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@Itoscaresme

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Suds Logan x Girl Next Door OC Fluff 1628 words No warnings

A huge slam rang out just a few doors down from Ara’s apartment. 

She jostled awake from her heavy sleep, cautiously stretching before sitting up straight on her mattress, her body bedsore from the hours spent unmoving on the small square. 

A baggy, patterned, sweater fell loose on her frame, a pair of sleep shorts hiding just above the hem. A stark difference to her loud neighbors, who she often found in their signature red and yellow. 

“God, what now.” She muttered to herself, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Judging from the light creeping in from the east window, it couldn’t be far past seven in the morning. 

Lovely, so much for sleeping in. 

Despite Wade’s loud demeanor, Ara had grown to become quite fond of him over the years. Their friendship being one she cherished despite his strange requests and bizarre sleep schedule. She kept up with Al before he moved in, and was grateful for the presence of another person in the blind woman’s life. Not that Al couldn’t fend for herself, Ara was just glad she had some company at home now, even if Wade drove her up a wall. 

Their arguments traveled far thanks to the thin walls.  

Ara’s sock-adorned feet padded from her bed to her bathroom, where she quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face. She preferred to be as awake as possible when arguing with the merc, who held a history of feeding random shit into conversations while she was half asleep to use against her in the future. 

She attempted to drag her left hand through her hair as she scrubbed at her teeth. It was a frizzy mess, the strands barely combing through her fingertips due to the small knots. 

Whatever, she’d deal with it later. 

After she found her way to the front door, still in her socks and pjs, she entered the hallway. Sleepy eyes locked in on the apartment in question. 

Lifting her arm, she let out a rather aggressive knock on the banged-up door. It wasn’t but a second before it quickly swung open. 

Startled, she looked up to see neither Blind Al nor Wade. 

Instead, it was his new roommate.  

Logan. 

He wore a pair of thick, bootcut, denim jeans, held up by his leather belt with the round buckle. The white undershirt on his chest had seen better days.

Actually, all of him had seen better days. 

Well, not all of him…

She had only known him for a few spare weeks now, apart from introductions, their conversations consisted mostly amidst Wade. Logan often kept to himself, sticking to just listening to Ara and his roommate’s snarky banter from the sidelines. 

She got the feeling the version of Logan standing before her in the doorway right now was the most unfiltered she’d get without asking. 

On his undershirt were several grease stains, layered on top of larger patches of dirt. The once-white material clung to his skin thanks to the thin sheen of sweat over his chest, arms, and neck. His jeans were similar in appearance, with dirt staining just below the knees. As for his hands, his digits were caked over in the same slick, black film. She was surprised to see that none of the residue ended up on the doorknob. 

Ara finally drug her eyes back up to his face, expecting to be greeted with an irritated look, to which she was correct. 

Nevertheless, she rebuked it with a cheesy smile, “Good morning, neighbor.” 

Unphased by her chipper attitude, he let out a huff, arms now held out to his sides, using the door frame to support his weight. The sinews of his biceps flexed and molded to move the mass of his muscles. 

“You need something, sugar?” He asked, bored. 

She made sure to not let the meaningless nickname distract her. 

No matter how many flips it made her stomach do. 

“You slammed the door pretty loud, came to make sure no one was dying, again.” She rocked forward on her toes a bit, emphasizing the last word. “Have you two checked to see if being a mutant is some sort of tax write-off?” 

Logan’s head replaced the spot his hand used to be, he let out a deep, exhausted hum. 

“Wade fucked with the shock and strut mounts on Al’s car.” He finally admitted, tutting his head to invite Ara in. 

Ara’s mouth dropped open a bit while stepping inside, “Did he try to put a lift kit on a Toyota Prius?”

Al didn’t own a Prius, Ara knew that. However, her understanding of the task at hand pulled a knowing smile out of Logan, after working on the suspension for the past 3 hours, she figured the last thing he felt like doing was explaining the process. 

Little did she know that if she had asked, he would’ve explained. 

He shook his head, “Fuck if I know, why does blind Al even own a fucking vehicle?”

“I’m convinced that woman could fly a plane.” She replied, eyebrows raised. Logan let another amused smile sneak past him, one Ara couldn’t see, his back now to her. He had moved to the sink to begin scrubbing the grime off his digits. 

As the water ran from the faucet, cold and clear, Logan began to work off the soot.

Most of the darkness readily clung to Logan’s hands and found its way under his nails and into his callouses. All the way to his bloodstream. The worst of it ran far past his first layer of skin, all the way to the marrowless bones that lay beneath. 

The grease on his hands also persisted.

Ara peeked around his massive shoulders a bit to see the soap he was using. The soap at the sink was nothing but the basic generic shit. Wade had probably stole it from a strip club eons ago. 

“I have some Dawn dish soap at my place, let me go grab it.” She offered. 

She was out the door before he could reply, if he even planned to, and came back with the big blue bottle in her hand, accompanied by a softer pink one. He stepped back to allow her some room by the sink, stretching out his back in the process. 

His Adamantium spine let out several satisfying cracks. 

Ara expected him to say something along the lines of, “I’m too old for this shit,” or “Wade’s gonna pray for death next time I see him.” However, he remained silent, simply watching Ara’s movements closely. 

She opened the soap cap and hovered it over the back of one of his large hands, hesitating. 

The soap he’d used previously had created little bubbles over his tan knuckles, dirt mixed in with the pearly white suds in swirls, following his veins down towards his wrist, racing for a touch of his forearm. 

“Do you mind if I…,” she paused searching for the right words, ”help?” She finally questioned, Logan’s gaze causing a searing heat to coat her face. It was a dumb question, a stupid offer. She kept her eyes focused on the sink. 

Trying to remain confident while in his presence felt like some wicked form of exposure therapy. 

“I can barely fix Al’s car and now you think I can’t wash my own hands?” He jested, eyebrow cocked with that infuriating, knowing, raise of his lips. 

Ara shook her head before looking up, her smile similar, confident facade returning. Her constantly racing mind finally offering up a useless jab.

“Thought maybe it reflected your poor motor skills.” 

Logan gave her a rather unimpressed look.

She could run circles around him.

“God, you’re worse than Wade.” He settled, rewarding her with his palms presented toward her, face up.

The butterflies that erupted in her stomach were extremely unwelcomed.

With his hands held out to her mercy, she placed a small amount on her own, moving it into a smooth lather before reaching for his. Two hundred years worth of stories and experiences lined his skin. Ara would pay to see the look on a palm reader's face as their eyes skimmed his past, present, and future.

See if they came up with more than just a load of bullshit this time around. 

She finally reached out to grasp his hand in hers, beginning to work the dirt off of his worn skin. After a few glides, she pressed both thumbs into the meat of his palm, working out the tight muscle. He let out a hum, low and deep in his chest,

 ”I won’t activate your claws by accident right?” She smiled.

“They aren’t landmines, angel,” He replied, eyes closed, brows furrowed. Not in anger, but in focus.

Any harm ever done by them was extremely purposeful. 

Ara slowly moved her way up each of his hands, a similar path to the water droplets from earlier, before guiding them back under the faucet to rinse away the foam. Her hands left him to reach for the pink bottle of lotion she grabbed on the way out of her apartment, against her better judgment.

She glanced at him out of uncertainty, expecting some sort of rebuttal, but instead was offered an amused look. His stare continued as he leaned against the counter. 

She suppressed a smile, “I promise it smells good.”

She followed a similar pattern to earlier, once again realizing the sheer size of his hands. 

Logan slowly brought his hands over her digits. Ara’s movements slowly lost pace before realizing he moved to copy the patterns on her own. His hands practically engulfed hers, the feeling forced the blood to rush to her face.

Ara’s heart seemed to zip past her body and off to God knows where. 

“Your turn.” He hummed.

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Notes:

Shorter chapter, same warnings as previous

Tangerine was led up towards the room, and was left to realize the true size of the building he was in. It was a wonder how Lemon didn’t get lost. Although most of the interior would be considered architectural art, he couldn’t help but think about what other sleazy shit goes down within these walls. His focus was also limited, now working on planning an escape route, destroying his earpiece on the way, the connection long since gone.

Along the way, his mind began to wander. He pondered what his mother would think of him if she were still alive. If she were aware he was in a situation like this.

It was situations like these that made him grateful she wasn’t around to see them.

Once reaching room 207, he was promptly knocked from his analysis of the few visible windows as the tux’d man threw him into the room. Most likely out of rational precaution that he’d back out again. Guess the man hadn’t taken kindly to the greasy, rat-eyed, bloke either. As the door slams behind him, he can barely think of an appropriate way to introduce himself before a shrill voice breaks the air.

“You only think I’m worth a sorry million?”

At the moment, he didn’t believe this girl was worth the clothing on her back.

Tangerine, obviously preaching composure to himself, looked up at the young woman standing before him. Adorned in the same black dress as earlier, her eyes now aflame. A very obvious anger in them. If Tangerine didn’t know any better, a film of fear was also visible. He couldn’t blame her for the issues at hand. He had gotten himself into this situation.

“M’ not here to hurt ya, love.” He sighed out, not expecting the girl to let down her guard at the statement. He moved to fix his nonexistent earpiece out of habit, and cursed when his fingers were met with nothing but flesh.

“Does saying that make you feel better about your disgusting life choices?” She clenched both her fists at her sides before crossing her arms.

“Coulda left you to that other nasty bloke, don’t think my life choices are near as disgusting as his.” Tangerine grimaced back, now returning to look about the room.

“Can’t imagine how proud your mother must be.” She muttered.

He shot her an obvious look, with the situation she was currently in now, she was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

“Not here to hurt you, luv, promise to make this feel good, darling, blah, blah, blah.” She continued mockingly, breaking eye contact to sit down on the large bed resting in the middle of the room, to stare at her shoes. “More men making false promises.”

Tangerine’s eyebrows furrowed in discontent, a knowing discontent, assuming those words were relayed from the experiences of her friends or sisters. He didn’t mean it that way, but he knew the ways of this world, just as well as she did. She cast him a dirty look with a quick once-over, “Don’t look so surprised, you’re one of them.”

With that, he was reminded he wasn’t here to gain her trust, just to get out of here.

“My name’s Tangerine.” He noted walking towards the bed stand, opening the several drawers, hoping to find anything that could be of use. For the first time since adopting the code name, he received no reaction to his fruit alias. Instead, she simply bent down to undo the straps of her black pumps, “I don’t care, let’s just get this over with.”

“No, keep those on.” Tangerine kept his eyes focused on the task at hand as he moved to the closet in search of anything useful.

That warranted a strange look from the girl, she rolled her eyes, “They don’t bug the room, if that’s what you're looking for.”

Fuck.

Bugs, of course. These back walls and hallways had to be crawling full of unregistered cameras and wires. Who knows who’s all listening right now. Tangerine’s jaw clenched down hard on itself.

Along with this realization, he also began to wonder if their hit had, well, hit the pavement. It was only a matter of time before security began reviewing camera footage after finding the body.

He hoped Lemon was well off the property by now, but knowing his brother, Lemon was probably back in the building in search of him right now.

Tangerine turned fully to face the girl again, “You know your way round’ this place?” He asked.

She offered him another strange look, “I do, why?”

Tangerine gave a curt nod and thanked every saint he could think of at the moment, “Right, then we’re getting out of here.” He nodded towards the door, her lack of haste becoming frustrating,

“Now.”

He could leave the woman if he really wanted to, but retracing his steps would quickly prove to be near-impossible. Windows were few and far between, and mostly bulletproof by the looks of them. Not to mention the nearly identical and repetitive corridors. The woman’s eyebrows shot up, starting to catch on to the fact that Tangerine was, in fact, serious. “And why should I help you?” She voiced.

He let out a long sigh, hands resting on his hips. They were wasting time. “I can get us out of here, I’m not here to be another sick fuck buyin’ women in underground auctions.” He muttered.

“Well, you did.” She responded plainly.

His back was tense, eyes screwed shut. They opened to meet her own, but before he could respond coldly, his mouth sealed shut, choosing silence. He needed her help if he ever expected to get out of here. For years this girl had most likely been bracing for a traumatic experience. This moment had been instilled with fear for her entire life. He cannot blame her words.

After all, why in the world should she help him?

He exhaled thoroughly, “I’m not here to take advantage of you,” Tangerine stated, his hands came together in silent plea before him “However, I just paid you a million fucking quid.” His face remained stern, “If you help me get out of here, I assure you will never have to see my sorry face ever again.” She tilted her head to the side, genuinely taking in Tangerine’s words for the first time since their acquaintance. Her consideration came to a halt as she stood with a nod,

“Do I get a dumbass codename too?”

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Summary:

While making a hit at an underground auction, Tangerine finds himself in a harsh situation involving a young woman involved in a generational trafficking ring.

Notes:

For reference: Tangerine is 28 in this, Lemon is 27. I hope you enjoy, please let me know your thoughts in the comments below. Yes, even the negative ones. I appreciate constructive criticism.

Warnings:

Human trafficking is vaguely glamorized, cussing

Tangerine fucking hated this kind of job. Possibly more than Lemon did.

And that was saying a lot. Lemon had always held a stronger moral compass, even as children. Well guided by Thomas and his tank engine friends.

Tangerine sat amidst dozens of the richest and wealthiest names on the globe.

Right fucking snobs, all of ‘em.

He and his brother were here to kill one of the old geezers. Lemon had coined this, “The Easy Part.” Between the huge chunk of money they had been offered and the bustling environment, a quick slip of death into someone’s drink should be simple. Key word: should.

The hard part was getting through the auction.

These auctions often had the chance of getting extremely out of hand, extremely fast. Drama circled like sharks. So far it had been normal enough, nothing but overpriced, unnecessary furniture that some rancid historical figure used to own, and the occasional automobile.

Until they reached the final item.

A soft-faced woman stepped on stage, adorned in a simple black a-line dress and minimal jewelry. Most likely identical to the one her sisters wore, or will wear, if she had any, when their time comes. Once she reached the middle, she stood straight, hands held behind her back, no expression residing on her face.

The room went quiet, completely focused for the first time that evening.

Tangerine sat up in his seat, uncomfortable with the obvious change in mood. “Head down. Ignore it.” His mind voiced.

The auctioneer boomed the girl's full name followed by her age.

“Bloody, fucking, disgusting, wankers.” Lemon suddenly rang within his ear. Each word punctuated with a blow to some poor bloke's face. Tangerine could hear Lemon likely maneuvering the unconscious bodies into an empty room.

Tangerine tried to keep from flinching due to the sudden noise scraping past his eardrum.

“I say we kill ‘em all.” He continued. Tangerine figured his brother wasn’t joking, but they couldn’t afford to let this mission go tits up. No way they’d make it out alive.

“And the ancients over here won’t stop talking, way too interested in their drinks.” Lemon muttered entering the open bar area, surrounded by several attentive bartenders.

“I need a distraction.” He decided.

“Were they not just staring at the stage?” Tangerine asked coldly.

“Just got over here, mate. Was a bit preoccupied.” He responded.

The bidding started promptly, and the woman remained standing tall. Numbers called quite quickly, picking up speed while nearing the fifty thousand mark.

Girls would often go for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Millions at times.

“I need a distraction, Tangerine.” Lemon eventually broke through again. Tangerine searched for a possible one, the earpiece ringing through his ear once more.

“Now.” His brother reiterated forcefully. Their window to get this done was closing, the auction nearing an end.

The words, “Eighty thousand,” reverberated off the walls, some sleazy looking bloke upped his bid.

“Now.” Lemon stated even harsher.

Fuck this job.

“One hundred grand.” Tangerine announced to the room, standing.

So much for keeping a low profile.

The air went stale. Every single pair of eyes scathed over and landed upon him, picking him apart as he sat back down, all wondering what made Tangerine think he was so grand in comparison to the other bidders.

The same bidders attempting to buy this poor woman like a cut of meat.

And now he was one of them.

He prayed none of these fuckers had a good facial memory. Always the paranoid one. Being recognized here was practically a death sentence, if anyone had, they were keeping their mouths shut for now.

The heads slowly returned back to the stage, or wherever they were present before him. The worst part of this whole ordeal was that it wasn’t uncommon to find women like the one on stage in these underground auctions. “Purity offers,” they’d call them.

Some of the families opted into them due to commonalities, most because of dwindling wealth. The daughters often given little to no say in the fact, raised to believe that this was normal and simply something you did once of age.

Going once, Tangerine's jaw clenched, rigid with nerves.

Going twice,

“One hundred fifty.” Same gross bloke from the bid prior.

Tangerine exhaled, having no intention of remaining the highest bid, so long as a distraction was made, his job was done.

There was a bit of static before he could make out a brief, “Bigger,” from his brother.

Tangerine’s teeth ground down on themselves, lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re dead to me.” He voiced promptly.

“Two hundred.” He announced, followed by a quick raise of his hand, ringed fingers catching the soft light in glints.

More eyes found him at the sound of his counter bid.

“Three hundred thousand.” The other man across the room spit out with an ugly smirk, eyes raging against Tangerine.

Lemon wanted a distraction? Fine, he’ll get a fucking distraction.

In all honesty, Tangerine didn’t want this woman sold to the fate of this grotty bloke anyway. Given, he obviously didn’t want her fucking sold in general, but his aid was currently limited by his bank account.

Good thing that didn’t exactly have a limit.

“One million.” He voiced.

Take it or leave it.

The knob was silenced.

Tangerine and lemon were already well off as-is thanks to their many hit jobs over the years, and this hire didn’t disappoint. Price wasn’t an issue. Now, he didn’t feel great about dropping one million quid on this extremely illegal purchase. Not that the law had ever really stopped him from much. Even then, this was less about law and more so about morals. This was a morally wrong purchase. But Lemon wanted a distraction, so he provided, and by no means did Tangerine plan on even touching the woman. However, he didn’t want to be seen as some savior sent to her either, just hoped one day she’d understand her worth extended way past what some man might want of her.

After briefly fantasizing about strangling his brother to death, he was brought back to reality at the word “sold” ringing out through the dark, sterile, auditorium.

Lovely.

With that marking the end of the event, Tangerine rose to make a prompt exit. The satisfaction he got from putting that sorry excuse for a man in his place was short-lived. The stares continued as he left the huge stage room.

“The absolute fuck you do that for, mate?” Lemon's voice struck through his ear piece as he weaved through the designer outfits of those surrounding him.

“You wanted a distraction, I gave you a fucking distraction, didn’t exactly have many options.” Tangerine hissed back in a low voice.

Lemon attempted to refute. “What happened to just breaking shit? Or how bout’ the classic-“

“Shut. Up.” He wasn’t having it. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here, you got the mark right?” Tangerine looked back towards the bar, with no sign of Lemon he kept striding, “and the girl can leave here same way she showed up-“

“Oh, you have no motherfuckin idea how this works, do you.” Lemon deadpanned.

“Forgive me for not understanding the regulations of human trafficking-“ Just steps away from the exit hallway Lemon’s earpiece cut off in a static. Before Tangerine could open his mouth, he’s suddenly stopped by a man in a black tux, the same man that accompanied the auctioneer on stage. He stated the full name of the woman in the black dress yet again.

“She is awaiting in room 207, sir.” The man remained still in front of him, in a similar posture to that of a butler.

Stifling the urge to kill the bloke, Tangerine stepped away from him.

“Send her on her way,” He said while moving forward towards the exit again. “No need to keep her here.” He continued distractedly, not working to ponder what Lemon had meant by that last ominous comment, and instead worried about whether he had the car waiting outside or not.

Before he could make it far, a slimy voice bellowed through the corridor behind him.

“I’ll be happy to take her off your hands, brother.”

Tangerine stopped dead in his tracks. Jaw clenching down on itself before he turned around. It wasn’t necessary, as Tangerine could only assume such a repulsive voice to be accompanied by someone of similar looks. It was the disgusting geezer that had given the embarrassing attempt of outbidding him earlier.

He was beginning to wish he had gone against Lemon’s better judgment of not keeping a Glock on him. Knives really only go so far.

The tux’d man replied quickly, “If you’d like to transfer ownership-“

Ownership.

What the fuck was wrong with these people.

“Let her go, and I’ll get you the million.” Tangerine bit out.

“I’m afraid that’s not how things work around here.” The greasy man stepped forward, which took much work judging by the wits of him. The man still kept his distance, most likely due to the realization that Tangerine towered over him now that they were both in close proximity. The tux’d man stepped back, visibly unsure of the situation at hand.

“Either you fuck her, or pass her on to the next highest bidder.” His grin revealed a top row of gold teeth, paired with his beady eyes hiding behind thick black bangs of grease.

It had been a long time since Tangerine had fought this hard to keep his composure. The only thing stopping him from stabbing the man to death right then and there was the possibility of catching whatever disease he most definitely had.

Being in the same room as the man was enough to make his own skin crawl, and he was often surrounded by the scum of the earth while enduring stakeouts like these.

“I add another hundred thousand, and you let her go.” Tangerine replied.

Lemon was going to fucking kill him.

“I’m sorry, sir.” The tux’d man shook his head.

“Guess that means she’s all mine.” The nauseating geezer cracked his knuckles before slugging a hand through his slew of hair.

Tangerine stared hard at the tux’d man and opened his mouth before he could talk himself out of it.

He wasn’t going to just hand her over.

“Take me to the room.” He stated.

The other man’s gold teeth disappeared as his mouth went slack.

“No, I- '' He was cut off again by nothing less than a spit of venom from Tangerine.

“Take me to her.” He glared straight into the man’s rat-like eyes before following the obviously disheveled man in the tux. “Yes sir, of course, right this way.” He started while leading Tangerine back further into the building, leaving the other revolting suitor behind to be escorted out by security.

Ironic.

Die a million pain-staking deaths, prick.

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