel’s accent was gruff, commanding, most times hard to understand. Especially when he was pissed off. Tommy had a lightness to him the both of you lacked. You assumed it came from Jackson, he’d been here a lot longer than either of you. And he’d also found Maria. 

He also didn’t know how to butt out. A skill Joel, thankfully, understood. “Just curious about you two. You know, Joel’s seemed a lot happier in Jackson now that you’ve been around longer than a week.”

“Well, I think he’s getting a little sick of me.”

Tommy frowned, “Why’s that?”

You shrugged, taking another bite before answering. “I don’t know, just something he said this morning.”

“What’d he say?”

“Damn, Tommy, I can’t remember. It was how he said it, I guess.” You huffed and glared at him, “Look we’re not your new version of the bachelor, alright. Butt out.”

Maria opened her mouth, probably to scold you for being a bitch. Tommy held up a hand and shook his head. “Alright, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” You asked, watching as he finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Yep,” he leaned over to kiss Maria on the cheek and gave you a strong pat on the back. “That’s it. Message received, I’ll just butt out now.”

Both you and Maria watched him go, a suspicious look on both of your faces as he went. Tommy never gave up that easy, ever. “You know he’s up to something, right?”

You glanced over at Maria, sighing as you picked up your paintbrush again. “I know.”

The answer to what exactly he’d been planning came three days later. 

Despite yourself and your feelings of rejection, you’d stayed in Jackson. You’d been paranoid since the run in with Abby and her people. It was dangerous for Joel to stay in one place, word would spread and old enemies would know where to find him. 

That thought plagued you every time you glanced at the door out of Jackson. If something happened while you were gone and pouting over something petty, you’d never forgive yourself. 

But you did put some distance between you and Joel. Staying in the guest room instead of his, not bringing him breakfast like some wife from the fifties. You’d put up boundaries where there weren’t any before, determined not to be used as some sort of daily comfort. 

And if Joel had anything against these new unsaid rules, he didn’t react. Which kind of pissed you off more. Trust, if there was a therapist you would see one. You’re aware your train of thinking isn’t what most would consider healthy. 

But there isn’t, so you just force yourself to push it down everyday and keep going. Like you always have. It wasn’t until you got here that rejections or emotions meant anything to you. This place was making you too damn soft. 

Tommy dropped by one night and invited both you and Joel over to his for dinner and Joel had accepted before you could say no. 

There wasn’t much you could bring over, you couldn’t cook and didn’t feel like burning down the kitchen trying. So you stole some flowers from the garden of the mean old lady that lived next to you while Joel kept watch. 

Maria and Tommy’s house wasn’t too far from you and Joel, but god, walking next to him you’d think they lived a mile away. 

“You know, foods gonna be gone by the time we get there.”

Joel huffed out a short laugh. “We got time. Feel like you’re always tryna rush off lately.” You didn’t have an answer for him, not one that wouldn’t reveal why you didn’t want to be alone with him. So you just shrugged. 

You could feel him staring at you, eyes drilling holes in the back of your head, but you refused to say anything. “How’s the guest room?”

The question caught you off guard, you stumbled over your own feet for a second before turning around to face him. “Uh, fine. Bed’s smaller, I guess. But I don’t have a giant hogging the sheets,” you attempted to smile at him. But he didn’t seem to find anything funny about your response. 

His brows were furrowed, lips set in a pissy sort of line. You finally caught on to the undertones of anger in his voice. The special sort of gruffness that only comes out when he’s pissed off. 

“Why?”

He shrugged, “Just wondering.” And that was it. He brushed past where you’d stopped walking to face him. His shoulder clipping you as he did and was walking off to Tommy’s, leaving you behind. 

You scoffed at the attitude. Not entirely sure what you’d done to deserve it and followed after him. The both of you finished the walk in angered silence, neither one of you aware why the other was so angry. You just were. 

When Tommy opened the door the smile on his face quickly turned into a smirk. “There you two are. Trouble in paradise?”

You shoved the flowers into his chest and stormed past him. “For Maria.”

You heard Joel mutter the same thing you’d told Tommy a few days ago. “Butt out.”

Maria was in the kitchen, finishing off whatever meat she’d decided to cook for you all tonight. You’d gotten so used to the QZ’s strange square ration bars, sometimes you struggled  actually identifying real food. 

You helped her set the table, ignoring the stares of both men on your back and were about to sit down… When Tommy literally dove under you to force you to sit next to Joel. 

You glared at him while you circled the table, throwing yourself down into the chair and sighing at the self-satisfied look on his face. “Your brother’s insufferable.”

Joel grumbled but didn’t say anything. So you were getting the silent treatment now. Really? 

Fucking child. 

“Alright, dinner is served.” Maria placed the roast on the table and took a seat beside Tommy, smiling at you all. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care how tense it was on your and Joel’s side. 

“Thank you, Maria.”

You forced a smile, not one to let Joel be the only one with manners. “Yes, thank you, Maria.” She hummed, carving into the roast and taking a slice for herself and Tommy. You reached for the knife and fork but Joel beat you to it. 

He cut off a portion and dropped it down on your plate, the mash potatoes spreading slightly at the impact. You sighed, muttering a belligerent thank you and took a bite. 

Couldn’t help himself could he? Always the Texan gentleman. 

It was infuriating. 

For a few minutes there was only the sound of metal scraping porcelain. And you felt bad, honestly, Maria and Tommy invited you both over for a nice dinner and you were pouting like toddlers. 

You weren’t even sure why you were upset with each other!

Obviously, you were still stinging from Joel’s use of your “relationship.” But you had no clue what had crawled up his ass and died. “Can you pass the bread?”

You looked up from your plate, staring at the side of Joel’s head. He continued to shovel food in his face. “Joel?” Nothing, not even a twitch. 

You reached across from him, purposefully shoving your arm in front of him so he couldn’t eat the bite on his fork and grabbed the bread basket. “Ain’t got manners, now?” He growled at you, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Says you,” you hissed back. This was devolving into childish anger so quickly. And you didn’t know why! 

God, what was his problem?

“So,” Tommy started and you were startled out of your glaring match with Joel. “Y/N, you know Bob?”

You slowly turned away from Joel and nodded. “Yeah, the horse guy.”

“Yeah, he’s been asking about you.” Tommy took another bite of food and shrugged, “Told him you were free this Saturday.”

You ignored Joel’s fork clanking loudly against his plate and shook your head. “No I’m not. I’m patrolling with Joel.”

Tommy waved you off, “Nah, don’t worry about it. You need to get out more anyway. Socialize some.”

“Tommy,” Joel started. His voice was low, an unspoken warning lacing it. “You need to stop meddling.”

“What? You’ve got a problem with a little date, Joel?”

You glanced between the two, hidden in their stares was a secret language only the brothers were privy to. There was a tense silence before Joel was picking his fork back up and eating, refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the table. 

“Not interested, Tommy. Thanks though.” It would feel wrong going on some blind date like you weren’t currently pining over the man you lived with. Besides, you were past the period of life where you wanted to ‘date.’ About one apocalypse past it. 

“Too bad, you’re going.” You opened your mouth to argue but both Tommy and Maria were leveling you with glares that allowed no room for negotiation. Since when did Maria join him in these ridiculous schemes?

“We’re having our harvest festival this weekend,” Maria stated. “Bob will accompany you.”

The rest of dinner was spent with Tommy and Maria blabbering away while you and Joel fumed in your seats. You didn’t know his reason but you were pretty pissed off you were being forced into a date. 

One, you were planning on skipping the stupid fucking harvest thing. It was a waste of resources and you didn’t understand why they clung to old traditions so desperately. 

Two, you didn’t want to go on a date. The only man you wanted to be with was sitting next to you and currently taking his anger out on a piece of bread. 

You let your mind fade into the background. Your eyes tracked the movements of Joel’s hands while he ate, no longer hearing Tommy and Maria. Until you blinked and dinner was over and Joel was waiting for you by the door. 

You nearly jumped at how loudly Joel slammed the door closed. You toed your boots off, watching him throw his jacket on the kitchen chair and reach for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. He ignored you, heading up the stairs and into his office. 

You took in a deep breath, trying to shake off the funk from the last couple of days. Slowly you made your way up the stairs, knocking on the doorframe to his office. 

He was just sitting in his chair, staring at the guitar on his desk. There was a glass of amber liquor in his hand, but he wasn’t making any moves to drink more. “Wanna talk?”

“‘Bout what?” He placed the glass on the table and picked up the new strings for his guitar. 

“I don’t know,” you walked in and sat down on the stool next to him. “You’ve seemed off since we left for Tommy’s.” 

His finger drummed across the denim of his jeans. He stared through the window, the lights of Jackson casting a warm glow over his face. 

If you tilted your head just right it softened him. The scars faded, the only wrinkles you could see were smile lines and you could see a shadow of the man he once was. The father, brother, contractor, someone long lost to the cruelties of time and the world outside these walls. 

“A date,” he scoffed. “My brother never knows when to stop, does he?” You didn’t bother answering. You know he wasn’t talking to you, just thinking out loud. 

You propped your elbow on his desk, resting your head while you waited for him to collect his thoughts. He let out a long sigh, his eyes on the guitar while he addressed you. 

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

“I’m aware.”

He cracked, his lips lifting slightly at the corners. Barely a smile, but it was better than nothing. “I think I’ve got you figured out. Think I finally understand how this,” he gestures between the two of you, “works. Then you disappear, or bring me breakfast, or you suddenly leave and start sleeping in another bed and I’m lost all over again.”

You shifted in your seat, fiddling with your nails, trying to figure out what he meant. If either of you were confused, it was you. “What’re you talking ‘bout, Joel?”

He sighed and finally looked at you, “Talkin’ about us. I’m talking about how infuriating you are.”

Your brows furrowed, scoffing slightly at the tone of his voice. He was still angry, for no damn reason. You stood up, ready to leave, when his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Didn’t say I was done, sweetheart.”

You gasped when he tugged you down. You landed in his lap, his legs spreading to accommodate you. “Joel what’re you doing?”

“Something I’ve been putting off for too damn long.”

Fireworks don’t go off somewhere in the distance and the world doesn’t stop. But your heart races and your body tingles when you taste the whiskey on his lips. You become hyper aware of each individual strand when his hand comes up to bury itself in your hair. 

And when your lips part to let him in you swear you’ve never felt like this before. Your body is working like you’re running from something, getting ready to fight something off, but it’s the first time in a while your mind is completely calm. 

You shift, your legs wrapping around his waist as a blanket of calm drapes itself over you. It rushes through you like a raging river, shutting everything unnecessary down. 

You don’t worry if you’re too out of practice, not having kissed anyone in a long while. You don’t think about if you're too stiff on his lap. You run your hands over his chest, squeezing the muscles of his arms and then letting them delve into his hair. 

At a certain point, you’ll have to breathe. You’ll have to talk about what this means for the two of you. But for right now you’re content, at ease, happy to just live the rest of your days in this moment. 

Kissing Joel Miller like there’s nothing outside these walls, no other purpose but to be with him.

part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the game The Last Of Us, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

TAGLIST: @chrysanthemum-00 @marimarvelfan

Part six of How About a Nuke is posted!

I AM JUST THE SAME AS THE ANON WHO GOT READY TO READ THE RECENT CHAPTER!! I scroll through the cooper x reader tag every day and when I saw this update… I knew I had to wait til I got in bed for the night and cozy up to read it! And it did not disappoint whatsoever!!

Amazing chapter as always, I really hope they make up and make out in the end :’) I can’t wait tos we what you have in store

I am honored to be a fic you need to get cozy for. I have so many in progress fics I’m stalking on here right now that I need to get in that mindset for.

I feel like such a success lol

Also, thank you for the well wishes. I think I’m starting to feel better so I can spend more time editing this chapter yay!

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ

͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝖲𝗍𝗎 𝖬𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋 x fem!reader

╔═ A/N ═╗ Based on this request. I apologize if I got the characterization wrong. I just feel like the darker side to his character is never properly explored. As goofy as he was, he was also a serial killer lmao

✬ Summary ✬ Stu's your best friend, you know him as well as you know yourself. At least you thought so. A snoop through his closet leads to a terrifying discovery. Now, everywhere you turn, that haunting mask is right there waiting.

“God,” you toss the remote on the cushion beside you. It bounces off the oversized couch and flops to the floor. “There’s nothing on TV,” you lament, draping yourself dramatically over the cushions. 

Stu snickers and kicks his legs over the arms of his chair, shrugging with a smug look. “I told you we should have stopped by the video store.” His gaze drifts back toward the TV, grimacing at the obnoxiously loud MTV episode you stopped on. 

“Hell no, Randy’s working tonight,” you scold, sharp gaze snapping toward him. He’s got a stupid grin on his face, clearly having decided that his form of entertainment tonight is going to be pissing you off. “I don’t feel like having him critique me for an hour on my poor taste in movies.”

He snorts and reaches to take a large handful out of the popcorn on the coffee table between you. “Maybe if you didn’t just rent stupid chick flicks all the time, he wouldn’t.” 

Stu doesn’t have time to duck as you chuck one of his mom’s overpriced throw pillows at him. “Don’t act like you don’t love Pretty in Pink.” The pillow knocks the popcorn out of his hand, scattering it across the ornate rug Mrs. Macher bought last week. If she saw the state you’d gotten the house in this weekend, that ever-pulsing vein in her head would burst. As it is, they’re never actually at the house, it’s an oasis for practically half the school during the weekends Stu decides to throw a party. 

For the first time in a while, though, it’s just you and Stu. No one else is here to rile him up or force him to put on a show. He’s at his calmest when it’s just the two of you. Which, honestly, doesn’t mean much for him, but still. 

“I do not,” he objects, stretching out his lanky body and getting to his feet. 

You roll your head lazily to face him, giving him a knowing smirk. “Billy isn’t here, Stu. You don’t have to lie,” you assure him, holding out your arms as he stops in front of you. You already know what he wants, he’s got that specific gleam in his eye as he smiles down at you. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “it’s not bad,” he concedes. Without another word, he throws himself on top of you, even prepared for it, you still feel the breath rush out in one hefty wheeze. Another thing you don’t see as much when others are around, just how goddamn clingy he is. 

Sure, with his multitude of girlfriends, he’s touchy. But this is something different entirely. He clings to you like he would burrow into your skin if he could. He’s been that way since you guys were kids. While the feeling of others touching you might set you on edge, Stu fits against you like your missing piece. 

Hands drifting up to play with his hair, you settle yourself against the cushions while he goes back to channel surfing, pleased to have you as his pillow. 

The TV drones on, a dull buzz in the background now that Stu has the volume down. With his head practically buried between your boobs and your legs wrapped around his waist, you snicker. 

Frowning, he props his chin on your chest, staring up at you. “What?” He demands, hating to be left out of a joke. 

“Nothing,” you shrug as much as you can with him steadily pancaking you. “Just wondering what your girlfriend would think of us like this.”

“Oh,” he sets his head back down and places your hands back on his head to continue playing with his hair. “We broke up,” he tells you, like it means absolutely nothing. 

“Stu!” You slap his shoulder, and he winces dramatically. As if you could ever do real damage to him. 

“Ow!” He whines, bracketing himself up on his elbows so he can look down at you. “What’s your problem tonight?”

His hips are still lazily pressed against you, pressure increasing the longer he hovers above you. Swallowing thickly, you try to ignore the flush spreading through you. “You didn’t tell me you guys broke up.”

He rolls his eyes, glaring down at you. “I just did,” he points out sarcastically. You swat at his shoulder again, but this time, he catches your hand in his, lacing your fingers together with a smug grin as he keeps you trapped. 

“You’re collecting these girls like they’re trading cards.” Despite his tight grip, you manage to slip out slightly from under him and prop yourself against the arm of the couch. “I don’t even remember the last one’s name.”

His face goes slack, lips parting as you see the cogs in his brain turning. He laughs and glances back at you with a dismissive shrug. “Neither do I. I just remember the tits.”

“Ugh,” you yank your hand out of his, ignoring his petulant frown. “You’re absolutely disgusting. What’s the point of even dating them?”

He slinks back against the other end of the couch. “I just said why,” he points to your chest with a grin, and you reflexively cross your arms. Stu tips his head back, dangling it over the edge as he stares up at the ceiling with a forlorn sigh. “I don’t get it,” he tosses his hands up, and you already know where this is going. 

Head tipped back up, he narrows his eyes at you, “I don’t know why we don’t just date.”

You give him a deadpan look, arms still tight around your chest. “Dude,” you chide, “after what you just told me. Seriously?” When you were younger, him saying this used to set you alight. You’d get all dreamy-eyed, imagining what it would be like to be Stu’s girlfriend. Of course, you’d taken too long thinking about it, and by then, he’d already found a different girl to set his sights on. It had broken your heart, and their relationship had barely even lasted a week. 

By now, you know better than to take anything he says seriously. Everything’s just one big joke to him. He’s so fickle you can’t trust that he would actually put effort into anything more blooming between you. You seem to be the only girl in his life that he actually thinks of as a person, going on a few dates with him isn’t worth screwing that up. Besides that, you’re not going to ruin the only friendship you’ve ever had that’s lasted more than two months. 

Stu opens his mouth like he wants to say anything, but it snaps shut a moment later. His face sets into a glower, and you worry for a moment that you might have actually hurt his feelings. You’ve always thought the suggestion was just a sort of inside joke between the two of you. Though, he has been bringing it up more and more lately. 

Your stomach flips unpleasantly, heart aching with guilt. It doesn’t last long, the feeling always remains fleeting. You’ve conditioned yourself for years to dismiss anything that might actually encourage you to pursue something with Stu. You love him, but you two would just be a spark waiting to light up. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” Stu changes the subject, picking up the remote once more and not meeting your eye. Your lips part, and he cuts a glare toward you, “No girlfriend,” he stops you before you can even say anything. Your brows furrow, and he looks back to the TV. “No sleepovers if I’m dating,” he mocks the pitch of your voice, reminding you of the rule you'd enforced so long ago. Your lips fall in a flat, irritated line at his imitation of you. 

“No girlfriend,” he reminds you, feigning indifference even though you can see right through him. Your plan was to go home, but you know him well enough by now. The set of his jaw, the stubborn way he won’t look at you, there’s no actual choice. You’re staying.

“Yeah,” you acquiesce with a low huff. “I’ll need to borrow some clothes.”

“You know where they are,” he tells you, still not meeting your eye. He’s never been this sensitive after you’ve rejected him before. What’s his problem? Eyes narrowed, you get to your feet, glaring at him the whole way up the stairs. He never loses the indifferent look, passive-aggressively turning the TV up. 

Usually, you just grab some pants from the guest room. But with Autumn descending, it’s been getting colder, especially in Stu’s drafty old house. There’s a soft yellow sweater that you’ve always tried to steal from him, and he’s never let you get away with it. 

Nabbing it would probably ease up the weird tension. He is a freak, he does love seeing you in his clothes. You figure it’s a solid plan and slip across the hallway, quietly opening his bedroom door. 

As always, his room is a hot damn mess. The bed’s unmade, sheets completely untucked, and half of them sprawled across the floor. There’s a clearly well-loved nudie mag lying open on his nightstand, boobs bared boldly to the world. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and turn toward his closet. 

Your brows furrow, head tilting at the closed door. As odd as it is, Stu never closes his closet. It’s just another tedious task to him. Besides, he likes to just ball all his clothes up and toss them in wildly. You know his family’s old maid threatened to quit if she had to clean his room ever again. But you wouldn’t believe that looking into the closet now. 

It’s not just clean, it’s pristine. Clothes hung up, sorted by color and sleeve length. Jeans all neatly folded away. The box of old books and junk he had just lying about are tucked up on the top shelf. “What the hell?” You whisper, looking around like you just stepped into Narnia. 

Hell, maybe it’s a portal to a bizarro dimension, it would make more sense than him cleaning up after himself. Whatever, you don’t have time to dwell on Stu’s oddities, you’d just be standing here forever if you did. 

You start in the yellow section of his closet, then drift toward the sweaters. And, of course, the only one you want isn’t anywhere to be found. It has to be buried somewhere in here, and you’re not giving up until that sweater is yours. You dig through his folded pile of jeans recklessly, hoping for a bright spot of yellow to be buried somewhere within them. 

Tugging a little too hard on one of the stacks, something hard clatters against the wooden floor of his closet. “Ah, shit,” you hiss, shoving the jeans back and kneeling to try and spot whatever fell. Lowering your head to the ground, you peer under the hems of his shirts on the lower rack and squint into the shadows. 

There’s a vague shape of something, and you reach toward it. Head tilted the other way, your arm stretches under the sweaters, blindly groping for whatever you sent tumbling. Your fingers snag on fabric, and you grin, thinking it’s the sweater you’ve been coveting. 

Pulling it out, your smile stills, heart rapidly increasing speed until it feels like it’s going to beat out of your ribs. There’s a twisting pain in your stomach, anguish and immediate denial flooding through you as you stare down at the mask in your hands. 

It’s just a cheap drugstore mask. Around Halloween, you could find it anywhere. You could easily dismiss it as something Stu bought as a fucked up joke. Were it not for the flaking copper on the chin of the howling mask. Your fingers tighten around it until you think it might crack. 

Slowly, you tilt your head back toward the shirts. This wasn’t what fell. A part of you screams to just chuck the mask back and pretend you never saw it. You could go downstairs, continue your movie night with Stu, and pass out beside him on the couch. Lying to yourself would be so damn easy. It’s just a mask, half the guys in school bought one because they thought it was a fucking joke. 

But your body isn’t interested in weak excuses. Bowing over, your hand swipes across the wood once more, wrapping around the object that fell. Before you even drag it out, you already know what you’re going to see. A pulsing pain spreads through your chest, eyes watering as you stare down at the knife in your hand. 

A serrated hunting knife, to be exact. The same one Dewey said was used to kill Casey only a week ago. God, how had you not seen this? How could you have been so blind?

Stu had been the number one suspect, but Billy had been his alibi, no one could place him at the scene of the crime.

There has always been something twisted about Billy. It only got worse when his mom left. Maybe this was all his idea, maybe Stu was just dragged into this, but he doesn’t really want-

Your thoughts fade into a dull silence in the back of your mind. There’s no excuse. Stu has always been different, just slightly off. His jokes nearing the wrong side of dark. But you never would have thought him capable of something so brutal. 

Footsteps sound up the stairs, and your brain shocks itself awake. Quickly, you toss the mask back under the clothes and shove the knife into the jeans. Wiping your eyes, you leap to your feet and rush out of the closet just as Stu barrels into his room. 

The both of you pause, staring blankly at each other. You, a deer caught in a hunter’s snare. He, the drooling wolf, waiting to pounce. 

Slowly, his eyes drift toward the closet, the light you left on, and the door you hadn’t had time to close. He turns back to you, and something twisted curls at the edges of his lips. Adrenaline shoots so fast through you it nearly knocks you off your feet. 

“Looking for something?” His tone is light, barely audible, as he takes a step closer. It takes every ounce of self-control not to back away from him. 

Something too strained to be a smile curls your lips up. “Um,” you lick your lips, swallowing down the dryness coating your tongue. You laugh nervously and take a step toward his bed. “Just that sweater I love. 

He stalks towards you, and your eyes widen, heart fluttering in your chest. Just when you think he might run you over, he steps around you and heads toward his dresser. You turn, afraid to take your eyes off of him. 

Peeking above the corner of a drawer is a yellow sleeve. He slips it out easily, holding it out to you with a grin that shows off all his teeth. “Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking around the words as you snatch the sweater out of his hands. 

“I made more popcorn,” he tells you, eyes wild as he stares down at you. “Halloween’s on.” It’s a simple invitation to a movie, but it feels like there’s a knife to your back. You have no choice but to step out of the room and head down the stairs. Every bit of you screams to act natural, to pretend that there’s nothing wrong. 

How could you be? Your best friend, the boy you’re practically in love with, is slaughtering your friends. He’s running rampant through your town and killing girls just because they broke up with him. 

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see him already looking at you. The smile is gone, now he’s just watching you with this bemused expression, like he’s waiting for you to break and make a run for it. 

You take a seat on the couch, lean against the pillows, and glue your eyes to the screen. Suddenly, Jamie Lee Curtis babysitting is the most interesting thing in the world to you. Stu takes his seat beside you, sinking into your side and wrapping his arms around your waist. Stiff as a board, you can’t find it in you to return the touch, too petrified by the thought of all the blood on his hands. 

He doesn’t care for your trepidation, taking your arms and wrapping them around himself. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin as he speaks. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Avoiding Stu has been easier than you thought it would. Usually, he’s more persistent in making you hang out with him. Especially when your parents are both out of town at the same time. But he’s been suspiciously quiet since you prematurely ended your weekend stay last week. 

You managed to make it through the night. Though, while Stu dozed on top of you, you had been wide awake. Limbs stiff, eyes unblinking, the whole night had been spent on high alert. You’re not sure if he knows you know, or just suspects it. Either way, you should have turned him in by now. 

The second you left his house, you should have gone straight to the sheriff. You know who's behind the Woodsboro murders. You know who the infamous Ghostface is, and have a suspicion who his other half might be. You could have stopped all this. 

Casey and Steve would be avenged. If you had something, another person wouldn’t have been killed two days ago. You didn’t know him personally, you’d never even seen Stu or Billy interact with him. But this felt less like an attack on him and more like a threat for you. 

Keep quiet, or you’ll be strung up by your intestines. 

Triple checking all your doors and windows are locked, you head upstairs to your room. Prepared to camp out for another sleepless night. If you turned him in, you wouldn’t have to live with this paranoia anymore. Every corner you turn wouldn’t be prefaced with the idea that he might be waiting behind it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t pick up the phone and call the cops. 

You lay back on your bed, listening to the radio in the hopes it might lull you to sleep. It never works, but you hold out hope. The shrill ring of your home phone echoes throughout your empty home. Sitting up on your elbows, you glare at your closed door like it might shut the damn thing up. 

Abruptly, it cuts off. The empty halls of your home fall silent once more, the low droning of your radio barely audible above the blood rushing through your head. You hold your breath, eyes peeled on the door in front of you, waiting for… something. 

The phone goes off again, and you jump, shooting off your bed and grabbing the bat by your nightstand. Slowly, you open your door, peeking your head out before you attempt to cross the hall to your parent’s room. There’s a phone in there, and you’re more comfortable up here than you are beside your glass patio doors downstairs. 

You practically kick the door open, jumping inside the room like you’re prepared to bludgeon someone with your bat. The shadows are thick inside, but you don’t see a cloaked figure waiting for you within one. Feeling confident enough, you run toward your parent’s nightstand and grab the phone. Running back to your room as fast as you can and slamming the door closed behind you, you sink to the floor. 

Thumb hovering over the button, you let out a shaky breath and answer. “Hello?” You try and instill confidence in your voice, but you can’t hide the tremor. 

“Hey,” Billy’s voice croons on the other end, he says your name, and a shudder rolls down your spine. 

“Billy?” His name is a hoarse croak as you feel your heart thud dully inside your chest. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you something.” He pauses, and you bite your lip, nails digging into your palms as you wait for him to speak. “I’ve always wondered,” there’s a click, and then a raspier, unfamiliar voice speaks, “what do your insides look like?”

Something slams against your front door, and you drop the phone with a shrill scream, jumping to your feet and whirling around. You hear Billy’s distorted cackle echo through the speaker before abruptly cutting off. On the floor, three low beeps sound out. Bending down, you pick up the bulky phone and press it to your ear. Nothing but white noise. You toss the phone on your bed and swallow down another scream. No service. 

You’re all alone. 

The startling realization of silence rushes over you, gooseflesh rises along your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The banging downstairs has quieted and your house is once more silent. But it’s no longer the same vacant stillness it was before. There’s someone here, it’s an instinctive feeling. Long buried prey instincts warning you of a predator sniffing you out.  

Creeping quietly across the floor, you avoid the creaky wood that would give your movements away and once more open the door. It seems foolish to put yourself so boldly out in the open. Being cornered in that room is no better. No matter what, it’s just you and him all alone out here. 

You wonder, as you peek your head around the banister, if this is just Stu stalking you. Is Billy getting rid of a liability? Is it both of them?

One, you could handle on your own. But if it was the both of them, the only thing you could do was go down swinging. If you were going to die tonight, you weren’t going to let it be easy for either of them. 

Your front door is wide open, an easy escape. There was no point in running. Either one of them is waiting outside for you, or they’ve cut the brakes on your car. You crouch, peering through the railings and silently making your way down the stairs. Try as you might, you don’t see signs that anyone has come inside. 

Besides the door, there are no clues to give away where they might have gone. You don’t want to play the role of the bimbo in their sick fantasy. Despite the instinct to call out for someone, you swallow it down and continue through your home. 

Beyond the stark terror of facing your own mortality, there is also the pain of being so thoroughly betrayed by Stu. You know the truth of what he is, of what Billy is. And you kept it quiet. You buried his dark secret like it was your own, protected him. This is how he repays you?

This is his answer after years of you loving him. How could he?

You stand in the middle of your living room, bat hanging limp by your side. The aching pain of grief and fear stills your body. The fight wanes inside you, debating whether or not prolonging this is worth it. The others all fought back, and they died bloody. Maybe if you just gave in, it would be quick, painless. Stu could at least grant you that. 

There’s a brief flash of movement in the reflection of your patio door. It’s slight, like a shifting shadow. Only one thing gives him away, the white, howling mask. Instinct overrides sensitivities, you whip around, bat flying. There’s a low groan as it smashes over his head. 

Reaching up, he snatches it in his hand, using it to jerk you forward. You’re quick to let it go. Instead, you aim for his throat. Hands outstretched as you reach up, gripping his neck as tight as you can. There’s shock in his stuttered breaths, like he hadn’t thought you would fight back. You were beginning to doubt yourself, too. 

Turns out you’re too stubborn to die. 

The bat clacks loudly against the wood as he stumbles back into your mother’s glass coffee table. His legs kick up, tripping you and sending you stumbling into his chest. The both of you go plummeting backward, glass shattering around him and the wood crumpling like a tower of cards. 

Jagged shards cut at your arms and bare legs, but you know he takes the brunt of it. Your grip on his throat is unrelenting, you pick his head up and slam it against the wood. He lets out a dazed groan, and you would laugh were you not trying to stop your best friend from killing you. He seems ridiculous, wearing this stupid cheap mask and moaning like a cartoon character with a bump on their head. 

He bucks under you, hips pressing up against yours as he flips you both over. Pain rips through your back as the glass digs into your skin. Letting out a low whine, your hands slack on him for just a moment. It’s still long enough for him to get the upper hand. 

He straddles your waist, pinning you below him with his weight as he kneels on your swinging arms. You’re utterly paralyzed, with no other choice but to stare up at him as tears stream, hot and slick, down your cheeks. 

Stu rips his mask off, eyes wild as he grins down at you. “Damn, sweetheart,” he laughs, and it only makes you fight harder against him. Screaming through your teeth as you try to buck him off of you. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He tosses the mask to the side and motions to the knife in his hand, “Surprise,” he practically sings the word, watching for your reaction. You bite your tongue, hiccuping on a sob as you stare up at him through blurry eyes. “Right,” he concedes, tilting his head, “you already knew.”

You can feel the blood pooling beneath you, the glass digging further into your shredded skin. It only makes this all the more unbearable. “Stop,” you beg, voice breaking as you struggle to hold back the tears. “I didn’t tell,” you shout at him. “Why are you doing this?” The tears break around the rage slipping through your voice as you glare up at him. 

“What are you talking about?” He snaps, his amusement waning the harder you cry. 

“Billy!” you shout the name out, just barely managing to wiggle one wrist free. He snatches it up instantly, the knife falling beside you as he leans over you, digging your hand into the glass above your head. “He said you wanted to see my insides,” there’s no controlling the sobs now. You don’t want to die. You don’t want Stu to be the one to kill you. Somehow, though, you think this would have hurt worse if it was Billy holding the knife. 

Stu’s face falls before quickly twisting up into something angry. He backs off, easing his weight just enough for the press of glass to sting a little less. “No,” he utters, shaking his head. “No, that’s not the plan.” 

Stu looks nearly manic as he stares down at you. Something unfurls inside you, years of friendship have you reaching up with your free hand. You don’t know what your plan is until he’s leaning into your touch, eyes never leaving yours. 

His hand grips your waist, easing you into a sitting position. You want to curl up into a ball and go hide in a dark corner. You want to shove glass down his throat and run. The knife looks particularly appealing beside you. 

But you do none of that. You let him tug you closer, hand tightening to the point of pain around your waist, but you don’t think he realizes, and you’re too afraid to point it out. “You’re our final girl, baby,” he practically fucking giggles, and you struggle not to flinch from the sound. “He was just fucking with you.”

“Yeah?” You snap, fingers trailing toward his hair and yanking until his face crinkles with pain. “Then what the fuck,” venom coats your tongue, voice low and deadly, “are you doing right now?”

He smiles, leaning into the way you rip at his hair. “Screwing around,” he laughs, and he sounds like a goddamn idiot. Scoffing, you release him, jerking out of his grip and ignoring the way it pulls at the wounds on your back. 

“God,” you crumple into yourself, shoulders hunching forward as you hide your face behind your hands. “I can’t believe I ever thought you could love me. You’re sick, Stu,” you snap, holding back more tears. 

Blood and glass surround you both, the shattered fragments of your friendship. Stu looks more hurt than when you strangled him. He reaches for you, and you jump back, shaking your head. ‘I was never going to kill you,” he swears. But what does the promise of a murderer mean to you?

“I don’t believe you,” voice a whisper, the tears spill over once more. He looks between you and the knife like he can’t decide what to do. You wait for it, for the snap before he just plunges the knife into your gut. Twisting it and dragging your death on. 

Instead, he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around yours and forcing you into his embrace. “Stop,” you claw weakly at his shoulders, snagging your nails in the cheap cloak. You shake your head, but the fight is over before it even begins. Your arms curl around his neck, and you sink into his familiar embrace. 

His gloved hand skates over the wounds on your back, and you whine, arching away from his touch. He offers a whispered apology, but you don’t believe it. “Billy’s not going to touch you,” he swears. “I’m never going to hurt you.”

“You already have.”

His arms only tighten around you, pulling you into his lap as you cry. You might not believe him, but he knows the truth of it. You’re his best friend. The only person besides Billy he’s ever actually cared about. 

You are his perfect final girl, and he’s never going to let you go. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Should have something ready for y’all soon!!

Sorry it’s taking so long, I was injured and thought I was going to write more but I was just essentially in a coma my entire week off lmao

Heading into work again, wish me luck 😋🔫

𖤓 - completed series

ʚɞ - smut

જ⁀➴ - personal favorite

✬ - series

𝕯 - dark

ׂ╰┈➤ WOLVERINE

ೃ⁀➷ Logan Howlett

kid?

nasty dog ʚɞ

we’re dating?

broken promises - forgotten promises ʚɞ

SFW & NSFW alphabets ʚɞ

i don’t know why i bite

not your priority

big bad wolf ʚɞ

chameleon

the newlyweds જ⁀➴

ೃ⁀➷ The Worst Logan

you’re not her જ⁀➴ ʚɞ

mistake

ׂ╰┈➤ KATE & LEOPOLD

ೃ⁀➷ Leopold

timeless