Georgia Clark was changing bandages, gulping at the look of the rushed stitches between his chest. He was asleep, his face was twitching before waking up. His breath hitched, his cold blue eyes searched for something, or someone.
One look was enough to tell how harsh war had treated him.
TW! angst, hurt/confort, cecilia is dead, jealousy, making out, unprotected sex.
Chap 1 â Chap 2 â Chap 3 â Chap 4 â Chap 5 â Chap 6
Elora Cuana was born with a gift.
She was, what someone would call, a mutant.
No one had really noticed her gift, even if it was hard to keep a secret. People would say she had been blessed with beauty, and nothing more. From every side, every angle, she was ravishing to no avail. Her mutancy had been easy to deal with, not even she had noticed the oddness of her angelic features. There was no death count to her power, because she seemed to have no power.
Until recently, only one man had neglected her advances.
Charles Xavier could not reach her mind, and she could not reach his pants, or can she?
TW! tease, m!masturbation, f!masturbation, f!oral sex, making out, unprotected sex.
A part of us
Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore. Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine
Chap 1 â Chap 2 â Chap 3 âChap 4 â Chap 5 â Chap 6 âChap 7 â Chap 8â Chap 9 âChap 10 âChap 11 âChap 12 âChap 13 âChap 14 âChap 15 âChap 16 âChap 17 âChap 18 âChap 19 âChap 20 âChap 21 âCharles' Ending â Logan's Ending
The bottle stopped spinning. You grinned at him from across the circle, mischief glinting in your eyes. Before he could overthink itâbefore he could ruin itâyou leaned in, and your lips met.
Who would imagine Brian Jackson to be such a fuckboy?
TW! tease, first time, m!masturbation, f!oral sex, making out, unprotected sex.
Chap 1 â Chap 2 â Chap 3 âChap 4 â Chap 5 â Chap 6
Bruce Robertson does not give a shit about the weather. In fact, he thinks heâs better.
Amanda Drummond has drunk a little bit too much.
TW! dubious consent, mention of drugs, angst, in public, jealousy, making out, unprotected sex, asphyxiation.
Tom Lefroy enters a brothel expecting indulgence, but instead finds himself utterly schooled. With sharp wit and a stolen kiss, you leave the arrogant charmer breathless, his confidence shaken, and his educationâunexpectedlyâexpanded.
TW! prostitution, in public, making out, mention of f!oral.
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summary: âDon't you got someone waitinâ for you?â The question leaves an odd taste on his tongue. It's bitter and foulânothing sweet like her. He's almost begging for her to run out the door and into her lover's arms, just to save him the trouble and give his mind some rest in the night instead of wondering.
warnings: alcohol, smoking, anaphylaxis, talks about grief and death
wc: 3,671
Previous - Next
Life changes once darkness takes hold. The unstoppable forceâthe devil just over your shoulder wherever you go. No matter how far you run to hide from it. A reminder of what you've lost and what you'll continue to lose. Even if it's yourself. No matter if the loss digs so deeply that you'll never be whole againâor if you're staring down the clock of your own mortality. Nothing is as it was before Death.
She wonders where she would be now without it. Would she still be inside that little cabin on the hill? Nails coated with dirt and a heart never knowing someone else's loveâother than her mother. Would she have known any differently if her mother hadn't become ill? The life that radiated and boomed within such a busy city. The windchimes, once a lullaby, are now replaced by the sounds of sirens. Itâs frighteningly loud compared to the quiet of a far-off field. She makes peace with it for the sake of simple company. For the sake of a single voice to fill her space, rather than the emptiness her mother leaves behind.
Would she ever gain the guidance needed to survive what her eyes witnessed? The lingering souls of long-departed strangers as they roamed the earth. Unfinished business leaves them trapped until closure sets in or locked in repeated loops of time with an unsettled heart. Death stands at the girl's side, easing the pain of witnessing so much loss among the living. Unseen by all except for her.
Would she have gained a friend? A girl roughly her age giving up on the idea of finding another soul to share her space. Hoping to lessen the grief of money until Dawn shows up on her doorstep. âWhat?â She practically spits once the cigarette is pulled from between her painted lips. Dawn is so nervous that she forgets to speak. The paper crumbles in her fingers as she fights for the right words.Â
âIf youâre sellinâ, Iâm not buyinâ.â Another long drag is taken, held tight in her lungs as she waves down the street to another building. âDonât ask them. Theyâll rob you blind. Buncha hagglers.â She warns. And within seconds, the door begins to shut in Dawn's face.
âWait!â She cries outâa sudden rush of bravery that leaves the stranger stalled on the other side of the door. âY-youâre looking for a roommate?â
The woman she would come to know as Charlotte narrows her eyes. âI-I was. Howâd you know about that?â
Without hesitation, she offers up the newspaper clipping. An ad was put out for the public in case they were looking for a place to call home. All she ever found were perverts or untrusting women, ready to take all she had of valueâwhich wasnât much. Charlotte takes the tiny paper, and a smirk is seen on her face as she reads over the damaged print. âThis is from months ago. Howâd you-?â
âI found a newspaper in the trash,â Dawn states without thought. Thinking nothing of the action or the stares she received while elbow-deep in the bin.
Charlotte invites her in for coffee that day, and Dawn never leaves. They laugh through the brief interview, and it's an easy choice to welcome the girl under her roof. It had been years since she first stepped into that empty bedroomânow decorated with what a low salary could afford.Â
Would she have ever met him?
The man with dark hair and a brooding atmosphere around him. An unseen barrier to keep all at bayâincluding the women who longed for company. They come and they go, and he seems mostly uninterested with his mind elsewhere. His replies are dull and douse the flames of any hope, leaving him by his lonesome at the bar each night. She sees himâbut she's unsure if he sees her. Just a stranger too busy drowning his demons so he could survive another dayâanother second.Â
She's lost track of how often he appears. Some nights he's long gone from her infrequent visits. Other times, he is miraculously there each night she makes her way through the front doors. Dawn's lived here for years nowâher name comes easily to the bartenders as they smile and welcome her. A drink was already prepped and slid in her direction as she sat at the bar. Following the pattern theyâve built over time.Â
âHappy birthday, kid.â Barry greets. His gentle smile was hidden away beneath a thick and aged mustache. His beard was untamed through the long and stressful hours of a rush, his fingers pulling anxiously. âItâs on the house.â
She gawksâjaw slacked with the quirk of a smile. âReally?â
The older man shrugs as he grabs a freshly cleaned glass, cloth wiping along the damp edges. âCall it a birthday gift.â
Dawn smiles and says her thanks, tipping the glass in his direction before he moves on with his shift. Some nights he stays to chatâbarking orders in between the kindness he gives her. But with the business only half decorated for the holiday and the flow of traffic neverending, heâs needed elsewhere. Sheâs simply left to enjoy the comedown of a hectic day, oblivious to the early drunks and rambunctious conversations at her back as they challenge friends and strangers over card games and darts. Peace once looked like a quiet night by the fireâbut as the years passed, she favored the noise.
It kept her mind busy.
âCelebratinâ alone?â
She doesnât anticipate his voiceâlet alone to be looking in her direction, lips just hardly touching the glass filled with whiskey. Her face is warmâdamn near scalding from his attention. For a moment she considers if he was speaking to another, but dark eyes peer just above the tilted glass, studying the lonesome woman with all intentions buried and impossible to read. Maybe the man had finally grown tired of the silence he was drowning in.
âN-no. Iâmâwell, itâs technically tomorrow.â She averts her gaze. The intimidation of his presence is dizzying, and she forces herself to focus on the chill of the glass in her hand, twirling it back and forth. âThis is my âIâm stressedâ drink.â She ends with a laugh, risking a glance his way to see a lazy, crooked grin.Â
He huffs out a laugh before the glass connects with his lips. The amber drink vanishes in one gulp. His tongue smacks against the roof of his mouth, sighing in questionable relief or bliss of the burn. âIâm familiar with those.â The empty glass sits small in his handâextended outward in a silent plea for another round. Barry no longer hesitates in filling it, having spent many nights watching him stroll out into the night without swaying or stumbling. âI have a high tolerance,â he would claim, and prove it each time.
He speaks again, but his voice is lost in the excitement surrounding them. Sheâs not even entirely sure it was him, but the glass lowers with haste and spares a look his way, only to find him still locked on her. âDâyou say something?â
His brow quirks in amusement. âI asked what had you so worked up.â
Hot air blows past her lips. The girl's mind scattered and raced as she relived her last few hours of workâand if she should confess it all to a total stranger. She was teaching classâboys and girls at their designated stations with bowls and ingredients, mixing and crushing. Combining everything into something delectableâsomething they could be proud of and eventually make on their own.Â
A young girl takes a bite of her small cheesecake, immediately overwhelmed by the flavor and praise from her teacher, Dawn. But as the seconds tick on, her skin begins to flush. She complains about an odd itch on her tongue, and before anything else is said, Dawn takes the girl by the hand to whisk her down the hall to the nurse's office. The young girl is treated and her parents are called, while the teacher paces back and forth with a flickering focus as she searches for Death to show its face.
âNot this one,â she whispers on repeat.Â
Maybe Death had heard her plea and chose graceâor maybe Fate had sewn together a long thread for the child. Expanding out into the universe until she grows old and weak. The girl is given epinephrine and carted to the hospital for overnight observation, but holds great promise for simply walking out by morning as if nothing happened. Despite her recovery, Dawn feels burdened by the guilt, all because of a Goddamn unlisted egg allergy.
âI failed,â is all that escapes her. The tone now shifted from something so lighthearted to something aching and painful. She feels the fist of disappointment clench around her heart, squeezing until it nearly ruptures. It brings a fresh wave of tears to just barely reach the surface before being wiped away. Sheâs already shed her sorrows once class had finished and on the drive home. It left her second-guessing if all she had worked forâall the trust she had earnedâwas for nothing.Â
The stranger doesnât seem to notice her sadness in the moment. By the time she looks back his way, he seems equally lost to wandering thoughts. Moving through his own journey that led him to where he was now. Demons were not left behind but instead clawed up his back to force a memory he wanted to forget. âBeen there before.â
Dawn knows she should leave it. She should take this moment as a victory. The lone wolf finally peered outside of the shadows and into the light, and to simply leave it be. Corner an animal or push it beyond its breaking point, and youâll only find the end of its claws dug through your skin and its teeth clamped around your throat. But she sees an openingâone that heâs carved out for her, and she takes the bait, entranced by the mysterious man whoâs finally spoken more than six words.
âWhat about you?â She questions.
âWhat about me?â His tone is difficult to readâhis expression even harder as his gaze lowers to hide in the shadows.Â
She shrugs. A look of pure confusion and curiosity is written across her face as she leans in a little closer, folded arms stretched out across the space next to her. âWhatâs got you so worked up? Out here, drinkinâ by yourself?â
He meets her gaze again, though itâs faulty. Attention flickering between her and the cigar he pulls from a leather case just next to him on the counter. He lights it effortlesslyâthe flick of the lighter happening so fast, she barely notices until smoke is spilling from parted lips. âWho said Iâm alone?â
Dawn reacts without thoughtâquick in response as she pulls back, swiveling in the stool to fully survey the busy bar and the idiots that cheered over their silly games. Her lips purse and her nose crinkles in dissatisfaction. Beer spills down their flannels and into their mud-covered jeans, eyes filled with the madness of intoxication. âWhich oneâs yours? I gotta be honest; you seem like a guy with better taste.â
Itâs all fun and gamesâand he catches on quick. By the time she glances back his way, heâs smirking again but says nothing in return. âI mean, no offense.â
He snortsâa refreshing sound, and the sight of his laugh lines gives a certain spark of warmth in her chest. The tall walls he built were breaking down before her very eyes, crumbling to dust in the space between them. âI'm just tryinâ t'find my way.â
Thereâs an eruption of noise off in the distance. Broken glass scattered along the ground as two men meet with faces red and veins protruding from scarred skin. Some unheard arguments between the pair finally come to a head. But before they can exchange blows, security stands between them and escorts them out with fists locked around their shirt collars. He nearly dusts his hands of the problem once they are gone from his sight.
âYouâre sure one of them isnât yours?â She questions. His toothy grin is vibrant as he takes another long drag of the cigar. Maybe itâs stupidâmaybe sheâll live to regret it, but she closes the distance between them; both now sat just at the corner of the bar. âIâm Dawn,â she greets with a timid smile. Half expecting him to slap money on the counter and bid herself and Barry a goodnight. No more pleasantries and forced conversations as the wolf retreats into the night.
To her surprise, he stays, though seems uncertain. She can see the flex of his fingers as they briefly tighten around the glass and the curious raise of his brow. A silent conversation brewing within himself. He releases his drink all too quickly, reaching far down to his right for an abandoned bowl of pretzels, sliding it between their places. âLogan.â
They laugh and drink together. Sharing storiesâor rather, she seemed to be sharing stories. Dawn would ask a question to better understand this man named by her side, and he seemed to have some gift of twisting it around to know her instead. He learned she was a teacher, and she managed to squeeze out that he was a freelancer. Anything to make a buck while he looks for a safe place to land.Â
âI'm working construction right now,â he confesses in a cloud of smoke, dark eyes on her as she downs the last remnants of her drink. Maybe his gaze lingered a little too long as the tequila and orange juice dripped down her chin. The lick of her lips and the quick swipe of fingers along her skin.
âD'you like it?â
Logan is suddenly embarrassedâashamed? Caught like a child, red-handed as he studies every delicate feature. The shape of her cupid's bow and the slight indentations of dimples, growing deeper whenever she smiled. He shakes himself out of the daze, leaning forward on folded arms. âThe construction? Or working for hire?â
She hums in debate. Her body visibly tilting back and forth in thought before answering, âBoth.â
Another stale pretzel, and he answers with a shrug. âItâs good for now. Thereâs no shortage of busy work, so I donât think Iâll get bored too soon.â His eyes are wandering at the sudden realization the crowd has somewhat changed, replaced by a more rowdy groupâand she doesnât seem to notice.
But he does, and maybe it's stupid to worry about a girl who's lived here for far longer than himâbut he still tries to make her aware of the passing time. âDon't you got someone waitinâ for you?â The question leaves an odd taste on his tongue. It's bitter and foulânothing sweet like her. He's almost begging for her to run out the door and into her lover's arms, just to save him the trouble and give his mind some rest in the night instead of wondering.
But her face twists up in disgust, laughing almost too loudly, and Logan feels himself deflating from relief in the stool. âNo,â she scoffsâbut the realization tastes unfavorable for her, too. Thinking back to just how long itâs been since sheâs even held someone's hand. âNo, Iâthere's no one. Just my roommate, but she works late.â
âRoomies, huh?â
âYeah, why? Lookinâ for a place tâcrash?â
He smirks against the glass, mumbling a ânoâ in reply as he envisions nothing but trouble and awkward conversations. Even questionable looks and rumors between neighbors as he moves beyond the threshold.
The girl doesnât take the rejection to heart, still wearing a kind smile that is quickly pried apart by a sudden yawn. Itâs embarrassing, and she knows sheâs been caught with her hand raised to conceal it. His brow is raisedâamused as he taps the ash away into the nearby tray. âDidnât mean tâbore you, sweetheart.â
Dawnâs eyes widen at the sudden nickname, her heart pounding as the name sinks in like an anchor in her unsteady waters. Some form of stability as the winds carry waves high into the clouds. Her face is flush, and her fingers are tight around her forearm to remain focused. Nearly getting lost in all of the excitement. âIâm not bored.â She defends. âYou try waking up at 6 AM tâtake care of kids all day.â
He eyes her carefully, thinking of that certain sparkle of pride seen in her eye when she mentioned working at a school. There was clear passion in itâa love that couldnât be described. Yet, thereâs a twist of frustration in her tone. âThought you liked it?â
âI do! Itâitâs just-â
The young girlâs look of fear fills her vision. Splotchy red skin spreads like a virus as her lips swell up in seconds. If she had waited any longer, her throat would have tightened, and that color would transition to purple and blue as she gasped for air on the floor, in Dawnâs arms. It would have been her fault.
Her fault.
Death meets her when the school bell rings. They stand out in the cleared hallways with the face of someone unknown. A womanâthough all Dawn can see is the flickering creature using her as a puppet to make nice with any strangers to pass by. Itâs a frightening sight at first. Dawn takes a step back with a hand clutched to her chest, her other arm guarding the door. A protective instinct, despite the room now being empty.Â
âJesus Christ,â she gasps, and with a subtle smile from the well-dressed woman, her shoulders relax, and she pulls at her bag a little tighter. âYou couldn't have knocked, or something? Any warning at all.â Dawn moves without hesitation, knowing the space just at her side would fill with the Being that always crept in her shadow.Â
âÉĂÉ'âą¤É âŚĂ⎠âŠÉâą âą .â It states in her mimicked voice. Eyes warm and welcomingâa complete contrast to the void of brilliance. The enchanting halo of light you follow into the afterlife. âĹâ´ Ĺ⎠฿ÉâľâłÉâ´É Ă⣠âŽâą§É â˛Ĺ⹤⹠?â
Dawn nearly laughsâjust nearly. Her lip twisted up into a scowl with a huff passing through anxiously bitten lips. âI thought you were going tâtake her.â
â฿É⎠ŠÄĹÄâŚ'âŽ.â Death states plainly, reaching for the girl's elbow to halt their barely begun journey toward the exit. Their expression is unchanged at the sight of glistening eyesâreliving the fear and what could have been and what eventually will be. âĹâ´ âŽâą§âłâŽ âŚĂ⎠ÉâŚĂÉâ˛âą§?â
It was never enough.Â
Dawn had put her trust in this Creatureâher guidance through the horrors she had been forced to witness at such a young age. A mentor as she bends the darkness she once could not control. Taking a lost girl in a big world and giving her a purpose as the right hand of Deathâa master of the undead.
But trust couldn't douse the fear of love and loss. To grow with someone and learn every flaw and gift, only to watch their soul stripped by the very thing that took such a fragile girl beneath its wing, and it was unstoppable. There was no malice or guiltâDeath simply acted on what it was made to do. Granting peace to those suffering.
She sees this man as another heartacheâwhether by his hand or not. Another loss among the friends she gained she would have to tread through if Death didn't take her first. âIt can just be tiring.â She continues with a weak smile. âEveryone has a limit, right?â
The man takes another hit, his focus unwavering and all too intimidating. âS'pose they do.â
âAnd right nowâŚmy limit is one Tequila Sunrise. Charlotte is going t'be a force tâbe reckoned with by morning.â Regrettably, sheâs easing herself away. Stepping down from the stool, though, in his direction to give him a final opportunity to stop her. Yet he doesnât.
âYour roommate? Not even going t'let you sleep in on your birthday?â
She takes her time. Sliding her coat on with care, just to spare another second before reaching for her heavy book bag, filled to the brim with notes for class and little projects sheâs constructed for the children. âIt's Halloween. There's lots t'do.âÂ
Dawn begins to teeter in placeâchewing at her lip as the reluctance to leave builds. Itâs stupid to be so worried; she may never see him again. Heâs still only a stranger and intends to keep it that way by how much he keeps to himself. Yet it doesnât keep her from grabbing at a napkin and an abandoned pen for tipping and scribles down the address for him. âWeâre having a party.âÂ
The paper is slid in his direction. Brown eyes follow its movements until itâs trapped beneath a single finger, pulling it in closer for inspection. He says nothing, but the smirk around the cigar is telling, along with the raise of a brow. Heâs interestedâor amused at least that she would be so bold. The napkin is folded up and tucked away into his pocket.
âPlease donât be a serial killer.â Dawn teases. Her knees are weak, legs reluctantly pulling away from the mysterious man who refuses to break eye contact with her. Maybe just to get one last lookânot knowing if he'll see her again, despite the invite. âGoodnight, Mr. Logan.â
Finally, he breaks. Head dipped low just to hide a childlike grin as he spares a small wave in return. His fingers hardly lifted from the countertop, keeping it casual regardless of wishing she would change her mind and stay. But is that truly what he wanted? Needed? Another girl to confuse and break on his path of self-discovery, forgetting her name the moment heâs gone from the shared bed by morning.
Her name seems to stick like candy. Sweet with something sourâsomething to leave him wanting another taste, mouth-watering. Goosebumps of desire race along too-hot-to-touch skin as he speaks it againâjust once more. âHappy Birthday, Ms. Dawn.
That was how it all began, but far from where it ended.
What is it about Wolverine ABO aus that has me so fucking hot? Just imagine Logan being able to smell your heat even before youâre aware of it. Imagine him stopping whatever heâs doing and forcing you away from your own tasks, away from everyone else to have his way with you in the first private place he could find. Because of course, your heat would trigger his rut. And then itâd be only a matter of trying to remember what it felt like not to be filled with his dick, because heâd keep it inside of you for as long as you two needed - maybe a little bit longer after that (just in case! Heâd say).
Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore.
Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
(This is Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine fanfic, with multiple endings)
Chap 1 â Chap 2 â Chap 3 âChap 4 â Chap 5 â ...
Chapter 01
The day at the X-Mansion had begun like any otherâuneventful, heavy, and tinged with regret. Charles Xavier had woken up multiple times during the night, each time pushing back the inevitable moment when heâd have to rise from his bed. His head throbbed, a relentless drumming in his ears that served as a bitter reminder of the twoâor was it three? Maybe fiveâdrinks heâd downed before finally collapsing into a fitful sleep. The day was already shaping up to be a disaster, and it hadnât even truly begun. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, sighing as he realized just how far heâd let himself go.
A few days earlier, Wolverine had shown up at the mansion, desperate for help. With Magnetoâs betrayal still fresh, they needed someone to fill the void, someone with a power strong enough to match Erikâs. Wolverine had insisted on making peace with Magnetoâor with you. But Charles hadnât thought of Erik. No, his mind had gone straight to you. Someone whose soul had once been so deeply intertwined with his, someone heâd tried to reach through Cerebro countless times, only to fail miserably every single attempt. You had become unreachable, a ghost in his mind. And yet, he couldnât stop thinking about you.
Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, one that hinted at a plan forming in his mindâa plan that involved you and your mutation. He stumbled through his room, knocking into furniture as he made his way to the bathroom. He had to see you. But not like thisânot disheveled and reeking of regret. He didnât want you to see how much heâd unraveled since losing youâand Magnetoâin one fell swoop.
He stripped off his pajamas, letting them fall to the floor as he stepped under the hot stream of water. The heat was a small comfort, a rare pleasure in his otherwise bleak existence. But even this reminded him of you. The water cascading over his scalp, cleansing his bodyâit was yours to manipulate. The oxygen in the air, the very breath in his lungsâit was yours to control. Your power was terrifyingly beautiful, the ability to strip someone of their breath, to bend water to your will, to look at him with those doe-eyes that once held so much loveâand now, he feared, only contempt.
When he was done, he dressed himself, the scent of cologne masking the lingering stench of regret. He slipped into his usual formal attire, the kind he always wore when he needed to feel in control. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror. Should he shave? The hair wasnât so badâlong, but clean. The beard, though, told a story. Patchy, unkempt, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. He trimmed it just enough to frame his face, to make himself look somewhat presentable.
Charles made the decision then and there. If he couldnât reach you telepathically, heâd go to you physically.Â
Manhattan stretched out before him as he walked a familiar path, the neighborhood still smelling of unfiltered smoke and the faint stench of rats. He climbed the stairs to your apartment, skipping steps in his haste. When he reached your door, he rang the bell.
âIâm coming!â Your voice called from inside, sharp and impatient.
He couldnât help but chuckle, though it was tinged with sadness. You used to say those words often, back when you were together, though the tone was always differentâsofter, teasing, as you lay bare in his bed. The door swung open, and there you were, wearing an oversized t-shirt that did little to hide your legs. His eyes flickered over you unconsciously, a habit he couldnât quite shake. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
âWhat are you doing here?â Your tone was dry, bordering on hostile.
âHave you ever thought about coming back?â he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though desperation clawed at the edges.
âNot in your wildest dreams,â you shot back, already moving to close the door.
His hand shot out, stopping the door before it could slam shut. âWait.â
âI could make you fuck off right this instant,â you warned, your voice low and dangerous. âSo do me a favor and go back to where you came from.â
âYou wouldnât,â he said, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Your apartment was as cluttered as he remembered, a reflection of the chaos in your lifeâand his.
The air between you was thick with tension, a mix of betrayal, anger, and something elseâsomething neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Charles could feel it, the weight of your emotions pressing down on him. But he wasnât here for a reconciliation, not really. He was here for something far more urgent.
âIf youâre here to beg me to join some grand plan of yours,â you began, your voice dripping with sarcasm, âknow that Iâd help anyone else but you.â
His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He shouldâve never kissed Raven, shouldâve never let things go that far. But he had, and heâd regretted it every miserable second since.
âLook, Iâm sorryââ he started, but you cut him off.
âDonât give me that pitiful look,â you snapped. âI know youâve been trying to reach me, and I want you to swallow your ego and let me go.â
âItâs not like thatââ he tried again, but you werenât having it.
âThose words sound so familiar,â you spat, your voice trembling with anger. It was the same thing heâd said when youâd caught him with Raven, his face buried between her legs, his betrayal laid bare for you to see.
Charles flinched, the memory hitting him like a punch to the gut. He remembered the look on your faceâthe pain, the disbelief, the way your doe-eyes had shut as you turned away from him. Heâd deserved it, every second of it.
âGet out of my home,â you said, your voice cold. âYouâre not welcome here. Get out of my life.â
âWolverine asked for you,â he said, grasping at straws. âBlame him, not me.â
Your eyebrows furrowed. âWolverine?â
There was still a soft spot in your heart for the gruff mutant, even if youâd cut ties with everyone else to avoid crossing paths with Charles again.
âTell him to come himself,â you said, crossing your arms.
But then you noticed himâreally noticed him. The long hair, the beard, the way he looked so different yet so familiar. You cursed yourself for finding him attractive, for the way your heart still skipped a beat when he was near. Why had he come here? Why did he have to remind you of everything that had happened? Why couldnât he just stay out of your life, like he had for so many years? Heâd been unfair to you, but not to others. He was a man with a brilliant mind and a heavy burden, and youâd fallen for him despite it all.
Did he regret what heâd done, or did he just regret losing you?
âPlease, just go,â you said, your voice breaking. âGo back to where you came from. If Wolverine needs me, he can come himself.â
Charles knew you were stubborn, unwilling to listen, unwilling to forgive. Heâd lost so much because of his mistakeâhis team, his best friend, his love. And now, he was losing you all over again.
But deep down, he knew it wasnât entirely his fault. Raven had manipulated him, played on his weaknesses, and now he was paying the price.
âWhatever excuse you came here with, you can take it and leave,â you said, your voice firm.
âWhy wonât you listen to me?â he pleaded.
âBecause if I look at you long enough, Iâll remember how you fucked Raven right in front of me,â you said, your voice trembling. It was a lie, and he knew it, but the pain behind the words was real. âNow, if you ever cared for me, respect the fact that I donât want to see you again.â
âThis is bigger than us,â he said, frustration bleeding into his voice. âCanât you understand that?â
âOh, itâs so big that Charles Xavier himself had to come here and ruin my day,â you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. âCongratulations. I donât give a shit.â You gestured to the open door. âGet out.â
He faltered as your eyes locked onto his. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse spiking as your power took hold. You were that powerful, even if you couldnât fully control it. He felt his lungs tighten, his vision blurring as he struggled to breathe. And then, darkness. He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. When he came to, hours later, you were sitting beside him, your face turned away. He could sense your tears, the way they spilled down your cheeks. He hated himself for putting you through this, for letting Raven manipulate him, for losing you.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, your voice barely audible. âI didnât mean to⌠I didnât want to hurt you. But I canât bear to see you. Not now. Not yet.â
âPlease,â he croaked, his voice weak. His pulse fluttered as your eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of the love you once had for him.
But you looked away, standing up and walking to the other side of the room. The memory of that night played in your mind, over and over, a wound that refused to heal.
âPlease donât think I came here because I donât respect your wishes,â he said, his voice trembling. âI love you. Iâve loved you for so long. I wouldnât be here if it wasnât important. You know that. You know me.â
âApparently, I donât,â you said, your voice cold.
âThereâs a man capturing mutants,â he said, his tone grave. âA mutant himself. Heâs been taking themâsome have disappeared, others have been found dead.â
Your head snapped up, worry flickering in your eyes. âHow?â
âHeâs powerful,â Charles said. âHeâs been targeting mutants, one by one. We donât know how heâs finding them, but heâs⌠heâs killing them. Or worse, experimenting on them. Weâve found bodies, but others⌠theyâre just gone. Vanished.â
Your breath hitched, and for the first time, the anger in your eyes wavered, replaced by something darkerâfear. âWho is he? What does he want?â
âWe donât know,â Charles admitted. âBut heâs strong. Stronger than any of us anticipated. Heâs been able to neutralize their powers, suppress them somehow. We think heâs using their abilities to enhance his own.â
Your hands clenched into fists, your mind racing. âAnd you think I can help?â
âI think youâre one of the few who can,â he said. âYour power⌠itâs unique. He wonât see it coming. But you need training. You need to be ready.â
You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. The thought of mutants being hunted, captured, killedâit struck a chord deep within you. Youâd shut yourself off from the world, but this⌠this was different. This wasnât about Charles or your past. This was about your kind, your people.
âFor you?â you scoffed, though the edge in your voice was softer now. âAnd give up my peace of mind? Absolutely not.â
âI wonât try to reach you,â he promised. âNot like before. I swear.â
You hesitated, then nodded. âFine.â
âYou need to come back to the X-Mansion,â he said.
âYouâre out of your mind,â you said instantly. âIâm not going back there. Not now, not ever.â
âYou almost killed me,â he pointed out. âYour powers are lethal. You need training. I canât let you face this alone.â
âThen give me a schedule, and Iâll be there,â you said.
âBut itâs so far,â he argued.
âIâm not staying there,â you said firmly. âIâll come, but Iâm not spending more time than necessary.â
Charles nodded, knowing it was the best heâd get. For now, it was enough.
Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore. Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
(This is Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine fanfic, with multiple endings)
The air was cold and heavy as Logan, Hank, and Charles made their way toward Cerebro. The tension was palpable, anxiety radiating off each of them like a static charge. No one spokeâthe only sound was the mechanical hum of the door sliding open with a robotic, âWelcome, Professor.â
Hankâs eyes were burdened with guilt.
They stepped inside Cerebro, the vast chamber looming around them like a cathedral of forgotten technology. Hank broke the silence first, his voice tight. âRavenâs wounded. She wonât be moving fast.â
Charles, meanwhile, brushed the dust off his helmet, his hands trembling slightly. Loganâs lips twisted into a grimace. At least in this twisted version of the timeline, Raven would live.
âThese are muscles I havenât stretched in a long time,â Charles admitted, his voice tinged with unease.
He placed the helmet on his head and immediately gasped, his body jerking as thousands of voices flooded his mind all at once. Cerebroâs systems groaned under the strain, lights flickering as the machine struggled to keep up. Charlesâ face contorted in pain as the cacophony of thoughtsâscreaming, crying, laughing, cursingâoverwhelmed him. He tried to focus, to push through, but it was too much. He cried out, his voice raw.
âCharles!â Logan shouted, rushing forward to pull him back.
The machine sparked and hissed before exploding, its systems overloading. Charles groaned, yanking the helmet off as it smoked in his hands. Hank moved quickly, trying to calm him down.
âIâll check the generator,â he said, already heading for the door. âCerebro hasnât been used in years. The fuses might be blown.â
Logan watched Hank leave, then turned to Charles. âItâs not the machinery, is it?â he asked, his voice low.
Charles shook his head, his breathing ragged. âI canât do this,â he admitted, his voice breaking. âMy mind⌠it wonât take it.â
âYes, you can,â Logan said firmly.
âItâs not a question of being rusty,â Charles snapped, his tone a mix of frustration and fear. âI can flip the switches, I can turn the knobs. But my power comes from hereââ He tapped his temple with a clenched fist, then slowly moved his hand to his chest, over his heart. His voice faltered. âIt comes from⌠here. And itâs broken.â He turned his wheelchair away, his shoulders slumping. âI feel like one of my students. Helpless.â He rolled further from Cerebro, his voice rising. âIt was a mistake coming here. A mistake freeing Erik. Calling her was another fucking mistake. This whole thing has been a bloody disaster.â Tears streamed down his face now. âIâm sorry, Logan. They sent back the wrong one.â
Logan nodded, his expression grim. âYouâre right,â he said.
Charles stopped, turning back to face him.
âIt was supposed to be you,â Logan continued, stepping closer. âBut I was the only one who could physically make the trip.â He crouched in front of Charles, his voice softening. âI donât know how long Iâve got here. But I do know that a long time ago, I was your most helpless student.â
Logan leaned in, his loyalty to Charles outweighing his anger. âYou unlocked my mind,â he said. âYou showed me what I was. What I could be. I donât know how to do that for you. But I know someone who might.â He paused, his eyes locking onto Charlesâ. âLook into my mind.â
Charles hesitated. âYou saw what I did to Cerebro,â he said. âYou donât want me inside your head.â
âI saw what youâve done to y/n,â Logan shot back.
Charles flinched, biting his lip.
âThereâs no damage you could do that hasnât already been done,â Logan said, his voice steady. âTrust me.â
Reluctantly, Charles reached out, his fingers brushing Loganâs temples. Instantly, he was plunged into the chaos of Loganâs memoriesâflashes of torture, of battles fought and lost. And then, among it all, you. Smiling. Laughing. Always just out of reach. Then your tears. Loganâs choices. Your battles. Your sacrifices. It was overwhelming.
Charles recoiled. âI donât want your suffering. I donât want your future.â
âLook past my future,â Logan urged. âLook for your future.â
Charles hesitated, then dove deeper. This time, he wasnât in Loganâs mindâhe was in his own. Traveling through consciousness, moving beyond time. He saw himself, older, broken, a man who had lost you. The grief in his future selfâs eyes was unbearable. He called out to himself, his voice soothing, desperate. It all became clear. This was him in the futureâa man still fighting, still grieving, still desperate to hold onto what heâd lost. He couldnât let that happen. He couldnât lose you.
Charles snapped back to the present, his breathing ragged. âWhere is she?â he demanded, his voice desperate. âWhat will happen to her?â
Logan exhaled, then let him see. A different future, the future he came from. A version where you were safe. A version of you that belonged to Loganâyour hair longer, streaks of gray framing your face, a gleaming ring on your finger as you hugged Logan tightly. Your face was radiant, untouched by scars, unmarked by pain.
But Logan pulled him back quickly, his grip firm. He wanted Charles to know, in the most possessive way possible, that you loved someone else. That someone was Logan. At least, in the future he was fighting to hold onto.
âHave you found what you were looking for?â Logan asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Charles didnât answer. He couldnât. The realization was too muchâthat in Loganâs future, you were whole. Happy. And not his.
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Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore. Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
(This is Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine fanfic, with multiple endings)
Your head rested against Loganâs shoulder, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. A dull, relentless ache throbbed behind your temples, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. It felt like you had just crawled out of a nightmare.
The jet hummed around you, the sound steady but distant, like white noise.Â
Charles sat across the cabin, alone, staring out the window. Even from a distance, you could feel his presence as if he were right in front of you. There was a part of you that wanted to go to him, to talk to him, to hear what he had to sayâeven if it was harsh. You could see the weight of his thoughts in the way his shoulders slumped, the way his fingers twitched against his knee.
You knew he was holding back, biting his tongue. You could feel the weight of his disapproval, his disappointment in what youâd done. But deeper than that, you knew he blamed himself too. And that hurt more than anything.
The feelings you once had for himâthose complicated, tangled emotionsâhad never really gone away. How could they? You watched him now, curious, almost studying him. IIt was the first time youâd been able to look at him from afar without the ghost of Ravenâs grin haunting your thoughts. And there he wasâthe man who had once given you everything, only to have it all ripped away. Manipulated, betrayed, abandoned. He had lost you. He had lost his friends, his students, his schoolâhis very identity. Even his mutation.
Would he have fallen so far if you had stayed by his side? If someone had fought for him?
You hated the way he reeked of whisky, the way he could look at you and make you believe, for one fleeting second, that he deserved another chance. And in all that hate, you hated how your heart still fluttered when his gaze met yours, how his jealousy made him irritable and unpredictable.Â
You hated that he still cared. Because it made you weak.
Suddenly, Erik rose from his seat, carrying a chessboard. He approached Charles with a smirk, his tone light but laced with challenge. âOne for old timesâ sake?â
Charles ignored him, his eyes fixed on the window.
âWhat happened to your powers?â Erik pressed, sitting down across from him.
Charles didnât respond, his jaw tightening.
âHow did you lose them?â Erik asked again, his voice sharper this time.
âThe treatment for my legs,â Charles finally said, his voice tense. âIt affects my DNA.â
Your stomach dropped. Had he really lost his legs? Logan was rightâErik had hurt Charles that badly. A surge of anger burned through you.
âYou gave up your powers⌠so you could walk?â Erik asked, his tone incredulous.
Charles turned to him slowly, his eyes cold. âYou donât know what itâs like to lose a part of yourself.â
âIâve lost my fair share,â Erik shot back.
âAnd you think that justifies what youâve done?â Charlesâs voice was icy, his stare piercing.
Erikâs expression hardened. âYou have no idea what Iâve done.â
âI know you put me in that chair,â Charles snapped, his voice rising. âI know you took the things that meant the most to meââ
âWell, maybe you shouldâve fought harder for them,â Erik said, his words cutting and devoid of compassion.
âYou want a fight, Erik? Iâll give you a fightââ Charles said, his voice trembling with rage. It was the first time youâd seen him like thisâunhinged, furious, raw.
âSit down,â Logan growled, his voice low but commanding.
âNo, let him come,â Erik taunted as Charles swung at him.
Your eyes widened in shock. Charles threw punch after punch, his movements fueled by years of pent-up anger and pain.Â
âYou think youâre the only one with pain and anger? You think youâre the only one whoâs suffered?â Charles shouted, grabbing Erik by the collar and slamming him against the wall.
âI said SIT DOWN!â Logan roared, his voice shaking the cabin.
The metal of the plane began to creak and groan, the structure destabilizing as Erikâs powers reacted to his emotions.
âCome on, letâs see what you can do without your powers,â Erik sneered, shoving Charles away.
âGuys! Youâre messing up my aerodynamics!â Hank yelled from the cockpit, his voice panicked.
Charles and Erik continued to wrestle, their fight sending the plane into erratic movements. Then you saw Charlesâhis body slammed onto a table, momentarily dazed. He wasnât helpless, but seeing him like this, so desperate and exposed, made your chest ache. You were angry tooâangry at Erik for hurting the man you once loved, for abandoning him when he needed someone most.Â
Your gaze flicked to Erik, the man who had torn Charles apart. Who had abandoned him when he needed him most. Your lips curled. A single thought whispered through your mindâ
Make him suffer.
And Erik felt it. The plane lurched violently, and you realized it wasnât just Erikâs powers causing the chaos. It was you.
You watched as Erikâs breath hitched, his face reddening as he struggled for air. You smirked, reveling in the control, in the power. You gave him just enough oxygen to keep him conscious, just enough to hear him gasp and pant, his neck straining, veins bulging. He was vulnerable, and you enjoyed every second of it. This was for Charles, but it was also for you.Â
For your own satisfaction.
He was helpless. And it feltâ
Good.
You leaned in, savoring the sight. His red-rimmed eyes locked onto yours, pleading, furious, desperate. You bit your lip, amusement flickering through your chest.Â
âStop! Y/N, whatever youâre doing, stop!â Loganâs voice cut through your haze as he shook you roughly.
But you didnât. You kept your gaze on Erik, watching as his body wavered, the last vestiges of strength draining from himâtortured, breathless. Your grin widened.
Then Charles was there, pulling you back.Â
His hands were firm, his expression a mix of concern and care. But it was his eyesâthose pale blue eyesâthat snapped you back to reality. You released Erik, the rush of power fading as quickly as it had come.Â
You were in Loganâs arms now, but your gaze was fixed on Charles. His eyes held you there, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge.
Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore. Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
(This is Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine fanfic, with multiple endings)
I eagerly recommend reading this chapter with this song:
traitor by Olivia Rodrigo.
Spotify â Youtube
Chapter 16
Hank tended to your wounds carefully, disinfecting the gashes on your face before administering a heavy dose of narcotics to numb the pain. The drugs hit you fast, making the world tilt and blur as you stumbled back toward the others.Â
You stumbled as you tried to rejoin the others, your body betraying you, the drugs pulling you under. You would have collapsed if not for Charles. His arms were around you before you even realized you were falling. His hand found yours, steady and sure, guiding you through the jet. You were too weak to resist, too far gone to question it.
His fingers intertwined with yours, claiming you in a moment where you had no strength to protest. You werenât even fully conscious, yet he held you as if he had never let you go. A gentle press of his lips against your foreheadâa touch so familiar it broke you.
âGoodnight, sleepyhead,â he murmured. The same words he used to say when things were simple, when you were his and he was yours.
For a moment, it felt like nothing had happened between you. The world faded into a hazy dream, and you were back in that place where everything was simple, where you could rest your head on his shoulder and feel safe.Â
Your cheeks flushed as you looked up at him, his long hair tangled with yours, his pale blue eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize you all over again. His lips barely curved into that faint, knowing smile you used to love. Had it really been so long? So long since youâd last been this close to him? His beard was unkempt, but it made him feel different, like he was both the man you remembered and someone new. Someone who was still, inexplicably, yours.
But then the tears came, blurring your vision. It wasnât the wound that made you cryâit was your heart. It felt so small, so fragile, so utterly incapable of understanding why, after everything, you still wanted him. After all the pain heâd caused, it was him. It had always been him. Even after everything.
âIâm here,â Charles whispered, his voice breaking. âIâm still here, honey.â
His words cut through you, threading through your ribs and pulling tight around your lungs. As if he knew. As if he had always known.
Your fist clenched.
And you hit him.
Your hand collided with his chest. Once. Twice. Again and again. How could he? How could he do this to you? To both of you?
âHow could you?â you choked out, your voice trembling. âHow could you?â
Your punches landed again and again, but they grew weaker with each strike. Charles didnât stop you. He just sat there, taking it, his expression a mix of guilt and sorrow. But the images burned in your mindâhim, loving you, betraying you, missing you. Him, not moving on. Him, not searching for you.Â
You hated that you still cared. You hated that, even after everything, the thought of being with someone else felt wrong. You hated that hurting him hurt you just as much.
Your tears fell freely now, your punches fading into nothing as you finally gave in, resting your head against his chest. His heart was racing, but somehow, the sound of it calmed you. Why? Why did his presence still bring you peace? Why did his eyes still feel like home?
âIâm sorry,â he whispered again.
You wanted to scream. What did âsorryâ even mean? But deep down, in some twisted way, you understood. How was Charles supposed to know? If someone had faked your mannerisms, your appearance, how could he have seen through it? How could he feel truly sorry?
It wasnât fair. None of it was fair. But what hurt most wasnât that he had been tricked.
It was that he had let you go.
He didnât fight for you. He didnât push Logan away. He didnât tell you the truth. He just⌠let you walk away.
âWhy did you let me go?â you finally asked, your voice hoarse from crying.
Silence.
You looked up at him, his eyes red and filled with regret, but he couldnât find the words.
âIt took you two months,â you whispered, your lips trembling. âTwo months to come to me. You traitor.â
You let out a humorless laugh, the sound hollow. âYou promised me to never let me go, yet you did.â
The rage swallowed your sadness whole. It was easier that way. Those were the last words you remembered saying before the drugs pulled you under.
You woke up hours later, the faint sting on your cheek a reminder of the scar you now carried. You frowned, confused, as you glanced around. Logan was asleep, sitting far from you. But his hand wasnât the one holding yours.
You turned your head.
Charles sitting beside you, staring out the window. As if he had been watching the world pass him by. As if he had been waiting. He noticed you waking up and turned to face you.
âHey.â A soft smile. Tentative, almost shy.
You pulled your hand away from his, annoyed. âWhat are you doing here? Why am I next to you?â
Charles shrugged, his smile turning faintly mischievous. âThe heart is a treacherous thing.â
You hated him. You hated him for saying that, for making you feel things you had no right to feel anymore.
You rolled your eyes and stood up, walking over to Logan. You sat down beside him, leaning into his warmth. Almost instinctively, even in his sleep, Loganâs head tilted to rest on yours.
Once, you and Charles Xavier were everything to each otherânow, heâs a ghost at your door, stirring old wounds.
But Loganâs words, raw and real, confessed a truth you couldnât ignore. Torn between betrayal and confession, who do you choose when your heart is split in two?
(This is Charles Xavier x Reader x Wolverine fanfic, with multiple endings)
.Chap 1 â Chap 2 â Chap 3 âChap 4 â Chap 5 â ...
Chapter 02
The grounds of the X-Mansion felt just as they always hadâthe grand house surrounded by lush, sprawling gardens that seemed to stretch endlessly. You couldnât help but remember how youâd fallen in love with this place. Every morning, you used to wander through the gardens, marveling at the smallest detailsâthe way the sunlight caught on dewdrops, the industrious ants marching in perfect lines, the delicate flutter of butterfly wings. It had become a ritual, something you did on your first day here, your last day, and now, here you were again, walking the same paths as if time had folded in on itself.
You hadnât always been this wayâcalm, reflective. Once, youâd been a rebellious teen, always seeking trouble, always pushing boundaries. Youâd had a knack for finding your way into places you didnât belong. One day, while exploring an old, abandoned mansion, youâd stumbled upon Charles. Your first instinct had been to runâfast and farâbut your feet had faltered the moment his voice reached you, calm and commanding, his eyes piercing through every memory, every motive. In your desperation to escape, your mutation had flared, leaving him breathless. Youâd giggled nervously back then, though now the memory made you wince. Why did it always seem like your meetings with him ended with him gasping for air, suffocated by your emotions?
You made your way to the training rooms, your footsteps echoing down the familiar halls. The truth was, you didnât want to hear his excuses, his justifications. Heâd made so many promises, and yet here you were, with none of them fulfilled, with no shared story to hold onto. You tilted your head up, blinking back tears. You refused to cry over him again. Heâd messed you up, made you feel like you were never enough, like you were interchangeable. How many times, you wondered, had Raven disguised herself as you, and he hadnât even noticed? The thought stung. Youâd lived completely different relationships with him, and yet heâd come to you with inside jokes you didnât understand, references that didnât belong to you. It was clear nowâheâd been with both of you at the same time.
You didnât blame him entirely. Raven had used her powers, her ability to shift her appearance. With just that, sheâd fooled him. But it didnât make the betrayal hurt any less.
As you walked through the mansion, your eyes traced the walls, the corridors, every inch of the place you knew so well. It was as if nothing had changed, as if the years had left no mark. The familiarity was both comforting and painful.
When you entered the training room, a familiar face greeted you with a silent nod. LoganâWolverineâlooked exactly the same as you remembered. It was like stepping into a time capsule. You moved to the wardrobe, pulling out the training attire that still fit you perfectly, as if it had been waiting for your return. You sat on a bench, wrapping a bandage around your knuckles, the ritual soothing in its repetition. The only thing youâd missed about this place was the chance to punch those mannequins, to release the tension coiled tight in your chest. The bandage snugly covered your thumb and palms, your fingers flexing as you adjusted the fit.
Your gaze flicked to Logan. The last time youâd seen him, youâd had a heated argument. You werenât even sure what your relationship was now. Youâd been friends once, close enough to trust each other with your lives. But that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, there was only distance, unspoken words, and the weight of everything left unresolved.