Update: Blunt Instruments in AO3 is getting a rewrite and is coming to this blog.
The story is just letters on a former blank sheet of paper, until a reader decides to engage with the written word. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the story, and a 💖 is always appreciated.
Tags: Romance; Fluff & Humor; POV First Person, Established Relationship, Found Family, No Beta, we die like Yan’s dreams
Word count: 1192
AO3, @ficwip5k
Summary
A hero’s battle with monsters leaves him saddled with unintended consequences.
Author's Notes:
The story is inspired by this fanfic by bittersweetlyblue on Tumblr.
The horizon exploded with the beautiful hues of gold, crimson, and deep purple as I finished delivering the last commission for the day and dragged my aching feet towards home.
My breath hitched as I saw the green goo that welcomed me in the yard; several droplets on the sand. I followed the offensive goop and found it smeared all over Rambo's reins and saddle, and splattered on Logan's discarded boots, which were left at the entryway. The wood made a loud cracking sound as the door almost flew off its hinges as I entered the workshop, breathless, frantically searching for my husband. The same colored sludge continued inside, sprinkled, marring my pristine hardwood floor, leading up to the mudroom, where I heard the shower running.
I felt the stinging, and I pressed the back of my hand on my eyes.
He's home.
He had been gone for three days with the sheriff, monster hunting. They were tasked to investigate the reports of new monsters that had crossed into Eufaula's borders. The beasts apparently were terrorizing the smaller villages around Sandrock's periphery.
I paced maniacally through the tiny space, waiting; the water stopped, and I listened as the footsteps approached the door.
The air rushed through, and I took in lungfuls; the relief washed over me as I beheld the massive figure who stood, damp, at the open doorway; the towel hung low on his hips, affording me a glimpse of his familiar happy trail, as he violently rubbed his head with the facecloth drying his…
"Your hair." I shrieked.
The room hushed.
His sea-glass blues met my now flickering, turbulent blue-green ones, refusing to settle into one, always both, which were staring at him, questioning.
The floor shifted; wide-eyed, the words dissolved inside my throat as my chest constricted, gazing at the shape of him.
The lines on his face deepened, resulting in a genuine, confused frown, and the wide smile on his lips dissipated, slowly replaced with befuddlement. "What'd?"
"No…no…no…" I mumbled in bewilderment, laced with fury, uttered as if in reverent prayer, as I shook my head. "It's gone…What—What have you done?"
The silence that followed the question now hung weighted.
His shoulders slumped, and he approached, arms outstretched in a bid to wrap me into an embrace, and he cooed, "Oh, darlin'."
A loud exhale left my lips, eyes wide as I withdrew, taking a few steps back until I reached the edge of the counter. The anger wrapped in sadness bubbled over, and I raised my hand, begged, "Stop."
He paused close, but not touching, and I felt the heat that emanated from his skin. The smell of vanilla, soap, with a hint of leather, flooded my senses, and I tilted my head up, and my gaze lingered on his shiny head before meeting his gaze. The dam broke, and the tears stained my cheeks as I asked, my voice barely audible. "Why?"
"The mission, the monster attacked, the green goo stuck to everything, impossible to wash off like gum in my hair…" He cut himself off mid-sentence as he saw the sadness in my eyes, which made his heart spasm, and he apologized, "I'm sorry, darlin'."
My eyes fixated on his head and whispered, "Your hair—"
"It'll grow back."
"It's gone."
The desolation in my voice both amused and broke something inside him.
***
The puffiness in my eyes was evident as my gaze focused on the fire. A momentary distraction from the heat that pooled and vibrated through me, I watched the embers weave themselves in and out of the deadly flame in a dance I knew would end up with them as soot on the base of the hearth by morning.
The cushions beside me dipped and creaked in protest as the heavy figure collapsed into the space, close but not touching. He handed me a cup of tea, my hands tightened around the mug, the warmth, a comfort from the turbulence I felt in my chest. His familiar smell invaded my senses, now mixed with the scent of antiseptic, citrus, and sweat.
"It's done. Darn thin' hard to scrub off like glue stuck to everything." He complained as he repeatedly flexed his hands, trying to relieve the numbness.
I huffed in silent protest.
"Oh, darlin'..."
"I hate it." My tone offered no refute.
"I slayed monsters, saved a few lives, I reckon."
I snapped back, "I don't care. Your hair."
"The green goo wouldn't come off—"
A weak sob escaped me.
'It's just a haircut."
"It's an abomination."
"I'm still handsome."
"You look like an egg."
"A handsome egg."
A hint not exactly of a smile danced at the corner of my lips, but something adjacent to it. He noticed, and a flicker of hope sparked inside him, and he grinned; he reached his thumb, gently brushing the remnants of tears. A relieved sigh escaped him, and he leaned his bald head onto my shoulder.
"It'll grow back."
I visibly shuddered at the feeling of the tiny knives that were now stabbing the nape of my neck.
"Come touch it."
"No."
He took my hands into his, gently massaging my palms with his thumbs, and placed them on top of his head. I imperceptibly trembled as I tentatively grazed the barren landscape, and I slowly ran through the emptiness where I used to card my fingers through his chalk-white, beautiful locks. A precious pout formed as the tiny spines tickled my skin and the tips of my fingers; a whisper of dread cracked down my spine, making the hairs behind my neck stand as I made several passes.
I whispered, "I still hate it."
"But yer love me."
His lips found mine…
In between kisses, I whimpered and sobbed, "It's like kissing a thorny jumper—a prickly pear—an angry marshmallow—"
"He ain't no Rapunzel no more," Andy shouted mockingly from his bedroom on the second floor.
"Not helpin'—Do yer homework."
He chuckled as he tucked me into his impossibly large arms, kissing the top of my head, and he trailed his hand up and down my spine. My entirety melted into his embrace, and he inhaled the shape of me.
"I missed yer, darlin'."
A knock at the door pulled me from my haze, and I gazed at Logan and at the clock which reflected the late hour.
His breath deepened, and his demeanor shifted into the monster hunter as he approached the entryway. I watched him open the door. After a long pause, his laughter reverberated through the walls. My brows knitted as my gaze transfixed on him as he stepped aside, and the silent footsteps of the Sheriff entered.
My eyes widened as my hand instinctively cupped my mouth to stifle a scream, and, or a laugh; I was not entirely sure as I stared at Justice's bald head.
A bright blush was already deepening on the sheriff's face, which was spreading to his ears, and a weak apologetic drawl fell from his lips, "Sorry to intrude, folks, but Heidi kicked me out and forbade me to come home until I grew my hair back."
this made me giggle so hard when i saw it because i could just imagine trying to reason with him to put it down because like either 1) hes like what? Of course i’m not taking it how dare you assume i’d kidnap the bug from his natural habitat yadayada
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
Chapter Tag: NSFW
Word count: 1203
AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Chapter Six
The whisper of a dawn wakes you in the quiet, and you feel the beginning of the day even with your closed eyelids. The comfort of the soft, warm sheets cradles you, tempting you to go back to slumber. A smile grazes your lips as you feel the dip in the mattress and recall the night before; you slowly open your eyes, and the piercing blue irises, full with ardent affection, meet your sleepy turquoise ones. The pieces of his messy chalk-white hair fall perfectly framing his beautiful face, on his stomach hugging the pillow, the ripples of muscles flex as he moves the arm draped over your waist, and what little distance between you disappears entirely, and you are enveloped in his tender embrace. Your nakedness entwines, and your skin prickles, the heat rising responding to his touch, and he nuzzles you deeper into him.
"I love you, darlin'." The word slips from his lips not as a declaration nor a confession but a truth which offers no refute. The weeks of your absence in his life brought on immeasurable heartache and emptiness that he has no desire to relive.
He kisses the top of your head, your temple, the tip of your nose, and slowly, his lips find yours, claiming you as his hand traces your silhouette, burning you with his touch. The impossibly large hands envelop your left, and his fingers slip something onto one of yours; your breath hitches as you pause, and the blue greens flicker, refusing to choose one, always both gaze into his oceanic sea-glass ones, holding your entirety into its reflection, glinting with tenderness and devotion. In the same breath, he lifts your hand, his lips softly touch your ring finger; you are mesmerized as you behold the simple band, with an impressive emerald-green stone surrounded by tiny blue sapphires.
The room settles into a quiet hush as if the whole of Eufaula silences and waits…
The thick drawl, dripping with passion, echoes a familiarity that soothes and anchors you in the present.
"Marry me…" The fabrics rustle as he moves to kiss you deeper. In between kisses, he spoke, "Be my wife…" The taste of him, saccharine and sunshine, coats your tongue, "Make me your husband…" An exhale escapes him, and his warm breath fills you, "Make me the happiest man in all of the free cities…" His tongues swirl with yours as his callused hands roam your body, burning as if branding every part of you as his, "Wherever you are is where I’ll be…" He bites your lower lip as he cages you under him, and anchors your leg on his waist…"Take me with you…"
His forehead presses on yours as you share a breath; he reaches, and you feel his fingers massaging your core.
A grunt akin to a growl escapes him, "Already so soaked for me…"
His two fingers enter, and you gasp at the intrusion; he withdraws, and your body clenches as you search for him, feeling the void he left. He raises his hand to his lips, a hint of lust in his eyes as he examines, separating his fingers, and a string of your desire stretches between, and he sucks them greedily.
"Oh, darlin', so sweet for me."
The lewd sounds of his mouth make you ache for more.
You reach with your left hand, grasping his length, half-hard for you; you stroke him, the little light from the drawn curtain catches on the jewel on your finger, making it sparkle. Your ring finger grazes his tip, taking the bead of precum leaking; you bring your finger to your mouth, and you suck, hungry, as he watches, eyes laced with lust.
A moan falls from you, "My monster hunter."
His lips engulf yours, tongue tasting the salty mixed in with your taste of honeyed water.
In between kisses, he growls gutturally, "I missed yer."
He rubs his tip on your wet folds, coating his whole length with your juices as he swallows all your sweet moans. You taste your arousal in him, coating your tongue; it was enough to make you come. He gasps as he sheaths, burying himself to the hilt, and holds you shaking in his arms. The sea-glass blues of his irises beheld your turquoise ones rimmed with sunlight, and he professes.
"Wherever you are is where my home would be. I love you…"
Your lips envelop his, cutting him mid-sentence, as your tongue rolls inside his mouth. A groan escapes him, traveling through your spine, ending in your core, the familiar knot tightens. The heat bleeds in the air around you as you breathe in the shape of him, as if he is to disappear into a mist from you.
You clench, urging him to move, "Please, Logan…" His name rolls off your lips like sin.
His eyes darken with something raw and hungry; he thrusts into you with slow, even strokes, swiveling his hips, hitting the spot he knows you teeter, your toes curl. The delicious friction, making you dig your nails in, creating crescents that cut and sting; his lips break into a smile at the familiar pain.
He grunts a growl, "I missed yer…"
The weight of his need consumes you, as he holds you caged in his arms; the cries that fall from your lips soothe something in him, and he aches for more.
"I could touch yer like this forever."
He reaches with his other hand, and his rough, callused thumb worships your clit; your walls begin to pulsate around him. A crack of heat runs up his spine. Delirious with desire, he drives into you, rough, hungry, without hesitation; he looks down at where wetness meets desire, and a low carnal groan releases from him. Lips feverish, you kiss him as if erasing the weeks spent apart; he grips you harder, grounding.
A breathy whine, almost a plea, escapes your lips as you climax, soaking him as the absolute pleasure crashes over you; you clench hard, and he is unable to hold himself. A low, dirty growl vibrates from him as his hips shudder, and his warm cum fills you. His lips find yours, kissing you deep, and the taste of him coats your tongue—lust and sunshine—the scent of vanilla with a hint of leather and sex surrounds you, drowning you in ecstasy.
The beads of sweat glisten on the tops of your skin as the impossibly large arms tuck under you, as he flips with you on top of him as if you have always belonged there; his half-hard cock still inside you as your walls continue to pulsate around him, milking every last drop.
His hand trails up and down your spine languidly as you feel his hard muscles under you. In between catching his breath, he asks, "It's a yes?"
You huff a quiet laugh, your body hums, settling deeper into his warm embrace. You answer, "I love you, Logan, my monster hunter."
"I love you, darlin'—forever, and then some."
The words settle comfortably within you, a vow deeper than any oath; a determination of a future of love in each other's embrace.
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 6: The Unfortunate Events in the Wandering Y
My Time at Sandrock
Builder/Logan
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
Word count: 3327
AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Chapter Five/ Epilogue
Chapter 6: The Unfortunate Events in the Wandering Y
The loud screams carry through the silence of the dawn, pulling you from deep slumber. A breathy groan leaves your lips as you try to discern if the commotion needs your immediate attention.
"Go, git! Dang rockynerolls"
An audible sigh escapes you as you thrust your pillow, covering your head, muffling Cooper's cries. Your eyelids are heavy, and your breath settles into a comfortable rhythm…
The sonic boom of rifle shots in succession, quickly followed by wood breaking and crashing, pierces the quiet.
The sound of rustling fabric echoes as you throw the blanket off, your pulse pounding in your ears; the chair lands with a thud on the floor from you pulling your robe. The hurried footsteps resonate throughout the house as you hurriedly run through and out of the workshop, heading for the Wandering Y.
You arrive at a number of Sandrockers, all in different states of wakefulness, donning their dressing gowns, sleep pants, bonnets, and curlers, paired with work boots. All weary faces with furrowed brows, and wrestling, trying to rub off the cobwebs of sleep.
The familiar horned hat towers over most of the onlookers, and a smile dawns on your lips, catching a glimpse of him, mirroring the same expression of bewilderment and cantankerousness as the crowd surrounding him.
You station beside him, heart fluttering as he noticeably moves to give you room; under the brim of his hat, his eyes trace your silhouette, and you catch him focusing on what you are wearing beneath the robe, making your cheeks burn. The scent of vanilla and a hint of leather warps your senses. He gazes at you, and the blues of his eyes soften as he beholds your puffy ones; his fists flex, and he moves closer, bridging the gap ever further, but not touching.
The thick drawl pierces through the silence, "Ain't seen you a few days now, leavin' yer mounts at the stable. You've been hidin' under a rock or somethin'?"
You stare at him, shirtless, in pajama bottoms, boots, and his signature hat. The tips of his fingers brush against you, sending electric pulses through your skin.
"Why? Keeping tabs on me, monster hunter?"
"Always."
Your heart soars, and you bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling, and you answer, "Mines, actually."
He chuckles, "Same difference."
You raise a brow, and you tease him, "You look good sober."
A bright blush dawns on his cheeks, spreading to his ears, and he leans closer, his hot breath prickling the tips of your skin, and confesses, "Not too drunk to remember, I love you, darlin'. Please, let me come home."
The townsfolk situated around you turn, giving the two of you knowing glances and quiet smiles.
The burn on your cheeks deepens as your heart somersaults, and you change the topic, "You're going to catch a cold. Where's your shirt?"
A smug smile laces his lips as he glances at you from the brim of his hat, a pitiful sigh escapes him, and he answers, "I misplaced my favorite one… I'd take it back, but the darn thing looks better on yer."
Your face is now a bright crimson color, and you bite the smile now edging at the corners of your lips.
The number of onlookers grows, and he positions himself behind you, close, and you feel the heat of his chest; his hands rest on your shoulders in a protective stance.
"Stay close, darlin'. Don't want yer bein' crushed."
His thumbs draw tiny circles, gently massaging; your body betrays you as you imperceptibly lean back, and before you can correct yourself, his arms move, hugging your shoulders, with your chin resting on his forearms. He whispers a kiss on the top of your head, lighter than a breath, as if testing the waters to see if you will pull away.
You do not, as the warmth of his presence settles you, quieting the ramblings in your mind.
The charged whispers rise to a fever pitch. The destruction is devastating as the whole wooden fence is in ruins, and the broken boards litter the gravel floor. The fake yakmel is frozen mid-stride, riddled with giant bullet holes from the rancher's rifle. The whole scene is devoid of the thing that should have been there—Cooper’s yakmels.
The whole herd is gone.
On his soapbox, Cooper addresses the crowd, “Those dang rockynerolls got in this morning since the fake yakmel stopped working. I shot them, but those dang things were so fast, I ended up destroying the fence. Now, all my domesticated yakmel are out roaming the desert. It’s a tragedy—a tragedy I tel’ya.”
He dramatically gesticulates, screaming to the morning's captive audience; amongst those present are the mayor, the sheriff, and the commissioner, who try to pacify the situation.
A few moments later, the commissioner calls you, Mi-an, and the other builders into an impromptu meeting. The jobs are divided on sight; you are tasked with making another fake yakmel, while Mi-an, with the other women builders, is to start rebuilding the wooden fence. All the male builders are to assist in wrangling the yakmel. Every able-bodied man is to help in gathering the escaped yakmel.
There are to be no ropes; they are too delicate; instead, every single one needs to be coaxed and cooed to return peacefully.
The voice of the commissioner drifts to the background as you scan the area for Logan; you find him in a group huddled around the sheriff. The blues reflecting the morning light, gazing at your turquoise ones rimmed with sunlight, his stare holds you in their embrace. A bright blush blooms on your cheeks, and you watch his ears turn a nice crimson hue; he grins under the brim of his horned hat.
The gravel breaks underfoot as the mayor dismisses the crowd, with instructions to reconvene in an hour to start.
He approaches, "Can I walk you home?"
You open your mouth to answer, but hear Justice call out in the background, "Logan."
A precious pout forms on your lips, you whisper, "They need you, monster hunter."
The sand shifts as you turn to leave, and the warmth of his hand wispily drags down your arm. "They can wait. I'm walkin' yer home."
The gravel rolls off your boots as he escorts you back to the workshop; his hand lightly grazes the back of yours, sending shock waves down your spine.
At the gate, the sea-glass blues stare deep into your turquoise pools; in a barely audible voice, he spoke, "My builder?"
Your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, then your eyes widen, "What? Wait. You jealous?"
A scowl dawns, "The swimsuit."
You chuckle, "I was with my friends, hanging out at the oasis. What did you expect me to wear?"
Without missing a beat, he answers, "One of Grandma Vivi's mumu."
The sound of your laughter echoes as the tears gather at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. His heart soars as it is the most beautiful sound, and he has missed hearing it.
"You could have joined us; everyone else in town did."
He takes off his horned hat, raking his fingers through his hair, "Didn't think I was welcome?"
Your smile disappears, and you wispily drag your hand down his arm.
A breath escapes him, and he grins, "Uhm, so, where's builder boy?"
You pout at the dig and respond. "Max. He offered to defend me from you that night."
He nods, "Coz he did, I expected nothin' less."
"He's back in Atara. He wrote, inviting me to come visit."
A smile laces his lips, "That's mighty kind of him, I'd love to go, and we can visit Haru while we're there."
You raise a brow, "I'm not taking you."
"He's mistaken if he thinks I'll let my darlin' travel all by herself."
Your brows furrow as you correct him, "I ain't your darlin'."
"Guess, that's why there ain't no note." He huffs, "After seein' me naked and spendin' the night in my arms. I'm feelin' a bit used."
You lose your breath, and your eyes narrow into slits, "Owen!"
"Oh, and yer don’t snore, at least not when I’m holdin' you in my arms." He leans in and whispers in the shelf of your ear, "Never did, darlin'." He continues, his breath heavy, making your skin prickle. "Not that—that builder would ever find out. Yer already 'ave a monster hunter, no need for a builder—yer mine—I don't share."
"What-that-I," You lost all train of thought.
"I'll see yer back in the ranch." He tilts his horned hat and pivots, strolling back to the Wandering Y.
You return a couple of hours later with the newly built fake yakmel in tow, grumbling under your breath about having to build another one of the monstrosities.
The pounding sound grows louder, and you find Mi-an hard at work, together with the other female builders, building the fence. You carefully remove the ruined one, and you position the replacement in the same spot. As you continue to work installing the build, you begin to notice the women from town who came with chairs and set themselves comfortably near the barn with a clear view of the ranch.
Your brow furrows as you scan the landscape and discover all the able, beautiful, unattached men of Sandrock, shirtless, glistening with sweat, roaming the perimeter and the desert, working tirelessly to wrangle the uncooperative yakmel.
You pause, a smile laces your lips as you watch in awe.
The women take seats, enjoying the view, donning shades, fanning themselves a relief from the unforgiving heat, and drinking Cooper's special yakmel milk. Actively, taking on the mantle of cheerleaders for the fearless wranglers, as slowly, the men coax the yakmel back into the safety of the ranch.
The men return to a hero’s welcome with every successful retrieval.
Of course, not every yakmel is willing, and since the fence is only halfway done, they wander back outside the perimeter time and time again.
The Civil Corps, Justice and Unsuur, topless and perspiring, bear the whistles of admiration from the ladies who enthusiastically cheer them on. On occasion, the sheriff will give them a wave paired with a toothy grin, ever the consummate public servant.
"You could cuff me anytime, Sheriff." A voice calls out.
The owner of the Blue Moon, Owen, the most immaculate of the menfolk, with a physique sculpted to perfection, out on the field, garners a lot of laudation.
"Hey, I'm his girlfriend." A quip from Jane, the town's teacher, can be heard over the loud susurations.
An irate answer echoes, "We're just looking."
The Junior Minister, Burgess, returns to a standing ovation, wolf whistles, and applause, which makes him turn a nice crimson color.
"Bring them back to the Light, Pastor."
The doctor, Fang, quietly sits with the ladies, on standby, prepared with heart stroke medicine. The director of research, Qi, lends his expertise, as he observes the whole situation, armed with a map, he calculates the probabilities of where to find the wandering beasts, with a surprising ninety-nine percent accuracy.
The writer Earnest, with the businessman Arvio, having hardly any experience in performing the task, works in tandem. The same accolades are directed to the duo, to which they graciously accept.
The monster hunter Logan, his alabaster skin glistening under the Eufaula sun, and seemingly, unfairly blessed by the Light, his smile is evident from under the brim of his hat every time he makes a successful return.
“You go, yakboy! You can wrangle me anytime."
He ignores, unbothered by the boisterous gathering; he constantly scans the ranch in search of you. When he finds you, he smiles and gazes at you a little too long, seemingly making sure you are fine. The actions attract more attention from the crowd of onlookers; the darting glances they throw at the two of you, burning the back of your skull.
You keep your head down as you, together with Mi-an and the other builders, pound hard on the mallet in an attempt to finish the fence.
By midday, the unforgiving sun scorches the desert, and the Mayor directs everyone to a one-hour break. The voices, together with the loud pounding of mallets, cease, and the desert exhales as everyone heads to the table where Mabel, Krystal, and Grandma Vivi, together with the children, lay out prepared food and drinks for everyone.
Your armor is unceremoniously discarded atop one of the posts, and the tee is now clinging, drenched in sweat.
His brows furrow as he searches for you working under such harsh conditions, half-naked, sweat glistening on top of his alabaster skin, with an air of easy confidence, he saunters over carrying two bottles of Sandberry juice, a canteen of water, and some cheese sandwiches. He squats beside you and gently brushes a stray hair that has fallen. In his signature drawl, he invites you."Com'now, time for a break."
Mi-an and Nia, dawning smiles as they watch you walk with Logan, heading for the nearest tree offering shade.
You settle, as he stations himself beside you, close but not touching, and your heart flutters; you smile. The blue-green pools peek over his shoulder, at the women on lawn chairs glancing towards the two of you. "You seem to have garnered a following.”
He maintains his position beside you, as he straightens his back and flexes the chiseled muscles of his chest. “Well, if that’s what they’re into, I can hardly be blamed for that, can I?”
You raise a brow and meet his gaze, and you both burst out laughing. The chain that has been holding your heart breaks, and you feel the release as you bask in the nearness of him.
You tease, "I think Owen bested you on that one."
The smile evaporates, and his lips tighten as he throws Owen a fleeting glance. "Tch. Yer not into that, are yer?" His voice is a mark octave higher.
"Why, Monster Hunter, are you jealous?"
The blue pools soft, waiting for an answer, as if holding his breath.
A smudge of dirt on his cheek, you reach and gently swipe your fingers across, removing the mud that is marring his handsome face. He is stunning, dusty, and sweaty under the sweltering heat, smelling of musk, perspiration mixed in with vanilla and a hint of leather; you inhale the shape of him. The pounding of your heart was deafening, and you could swear he and the other builders could hear it, wanting to leap out of your chest, having him this close to you.
"No," your eyes drag through his face and his silhouette, and you bite your lower lip. "I like mine a little less perfect but with a lot of attitude."
A bright blush spreads across his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I read your Monster Hunter journal."
"Uhm."
"Are you angry?
The line on his face deepens, and your gaze locks. "Left it out, didn't I."
"Still…"
A smirk lurks at the corner of his lips, he queries, What'cha think?"
An exhale escapes, with your voice barely audible, you ask, "The annotations at the back... Why?"
The horned hat turns in his hand as he fiddles with the brim. "Ain't never been in a relationship, I wanted to remember everythin' 'bout yer. How yer like your coffee, favorite recipes, color, anniversaries… I didn't wanna forget nothin' and mess things up."
"…and the sketches…"
A gentle breath escapes his lips, "Nights in the wilds, on quiet evenin's, sketchin' helped ease the pain of missin' yer."
The blue-greens of your eyes well up, his stare softens, and he reaches with his kerchief, wiping the tears brimming at the edges—smelling of vanilla, and a hint of leather.
"I love you, my builder."
The words land softly, you sniffle, holding the sob in your throat. “How can you still smell heavenly?
He cocks an eyebrow, feigning surprise, mirroring your sentiments, teasing, “I smell heavenly?”
You chuckle and roll your eyes.
He leans closer, and your breath hitches, his nose grazing the nape of your neck with his warm breath, prickling your skin. “You always smell delicious, darlin', jasmine and citrus," licking his top teeth, "I could eat yer up."
His cheek lightly grazes yours, and he slowly pulls back. You could almost taste him.
The pink gloss of your cheeks takes on a darker hue as the heat pools inside. The blue irises gaze into your turquoise ones; your eyes move to his parted lips. You card your fingers through his chalk-white hair, pulling them away from his face, tucking them behind his ears. The nice crimson color now spreads to his ears, and he smiles. The gesture, all too familiar; the rough edges filed down, and you know he reserves this soft side of himself only for you.
You finish the canteen, and he gently holds your hands, lifting you to your feet; you both drag your heels, walking back.
The horned hat lands softly on your head, “I don’t want no one here gettin’ any ideas, who I belong to!” The gesture, however, does little to dissuade his adoring fans, as the cheering starts up again—the wide brim that hides your growing smile and continually darkening crimson face.
He withdraws before you are able to respond, turns to the crowd, which is now a mess of yells and howls, and with a slight bow, “Ladies,” he then struts on his way to wrangle more yakmel.
You behold his silhouette, Mi-an nudges you, and you both giggle.
The last of the beams is hammered in place, and the fence is done; you, with the other builders, stand and dust yourselves, to the applause of those assembled. From the crowd, Nia emerges running toward Mi-an, and embraces her—sharing an intimate kiss.
Mi-an, glancing at you, tilts her head towards where Logan is, "Go get your man."
A smile tugs at your lips, you call out, "Hey, my monster hunter."
The crowd simmers down to a charged silence; he pivots on his heels and faces you smiling.
"Time to come home."
The words weave themselves into him, and he whispers, "Home."
The gravel and sand break under his heels as he sprints to you; he pauses right in front of you as he cups your face with both hands, the sea-glass blue pools glinting with ardent affection, he declares in his thick drawl, loud enough voice for everyone to hear, "I love you, darlin'." He presses his forehead onto you, and you both share a breath; his lips touch yours, not gentle or tentative, but claiming and demanding.
A heavy wave of euphoria crashes through you, and you respond in equal measure, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him deeper into you as your every breath hung in his. He tastes of sunshine and coffee, and you are intoxicated.
The world ceases and becomes irrelevant; there is only you, and everything else are mere set decorations.
In between kisses, you whisper, "My monster hunter."
"All yours, darlin'—I'll follow wherever you lead."
The air is feverish around you, and a glimmer of lust reflects in your eyes. His arms tighten and aim never to let you go; he picks you up with one arm, making you giggle, hugging him, you rest your head at the crook of his neck. The warmth of your breath on his skin sends electric pulses down his spine, making his body hum, and the blood rushes south. And with his other hand, he picks up all your stuff, and the two of you skedaddle home. In the background, Cooper protests, demanding that the two of you return, while your friends celebrate your reconciliation with cheerful chants and cajoling.
He is conscious of what he almost lost; you will never again question where his loyalties lie and whose heart he belongs to.
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.
I woke up with a jolt, the memory of a monster chasing me, blood and gore (I don't normally dream in color). George Clooney was there, battling the same monster...
Drops Of Jupiter - Chapter 5: Ramblings of the Heart
My Time at Sandrock
Builder/Logan
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
Word count: 4566
AO3 //Main Masterlist // Drops of Jupiter Masterlist
Chapter Four/ Chapter Six
Summary
You stare into nothing until you realize you exited the wrong door; across from you, Logan's front door stares as if waiting. The sand rolls off your boots as you approach and tentatively knock, nothing. You imperceptibly tremble as you grip the knob; it yields, you hesitate…
Chapter 5: Ramblings of the Heart
The cushions bend and release a silent groan as his massive figure settles into the soft couch. The cold bottle of yakmel milk leaves rings of condensation onto the wooden table as he watches the night's patrons shuffle in and out of the saloon.
His heart constricts as he remembers your first date as a couple, as he was still nursing his injury, after being shot by an arrow laced with poison, sitting at the same booth…
The subtle smiles and knowing glances of their friends, who frequent the Saloon after a long day under the Eufaula sun, were not lost on him, and he meets every single one he catches with a knowing nod. He reaches, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, and a bright blush blooms, staining your cheeks. Your legs feel the brush of his as he cages them in between his; his massive hand holds yours from across the table with his thumb gently massaging your knuckles.
After the meal, the scent of jasmine and citrus overwhelms his senses as you move to sit beside him to get a better view of the band playing. He instinctively wraps you in a half-hug, and you settle comfortably in his embrace. You feel the pounding in his chest and lean in, kissing his cheek, lighter than a breath, and a shock wave cascades down his spine ending in a pool of heat and want. He angles his head, and his lips touch yours, tongue tracing the seams, and you open, and you taste of honey water; he lost himself.
The beads of sweat form atop his skin as he breathes in deep, recalling the time later that same evening, in the workshop. The sea-glass blues hooded with lust as you gaze up at him from your thick lashes as you lick the precum at the tip of his cock, and an electric pulse travels the length of his spine, and a low guttural groan escapes him.
Your pretty mouth wraps around his whole length, and you whisper, "My monster hunter." The vibration reverberates through him, making him drunk with desire.
His hand moves to the back of your head, gently guiding you; he watches as your head bobs, cheeks hollowing, and his head falls back. The heat pools, and he involuntarily thrusts, and you take everything as the tears begin staining your cheeks. He is unable to hold off, and he grunts a growl as he shudders coming, and you swallow, emptying himself in you. The cum mixes with your saliva, drools down your chin, and you release him with a pop.
He pulls you onto his lap, and he cups your face, and his lips find yours, kissing you deeply, tasting the salty bitterness of him mixed with the sweetness of you.
The two of you end up naked, bodies intertwined in heat and passion with your sheets smelling of jasmine and sex; that evening, you unravel under him, and yet he is the one unmade—belonging only to you.
"Hey, pardner."
Justice's voice brings him back to the present. The bitter taste of yakmel scrapes a trail down his throat as he tries to drown the memory of that night, as he faces the pain of the present.
The hooves of Law outside the workshop echo in the desolate night air, calling your attention even before Unsuur utters your name, reeking with desperation.
You climb down from your roof to meet the deputy at the gates, your brows furrow as he is riding the sheriff's horse. The lines on his face deepen as he gleams your confusion, "Long story, but I need you to come with me to the Saloon."
Your breath hitches as you mount behind him. Law lets out an exasperating snort, and you are off.
The loud susurations permeated the night air, mixing with the music from Coogo's band, and then you hear it. The thick drawl rising above the noise, belligerent and demanding.
You quietly enter as Owen greets you, "I'm sorry, I know you're no longer…" He cut himself mid-sentence as the blue-greens of your eyes met his deepening blue ones. "He refuses to leave, and he is starting to scare the other patrons with his… well, you know."
"His winning personality?"
"Please, I can't throw out my best friend."
A breath escapes you as you roll your eyes, and your boots march with intention towards the loud slurring drawl, where you find Justice sitting across from him, an accomplice with the night's frivolities.
A flushed Logan stares up at you as a smile dawns on his lips so wide his eyes dance, he hiccups, "Hey, darlin', yer came."
You bite the insides of your cheeks to prevent yourself from scolding him; instead, you smile as you offer your hand, "Time to come home, yakboy."
He takes it, and before you know what happened, he has you on his lap in a tight embrace, muttering apologies on the crook of your neck. The smell of yakmel milk, potent enough to light a bonfire, mixed with vanilla and leather, surrounds you. The impossibly large hands wrap around your waist, holding tight as if you were to disappear into a mist. The warmth of his entirety engulfs you as you feel his bulging muscles and the hardness between his legs stirring to life.
"Sheriff!"
The whole saloon hushes, and time moves like smoke; everyone's attention focuses on Heidi, at the swinging door, glaring at Justice, who marches in a huff across the hardwood floor.
Justice finishes his drink in one gulp, supporting a goofy grin, and blurts out in a loud whisper, "Gotta go, folks, my lady here. hic."
He meets her halfway and wraps an arm around her. The music starts back up, and the patrons return to their conversations.
"Are yer takin' me home? hic." He asks as he buries his head deeper in your neck, his warm breath making your skin prickle.
A bright blush on your cheeks as you extricate yourself and coax him to his feet. He drapes an arm around you, leaning more than necessary, and you allow him; outside, the night air wakes him up, and he mumbles, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
The two of you pose at his door, and the blues of his eyes meet your turquoise ones, cocking an eyebrow, "What'd?"
"Home."
A precious pout forms on his lips as he grunts in protest.
"I want your home—the workshop, hic."
The demands fall on deaf ears as you push him inside, ascending the stairs. "You need a shower, monster hunter."
A haughty grin laces his lips as he tries to glance at you over his shoulder, and he queries, "We're showering?"
In a tone offering no refute, you answer, "Yes."
In the bathroom, you command, "Take your clothes off, yakboy."
In no time, he is naked and under the nozzle; you focus on his eyes as you glimpse his impressive silhouette, with muscles sculpted by the gods, taut from the cold air, the scars appearing like intricate tattoos on his alabaster skin, and him half-hard, aching for a release. Your hand rests on his ribcage, skin warm and prickling under your touch; you feel the pounding in his chest as he waits in anticipation. Your other hand reaches, turns the spigot, and closes the curtains.
A haughty grin laces your lips as you hear the loud grunts of protest mixed with the sounds of the ice-cold water pelting him, delivering a sobering truth, and pulling him back to reality. You hand him soap from behind the curtain, and he quietly follows your lead.
The water shuts off, and he opens the curtain, still naked. Your breath hitches as you behold him, his wet chalk-white hair, slicked back, displaying the cheekbones raised to the gods, emphasizing his chiseled jawline that can cut paper, and beads of water resting atop his perfectly chiseled musculature. You struggle to maintain eye contact, give him a towel, and you move to wait outside. The terrycloth hangs low on his hips, revealing his happy trail, and you stare.
In his room, he sits at the edge of the bed as you pull another towel, gently trying to dry his unruly locks; his forehead bashfully rests on your chest, and you feel the warmth of his breath through the fabric of your top, making your nipples pebble. His hands grip the dips of your hips, as if anchoring himself. You softly push him back, rifle through his drawers, and hand him pajama bottoms.
"Get dressed. I'll come right back."
The counter in the tiny kitchen holds your weight, and the cold sweat rolls down your back as you catch your breath.
You return to him, still sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning, elbows on his knees, with his head hanging, eyes fixed on the floor. He looks up as he hears your footsteps enter, the blues of his eyes soft, and you hand him a glass of water, together with Fang X.
"Take it."
His eyes never leave you as he follows without protest.
A jug of water and a lined bin lay next to his bed; the mattress dips as you take a seat on Andy's bed across from him. The lines of your face wrinkle as you search the room, you open your mouth, but before you are able to ask…
"Sleepover, all the kids at Pebbles tonight, Rocky and Crystal are hostin'."
You nod.
"Logan—we have to move…" Your gaze locks, you trail off as his sea-glass eyes' deepening stare into yours, mirroring your pain, and you shift.
"…s-sleep this off."
The warmth of his hands envelops yours, and you pause.
"I'm sorry."
You choke out a dry laugh, "One too many yakmels, happens to the best of us." The line between your brows deepens, and you continue, "Never seen you drunk, certainly not Owen calling… not important."
He shakes his head slowly, "Only one other time, when I was youn'… I'm sorry—" The sea-glass stares and holds your turquoise pools, "The broken promises, missin' our anniversary, not talkin' to yer 'bout trips to the desert…" A loud sigh escapes his lips, "What I said at the Square…" He visibly trembles as he struggles to find the words, "Yer need a partner…" His grip tightens as his thumb massages your knuckles, "At the oasis, seeing yer talking to that bloke, then callin' him yer builder—"
The blues in his eyes deepen. "I've been savin'… savin' for us… "
Your eyes widen, the words taking you out of your haze, and your voice breaks, asking, "What? Why? I live in a man… I—We have more than…"
He shakes his head and continues, "I want to provide for you and Andy—not to have to work so hard… yer deserve everythin' your heart desires… I wanna give you…"
The drawl thick and heavy with regret, he continues, his hands tighten as he anchors himself; a sob is caught in his throat.
"Instead, I lost yer, I want—need you back…"
He releases one hand, reaches, and softly caresses your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.
"I-I love you, darlin', ain't never… Light, I love you."
The confession makes your heart spasm.
You respond, "I'm sorry. What I said in Martle Square…"
He shakes his head, "You ain't wrong, I never wanted to… scared I'll end up like my Pa. Until—" The sea-glass blue pools meet mirroring your blue-green ones, "You." The tone deepens, offering no refute.
You lean in, devouring the distance between you as your cheek skims his; you gently push him to bed and pull the covers. His arms wrap around your waist, and you press your forehead onto his, and you share a breath.
Your body shifts, settling into the familiar and comfortable.
"You must really be drunk—sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."
You withdraw.
In a searing, desperate act, he grips the seams of your top, "I ain't, I love you. We-we're gud together. Please, stay… stay with me," he pleads, asking as if in prayer.
The blood rushes through your veins as you nod, and sit at the edge of his bed; he hugs your waist, nuzzling close, inhaling the shape of you, mumbling, "I love you, stay—stay with me."
You card your hand through his damp, chalk-white, messy hair, combing it into place, and the tips of your fingers gently massaging his scalp.
The moon moves further into the night sky, and soon fatigue and alcohol overcome him, and slumber claims him.
You move softly as you try to extricate yourself from his embrace, and you notice the monster hunting journal on the side table. A sigh falls from your lips as it is another testament of his deep devotion to protecting the Eufaula. You reach and riffle through the pages. The papers contain descriptions and meticulous notes on each of the beasts written in his beautiful cursive handwriting, accompanied by detailed sketches of the monsters. You trace the patterns with your fingers, and a smile laces your lips.
The lines of your face deepen as you flip through the blank pages and you come across scribbles on the very back pages, completely separate, far removed from all the other entries…
The tears gather as you read through the sweet annotations, discovering more transcriptions, paired with idyllic renderings, little vignettes of his life and of—
The room disappears as you lose yourself in the meticulous, detailed entries. The journal shaking between your fingers as your hands tremble, your gaze locked on the beautiful drawings, his words from earlier echo…
I love you. We-we're gud together.
The warmth of his presence stirs, and his embrace loosens, as he falls deeper into sleep but refuses to let go.
Everything I did was for us.
Your eyes dart between him and the words on the pages; you weave through the layers of emotions coursing through you, and you allow the tears to fall.
The warmth cradles you comfortably as your senses are overwhelmed with the smell of vanilla with a hint of leather; him spooning you, with his head nuzzling at the crook of your neck. His whole body contorts, conforming to the shape of you, neatly tucked into his embrace, and you nestle deeper.
The movement and noises outside the room call your attention, and you are awake even before you open your eyes. All the blood rushes through your head as the realization dawns, and you slip out as quickly and as quietly, skin grazing the cotton sheets, freeing yourself from his embrace. A moan escapes his lips, and you stuff a pillow in between his arms, wincing as you pick up your boots and armor vest
You button the tops of your armor in the hallway and come face-to-face with Owen. You both flinch, and you swallow a scream. A smug smile dawns on his face, and you glare at him. He makes a motion of shoveling food into his mouth and points to the kitchen. You nod, and you motion with your hand of zipping your mouth and slashing across your neck. The smile disappears, and he nods.
You grab his lapel and drag him outside.
"N-Nothing happened. This is your fault." You explain as you hop around, trying to put on your boots.
He shrugs, "I didn't say anythin'."
You huff, "You were thinking it."
He holds both of his hands up, in an expression of surrender, "Hey, it's none…"
The tone laced with fury, you cut him mid-sentence, "Zip it. Don't tell anyone."
He chuckles, "I'm hurt. I don't kiss and…"
You pinch the bridge of your nose, you snap, "Argh! There was no kissing."
A smirk tugs at his lips, "If you say so."
"Don't make me hurt you, barkeep."
You stifle a scream as you stomp home to your workshop, one tantrum away from decking Owen.
♃⭑𓂃
The next few days… no one has seen you as you decidedly burn daylight and evenings inside the mines—perfect place to hide. The constant pounding and grinding lull you into a meditative rhythm, drowning all thoughts of you and Logan, the monster hunting journal, and the decision that you need to make.
The gauge screams the number, and a silent sigh of relief leaves your lips as you still have half a tank of oxygen. You hand searches inside your pockets and find two heartstroke medicines. The doctor specially formulated, to restore your stamina to full; you scan your surroundings, you whisper, "Almost done."
You have been trudging through level 11 for days; Mi-an said that it will take a week to get through to the bottom. It has only a few days, not even close to a week, and except for a few pockets of dirt, you are standing on the metal surface, evident with the loud clanging of your boots echoing through the walls as you walk the perimeter—A smile dawns on your lips.
The floor disappears from under you, and you are flying, feeling the rush of nothingness, then a loud thud. The shock and pain course through you, and you roll yourself into a fetal position, mumbling curses.
A whisper of trepidation courses through you, and you sit up, running your hands meticulously through the tops of your suit, checking for tears.
You look down, and that is when you see the metal sticking out of the floor, an inverted rebar, shaped like a U, attached to the metal ground. The blood rushing through your veins as you crawl to it to examine it further, your breath hitches, "It's a spinney wheel."
Another level?
The gloved hand reaches and turns the wheel; stuck. You anchor your foot on either side, and you give it your full weight as a silent scream escapes you. It gives.
The heavy door opens, and you stand at the precipice; the pounding in your chest is deafening. I should inform the sheriff; they’d have to clear it first.
You roll her eyes and blurt out, "Protocol."
A haughty grin laces your lips. The sound of the boots echoes louder as you descend to the next level. "No sand."
The torch pierces through the oppressive darkness as you examine your surroundings; the whole level intact. The room shifts, and your hand holds one of the rungs of the metal ladder; the area is pristine, untouched by the age of calamity.
The silence is deafening as your hands tremble; your torch falls, rolling along the floor. No… No… NO!
You take small steps, aiming for the faint light of your flashlight.
The light in hand, you began to walk the perimeter; the whole place is quiet.
"It's like a tomb."
Hundreds of years holding onto secrets untouched by the outside world and time. "Beautiful."
You check your map, and you discover that your energy signature is not appearing on it. The machines upstairs are unable to penetrate the walls of this level; if you are trapped in here, no one will know where to find you.
You let out a sad chuckle, probably put out an ad for a builder, like what happened after The Goat mission.
The flashing red light calls your attention; your oxygen level is down to twenty percent, and an audible exhale leaves you. Begrudgingly, you walk towards the ladder, and that is when you see it: a rectangular object on the console. You pick it up, turn it over, your breath hitches, it was one of the most dangerous items from the old world—A mobile phone.
Your eyes widen, looking around as if expecting to find someone to tell you to put it back; the place is completely empty, devoid of life except for you. The decision is yours. You visibly tremble, and your torch almost falls; your hands play catch as you try to save it from hitting the floor.
The red light is blinking faster; you check it again, ten percent oxygen level.
Damn it.
You rummage through your pockets for a resealable bag; the sound of plastic reverberates as you flick it open, plopping the cellphone in it, and resealing the bag. The area echoes with the sound of your boots as you run to the ladder; before ascending, you turn and bow in reverence.
The hatch closes.
♃⭑𓂃
A few days later…
The hum of the machines reverberates through the walls, developing another diagram. A smile laces your lips as you stand a few minutes longer watching the Director run his experiments in the corner; the lines on his face deepen as he seems to be solving another puzzle the universe has thrown his way.
The sound of the boots announces your presence, and he looks up; his brows furrow as it takes him a minute to recognize you.
"Ah, you're here."
The smile stays on your lips, and you respond, "Your letter said urgent."
"Yes, ah, well, I finally found a way to charge the device you procured from the deepest level of the mines. I thought you'd appreciate us turning it on together." He mutters as he scrounges through the drawers to retrieve the device.
You visibly tremble, and it is not lost on him, and he offers, "I could do it alone and just report my findings if this makes you uncomfortable."
You shake your head, "No, I should take responsibility for the discovery and the repercussions."
"That's the spirit of a truly scientific mind, which I always thought you had."
The light flickers, as some kind of picture of a fruit flashes on the small screen, a few icons scattered on the display, but nothing much happens as you both tap on each one.
A loud sigh falls from his lips, "Ah, as I suspected, most of the data is corrupted."
Until you press one that looks like a speech bubble from the old world comics.
It shows several typed-out messages, mostly garbled ones except for a few, and the last one read:
l0g@n, I'm not sure if you'll get __$#*&. My bat tery is <[]*_ dead, and there's no way %# recharge it. There's no bar; I think all -__+= satellites ar3 g0ne I'll l3ave %$__ here __}[_* w3 g0. We'll try to see if anyone else survi__d. Mayb3 you'll try +0 find me, and you =!^cl this and read the message. I love you-^^@$ wrong. Having you in my l!fe ___ everything. I can't even remember what +43 argument was; all I know is —=0 !^^ sorry, and I wish you were wit_ me. Wher_^#_ U, I love you, I never stopp__, I've alw@ys been yours, my darli__ I l0ve you to the mo0n and back @__ round @gain, ch@rl!3
The director rubs the back of his head, "Never fails to disappoint. Whenever faced with one's mortality, people seem to revert to being sentimental. This, by no means, is any different from the others that have been unearthed."
"Others?"
He hands her the device, "Keep it, I have a drawer full of them, and they basically mirror the same triteness. Although that one seems to have retained some of the pictures, and oddly enough, one song. I've made a copy and sent it for analysis to Vega 5."
The door closes behind you, and your heart spasms acutely; you thought your chest would crumple. You look through your tears-soaked gaze at the few pictures that survived, happy faces of people living their best life—a few were of a couple.
You recall the last message typed out, and the memory of the sad, desolate space in the mines; you grip the cellphone tighter, which holds the evidence of the last vestiges of their existence—victims of the great calamity.
You stare into nothing until you realize you exited the wrong door; across from you, Logan's front door stares as if waiting. The sand rolls off your boots as you approach and tentatively knock, nothing. You imperceptibly tremble as you grip the knob; it yields, you hesitate…
"Hey."
The familiar tiny drawl, you freeze, and you drag your hands down your face, mustering a half-smile, and you turn to meet his gaze. The softness reflecting from the amber pools rimmed with sunlight stares right into yours, and you almost break.
"Hi." You open your arms…
The gravel shifts and rolls underneath as you take a few steps back, the weight of his tiny body slams onto you, and you engulf him in an all-encompassing embrace.
"I miss you too, my sweet-sweet boy."
He buries his head in the crook of your neck with his arms and legs tightening around you. He mumbles, "Logan's at the Outpost…"
A deep sigh releases from under your breath, "I came here for you. Would you like to have dinner with me at the Blue Moon?"
That night, the ache in your chest feels more like a gaping hole, as you stare into the vastness of the expanse stationed on your roof.
Logan misses you… A lot…
The tiny voice mirroring his familiar drawl reverberates inside the liminal spaces as you reminisce about the life you and Logan shared and the futures you both planned in the same space with only the moon and the stars as witnesses.
Why can't you just work things out?
The question repeats, and you recall the entries scribbled with his beautiful cursive handwriting on the pages of the journal paired with the exceptional sketches, and your vision blurs as you catch the sobs in your throat. You pull at the edges of the shirt you are wearing, hanging mid-thigh, which is not yours; you hold it up to your nose, smelling the vestiges of a mix of vanilla and leather lingering on the fabric. A chill resonates through you, and you instinctively pull the draped blanket tighter, yet you continue to shiver, unable to stave off the cold clutching you.
Fatigue threatens to claim you, and you reluctantly head inside. The bouquet on your nightstand welcomes you as you enter your desolate room; all your favorites, the same ones you threw in the bin that fateful morning, except now there are three dozen of them.
A smile tugs at your lips as you remember how the perfumed air greeted you early as you stepped out of the gate to check your mail. The knowing looks from the townsfolk, who happen to pass by, seeing you struggle to bring them all inside. You reread the card…
My darlin'. I wasn't drunk, I love you. I want to be your partner for life. Let's just talk. Please. Love your monster hunter.
…as you listen to the one song left on the old world device.
I walked a million miles before I came to you
Heaven wide above my head, sand beneath my shoes
Life is the saddest song
But it was nothing until you came along '
Cause every road that I've been on
Leads me back to you
Every road that I've been on
Leads me back to you
In bed in a fetal position, you again cry yourself to sleep, as your hand grazes the empty space beside you, searching for the familiar comfort, your chest constricts and aches because of the absence.
I love you, Logan…choose me.
Author's Notes
This is a retelling of the short series, Back To You, Part 5, The Saddest Song.
