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AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Tags: (mdni) Drama & Romance; Fluff & Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Smut; POV Second Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending. No Beta we die like Yan’s dreams
Chapter Tag: Missing Child. Runaway.
Word count: 5072
Summary
“Andy’s missin’...”
The laughter echoes in the background as you sit with the Fleeting Youth Society for your weekly meeting. The venue today is at the water's edge at the oasis; your friends thought you all needed a break, and having a picnic is the solution. A large, elegant picnic blanket, courtesy of Pablo, is laid over the edge of the banks, a picnic basket with everyone bringing their share, cheese sandwiches from your kitchen, and, Amirah, with the help of Owen, bakes a mushroom forest cake. Nia and Mi-an share their homemade potato salad. Elsie arrives with Mabel's famous sand jujube cake and banana-orange gelatin.
Nia shrieks as she sees you wearing the swimsuit. The soft hands intertwine with yours as she spins you around, looking you up and down, "See, it's perfect," and plants a kiss on your cheek. She leans in closer, and you are engulfed in the sweet scent of roses, and she whispers. "I'm here."
You nod as you push the sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, the tinted lenses hiding your puffy eyes. The subtle gestures of hugs and softness when they spoke on topics of relationships are not lost on you, and you speak up. “We broke up. End of story,”
“Dahling, no lies, please,” Pablo reassures you as he leans back on the blanket. “The perils of falling in love in the heat of battle, the aftermath, struggling to live in the ordinary, such a cliché romance trope.”
"Shut it!" Nia calls out bitter through gritted teeth, and glares at him.
You let out an exasperated sigh, “I’m thinking about the offer from the General.”
The conversation comes to a screeching halt as all eyes focus on you with their mouths agape. The subtle splashing of the water hitting the edges of the shore permeates the space; the soft rays reflecting off the almost glass-like surface hold all of your attention, aware of their burning stares.
“There's nothing..."
"Hey, Y'all."
The words hang as you retreat, hearing Heidi's voice, interrupting you mid-sentence, arriving, accompanied by four strangers carrying a cooler.
The conversation shifts as Heidi introduces her four former schoolmates from Atarra.
You quietly move with everyone, making room for the new arrivals as the discussion revolves around a myriad of topics, taking you out of your melancholy state. A person stations himself right next to you, and you hardly notice.
A short while later, the loud susurations are relegated to background noise as he takes most of your attention. His honey amber eyes, rimmed with sunlight, stare deep but are unable to gaze into your blue-green ones hidden behind your sunnies. He follows your lead as you dip your feet in the water, his colorful shirt open, revealing his builder body, toned, ripped muscles perfectly proportionate to his height; his skin golden, from working outside, with the beads of sweat glistening, and he runs his hand across his brows.
"Heidi warned me of the heat, but I had no idea. How do you do it? It must have been hard when you first arrived. Highwind, with its lush greens and cool temperatures a stark contrast with the arid lands and extreme temperatures."
"You get used to it."
His rough, callused hands from building, grazing yours, linger a bit longer, as he hands you yakmel milk.
"Governor, that's quite an honor."
You shrug.
"I confess, I have ulterior motives for coming to Sandrock aside from visiting my friend."
The silence stretches, waiting.
A smile dawns on his lips, revealing beautiful dimples, softening his sharp features, "I wanted to meet the one who beat me and won builder of the decade."
A bright blush spreads through his cheeks and ears, and he rubs the back of his neck, "I heard you were brilliant and talented, but I didn't expect—well—you.
He is facing you, but your attention keeps to the water.
"I understand why Sandrock is thriving. The General would be lucky to have you running one of the settlements."
In a barely audible voice, "It's a team effort."
He chuckles and rolls his eyes, "And humble. Darn, do you have any flaws at all?"
Your thumb grazes the empty spot on your ring finger as you consider his question.
Pablo interjected, "Oh, dahling, she has many flaws, but if we tell you, we'll have to kill you." The whole party, you now notice, gazing at the two of you with unmitigated interest, broke out into laughter.
The loud chortles and susurations call the attention of the other Sandrockers to your little gathering, and slowly, one by one, they decided to join your little group. Arvio arrives with Earnest, contributing meat-stuffed mushrooms. The junior Pastor Burgess, sitting with a bowl of grits. Doctor Fang saunters over with his basket of herbs, soaking his feet, reminding you to stock up on heatstroke medicines.
Deputy Unsuur comes over to check for safety, and Sheriff Justice does a couple of rounds, eventually dismounting and sitting beside Heidi.
Teacher Jane arrives with the kids after class. Andy and Jasmine settle themselves around you, urging you to play skipping stones, which ended with Jasmine winning every round.
The last slivers of the day ebbs away, Owen arrives and helps Jane rein in the kids. The long faces, proceeds to dust themselves and gather their belongings as they prepare to head home.
Your imperceptively tremble as you help Andy with packing his rucksack. The warmth envelops you as his tiny arms wraps you in an embrace, and you hold him until he releases you, and whispers, "I miss yer."
A sob is caught in your throat as you card your fingers through his blond locks, combing the unruly strands into place. The tears gather as you watch the tiny figure saunter home on the same familiar path, grateful for the shades hiding the sadness in your eyes.
The long shadows of the evening urge your little get-together to disband. After the sweet goodbyes and lingering hugs, with the rucksack resting on your shoulders, and sunglasses atop your head pulling your hair back, you turn in the opposite direction for the workshop.
"Can I walk you home?"
You shake your head, "I live on the other side of the tracks…"
The heavy pack slips from your shoulders into his hands. "Lead the way."
The icy desert wind begins to blow, and you imperceptibly tremble, wrapping your pashmina tighter over your shoulders; the scent of cedar-wood and cinnamon with a hint of soap envelops you as he drapes his duster over your shawl.
The lamplight from the oasis disappears, and the two of you are at the mercy of the moon and stars; the gravel underfoot cracks as he pauses, and his breath hitches.
"Peach, this place is beautiful."
You smile as you watch the wonder in his eyes.
He gazes and fixates on your blue-green pools, catching the slivers of moonlight, "You, and this place..."
A bright blush forms on your cheeks, and the two of you continue; he shifts closer, trying to shield you from the cold breeze as his hand ghosts the small of your back.
As you near the workshop, you recognize an impressive silhouette standing by the gates, and an audible sigh falls from your lips. The sand rolls as you pause and face your new friend; you relieve yourself of his cloak, returning it, and his hand grazes yours, tarrying a beat longer.
"I can take it from here."
The creases on his forehead deepen as he follows your line of sight, asking. "You sure? Who… Is he bothering you?" A loud exhale escapes him; he stands taller, with his beautiful, muscular frame towering over you. "I heard you can take care of yourself, the bandit, the Knight, and Duvos army…" The words hang as he notices your raised brow; he rubs the back of his neck, and he smiles sheepishly. "Okay, so Heidi did tell me some stuff 'bout you…"
You cough out a laugh, and you smile.
His tone deepens, "The offer still stands, you want me to…"
You talk over him and list, "I can't cook, snore like a freight train, and have ice-cold feet."
His brows furrow. "What?"
"Flaws, if you're defending me, you should know what you're fighting for."
His laughter echoes, "First, thick socks; second, noise-cancelling headphones, any Builder worth their salt has a pair; and lastly, I'm a great cook."
The blush now deepens into a crimson hue as your delicate hand wispily runs down his arm, feeling the roped muscles underneath flex and tighten under your touch; you continue smiling at his bravado, shaking your head. "He's a friend…"
"Funny, I didn't see him join us in the oasis."
"He's shy." The words fall from your lips before you have a chance to think, carry no weight.
"Yer heard the lady, she can handle it from here, builder boy." The thick drawl cut with the precision of a knife as he stations himself closer, joining the conversation.
The resolve did not waver as his honey-amber eyes met his wintery sea-glass blue pools, and the Eufaula hushed.
Your voice breaks through the tension. "I appreciate the offer and the company."
His gaze returns to meet yours, his eyes soften, the distance between you disappears; he approaches and whispers in the shelf of your ear, "I had a nice time. I'm staying a few days, and I'd like to take you out on a proper date."
A smile laces your lips, and you nod.
The gravel rolls off his boots as he throws Logan a fleeting glance, then slowly withdraws and heads towards the apartments.
Logan keeps an eye on him a moment longer before he shifts all his attention to you, “Hey,” the familiar drawl now softer.
A pout now replaces the smile, you hug yourself tighter as you try to stave off the cold air, and you walk past him, well aware he can smell the yakmel milk on your breath. “Come to insult me some more?”
He matches your pace as he takes his horned hat off, carding his finger through his chalk-white hair. “Please, can we talk?”
You pause and turn to watch him, eyes glassy, waiting. The blues of his eyes deepen as he traces your silhouette through your swimsuit, and you feel the familiar heat pooling, aching for his touch. You snap, "Eyes up here, yakboy."
"You wore that to the oasis?!"
The pout deepens into a scowl, "You wanna talk about my swimsuit?"
An audible exhale escapes him as his lips twitch in disgust, "Who's yer, new friend?"
"None…" You pause, a haughty grin laces your lips, and continue, "Oh, him? My builder."
The vein in his forehead becomes visible as he shifts uncomfortably, his muscles tense underneath the armor, and he glares in the direction of where the man sauntered off.
You roll your eyes and ask innocently, "Is that it?" In the same breath, you query, "Can I go now…"
“I’m sorry. The broken promises, not talkin' to you about trips in the desert, always assumin’ you'd be here waitin'. I understand now it ain’t fair to you.”
He approaches, closer but not touching, and you feel the heat emanating from his skin.
“I care for you, we're no fuck-buddies—you're my darlin'." His head turns in the direction of the man who brought you home, his fists tighten with a heavy sigh, and his gaze returns to you. "I've never wanted anyone else after we met… We-we made love, I ache for you every damn minute of every day, only yer…"
The yakmel in your system is making you take liberties. "Sounds serious, you should see Fang about that."
His brows furrow, "I ain't joking."
You shrug, "Neither am I."
"Everything I did was for us, our future… please tell me how to fix this… give me another chance, darlin’.”
You meet his gaze, the blue-green irises flickering in the moonlight, turbulent, searching his sea-glass blue pools.
"First, I ain't yer, darlin'." Your voice mirrors his signature drawl.
"Second," your finger taps his chest, " You've never even said, I love you."
"Third," the slur in your voice is more pronounced, "You say, I care for you, yet break promises over and over and… you just agree to go into the desert without talking to me… What if I planned something, ha? What then?"
"Did you plan something?"
Your brows furrow, and you answer, "No," your voice two octaves higher, "That's not the point."
A deep sigh falls, and he drawls, "Yer drunk."
A derisive laugh falls from you, "Why, yes, I am."
Your demeanor shifts, taking up space, erasing the distance between you, speaking in a heavy tone. "Not so drunk as to forget, you insulted me in front of our friends."
You turn to leave, and at the door, you pause, "Go away."
The words cut like a well-crafted blade, and he lost his breath.
♃⭑𓂃
The pounding on your head mirrors the loud, screaming winds as you feel the pelting of the sand and gravel upon your roof. It is an assault on all your senses, exacerbated by the effects of the copious amounts of yakmel milk from the night before. You pull a pillow over your head as you try to stave off the incessant pummeling on the side of your head.
The fabric rustles as you throw the blanket off. A breath escapes your lips as the cold floor greets your warm, bare feet, and a shiver rolls down your spine.
Water. I need water.
The dark sky welcomes you as you step into your yard. The sand wall vibrates violently against the hostile winds and dirt blitzing it. The sandstorm today is particularly brutal, and you whisper a silent gratitude for the architect's brilliant design as you scan your perimeter. The pets are all accounted for as they played happily in the garden, and you smile, whispering. "Guess, we're all taking the day off."
You load the machines and peek at your mailbox before you sit alone for breakfast.
The silhouette traversing the vicious conditions calls your attention, approaching your gate. The only person you know who can navigate through the middle of a savage black blizzard and still cut an impressive figure. The pounding in your chest matches the violent winds, and you hold the gate. The line between your brows deepens, and you whisper, "Logan."
The relief evident on his face the moment he enters and dismounts. He wastes no time as he speaks, “Hey, uhm, sorry to bother yer.”
You bite the inside of your cheeks as you silently listen, waiting.
“Andy’s missin’...”
The concern dripping from his voice, and you lose your breath; you blow your whistle for Nemo. You stretch your arm towards Logan, demanding, “Give it to me.”
A child's tiny shirt is placed in your outstretched palm; you immediately cuddle Nemo and give him several whiffs of the article of clothing. The dog barks and wiggles his tail, and you scratch behind his ears, "Good boy, Nemo. Find Andy. Go!"
Nemo barks and bolts out of the yard; the sound of the swinging gates echoes in his wake.
You blow the whistle, summoning Coco and Merle: you mount the goat.
“Yer don’t…” Logan protests.
A shadow crosses your feature as you glance at him, “Don’t!”
He nods as he moves out of the way, and he gets back on Rambo.
Coco continues to hover overhead, and you give the command. "Coco follow Nemo."
The owl circles twice and is gone; you nudge Merle, and follow with Logan right behind.
The sand and wind pelt you mercilessly. You ignore the pounding in your chest, focusing on finding the child. The numbness in your hand travels up to your arm as you tightly hold on to the reins, and cold sweat dampens your back as you struggle to focus on the terrain. The tears brim as you notice your owl heading deeper into the Eufaula expanse.
The heavy hooves of Rambo's hooves echo behind as Coco circles back several times, making sure the two of you are still on the right path.
The trail ends at the foot of the Shipwreck ruins in the Eufaula.
You do not even remember ascending the ladder; on top, along the entryway near the door of the ruins, Andy is sitting with Nemo. The warmth envelops you as you hug the child.
A large smile on his lips as he tightens his tiny arms around you and whispers, “I knew you’d find me.”
Your hands tremble as you slowly run them along his body, searching for injuries, asking, “Are you hurt?”
The bright amber hazel eyes dart between you and Logan, and with a mischievous grin, he queries. "So have you guys made up yet?”
The honesty in the question makes your breath hitch, and you pull him into an all-encompassing embrace, "Time to come home."
He starts squirming out of your arms with his eyes, darting between you and Logan, demanding, “No, not until yer guys make up, we’re family, what’d matter with ya all?”
The protests lancing through your heart, the tears began to gather, and you withdrew.
Logan steps in, approaching the child; he runs his fingers through the blond locks, taming them in place. "Look, pal," he gazes at you, but your attention is in the storm, "Let's get yer home."
The child huffing, his brows furrowing, he plops himself on the floor as he anchors his arms and legs on the metal post. "I ain’t goin’.”
A loud exhale falls from Logan's lips, and he takes off his hat, fiddling with the brim, “I promise we’ll talk once we’re home and outta the storm.”
The misty-eyed amber-hazel pools meet his powder-blues and ask, "The workshop… our home?”
The utterance pulls you back, and you drag your hand across your face; you turn to gaze at them, finding the two staring at you. You manage a half-smile, holding back the tears. The gesture is all too familiar as Logan's breath hitches.
“Of course.” The answer falls from your lips as you extend your hand, offering it to the child. Andy's eyes light up as he sprints and hugs you, babbling in between sniffles, “I missed yer.”
Your embrace tightens as you whisper, "I missed you, too, my sweet-sweet boy. Let's go home."
The winds howl, and the storm continues to rage; Logan anchors Andy between the two of you as you descend the stairs. At the bottom, he wraps you and Andy in his duster and tethers Merle onto Rambo as he takes the lead; with almost zero visibility, he navigates towards the workshop.
"Use the mudroom downstairs, towels in the cabinet…"
The back door slams shut as Andy sprints inside, no longer listening with Nemo in tow.
The gravel beneath your feet shifts, and your world spins; your knuckles turning white at how hard you are gripping the post, which anchors you to the present. Long labored breaths escape you as the tears stream down your cheeks, and you visibly tremble.
Logan hitches the goats, unloading the side saddles, turns, and notices your distress; he approaches and wraps you in his arms.
"I'm… I'm…." The words fall, and you are unable to form a coherent thought.
"Shhh."
His large arms tighten around you as his hand trails up and down your back, drawing small circles.
"He's fine now, thanks to yer."
The scent of vanilla and leather envelops you as you bury your head deeper into his chest; you mumble, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm cryin'… I could strangle him… "
He rests his head on the top of your head and releases a loud sigh, "He's home."
In between sobs, you question him, "How can you be so calm?"
A loud exhale escapes his lips, as his arms tighten, answers, "I ain't."
Your body betrays you, and you melt into his embrace.
"I'm sorry…"
"Hey-hey, ain't nothin'."
The walls vibrate as the winds howl, and he holds you.
When your sobs settle, he gently loosens his embrace enough to gaze into your eyes, and he proceeds to wipe your tears. His deep ocean blue irises stare into your turbulent blue-green ones; his breath hitches—
"You're beautiful."
You choke a laugh as your brows furrow, "Yeah, caked in gravel and mud, half the sand in the desert in my gullet, I'm the belle of the ball." A smile creeping at the corners of your lips.
"There she is."
The warmth envelopes you as his arms tighten, and you instinctively lean in.
A sigh falls from your lips, and you speak in a tone mirroring your sadness, "I gotta clean up, we both do, feel free to use the mudroom."
You release your hold, and he reluctantly follows your lead; you focus on the ground as you head upstairs.
The edge of the bed dips, cradling your weight. You sit, squeezing the ends of your wet hair in a towel, and a half-smile dawns on your lips as you listen to the sounds emanating from your kitchen through the open doors of your bedroom. The voices carry through vast empty spaces of your home, arguing and laughing amidst the clanging of the pots and pans, with cabinet doors opening and closing. The smell of a delicious meal permeates the air, the tears stain your cheeks, as you fist the tops of the sheets, and you weep.
A while later, you find an all too familiar sight, Logan busy cooking and boiling water, masterfully maneuvering your kitchen. The space buzzes to life as the accoutrements celebrate their release from the oppressive clutches of inactivity. The entryway bears your weight as you lean, watching, the white tee and jeans both hugging his impressive physique, with pieces of his chalk-white hair perfectly framing his well-cut jawline— a half-smile dawns on your lips, as a breath escapes you. You drag your hand across your face.
"Hey, beautiful."
A soft smile laces his lips, hearing the words, "Well, been told I do clean up nicely."
You nod in agreement, "Admire the confidence."
The impressive figure takes a deep breath and stands taller, taking up space. "I was hoping for more than admire."
A smirk forms on your lips, "Must work wonders on tourists."
His stare softens, filled with ardent affection, as he beholds your puffy eyes, "I ain't looking."
You dismiss the utterance and gaze out your window onto the desert, "Ya, the Eufaula is a cruel mistress."
His smile vanishes, and yet his gaze remains fixated on you.
You scan the space and find no sign of the runaway; he catches your eye, and you raise a brow, questioning.
"Our escape artist is asleep."
He longingly stares at you; a bright blush forms, and your heart skips several beats. The familiar feelings linger, and in the same breath, trepidation whispers along your spine, and the memory of nights alone waiting in the same space replays in your mind, and you avert your gaze.
A deep sigh falls from his lips, and he turns to the stove.
He places a bowl of beef noodles on the table, pulling a chair, "Come and eat."
You sit and take a spoonful, "It's delicious."
He smiles.
Your brows furrow, and you ask, "You're not eating."
"I ate with Andy."
An audible sigh escapes you, and your face drops, and you finish your food in silence.
Once done, he takes your bowl and hands you a mug, "I made yer tea, with honey, just the way yer like it."
His hand grazes yours, and they tarry a little longer.
You bring your cup in front of the fireplace and settle; a short while later, he joins you with yakmel milk in hand and takes the space beside you. The silence stretches, questioning.
"How've you been?" You both utter at the same time, causing you to laugh in unison.
He clears his throat, "I didn't forget… I meant to make it up to yer when I got back... Best believe, it'll never happen again… Give me another ..."
"Martle Square?"
A loud exhale leaves his lips as his hand grazes his cheek. "I've no excuse; I deserve that slap and more."
The silent stretches…
"Please tell me how I can make it right."
"What, and give up all the gifts? I don't think so."
His voice drops to a whisper full of regret, "I wanted to apologize, didn't know how. I thought I'd give you something yer could use in the workshop. Did you like them?"
"…and the letters?"
"I meant every word."
He takes a drink, "Out in the wilds, all the nights I wasn't with yer, I watched the campfire and imagined I was sitting right here with yer, like this. I missed yer so much my heart ached.
The lines on your face deepen, and you turn to him, "You never..."
"It would go away every time I saw yer."
He gently lifts your chin, meets your gaze, "I care for you, darlin'."
The warmth spreads across your cheeks. The heat emanates through the two of you and bleeds through the room. You stare at the familiar face, memorizing each line and every imperceptible twitch of his muscle. You withdraw, "You should go to bed."
He reaches and holds your hand, thumb slowly massaging your knuckles, "Stay, we could just be like this."
♃⭑𓂃
The morning light slowly creeps through the windows, and the sandstorm is a distant memory. You find yourself awake long before your eyes open. The warmth envelopes you, and you lean into the familiar and comforting feelings. Your hands roam his bare skin under the shirt, and you tighten your hold, and a soft moan leaves your lips, asking for a few more minutes of slumber. The impossibly large arms tighten around you, creating a soothing space, and you settle, falling back to sleep.
You wake with your head buried on his chest; his arms completely enveloping you, lying comfortably on the couch, sharing a blanket. The pounding of your heart is deafening in stark contrast to his calm beats, as you find both your hands under his shirt, slowly, you try to get up; his arms tighten, and he mumbles. "Not yet."
In a hushed tone, you answer, "Andy's going to get up soon. What do we tell him?"
The weight of his body leans in deeper into you, and he lets out a breath, "That I care for yer"
"You're not helping."
In a panic, you try to crawl off him, failing as you end up on top of him, with him locking you in a tight embrace, holding you in place. Your heart starts beating in rhythm with his, and your body betrays you as you settle comfortably enveloped in his arms.
"Let me go."
"Not until you forgive me."
"Fine, you're forgiven."
"So we're back together."
"Wait-What? No!"
"So, I'm not forgiven."
"You're forgiven, but I can't. Not again."
"Why not?" His arm starts stroking your back as he utters, "I care for you, and you love me."
"Exactly that, I love you, and you care for me." The tone is crisp and curt as you extricate yourself from him.
"I'll make it up to you if it takes me the rest of my life to do it."
"That's not how love works."
He props himself up on his elbows, facing you, "Oh, Andy got up an hour ago, he already saw us. Made a heart sign thing with his hands, I think, he thinks we made up."
A loud sigh escapes your lips, and you snap, "Damn it, Logan."
His blue irises sparkle, reflecting the sun, with a giant smile on his face, "I didn't want to wake you up. Yer were so beautiful, comfortably nestled in my arms. Can yer blame me?"
You furrow your brows, "I do not nestle..." The words hang as you stare at him, with his messy hair, crumpled shirt, and cocky smile…
Swiftly, he is on his feet, "I'm making yer breakfast."
"I don't think…"
He waltzes into the kitchen with the confidence of a man who would not be denied, announcing with his whole chest, "Yer gotta eat."
A long sigh escapes you, and you begrudgingly follow, taking one of the chairs on the counter, watching him make breakfast. The kitchen buzzes to life as he expertly maneuvers inside the space, opening drawers and preheating the oven, as he makes your favorite, bacon, soft scrambled eggs, and toast. While waiting for food to come to the perfect temperature, he makes your morning coffee with just milk and his black. He clinks his mug with yours, and you both take a sip.
An air of melancholy reflects in your features, and you ask him, "What are we doing?" Your irises stare searching his, in between sips.
His eyes meet yours, soft, and he says, "I'm making yer breakfast because yer forget to eat…and apologizing. Making up for all the mornings I promised to be here but wasn't."
The honesty of the response makes your heart soar as a whisper of trepidation takes hold of your spine, and you ask. "To what end?"
A loud exhale leaves his lips as he leans his weight on the counter and responds, "Until you forgive me enough that I can finally come home… Maybe finally celebrate our anniversary."
The words land heavily, and your hands ball into fists on top of your pajamas, and you bite back, "You have a home."
The anger in your tone is evident, and his demeanor softens, and he responds, "You're my home, darlin'. Everything else is just walls with a roof."
The tears gather, and you avert your gaze, staring out your window, into the Eufaula, as a sob is caught in your throat.
"For a long time, you were my world," your voice threatens to break as more of your tears brim at the corners of your eyes, you continue, "… and, with every broken promise…" The tears fall, and your breath hitches, "… chipped at the home we built," your sob echoes in the silence, " you never even noticed." The blue-green irises meet his ocean blues, "Until-until, there was nothing left except rubble." Your voice finally breaks, and you continue weeping, shaking your head. "There's nothing left—nothing to celebrate."
The sea-glass blues mirror your sadness, and he reaches for your hand. You withdraw, pushing your chair back; you retrieve two pieces of paper from a drawer and hand them to him.
The lines on his face deepen, and he stills as his grip on the counter tightens, knuckles turn white as he anchors himself.
"What I wanted to talk to you about…" A breath falls from your lips, "It's a good offer…
The words hang as you cross your arms, hugging yourself.
"I deceived myself, making up excuses, reasons to stay… It was an illusion—there's nothing left to celebrate."
Slowly, he approaches you and gently caress you cheek, wiping the tears, "I messed up and hurt yer." The desperation dripping from his voice as his drawl deepens, "I don't expect yer to forgive me or believe me, when I've broken so many promises." The tears in his eyes gather as your gaze locks.
"We're family… I care for you."
A sadness drapes over you as the familiar ache settles, having heard the words.
He recognizes the shift and continues, "I will take care of you always."
"Like a pet." The utterance is laced with so much melancholy.
He swallows an impossibly large lump, and he snaps. "Anyone can say, I love you and not mean it. My ma said it all the time, and yet she left us." The tone is heavy with grit and conviction, offering no refute.
"I care for you—Is better? Yet, break promises over and over."
A half-smile laces your lips, your gaze soft, holding his, "Not much has changed. I love you, and I'm leaving." You avert your eyes as you glare at the Eufaula, and your shoulders drop. "At least you know why."
Author's Note:
This is a retelling of the short series, Back To You; Part 4, Sandstorm
Tags: Drama & Romance; Fluff & Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Smut; POV Second Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending. No Beta, we die like Yan’s dreams
NSFW
Summary:
The moment is perfection, woven into existence as a drop from the heavens, and a whisper of trepidation breathes at the edges, a wicked reminder of the fragility of you and what the two of you share. He shifts as his breath hitches, subtle, but you notice.
AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Chapter Two/Chapter Four
Chapter 3: Memory in Water
The beads of sweat pool on the crest of your brows, and the buttons on your armor are already undone, revealing the shirt underneath, drenched in perspiration, clinging to your skin, as you continue to make your case, voice straining, "Please, increase my daily commission quota."
The Commissioner, Wei, refuses to meet your turbulent blue-green pools with his head buried in the folder he is reading, and simply answers, "No."
You lean both your hands on his desk, and you plead, asking, "Why?"
"Because we pride ourselves on work-life balance. You, young lady, have none."
The blue-green of your irises flickers as you mindlessly tap your fingers on the desk and utter, "I miss Yan."
A languid breath escapes him as he closes the folder and slowly meets your gaze, "What is this really about?"
"Sandrock needs rebuilding, and I need…"
The softness in his emerald-green eyes meets yours, the tears brim, and your voice breaks at the last syllable.
He pushes off and rounds the corner of his desk, approaches, bridging the distance, and reaches his hand. Your eyes widen, and you retreat, taking a few steps back.
He pauses, "I heard—"
You cross your arms, hugging yourself, and in a voice barely above a whisper, "This has… forget I asked."
A sigh falls from his lips, "You're going to burn out… machines running twenty-four seven… hours inside the mines… taking the big load commissions…"
Your arms tighten around you, and cut him mid-sentence in a tone laced with sadness. "Don't worry, I won't be your problem for long."
The room stills as he stares into your eyes; you avert your gaze, and the door closes.
A blur of faces passes you as you head back to the workshop.
I heard—
The words echo, and your thoughts wander to the contracts offering a promise of a new settlement, with anonymity.
A lone letter sitting inside your mailbox draws your attention as it welcomes you home; your brow furrows as you retrieve and mull over its contents.
The squished flower of the beaver tail cactus greets you, hiding within the folds of the paper, and your hands visibly tremble. A single tear falls, staining your cheek as your heart soars and breaks in the same breath; a sadness drapes over your eyes as the memories flood in…
“Bring your swimsuit.”
The drawl thickens as he shouts, pulling on the reins, heading home to Andy.
The lines between your brows become deep, and you respond with your own question, “What? Why?”
A sharp exhale escapes you as you watch him, further now, and you know that an answer is not forthcoming.
The following morning, before a whisper of dawn appears, the cold air is already running through you, sending shivers up your spine with the sand and gravel pelting you. A precious pout forms on your lips as you watch the impressive silhouette riding ahead of you. The cobwebs of sleep cling to you as you crave the warmth of your bed.
He shoots you fleeting glances and smiles as you struggle with the reins to keep pace.
A mischievous grin laces your lips as he is in no danger of losing you in the vast expanse, as his maniacal chortle carries, and you will just follow the echoes through the dunes.
The line between your brows deepens. In the distance, all you see up to the vanishing point are bare, arid lands. The first slivers of light break through the grays of the horizon, and the blues peek; soon, the ebullient hues of reds and oranges explode, dominating the sky.
He pauses and waits for you, and as you come up beside him, his warm lips touch yours in a kiss, "G'd mornin', darlin'."
A smile tugs at the edges of your lips as he tastes of sunshine and coffee.
He nudges Rambo, and he is off.
A short while later, you see it; amidst the sea of browns and tan is a sputtering of greens. Your breath hitches, and you whisper, "Peach, an oasis."
The gravel breaks as Merle rears to a stop, and you are greeted by an abundance of Joshua trees, chaparral yuccas, tobacco trees, and a sprinkling of wild flowers, creosote bushes, brittle bushes, and beaver tail cactus; the foliage surrounding the magnificent reservoir. Your best friend, Nia, the botanist, will die if she sees the assortment that is lying before you.
The sand explodes into tiny dust clouds as you hop off Merle and run through, the tiny grass bow underfoot, and the softness grazing the tips of your fingers, minding the sharp spines. The smell of scented greens surrounds you, and you query, “Is this real?”
A smug smirk laces his lips as he dismounts. “I found this place while mapping. I thought of you.”
You sprint, leaping into his arms, straddle-hugging him; the force makes him take a couple of steps back. He holds you, as if you are something sacred, burying his head in the crook of your neck.
“Oft! I guess you approve?”
You squeeze him tighter, “It’s perfect.”
“You're perfect, darlin'. Did yer try the water?”
You release him enough to meet his gaze, a brow raised. The blues in his eyes deepen, and yet he reveals nothing as he places you down, and you approach the water's edge; you glimpse at him, through your thick lashes, and run your hand through the crystal pool—hot. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out…
You smile so wide your eyes dance.
The moment is perfection, woven into existence as a drop from the heavens, and a whisper of trepidation breathes at the edges, a wicked reminder of the fragility of you and what the two of you share. He shifts as his breath catches, subtle, you pause a brow arches watching him and ask.
"You okay?"
A strangled sigh escapes him, "Right as rain, darlin'."
He is already immersed as you tentatively step out from behind some trees. The bikini is a gift from Nia from one of her trips to Walnut Grove and is the only bathing suit you own. The cut and the design are something you would not have picked for yourself, thus have never worn at the Oasis back in Sandrock.
The emerald green color mirrors your eyes, blue hues recede, making your irises sparkle like jewels, enchanting; the cut of the suit hugs every delicious curve of your body, emphasizing your perfect silhouette, supporting a scant back.
The blues of his irises seem to deepen as he trains his gaze on you, his breath hitches as he stares and roams your figure before he catches himself and returns to meet your gaze, supporting a haughty grin.
"Gotta send Nia flowers with a card thankin' her."
You wring your hands and ask, “How do I look?”
The words fail him, as all the blood rushes south.
The corners of your lips turn down into a cute pout, which he finds even more endearing.
"I knew it, I look awful."
“Not the words I’d use...glad yer never wore that in the oasis and never will without me.” The drawl is heavy, laced with finality.
A bright blush blooms, and you giggle. “You’re just saying that.”
The water splashes as he approaches the edge to meet you, mindful to keep his lower half under. “Come here, and I’ll show yer how beautiful I think yer are in that suit.”
He helps you enter, slowly getting used to the temperature.
“Yer gorgeous, Darlin'.” He kisses you, his tongue grazing the outline of your lips; you relent and open, and he tastes everything.
He settles on some smooth rocks. You straddle him; he cradles you as if you were something precious. Slowly, he scoops and lets the water run down your body, making the swimsuit cling like a second skin.
“I heard yer pay for stuff like this in the big cities called Spa. I guess we have our own private one free and right in our backyard.”
A slight haze of lustfulness grips him as he beholds the beads of water glistening dancing on your skin; his eyes breathe in your silhouette as if you were to disappear, and his hands roam your figure, memorizing every curve. His breath hitches as his body reacts to your softness and heat; his hand on your hips, the other ghosting your lower back, anchoring you firmly on him. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, intoxicated by your scent, as he feels the swell of your breast.
Your fingers trail through his chalk-white hair; you whisper, “You won’t take anyone else here?”
"No."
"What about those who commission you to take them exploring?"
He speaks in the shelf of your ear, “They're gettin' the caves and dunes. This-This is our own little piece of Eufaula, I ain’t sharing.”
You feel him taut and warm inside his trunks against your core, and you ask, "Is this for me?"
He nods, his control teetering on the edge as you tease him and slowly grind down on him at a devastatingly glacial pace, feeling every inch of him against the flimsy cloth. A stuttering moan escapes him; he reflexively twitches up against your core as he tightens his embrace. The burn in your cheeks makes you blush, and you repeat the motion,
You whisper, "I want you, Logan."
Tenderly, your lips find his, kissing him unhurried and purposeful, and he responds, hungry and consuming, passionately sharing a secret in a language that only the two of you understand. You taste the coffee and mint, and his warm breath on you.
Your nipples pebble, taut against your suit, and he leans down lower, sucking them through the thin fabric. A breathy moan escapes you as you card your fingers through his damp hair, pulling him closer. His warm hands take both straps of your swimsuit down, exposing your breasts, and he laps them both hungrily. You giggle as his teeth graze your sensitive nipples.
You move and remove all of the clothing while enjoying him sucking and biting your breasts, leaving purple marks on them.
Your hand moves inside his swim shorts and holds his length; you pump him as you feel the warm bead leaking from the tip. A groan falls in between him as he sucks and bites your sensitive skin.
"I want this off…"
He is naked even before you finish the sentence, and yet his lips never leave your skin.
His hand rests at the small of your back, anchoring, his thighs move to spread you wider, and his other hand massages your folds as he kisses your lips, taking away all your breath. Two fingers enter as his thick, callused thumb draws circles around your aching clit, you gasp.
He drags in and out at a devastatingly slow, deliberate pace; you grind down to catch his. Your hips roll, matching his movements, your tongue swirls playfully around his, tasting fresh water and coffee. The fingers inside you fold, finding your sweet spot where he knows you teeter, and your arms tighten around him; your taut nipples grazing his chiseled chest as you move faster. The water ripples around you, mirroring your actions.
The rough ridges of his thumb relentlessly drawing on your engorged clit, as his fingers go in and out in rhythm with your body, making sure to hit the bundle of nerves. Sweet, delicious moans fall from your lips, and the coils tighten…
"Lo… Logan…"
…and snap. You scream, he swallows all the lewd sounds you make… You squeeze, and his fingers, bending, massage your walls, making your orgasm last.
You bury your flushed face at the crook of his neck as a smug smile tugs at his face; he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them dry, tasting your arousal.
"Always so sweet, for me."
Your arm tightens around him as you feel him hard under you.
He begins rubbing the tip of his hard cock on your sensitive folds and clit, you mewl, as your hips chase his every movement.
He gasps as he bottoms out as if he owns you, and your scream is trapped in his kiss as he holds you in place, unmoving. The burn turns into a dull ache and an overwhelming need as you squeeze around him, urging him to move.
The rough pads of his fingers draw circles on your clit, and you moan his name, clenching hard, begging him to move, your eagerness almost obscene.
"Please, Logan…"
The sea-glass blues, glimmer with lust, as he stares deep into your turquoise ones, "I missed yer."
Your lips envelop his, desperate and reverent, tongue tasting every inch of his, a hint of your arousal still present; your fingers slip through the tufts of his chalk-white hair, pulling him deeper, to a space that no longer exists. His full length inside you, you feel him filling both parts of you; the thought alone was enough to make you come—him claiming every inch of you.
His hand grazes beneath your breast while the other holds on to the softness of your hips, squeezes, keeping you anchored, controlling your movements. A delicious ache forms as the familiar coils burn, begging for a release. He devours you like a man with something to prove…
He grunts, "Yer mine…"
His hips withdraw almost the full length, swiveling, and he rolls back in deep, hitting the bundle of nerves that drive you over the edge. You moan into his mouth as your hips grind down, burying him to the hilt; every inch, every vein, every twitch of him inside you. He pounds into you with heat and purpose, and you drive down on him with precision. The water splashes as his pace sharpens, engulfed in your wet heat, loud guttural groans escape him, vibrating through your spine as the knot inside you tightens. The crescent shapes of your nails dig into his skin as you match his movements, riding him like a promise.
Your name falls from his lips, your voice rough with arousal, losing yourself, drowning with heat and want and the sheer force of him. Your hips stutter, you clench all over him, the pleasure crashes over you, and you shatter.
A smug smirk laces his lips as he continues to pump hard, fast, and ruthlessly, making your orgasm last, coating him with your sweet juices and you kegel harder. His thrust becomes erratic as he chases his own high; he groans your name as thick, hot spurts spill into you with a shudder that burns. You tighten and relax, prolonging the sensation, his head tilts back, and his cock twitches as he empties himself inside you. His embrace tightens as he holds you as if you were something sacred, and he drowns in euphoric bliss, and both your bodies are humming, draped in the afterglow.
He whispers, "You're amazin', darlin'."
You rest your head at the crook of his neck; your hot breath makes his skin prickle. He is still half-hard inside you, and you tease. "So are you. I love you, my Monster Hunter."
A grunt escapes his lips as he twitches inside you, "You know what that does to me."
You giggle, and his lips find yours, kissing you unhurried, deep and purposeful, taking all your breath; you pulse around him, hungry, and he growls as he becomes hard again with his hands gripping the dips of your hips.
The water settles around you, as your heartbeat syncs in rhythm with his. The world now hushes and drifts, becoming irrelevant; for a twinkling of time, only the two of you matter.
The sound of the swinging gates brings you back as the pets return home from scavenging through the desert. The long shadows on the ground and the sun hang low over the horizon, and you hear the gentle lapping of the water against the shore of the oasis. The familiar, thick drawl carrying the words echoes in your head…
…yer never complained… screaming my name… begging for me to touch yer…
You visibly tremble and ball your hand into a fist, the poor paper is crumpled, trapped inside together with the flower.
Earlier that day, even before a sliver of light peeks over the vast expanse, the heavy hooves of Rambo echo through the silence as an impressive figure is riding hard, headed deeper into the middle of the Eufaula.
I thought you better than who you were.
The words repeat and gnaw at him, his brows crease, and he nudges Rambo to go faster.
The wind carrying sand and gravel pelts him unrelentingly as he pushes harder, making the massive goat snort but follow his lead… The dawn drags feeling wrong from all angles… The words mix in with doubt continue taunting him…
"Giddyup!"
A slight breeze plays with the tips of his chalk-white locks as it offers a temporary reprieve from the harsh rays of the unforgiving lord of the desert. The water shimmers as the sunlight touches and reflects off the still waters.
The pencil maniacally scrolls through the map in his hand as he records, scribbles, and erases repeatedly; an exasperated breath escapes him as he struggles to finish the final touches.
A dull ache in his chest persists, and he swallows an impossibly large lump in his throat as the memories of the day he first brought you here replay like a wicked movie.
The weight and heat of you lying on top of him, as he holds you naked in his arms with a thin sheet draped over your bare bodies. The smell of jasmine and citrus mixes with the scent of sex on your skin, a reminder of how many times you unraveled under his touch; of him repeatedly drawing out multiple orgasms, until only his name falls off your lips. The lush foliage hides and protects you both from the scorching sun.
The high of the afterglow lingers, and his body hums with the thought of you bashfully allowing him to touch you, reverent, almost worshipful. A smug smile laces his lips as he kisses your temple, lighter than a breath; you sigh slowly, and you stir, settling deeper into him. The nearness of you ushers in a peace, making his heart throb into a meditative rhythm—The moment is perfection, woven into existence as a drop from the heavens.
The warmth abruptly dissipates, and the confrontation in Martle Square rears its ugly head… the loud argument rings out…
At dinner, you were already running through your checklist—
The air becomes thick, suffocating, and he struggles to take a breath; a single bead of sweat runs down his temple as the sentiment echoes…
Fucking me, were you checking me off your list?—a chore?— a fuck buddy? A babysitter for Andy, when you’re busy out with your true love, the Eufaula?
A pit in his stomach grows…
Logan—the one fuck wonder—never getting attached.
The paleness of his cheeks darkens into a crimson hue as he recalls the old moniker his friends use to tease him with, which he wore like a badge of honor… until…
The cold sweat traces down the valley of his back as the same words echoed from your lips, that day at the Square, remembering the response he spewed. His hand grazes his cheek and the tears gather, and he loses all his breath…
Goodbye, Logan.
A hollowness is follows, and the emptiness settles…
The wind picks up, and the scent of fresh greens brings him back. He feels an icy-cold blade traces down his back as the constriction in his chest persists; he drags his hand across his face, and his focus sharpens as he surveys his surroundings.
The soft footsteps wander as his boots break the gravel underneath, through the lush foliage, and he picks up one of the flowers. He takes a piece of paper from his pocket, and he pens a letter.
My darlin', Our little piece of the Eufaula isn't the same without you. I'm sorry, the broken promises, what I said at the Square. Please, tell me how I can fix this, I miss you, let me come home. I care for you, your monster hunter.
The folded paper holds the delicate flower within. A heavy exhale escapes him as he scrutinizes the whole area. The beauty surrounding him fails to soothe the burning desire in his heart, a longing. The pencil maniacally scrolls across the map, erases the word oasis, and writes reservoir.
Author's Note
The story is just letters on a former blank sheet of paper, until a reader decides to engage with the written word. I hope you enjoy. If you are so inclined, leave a comment, and a 💖 is always appreciated.
Drops Of Jupiter - Chapter 2: The Reality of Nightmares
Builder/Logan
Chapter Summary:
The dream turned into a nightmare. Andy's occurred during sleep; he was living in one—an existence where she wasn’t his.
Tags: (mdni) Drama & Romance; Fluff & Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Smut; POV Second Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending. No Beta, we die like Yan’s dreams
Word count: 3078
Chapter One/Chapter Three
AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Chapter 2: The Reality of Nightmares
The blood drips from his hand, the droplets marring the hardwood floor; the setting splicing through the thick calluses, at how tightly he is grasping the tiny piece of jewelry. The pain refuses to register as his heart spasms acutely.
"I'm going to marry you."
The words that fell from his lips echo hollow and meaningless.
A single tear escapes as his breath catches, he whispers into the space, earnest as if in confession, "I didn't..."
The tiny jewel, tarnished with speckles of his blood, manages to sparkle, catching the light from the window that looks out into the Eufaula.
The lines in his face deepen, and he scans the whole kitchen, empty, echoing a hollowness. The flowers stare at him from the bin as his other hand tightens its grip on the banner with the elegantly wrapped box tied with a bow; an icy-cold, clawed appendage whispers along his spine, making him shiver under his skin.
The moments with you that seem so perfect dissipate into a mist. A prayer falls from his lips, pleading to a higher power he is not even sure he believes in, softer than a whisper, silent as a breath. “Light, please…"
The banner, the neatly wrapped gift, and the blood-stained ring rest on the table, waiting in anticipation. A heavy exhale falls from his lips, the impossibly large hands ball into fists as if trying to hold on, and yet, the pounding in his chest, and the silence screaming in his head, a stark reminder he has lost—
The chair holds his heavy physique as he rests his weary head on the edge of the table, trying to catch his breath.
The soft footsteps cross and open one of the cabinets in the mudroom, retrieving a large duffel bag. He heads upstairs…
His focus sharpens to a point, and he goes to work. The sound of drawers and armoire doors opening and closing echoes as he rifles through and retrieves all his clothing from the racks, hamper, and laundry basket; in the bathroom, he swipes his arm across the counter, purging every piece of himself from the space.
The crumpled sheets of the bed hold the remnants of his outline from last night as he notices the couch, which still bears your imprints. He shakes his head and strolls back down.
In the kitchen, perspiration soaks his shirt, and pieces of his hair cling to the nape of his neck and brows. The banner and the gift lay on top of everything he owns; he picks up the ring from the table and shoves it back in his pocket. The door behind him closes with finality, making his ears ring.
At the Outpost, the bag lands with a loud thud, hard on the deck.
The redhead follows right behind him, brows furrowed and out of breath, “Hey, thought you’re taking the—“
The words hang as he turns to face her; her mouth agape as she beholds his disheveled appearance, "Peach! What happened to you? Were you in a fight?" The tone is two octaves higher as she visibly trembles.
The large physique towers over her, voice booming, grunts, “Leave. Go home. I’ll stay here for the next few days.”
“Wait. Truds told me you're takin'— What 'bout Andy?
The questions fall on deaf ears as he picks up the rucksack on the corner, handing it to her, and shoving her out the door.
“Grandma Vivi. Go.”
The moment the threshold closes, the control fractures, he falls on his knees hard as if in prayer and confession, hands balled into fists, shaking, unleashing a scream guttural and primal.
The sun barrels mercilessly, the perspiration runs down the valley of his chiseled back, shirtless, his skin slick with sweat as he aims his custom-made twenty shooter, from the lookout, at one of the yakboy targets strategically scattered on the ground, around the outpost.
The sonic boom travels and reverberates—bullseye; a flock of bellwing sirens disturbed takes flight in the distance. The beasts keep a fair amount of breath from the lookout, for fear of earning the ire of the lone monster hunter. He peeks through his binoculars as he watches with the journal within reach.
The unruly stubble surrounding his lips twitches as his hand hovers over his gun, and he declares, "Yer should know better than to sneak up, Sheriff."
The creases on his face deepen as an exasperated sigh escapes him. "Pardner, nice shootin'."
His eyes remain focused on the monsters below, "Ain't come here to comment on my aim."
Justice takes his stand beside him, wrinkles his nose, "Ain't for your winnin' personality either. Trudy sent me, she needs you, meetin' at City Hall.”
He turns and faces his friend, "Tch! Let me shower first.”
Justice stares at him, eyes sweeping up and down, "Yeah, you need one, but you’re already late.”
An audible exhale escapes, and his lips press into a scowl, “I’ll follow.”
♃⭑𓂃
The icy-cold sheets welcome your touch as you drag your hand repeatedly down the softness of the mattress, empty. A tear crossed the bridge of your nose; you did not even realize you were crying. The sob caught in your throat, you refuse to open your eyes into the new beginning. You cross your arms, hug yourself.
The cold floor greets the soles of your warm feet, and a shiver travels up your spine.
Your eyes roam your bedroom, the little empty pockets of spaces evidence of his absence; little vestiges of his presence in your life that are no more. The constriction in your chest a cruel reminder of the loss, your profound failure, and you weep.
The silence of your kitchen is deafening as you reach inside one of the cabinets for your mug, you pour your coffee, not bothering with the milk. You take a sip, bitter. As you bring it down, that's when you notice it, "Damn it."
You look up, tears gathering as your gaze lands on the view of the Eufaula, outside your window; the embulient hues bathing the dunes in brilliant oranges and reds with hints of purple haze. The beauty that you are unable to compete with, your window opens, and his mug flies through the air, spilling its contents, watering the sand.
The heat of the day simmers into a comfortable burn; it is late in the afternoon, and you delivered the last of your commissions. The punishing routine of work fills your days, and you surrender to all of its demands, without question or protest.
You take a deep breath as you face the imposing structure towering over you; your thumb massages the empty space on your ring finger, and your tears gather.
The conversation echoes through the hollow halls as you approach the doors of the Mayor's office. The Mayor and the Commissioner are in deep discussion about a project as you enter, and pause. Cold sweat runs down your back as you notice the contracts splayed on the massive desk.
"Ah, welcome, sit."
The mayor's kind words warm you, but her eyes remain fixated on the door behind you as if waiting.
You offer a polite smile but remain standing.
The figure behind the work desk leaned back, who was wringing her hands earlier, now hides them on her lap, begins. "I guess we can start. Have you made a decision? General Ling is waiting for your response, and your contract here in Sandrock is ending. We would very much like to keep you on, after all, you are family."
Your gaze settles on the stacks of builder applications on the other side of the table facing the mayor; you raise a brow and meet her stare.
"Uhm, as I said, you are family."
You step closer and riffle through the contracts from the General; you retrieve the one at the bottom of the pile, the latest offer, and you examine the fine print.
Trudy meets Wei's gaze.
The rustling of the paper echoes, and as you continue reading, you pause at the page that holds the names of the persons to be assigned to your team. A smile tugs at your lips as you unconsciously massage the empty space in your ring finger.
The eyes of the Commissioner widen, and he shifts in his chair and interjects, "I understand the allure of being a Governor in a new settlement. You are more than qualified for the position; however, starting from scratch with a new team can be tricky. Not to mention the dangers of being so close to the edges of the peripheries."
"You undermine General Ling's commitment to the Settlements. Besides, the Commander volunteered to be assigned to my team, stacking the odds in my favor, don't you think?"
The room hushes.
The decisions and the possibilities draw all your attention as you leave the imposing structure on your way home; at the door, you run into a brick wall, and a cloud of dust explodes as you hit the ground hard. A groan falls from your lips as you look up, dazed and confused. The scent of vanilla, soap, and a hint of leather surrounds you.
Your breath hitches as your mind short-circuits. A week of his absence, and yet you feel the familiar pull as you stumble upon his orbit.
The imposing figure is bathed in sunlight, bending over and offering his hand; you ignore the gesture as you stand on your own steam, dusting yourself, not even bothering to give him a second glance.
The gravel rolls and breaks; you walk past him, heading for the workshop, as fast as your feet can take you, taking the shortcut through Martle Square and the oasis, with your tears brimming.
The logos on the envelopes in your hand scream at him, and he matches your pace, grabbing your arm, grip firm but not forceful. "What are you doin'?" His gaze darts between your eyes and the items in your hand.
The lines between your brows deepen as you twist your arm free from his grasp, and a half-smile forms as you respond, "Hello to you, too."
A loud exhale escapes his lips, "What'cha doin'? you seriously considerin' without talkin'…"
The anger begins to pool as you hear the words, and you talk over him, "So it's okay when you do it?"
The blues of his eyes deepen in color, "What'cha?"
"You, taking expeditions out into the expanse without talking to me."
The beads of sweat pool on his brow as he grinds his teeth, "Everythin' I did was for us."
The fury simmers, and your muscles tense; you snap. "Breaking promises… Taking commissions without talking to me…" You visibly tremble, "Every time a new one cropped up, you couldn't wait to leave." A loud exhale escapes your lips, and you hiss, "The last one, you were already running through your checklist even before dinner was over."
A single tear drags down your cheek, and your hand rises to swipe it away.
"There's no us. Only YOU and your damn checklist."
His brows furrow as he leans closer, asking, "What'cha…"
"You fucking me, were you checking me off your list? Another chore before heading out and living free from all the responsibilities… from me?
The sea-glass blues deepen, carrying the weight of winter skies, and the heat pools, as the confusion now turns to anger… "How could you say that? I—I—"
You interrupt mid-sentence, “Am I just a fuck buddy? A release?" The tears fall, “A babysitter for Andy, when you’re busy out with your true love, the Eufaula?”
The bite evident as you utter the final word.
You shake your head, “The whole town—they all warned me about you… the countless pretty tourists you fucked courtesy of your best friend’s saloon.” You snide as you gripped the hem of your armor, trying to hold some semblance of control. “What did they call you? Logan—the one fuck wonder—never getting attached.”
The blues in his eyes carry the weight of winter skies; he clenches his jaw, and he steps closer, devouring the distance between you. In his deep husky drawl, he whispers in the shelf of your ear, intimate.
“You never complained. I remember you screaming my name, opening your legs, begging for me to touch you, fill you with my cum—making me yours.”
Your hand connected, only registering the pain as you flex repeatedly, the numbing, throbbing hurt, reverberating through the muscles of your arm.
He stands his ground, holding his cheek, a welt visibly forming.
The silence stretches taut as the anger continues to simmer and brew from his callous words. In a whisper, your voice breaks through the haze. “I misjudged you—thought you better than who you were—My mistake.”
The tears stain your cheeks as you drop all pretense of control, and the pain shines through. The contracts in your hand yield, losing their shape at how hard you hold them, and you throw them a fleeting glance. You drag your hands across your face, wiping the tears, and your eyes gloss over; the fury dissipates, being replaced by a coldness that burns, breaking through at the finality of your utterance, "Goodbye, Logan."
The desert pauses, and in the stillness, you notice Burgess with Ri-an by the flower bed tending to the foliage, Arvio and Amirah sitting by the lounging chairs of the oasis, Owen out for his late afternoon walk, and Unsuur on his rounds; all wide-eyed, with mouths agape, the silent witnesses of the show you and Logan put out.
The sand breaks, as he is left standing…
♃⭑𓂃
"What's yer damage?" Andy mumbles, half-asleep, from his bed as he turns away from Logan and slams a pillow on his head to block out the sounds emanating from his side of the room.
A loud sigh escapes his lips, and he slowly extricates himself from the covers, the warm sheets that refuse to provide him with any comfort. If his mind scorns slumber, then he will find productive ways to spend his time rather than constantly ruminating about you—he picks up the journal from the table and heads to the hallway, in the darkness. His heart aches, and he shivers, feeling his skin craving the heat that used to cradle him; he buries the yearning deep as he descends the stairs and plops himself onto one of the orange sofas.
The cushion grunts in protest at the weight thrust upon it.
The tiny lamp provides enough illumination for him as he scribbles and draws in his monster-hunting journal. The muscle memory refuses to yield as he occasionally gazes up, expecting your presence watching him work, asking him to return to bed, and he scolds himself. "Stop it."
On the umpteenth time, he repeats the same action, he drags his hand down his face, releasing a breath, and leans back, hitting his head on the orange headrest repeatedly in congruence with uttering the mantra, "She-ain't-here."
A loud sigh escapes him as he flips through to the very back of the journal and begins to work on one of the sketches; a sad smile dawns on his lips, and he continues.
A while later, the edges of the page lift momentarily as he feels the light breeze; his ears perk up as he hears the tiny footsteps, followed by a whimper. The constriction within his chest heightens his awareness as he is on his feet, with his gaze straining to see atop the stairs.
The small figure appears, standing, rubbing the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes.
A breath releases as he utters. "Andy."
He is at the landing quicker than a breath, running his hands down the little boy's arms, searching for injuries. The pounding in his ears is deafening, and he is struggling to keep calm; he asks, “What’s wrong? Are yer hurt?”
In between sobs, he whimpers, “Bad dream,” as he runs his arm across his eyes, trying to dry his tears.
A sigh of relief as he envelops him in a tight embrace, the dampness from his tears trickles down his bare shoulders. “You want me to lie with yer?”
The boy shakes his head in protest and, in a barely audible voice, asks. “I want the Builder,” breaking at the last syllable.
The utterance pierces his heart, and he swallows an impeccably large lump in his throat as he recalls the conversation in your kitchen, and the confrontation in Martle Square; the constant ache in his heart refuses to let him forget. In a tone heavy with regret, “I’m sorry, buddy. I'm the only one here, we're home.”
The sniffles become louder and demanding, "I want the Builder…"
A piece of his heart fractures, cupping his little face, he manages a smile, “Would you like some hot cocoa to help you sleep?”
Sheepishly, he nods.
He hoists him in his large arms, and they head to the kitchen.
The two sit in silence, the smoke billows from their mugs, Andy takes a sip, and wincing, "It ain't the same."
He chuckles as he leans in, wiping the last of his tears; he counters, "I taught her that recipe…"
The lines in his cherubic face began to deepen, and he insists, "It ain't."
An audible sigh falls from his lips, "Fine, I'll ask her to teach me tomorrow…"
His beautiful, sleepy, sunlit hazel eyes meet his blue sea-glass ones searching, asks, "Yer promise?"
A smile dawns on his lips, "I promise." He reaches and tussles the child's messy blond hair.
In bed, with an arm behind his head, his other hand holds as he examines the engagement ring. The dull ache causes his chest to constrict. He glances at Andy sleeping, the tears long gone, and peace has settled his troubled heart. The window shows the darkness subtly pierced by a sliver of light, which slowly creeps, followed by a faint explosion of colors, blues, oranges, and then reds. The gem in his hand reflects the beauty that is emerging. It promises to be another gorgeous morning in Sandrock and the Eufaula; he is blind to all of it as everything is eclipsed by the throbbing in his heart, a longing, with his arms aching, searching. Andy's nightmare happens in his dreams; he is living in one—
I wrote about ten different versions of this comic. Sorry if it’s a bit disjointed. I just want to reiterate how disappointing this news is. I thought we were fighting against this during the TAG contract negotiations. I guess everyone has a price.
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Tags: (mdni) Drama & Romance; Fluff & Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Smut; POV Second Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending. No Beta we die like Yan’s dreams
Word count: 5225
Chapter Two
AO3 // Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Summary:
A tear spills and stains his chest, you whimper, "I'll miss you."
His impossibly large hands are sweeping up and down your back, drawing circles, trying to calm you. "It'll be one night, darlin'. I promise to be back in your arms before you know it."
This is a retelling of the short AO3 series, Back To You; Part 1: Third on the List
Chapter Tag: NSFW
Pieces of a Promise
A tear crosses the bridge of your nose as you stare and run your hand over the cold, empty space beside you. The tiny sniffles echo piercing the silence inside your bedroom, and you fist the blanket as your heart spasms, your chest threatens to crumple from the pain.
A loud exhale falls from your lips as you whisper into the darkness, the only company that has been keeping you…
Earlier that evening…
The tiny brows crease as he asks, "Yer sure?"
The bright hazel eyes met your turquoise ones, searching and questioning; you wink at Andy as you hand him the large plate of braised barbecue ribs, complete with all the sides.
"Go—it's a treat."
A pout threatens to form, and his mouth opens to protest; you reach and playfully tussle his blond locks. A grin emerges instead, and he nods in agreement.
The pain lances, akin to jagged pieces of glass through your heart, as you stand staring at the table, which is set for three. A strangled sigh escapes you as you reach and pull the large banner hanging that spells 'Welcome Home' in big, bold, glittering letters; the sound of crackling reverberates as the poor poster is unceremoniously crumpled, reduced to its final form, a big ball of scrunched paper discarded at the bottom of the wastebasket. The tears brim at the corner of your eyes, you look up, breathing hard, you refuse to let them fall, instead you take the used plates and cutlery to the sink.
The unused setting burns the back of your head as it stares at you, an all too familiar sight. The ache deepens, and you swallow hard, burying the longing into the abyss. The laughter and the tiny susurations from the yard call your attention, a cruel reminder, and you stifle your sniffles, running your arm across your face, wiping any semblance of tears.
You force a smile on your lips as you gaze out from your window at the Eufaula. The fury rises, and you swallow an impeccably large lump. The back door swings open, you hear the shuffling of tiny footsteps, and you call out, voice two octaves higher. "Get ready for bed. I'll follow and read you a chapter tonight."
Your soapy hands grip the counter, anchoring yourself so hard that your knuckles turn white.
The conversation from two nights before replays in your mind as you sink your hands into the warm suds…
♃ ⭑𓂃
“One night out in the desert, some university students on break wanna explore.”
The thick drawl cuts through the silence in between the clinking of cutlery as he casually mentions the trip between bites of his five-spice steak during dinner.
The line between your brows deepens as you pause mid-chew and stare at him through your fluttery lashes, and ask. "Tomorrow?" The tone a bit higher than usual.
"Yeah. Owen introduced us, thought, why not? Could use the extra gols."
An exhale escapes your lips, and your fork coast around your plate, simply pushing your food around as you watch him and Andy shovel spoonfuls; your little family dining in your kitchen. A pit in your stomach begins to form, and you ignore it as you casually glance at your ring finger, devoid of any jewelry.
Your thoughts drift to the letters from the Mayor and another one from General Ling regarding the settlements, both hidden inside one of the drawers, demanding your careful consideration and prompt responses. The dull ache settles, and you fist the seams of your top as you try to shove it deep, not wanting anything to ruin your perfect evening.
You can bring your family…
Your thumb unconsciously rubs the empty spot on your leech-finger as you breathe hitches; you almost choke on a large lump that forms in your throat, and you struggle to swallow it.
"I've got some news."
"Yeah?!" He blurts out in between spoonfuls, not bothering to look up.
You press your lips into a pout, and an audible sigh falls from your lips. "Never mind, I'll tell you when you get back."
He releases a breath, nodding and continues eating.
You and Andy glance at each other for the briefest moment with a flicker of recognition as the rest of the meal is spent in silence, an all too familiar scene; Logan is already running through his checklist.
"You've to pack tonight?"
The question falls from your lips before you have a chance to think. The warm water and suds soothe the pain of missing him in your heart, knowing the answer. Before he is able to respond, you continue, as you hand him a plate to dry.
"Andy can stay."
The tiny giggles carry from the yard, you both momentarily turn, as the child is feeding the pets their dinner, and refilling their water bowls for the night.
He pauses, and the blues of his eyes deepen, meeting your blue-green ones. "Yer sure?"
You simply nod, and he leans, brushing a soft kiss on your lips. "Thank yer, darlin'."
The warmth envelops you, and your heart flutters as you watch and listen to the drawl as he reads a chapter from one of Andy's Detective Ned's adventures. The tiny body sinks deeper into the soft bed, swallowed by the sheets, as sleep slowly claims him and his eyes struggle to stay open. He is in deep slumber long before Logan speaks the final sentence. Your heart spasms as you gaze at him, tenderly tightening the sheets around the sleeping child, planting a kiss on his forehead, turning the lights off, and petting the fur-ball, Nemo, who nuzzles into his hand… tomorrow night it will only be the two of you…
You step back as he closes the door.
The imposing figure wraps you in a tight embrace, and his hand slips under as he carries you. You let out a yelp as you cover your mouth and giggle, whispering, "What?"
"I'm tuckin' you in, darlin'."
The sadness drapes over your eyes, and you avert your gaze as you finally get your answer.
"Logan."
You moan his name as his flat tongue slowly licks your slick folds to your clit, tasting the wetness that has gathered. He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue, and you visibly tremble as the knot inside you coils. The impossibly large arms anchor both your legs, the soft skin in the insides of your thighs now marred with deep purple bites, a testament of his love for you. He dips several times, fucking you, as the tip of his nose grazes your sensitive clit, making you babble incoherently. His two thick fingers enter, slipping in and out, bending, massaging the spot that makes you teeter as his tongue draws circles around your engorged clit. Your fingers card through his chalk-white hair, pulling him deeper into you, as the delicious moan falls from your lips.
He growls, "Come for me, darlin', I've got ya." The vibrations travel through you, sending shock waves down your spine.
He thrusts his fingers in and out as you match his rhythm; he sucks your clit with his teeth, grazing the sensitive nub.
The coil snaps, your body shudders, and you scream his name as he continues making your orgasm last.
Your core feels the void as he pulls out, licking the juices from his fingers, and he leans in, kissing you deeply. The taste of your arousal coating his tongue makes you dizzy with desire, and your arms tighten their embrace.
He rubs the tip of his cock, coating himself with your wetness. You open your legs wider to accommodate him.
"Already so soaked for me. Yer want me?"
You nod, in between kisses, whimper, "Yes, my monster hunter.
He grunts, "You know what that does to me." A groan escapes his lips as he enters you as if he owns you. "So tight for me, darlin'."
You breathe as he stretches you, and you are full. He anchors your legs on his hips, thrusts hard in and out with reckless abandon, hitting the soft bundle of nerves, making your eyes water and the heat rise. You match his movements with precision as he pounds into you like a storm, unrelenting and punishing. Your walls pulsate around him, either keeping him in or pushing him out, making him grunt as he hears the sweet, delicious sounds that fall from your lips.
A loud broken moan is torn from you as your walls quiver and tighten, your nails dig deep and drag down the thick muscles of his back, and your pleasure crashes over you as you come.
A smug smirk forms on his lips as he continues to pounce against you as you ride your high, and he chases his own, pumping hard and ruthlessly; he plants sloppy kisses as his pace sharpens, and he grunts a groan as he spills. The warmth of his cum fills you, with some escaping down your thighs.
Your bodies slick with sweat intertwine as his arms slip under you; he flips on his back with you on top of him, his half-hard cock spearing you. You kegel milking him empty, wanting everything for yourself inside you.
The warm tears spill and stain his chest, and you quietly sob.
His impossibly large hands are sweeping up and down your back, drawing circles, trying to calm you. "One night, darlin', promise, 'be back before yer know it."
Hours later, alone in bed, you stare at the ceiling as you find no comfort in the soft mattress and the linen covers; you miss him; the air still smells of sex as you replay the events of the evening, and you feel the familiar heat between your legs. You clench, searching for his girth and warmth. The ticking of the clock commanding your attention, the hands move, and you imagine him packing his rucksack and meticulously checking his weapons, his mind already on the mission.
You have no memory of falling asleep until the little light crept in through a slot on the drawn curtains—it is morning.
♃ ⭑𓂃
The heavy hooves of Rambo break the sand underfoot as he rounds the perimeter of your workshop. The lingering ache from the pit of his stomach, since the moment he said yes to the request, is temporarily relegated to the background as he checks the gates and the fence, making a note of how far the monsters are from you.
He presses his nose against his skin as he smells the scent of your capitulation, lingering. The bottoms of his armor are taut as he recalls how sweetly you take him. He pauses outside your window as he imagines you in bed, naked, his arms visibly trembling from their emptiness. A hollowness settles deep within; he winces as he pulls the reins, urging Rambo to move, headed for his house. A soft whisper falls from his lips, reverent as if in worship.
"I care for you, darlin'. I'll come back soon."
The sliver of light of dawn peeks through the drawn curtains, the tiny jewel between his thumb and index finger catches, making it sparkle; a smile tugs at his lips as he kisses it. An audible sigh falls from his lips as he swiftly extricates himself from the warmth of the bed; he neatly tucks it back inside the secret compartment of his desk. The cold water, like knives, peppers his bare skin, and the smile persists, unable to quell the warmth that settles in his heart as his thoughts imagine all the possibilities of a future with you.
The full-length mirror reflects his impressive physique as he pulls and tugs, checking for possible weaknesses in his armor. The daggers, catching the light, are blinding; he sheaths them inside the scabbards in his back. On his hips, the holsters hold the custom-made shooter, cocked and loaded.
The horned hat perfectly sits on his head, with his heavy rucksack on his back. The other hat hanging by the door draws his attention. His breath hitches. The felt tips grazing his fingers, his heart spasms at the memory and the stolen possibilities. The tears brim, and he utters as if in prayer.
"I miss ya, Pa, you'd've loved her."
The blues of his eyes deepen the pictures on the wall call his attention, one of his ma and pa traversing a sandstorm, right next to it is of him, as a child smiling on his father's lap.
"I ain't losin' no'one else—I ain't losin' her."
The gnawing pain of loss, his constant companion, a shadow that lurks in the liminal spaces in between, threatening to claim you and the joy you have brought into his life.
An exhale leaves his lips, "After today, I'll have 'nough for a wedding, reception, and honeymoon."
A smile forms as he remembers that Andy and Jasmine are helping him with the ruse of the proposal.
You gotta hurry up. Mom said offer f'her to join the Settlements and other Guilds are piling up.
Jasmine's words run through him.
—
The loud susurations and laughter of the group echo throught the desert, bringing him back into the present. The magnificence of the Eufaula lay before the admiring stares; the brilliance of the moon dances, accompanied by the myriad of stars, the shadows, and the light, locking themselves in an eternal dance, enchanting and lulling them into its embrace.
Coco quietly hoots from a branch somewhere as Rambo indulges in the abundant fare the desert has on offer.
The crackling of the fire welcomes him, a reprieve for his tired muscles, in its warmth, a protection from the cold breeze that is starting to blow. The embers weave themselves in and out of the flames, in a deadly dance which will inevitably result in them as ashes by the morning light. His horned hat on his hand, inside he admires a picture of you, as a nagging ache settles quietly in his heart; it is familiar, it is welcomed. In his other hand, he glances at the tiny loveknot tied around his wrist, being smothered by his muscles; the one you insisted on giving him even after he had confessed his love for you.
I don't want anyone getting any ideas, you're mine—my monster hunter.
The beauty beaming and surrounding him, he hardly notices, and an audible sigh of suffering escapes his lips.
The movement from the corner of his eye brings him back, and he puts on his hat as two of the members of the party approach.
"Ahem. Mister Logan."
"Logan's fine. What's up?"
"Yes, sir, my friends and I, well, err, we're wondering if you'd be willing to stay three more nights. We really had a nice day and… we'll pay for your time, of course."
An exhale falls from his lips as his fingers graze the loveknot, a pit in his stomach begins to form.
The drawl thickens as he responds, "Two more nights is fine, three, and we will go over the grace period for any expedition; the Civil Corps will send a posse, which comes with a hefty fine."
"Yes!" The two blurt out in unison.
The tiny clouds of dust form as they hurry back to their group with the news, and he is left staring at the fire. The pit in his stomach is now a gaping hole as he takes his hat off and stares at the picture. He whispers, reverent, "I'm sorry, darlin'."
That night, his pillow, wrapped in your used shirt, smells of you, lulling him to sleep, with his arms aching from their emptiness, and he repeatedly sweeps the cold, empty space beside him.
♃ ⭑𓂃
"Let's see how good these bad boys are?"
A sharp clink echoes as the newly crafted blades of Grace's Chromium Daggers meet your battle-hardened Raven Wings in the sparring arena. The layer of dust on the mats explodes with force.
"Come on, builder, you're not holding back, are you?"
"Never"
A strained exhale leaves your lips, and you push her back.
She chuckles, heaving, "What is it? Three days now out in the desert—"
The mat dips as you roll, getting more distance; you throw a fleeting glance at the timer, and there is a minute left.
"Yakboy, must really be having fun—"
She traverses and thrusts her daggers horizontally, left and right; you swing your torso back and withdraw as you feel the swish of air around you. You go low and swipe her legs; she flips back just in time, and you take the advantage, attacking diagonal head to leg, and she parries with one hand. The other hand descends, and you catch it mid-strike…
The blues of her eyes, mischievous, meet your flickering blue-green pools; you wear a haughty grin.
"The sparring arena ain't yer playground to test new weapons."
The thick drawl of the Sheriff cut through the haze of battle, and you both froze, caught. A smile laces both your lips as the two of you withdraw, heaving and giggling.
Grace sheaths her weapons and hands you the payment; she whispers under her breath, "Appreciate you indulging me, perfect as per usual."
You nod as you take the gols, mutter in response, "One of these days you've got to tell me what you do with all those weapons."
"If I do, I'll have to kill you."
"You can try."
You both laugh.
You tilt your head in the opposite direction, signaling to Grace; she takes the hint and exits discreetly as you approach the Sheriff.
"Good afternoon, Justice."
The wrinkles on his face deepen as he looks past you to an exiting Grace, he quips, "Com'on now pardner you know better than that."
"Sorry."
"Logan back yet?"
The deep, honey brown eyes meet your turbulent, turquoise ones.
"Never mind, group probably havin' fun. Should be back tomorrow, end of the grace period and all, less he wants me to come and drag his ass back here and slap them all with a fine for wastin' the resources of the Civil Corps."
A nervous chuckle escapes his lips, but you meet his enthusiasm with silence.
Later, sitting on your roof, you watch as the sun dips lower on the horizon, the embulient hues of reds and oranges blanket the skies, bathing you in flecks of gold. It is the third day of his being on the expedition, with no sign of him returning soon…
The tears soak your cheeks, as your palms hold onto the seams of your top so tight that your hands go numb. The ache, like broken shards of glass, cutting deep, as you glare at the Eufaula. The beauty who lies before you in all its magnificence, his first love, and you cuss.
You mindlessly massage your empty ring finger, as you are reminded of what day it is, and a loud sigh leaves your lips.
At dinner.
"Still no big lug."
Your breath hitches as you smile at the child, which fails to reach your eyes as you give him a nod.
"No worries, I'll read you a chapter tonight. Teacher Jane says I'm gettin' better. Sure, he'll be back tomorrow, or else Sheriff's comin' after him with Captain," he offers as he shovels more of his dinner in his mouth.
The door closes as you quietly leave the child sleeping.
The sand rolls off your boots as you walk the perimeter of the workshop, making sure everything is as it should be. The humming of your factory in the background, you decide to load all the machines to maximum capacity; the move will ensure it will be running for the next couple of days.
"Are you going away, Master?"
You gently shake your head, "No, Rosy, I'm planning a visit to the mines in the next few days. Good night."
She nods as she powers down.
The empty perch and Rambo's slot stare at you, and you ignore the gnawing feeling at the pit of your stomach.
Inside your bedroom, the warm tears coat and dampen your pillow as you run your hand over the empty space on your bed.
The following morning, you leave a note on the ice box.
Andy, Eat. I have a big commission and need to stock up inside the mines. B
The darkness welcomes you, and you give Merle, your goat, a mushroom, and she happily gobbles it while resting at the stable.
The yakmel cart arrives on time, and you board.
The screeching sound of the drill permeates the desolate space, and your whole body vibrates along with the machine boring through rocks and hard gravel. You hear none of the noise, having your noise-cancelling headphones, and your body is already conditioned to the repetitive pounding; you work through each floor with the precision of a fine-tooth comb. Your focus sharpened to a point, and you concentrate on clearing every level; unconcerned with the ores and precious gems you unearth, you unceremoniously toss them into your pack.
The sweat pool inside your suit, and the heat rise, but you felt none of it as you continued. You take the last Fang X from your stash.
You can only take a maximum of two a day.
The voice of Fang reverberates inside the liminal spaces of your mind.
You grind your teeth and continue.
The perspiration inside your suit has dried, and you check the heat from the walls of the mines; cool to the touch, as a mist escapes your lips and a shiver runs up your spine. You smile as you check your watch for the first time that day.
The last of your stamina is gone, and you begrudgingly ascend from the deepest level of the mine.
The moon welcomes you into its embrace, as the lights from the stars celebrate your arrival, you smile. The rucksack hung heavy as your shoulder screams, begging for a reprieve from having been saddled with the load.
The boards give a mild creak as you empty all the contents into a pile at the front door of the guild, with the note.
Help yourselves.
You stretch your neck left to right, until you hear a pop; a sigh escapes you as the strain is alleviated from carrying all the stuff from the mines.
The silence greets you as the workshop is quiet, arriving closer to dawn; you approach Rambo, give him his favorite, a rutabaga, and cuddles. A jewel-like tear falls as you feel his warm breath on you, and his soft coat melts into your embrace. You whisper, "I'll miss you, my handsome goat."
A golden scorpion sits inside Coco's bowl as she sleeps on her perch.
The warmth of your kitchen ushers you in, and your silent footsteps cross the hardwood floor heading for the note you left earlier, which has a few more scribbles on it, and you inspect the handwriting …
Thanks. Logan took me to the Blue Moon for dinner. You missed a spread. Pets fed. Miss you. A
Hi darlin'. I'm home. Which mines? You didn't take Merle? Why? Andy and I missed you at dinner. Logan
A bouquet is sitting neatly on the vase at the dining table, with a tiny card that reads.
Group fell in love with the desert. Happy…
The words hang as you unceremoniously crumple the paper, and it now rests at the bottom of the bin…
The tears stain your cheeks as your heart spasms. You fetch a drink of water, the glass shaking from your grip, the contents spilling onto the deck, and you try to take a sip to calm yourself. The arrangement stares at you, and you glare at it; you imagine smashing the whole thing on his head to wake him up.
Immediately, you turn to the note on the ice box, focusing on the haphazard scribbles of the tiny hands; a loud exhale leaves your lips, and you abandon the thought.
You check on the child and whisper, "Sweet dreams, my sweet boy."
The familiar scent of vanilla, soap, and a hint of leather wafts inside your bedroom as the impressive silhouette lies shirtless, in boxers, sleeping, laying claim to your bed; his alabaster skin glistens in the moonlight, and your thoughts revert back to the bouquet in the kitchen. The fabric rustles as you station yourself on the sofa, where you watch him sleep peacefully and contentedly. The crease between your brows deepens, and the silent tears stain your cheeks as the memories of your life replay in your mind; eventually, fatigue overcomes you, and you slumber.
The dawn breaks, promising a beautiful day; he comes down just as Andy is about to leave for class. He sprints and gives Logan an all-encompassing hug; he hoists him into his arms and returns the gesture, “I'll see yer at home—yer big lug.”
On the way out the door, he retorts, “Thanks, Builder.”
A soft kiss brushes your forehead as he takes the seat beside you, and you offer him a plate of food. The puffiness of your eyes does not escape him. The silence stretches, and he decides to bridge it by regaling the adventures he had with the last group; he happily recounts their adventures in the desert.
"We did spelunkin' outta caves beyond the little forest. They promised to come…
You hear none of it as you render his ramblings onto the background as you imagine yourself deep inside the mines, breaking the large boulders and unearthing precious ores and minerals. A smile tugs at your lips as you glance at the clock on the wall; the other builders will be arriving at the Guild, stumbling onto the pile of ores and gems.
The words occupy the liminal spaces between you as your fork moves the food around the plate, and you do not take a single bite; you are silent, nodding only on occasion.
The moment he puts his fork down, you take his plate and stand by the sink looking at the Eufaula, a heavy breath escapes you, and you whisper through gritted teeth, "You win."
Your hands shake as your heartbeat is pounding in your ear, and you speak, “We-we should take a break… I-I need time to think.”
The room settles into a quiet hush, and time moves like smoke; the silence stretches taut and ready to snap.
A jewel-like tear rolls down your cheek, well aware, he heard you; you do not bother to turn. The beautiful blue irises like waves will pull you under, and you will be unable to resist and take a stand.
The words take his breath, and his pulse quickens as his blood rushes through his veins and responds, "Wait. What?"
You keep your eyes on the view of the dunes; by design, your galley peers into the magnificent landscape. The mighty and beautiful Eufaula is winning, and you capitulate, giving up your claim and cutting him mid-sentence. "Us—I need a break from—from you."
The beads of perspiration littered the tops of his skin, “Darlin’, it was work and they—”
"Ya, work is important to you, and it should be." Your tone is even and without pretense, "I was—
The cold sweat rolls down the valley of his back, and he talks over you, “Worried? I would've sent Coco if—”
“Yeah, two more nights—What difference does it make? It's not as if you made any promises?"
Your voice breaks at the last syllable as the tears stream down, causing your heart to spasm.
The sound of your tears makes his chest constrict and lances at his very essence; he breaches the distance. He hugs you from behind and buries his face in your hair. “Oh, darlin’, sorry. It's not that bad, is it? I'll make it up. What'cha want me to do?”
Softly, he runs his hands wispily up and down your arms as he tries to gently coax you to turn and face him, but you stand your ground, refusing to budge.
"Nothing. You don't have to do nothing. Now, you'll have all the time, and not have to worry about making some for me."
The words usher in a finality he is not willing to accept; he engulfs you in an embrace. The warmth in his arms is your presence, and yet, the feeling of you ebbs away from his grasp. His heart is pounding in his chest, wanting to escape; he pauses, searching for the right words, "Com' on now, sorry… I'll fix this… Tell me what to do…"
He scans the surroundings, and his breath hitches as he realizes he is in the same space he imagines you to be waiting for him to come home; all those cold nights. An icy, clawed hand drags down his back and takes hold of his spine, and he visibly shivers from fear—the nightmare taking shape.
The pleading falls on deaf ears, and you cut through the silence in a tone offering no refute. “You should take your stuff.”
He shifts, and you feel his muscles tense, the rising and falling of his chest as his voice deepens, booms, and reverberates through the walls. “So that’s it? Yer just going to throw everything away?
The heat rises from inside you, in a barely audible voice, you answer plainly. "I need space."
He growls, "Space? For what?…"
The walls crumble, and the warmth of your tears lands on his forearms as your body slightly quivers. "How many broken promises? Nights alone, waiting…"
Silence stretches as a response is not forthcoming.
In between labored breaths, as if every utterance cutting through you, "You-you're the great monster hunter, your work is important—keeping a bunch of college kids entertained." The fury is caught in your throat.
Softly, you push and extricate yourself from his grip; with all his prowess, he is rendered helpless, unable to stop you, as you walk towards the door.
The knob in your hand trembles at how hard you are gripping the metal; you turn to face him. "Two times?" The blue-greens of your eyes flickering, refusing to settle into one, shifting with every angry utterance, "Two times two? Four… Four times, you think?" A breath, waits, "Do you even care?" The anger dissipates and morphs into disappointment, "Try, four times—Never mind."
The words cut, final, and you go silent.
The blue-greens of your eyes glaze over, and you stare at the flowers; you walk over, in one swift movement, you pull them out of the vase, and the water drips and slithers down your fingers, marring the pristine floor. "What are these for? Our anniversary? Why? It's not important, not like your work. Right?"
The fury returns and becomes a wild fire, all-consuming and destructive; your hand shakes as you fight the urge to beat him with the bouquet; instead, they land inside the wastebasket with a thud.
A drawer opens, and you retrieve a perfectly folded banner with a box tied with a beautiful bow; you shove the items hard into his chest, making him gasp and lose his breath. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out; you withdraw…
The door closes behind you.
A wall of heat welcomes you into its embrace as the unforgiving lord of the desert burns your skin, but you feel none of it. The thunderous thumping of your heart echoes in your chest, and you are unable to take a breath. You found yourself on Merle riding at full speed with no real direction, sand and gravel pelting you mercilessly; your world shatters into a million pieces—the desert stands still, losing its color and meaning as it watches you, fall apart at the seams.
Tags: (mdni) Drama & Romance; Fluff & Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Smut; POV Second Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending. No Beta we die like Yan’s dreams
Amid the mundanity of the everyday, without the threat of world domination, water thieves, and old-world relics running amok, it was more challenging than expected. The life of a couple, Logan and Builder, whose union was forged in fire and made them fluent in flames, did not exempt them from the pains of navigating a new relationship.
The love that brought them together—would it be enough to sustain them?
It's a lot of angst with a sprinkling of fluff and yummy spice in between.
(Please read the author's notes and the updated tags)
Author's Notes:
A retelling of the series Back To You
It was written during the writer's month prompt challenge 2025, where my brain was fried by the end of the challenge. I decided to give the story more depth, and instead of six interdependent one-shots, I made them into chapters with more nuance.
This current version navigates the same storyline, delving more comprehensively into the complications of the characters and the relationship. Shifting from the Third-Person Omniscient POV to Second-Person POV makes for more of an immersive experience for the reader.
It moves from a rating of T to E😉.
The uploading schedule is every Friday
The story is just letters on a former blank sheet of paper, until a reader decides to engage with the written word. I hope you enjoy. If you are so inclined, leave a comment, and a 💖 is always appreciated.
