#I can’t wait to see her go at someone on the stand

[munsonsmixtapes]

Mechanic Eddie? The reader is Eddie’s girlfriend or wife and she’s stopping by the shop cause they have lunch plans. While she’s waiting for Eddie one of the other mechanics (who Eddie cannot stand) starts hitting on her thinking she’s a customer and Eddie gets mad… 👀 and reader and Eddie don’t make it to the lunch plan cause Eddie goes feral 🤭

She’s back at it again with amazing ideas!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, creampie, cockwarming, reader gets hit on by one of Eddie’s employees

The shop is practically empty when you enter it and everyone stops to wave at you, making sure to do so since they all seem to want to kiss up to the boss’s wife to get on Eddie’s good side. And as long as you’re happy, he is. You’re the most important thing in his life so he takes your opinion very seriously. When he opened the shop, he let you pick out a lot of the decorations. And he can’t help but smile proudly when customers compliment the 50’s themed decor that was all thanks to you.

You’re so in love with each other and everyone knows it. All of his employees love you and they’re all so respectful, treating you like they do him. It also helps that you bring them sandwiches pretty much every time you come in.

Rod is the new guy who always flirts with the women who come in, even when they bring along their romantic partners and he’s one more complaint away from being fired. Three strikes and he’s out. He’s got one more left and Eddie really hopes he doesn’t blow it.

But when you show up in your short dress, that promise Rod made to Eddie about being on his best behavior goes out the window. He watches you move through the shop, handing out sandwiches and making conversation with the other employees and he has a one track mind now, completely abandoning his current task as you approach. He thinks that maybe his flirting will finally work out.

He leans against the hood of the car he’s working on, making an attempt to make you notice him and you do, making a beeline for him with your basket of sandwiches. You figure he must be the new guy Eddie’s constantly complaining about and now you’re interested to see if he’s actually as bad as your husband says because he always tends to be a bit dramatic.

You put on your bright smile and hold the basket out to Rod. He happily takes a sandwich then steps forward and makes an attempt to put on a flirty smile. Yours matches his, but he doesn’t know that you’re just trying to be nice.

“I’m y/n,” you smile, putting your hand out for him to shake and he takes it despite all of the grease on his hands. You give it a shake then quickly pull away, already feeling uncomfortable being near the man.

“Rod,” he says with a nod, stepping even closer and now you’re fearing for your safety. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

“I think maybe I should reintroduce myself again,” you reply. I’m y/n, y/n Munson, Eddie’s wife.” You hold up the hand you’ve got your ring on and Rod’s mouth falls open at the giant rock on your ring finger. The thing is so huge that he’s sure he could see it from outer space.

He doesn’t seem to care that you’re married because he’s stepping even closer, causing you to step back again and again until your back hits someone’s chest. Their hand lands on your shoulder and just from the weight of it, you just know that it’s your husband.

“That’s the final straw. I’ve given you plenty of chances to change but I haven’t seen any growth. You have made so many people uncomfortable and now you’re hitting on y/n? Get out.”

Eddie is normally very relaxed so seeing him so riled up is so different. He’s always so sweet to you so this isn’t something you see very often. But when you do…god, you’re nothing but a puddle. The way he’s so angry and on your behalf makes you feel the need to go clean yourself up, just knowing that you’re making a mess in your panties.

“What-”

“Did I stutter? Apologize to my wife and the fuck out!” Eddie’s pointing towards the door and you’re no longer scared but rather turned on by how protective Eddie is of you. You know he was wanting an excuse to fire the guy anyway, but still. He’s always quick to jump to your defense and you feel so loved because of it. He’s your hero until death do you part.

“I’m sorry,” Rod apologizes then makes a scene of leaving the shop, throwing different tools around while screaming expletives and how he’s going to sue for wrongful termination.

You laugh it off, not actually scared anymore as Eddie protectively wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. Once Rod is gone, his tired screeching as he pulls out of the parking lot, everyone goes back to work and you and Eddie go to his office, business as usual. It’s just a little blip.

Once safely inside his office, you sit on his desk, admiring the photo he has of the two of you on your wedding day, sharing a kiss. He has copies of that exact photo everywhere, even keeping one in his wallet to look at when he misses you, which is anytime he’s not around you.

You spread your legs and he steps between them. You grab hold of his shirt and pull him closer, pressing your lips to his as he cages you in, pressing his hands against the desk. You both know he needs to get back to work, but the position you’re in and the need is far too strong to ignore.

You watch him slowly sink to the floor, pulling your panties down as he does and once they’re off, he sticks them in his back pocket before discarding your shoes. He then grabs hold of your thighs and pulls you closer, draping your legs over his shoulders. Your dress is pushed up as he kisses up your legs, murmuring what you just know are sweet nothings into your skin.

“Shouldn’t I be the one giving you head?” You ask and Eddie can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“But I’m not the one who looks fucking hot today so really, I’m just giving you what you rightfully deserve,” he replies, peppering your inner thigh with kisses before shoving his face into your cunt.

He’s being nothing but gentle, teasing as he goes in with his tongue, putting just a little pressure on your clit as you let out a moan, making sure to get his hair out of the way so it doesn’t interfere with his work. You move it this way and that as he gets more aggressive, biting down again and again. Both of you are grateful that he had all of that soundproof material installed for exactly this reason. Let’s just say that this isn’t the first time that you’ve been in the exact position in this exact setting…

He somehow gets you even closer, pushing his face further into your cunt as your heels dig into his back, moan after moan falling from your lips. The whole thing is making you dizzy just like usual, but this time, you’re on such a high that you feel you’re seeing stars. He’s much more aggressive, more hungry than normal, acting like he didn’t do this exact thing last night when the two of you couldn’t sleep.

You’re close, you can feel it. You’re pulling on his hair and that only encourages him, putting more into it than he ever has and as you reach your orgasm, nothing but his name falls from your lips in a loud, breathy moan which makes him hard as a rock.

He doesn’t even give you time to come down when he comes up for air. He immediately presses his lips to yours, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to his chair. He sits down, letting you straddle his lap as his tongue slides into your mouth so you can taste yourself on him.

Eddie grabs hold of your hips, helping your grind against him, making him even harder as you move together. He’s bucking his own hips against yours as he moans into your mouth at the feeling. He think he’s earned a fuck after making you come like he did.

You’re unbuttoning his pants as he rolls the chair back against the wall so it’s less likely to move with your activity. His pants are somehow down in an instant and you’re rolling the condom onto him before topping him, your lips moving to his neck as you begin to ride him. Soft and slow as you kiss his neck, his hands moving up your back and curling into the fabric.

You’re moving slower than usual, not in any rush even though you’re in Eddie’s place of work. That’s not even something that’s on your mind. You’re so caught up in him and the way he makes you feel that you can’t possibly stop now, not for anything.

He’s bucking his hips against yours the best he can, watching you hover over him, showering him with compliments about how he’s your hero and how you can always count on him to save the day. He’s eating it up, both your words and the way you’re moving, wanting to take your time.

It always seems like you both are in a rush just because of how horny you are for each other, but this is different, it’s much more intimate, more loving. He wants to stay like that forever. And even when Eddie is coming, he’s still thinking about how much he doesn’t want to leave.

So you two stay like that for a while, just holding each other until it’s time to go home, your lunch plans- the entire reason you had even shown up-completely forgotten just like always. Now you suppose you just have to make it up to him by skipping straight to dessert.

[moldycheezeit]

Chapter 1

You were a good kid, great kid even. But no one ever really knew, well maybe your high school science teacher and Alfred, but they were the only ones.  

Someone out there is probably thinking ‘‘well what about your mom she would surely care?” Well to bad she wasn't there, well at first she was, during the pregnancy, but when it was time for you to come into the world all of a sudden she didn’t fit into said world. So death took her away from you minutes after you were born. 

For that and maybe because you look like her, they probably wouldn’t know because they barely look let alone talk to you, they neglected you and it hurt because these are the people who are supposed to love and care for you. But with the help of Alfred you learned to take care of yourself which leads you to this moment. Like right now where you are standing at this very moment. At the school's science fair because you, even if people don’t believe it because of how pretty you are, are really smart when it comes to science. You learned for your love of science by reading a book that your mom had written and left behind after she passed. She left behind many more things for you but this stood out among the rest. It was mostly filled with ideas on things to create and ways that could make it possible. So you tried the one that you found the most interesting and figured out a way to create it. Of course it took a bunch of trial and error but you made it work with what you had. Seeing as Bruce never gave you any money ,like an allowance, you had to find scraps to make your inventions work. Now let’s get back to that competition. 

You are currently standing next to the table with your invention ‘the gauntlet’ yea you didn’t know what to name it. What it can do is tell you any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient. It takes the form of a bracelet but when activated it basically takes up the back of your hand and half of your forearm. It has two screens, one that you use to type and the other that gives off a hologram-like screen. Yea it’s clunky and doesn’t look right at the moment, but for your first model it’s great. 

While standing around waiting for the judges to come see your product you see a man. He looked to be in his 40’s and had short brown hair, a weird looking goatee, and was wearing… sunglasses? Indoors…welp at least he’s not wearing something stupid like a bat suit. He does look familiar but you can’t remember were from. You notice he’s looking around at the invitations and talking to the creators. And he seems to be heading in your direction like right now. He’s 5 tables away, 4, 3, 2– “Hey kid what’s this you got?” The man is smiling like he’s actually interested in what you have to say. That is not really normal. “This is a gauntlet I created to tell you of any sickness or disease if you were to type in the symptoms of your patient.” You had responded to the man’s question confidently. “Wow you really programmed it to do all that.” He questioned, interested in the gauntlet that sits in the display case. “Yes, it took me a while to do it though.” You had said, uttering the last part to yourself. “ I can imagine seeing as I've done a bunch of stuff just like it.” The uh.. Weirdo, yea lets go with that, had told you. Now that surprised you, But before you could ask any questions the weirdo ,as you've dubbed him, started walking away. “Alright see you later kid, hope you win with that invention you got.” you could hear his voice starting to fade a bit as he walked away. And all you could think was ‘ Man was a weirdo.’ 

It's been a while since the judges had come over to your table, because right now they were deciding on who the top 3 will be. You kinda hoped one of them would be the red haired kid who made that moving metal arm out of scraps. To you it was just really cool. You can't help but hope to get in the top 3 as well because the winners get cash. ‘ I need that money so I can create more inventions, yea using what I have on hand is good but there is a limit of how much I can do with it. Not like Bruce would give me any.’ you had rolled your eyes thinking about that last sentence. Hopefully with the creations your mom thought of they could help you get enough money to never rely on that man again.

Just as you ended that thought the speakers in the hall started projecting what the announcer was saying into the mic. “ Can all the contestants make their way to the stage, the judges have finally made their decisions.”  You and all the other contestants start making your way to the front where the judges are.  luckily it's not that far of a walk and when you get there you all stand in a crowd.  when you all get there the announcer starts speaking “ even though we had a lot of good intentions this year only about three of you can make the top.  so we'll start from 3rd to 1st place in order of who got which.” As the crowd stands there in anticipation  the announcer starts speaking again “ In third place is kidd with his metal arm that he has made to help people who are missing limbs, we hope to see more in the future for him.” as people clap you see the red-haired kid you saw earlier walking up to get onto the stage in the announcer hands him a third place medal and a check with money on it. “ Now for second place Elijah who has made a machine that can take packages of  food and can make them into full meals.” Just like before you had seen this kid Elijah start walking up to the stage and when he got on the stage he had received his second place medal in his check that he had won. “And finally for our first place we have a (y/n) Wayne who has shown us a gauntlet. That can help people in the medical field  identify diseases  if they have a hard time figuring out what they are or what the patient has.” You're surprised to hear that you knew you were smart but you didn't know you would win first place. As you walk up to the stage you have a rush of excitement in you. Finally, you can have money to help create your inventions, your mom's inventions. you can finally fulfill the dream she had that she wrote in her books from before you were born.But when you go on stage the announcer only handed you the first place medal you were surprised to not see a check that came with it then out of the corner of your eye you see the same weirdo man from earlier with a big check walking towards you. “ Hey kid you won just like expected, hopefully you can put this money to use and make more amazing creations like the one you made for today.” But you couldn't help but say “ you look familiar.”  and happily he answers your question saying “I'm Tony Stark kid.” Ah.so that's why he looked so familiar. 

If you watch one piece see what I did there. ٩(^ᗜ^ )و I thought it would be a funny thing to put in. Also sorry I keep posting at like 1am its really the only time I'm free

Taglist : @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @spqce-buns @peche4et3chocolat @ryuushou @moon0goddess @fanficloverlol

[nathanbatemanfucker]

REMY!!! REMYYYYYY

"Beyond Misconceptions" is EXACTLY what I needed today oh my GOD my anxiety has been acting up and this was such a tonic 🥹

The fact that Joaquin is the kind of lover to truly and selflessly go "if you'd be better off with someone else, then I want that for you even though it would break my heart" but then he is so comforted I'M CRYING I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO MUCH

Also, bc you said requests are open, if it's not too much to ask... could we maybe get something where Joaquin is very serious about reader and wants to introduce her to Sam and has a convo w Sam about how he feels? Idk if that's too sappy ofc you don't have to im just swooning thinking about it 👀 - ips anon

Between Sips

about this: wc: 658, characters: joaquin torres, sam wilson (f!reader mentioned), contents: alcohol mention, canon typical injury, joaquin’s a simp, SAMBUCKY if you squint, an: hope u enjoy this my sweet love & as always thank you for your support! <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Joaquin stands up from his desk, walking across the room to plop down on Sam’s. “Hey, come get a drink with me.”

“Man, I’m going home. To bed. You see this?” Sam points to the sling his arm is in.

Joaquin raises a brow at him, “What if I add in pizza?”

“Dude—“

“I wanna tell you about my girl. Please?” He presses his palms together, pleading. 

“Oh now you wanna tell me about your girl? After I’ve got a couple of broken ribs?”

Joaquin tries to bite away his grin but can’t. “You getting the shit beat out of you kinda made me realize I want you to meet her.”

“Little shit— you’re getting me dessert too,” Sam grumbles, grabbing his bag and heading toward the door. 

“That late night cookie place is right across the street,” Joaquin calls after him.

—

Sam watches Joaquin fidget with a smirk on his face. He’s never really seen the man like this, he’s always overly confident. “So, you gonna stall until the food gets here to stall again or—“

Joaquin’s grip on his beer tightens as he gazes down into the amber liquid. “Nah, man. I just, I don’t know— I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

Sam sobers a little bit, realizing how serious Joaquin is. Sitting up, he leans in a little, curious.

“Tell me more.”

Joaquin takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It was kinda random, y’know? One of those things where you meet someone and think, this person might change my damn life.”

Sam raises a skeptical brow, waiting.

“I met her on a mission—nothing crazy, just some intel work. She clocked me right away, which should’ve been my first clue she was special.” Joaquin huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. 

“She’s got this way of looking at me, like she already knows what I’m gonna say before I say it. And she’s funny, man. Not just funny—sharp. Quick with it. Keeps me on my toes. But she’s also… sweet. Kind in a way that doesn’t ask for anything back. And when I’m with her, it’s like—” He stops, searching for the words.

Sam tilts his head. “Like what?”

Joaquin’s grip tightens on the beer again. “Like I don’t have to be anyone but me.”

Sam lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Joaquin laughs, feeling a little shy. “Yeah. Damn.”

“Can I see her?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Joaquin fishes out his wallet, pulling out the photo booth film strip he keeps there. 

Four photos, all of them where he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you— not when you were looking so angelic. Looking at the photo along with Sam makes him miss you more right now. 

“Oh, she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“I…I would do anything for her. I think anything, for real.”

“Would she do the same?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Sam nods, taking a pull of his beer. “And have you told her yet?”

“Told her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

Joaquin’s cheeks warm. He scratches at the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “Was hoping you could give me some pointers?”

Sam sighs. “Maybe I can finally give you some after this weekend.”

“Finally gonna tell him, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it’s about time. He’s got a weekend off appearances, we don’t have a mission. I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, letting his eyes drift to the mounted tv screen playing an old sports game. 

“It’ll be perfect man. Just be yourself.”

Sam scoffs playfully, his eyes returning to Joaquin. “How’d you end up giving me pointers?”

Joaquin shimmies his shoulders. “Must be the natural leader in me.”

“Yeah, yeah. So when am I meeting her?”

“I don’t know, let me pull up our calendar,” Joaquin starts to type in his password, scrolling through the date. 

“Our calendar? As in your shared calendar with her?”

“Fuck off.”

Sam can’t stop laughing. “I can’t wait to tell Buck.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @moonymeloncholymoney, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | five

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, inaccurate school system talk

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 0.6k

authors note: we're back, literally. there will be more flashbacks in the future so stay tuned. Also I made a playlist with the songs up to this part.

04 | 05 | 06

Sophomore year - 2022

Statistics. You weren’t the biggest fan of the class, yet you took it every semester of your major. One positive thing this class brought you was Kelce. You and Kelce had met thanks to your moms when you were kids and had also gone to kindergarten together. You had moved houses, and when it was time for elementary school, you belonged to a new district, so you didn’t attend the same one as Kelce. But life brought the two of you back together last year in this very same class. As a freshman, you thought you wouldn’t know anyone, but there was the familiar face with whom you had shared so many memories. Kelce didn’t hesitate to talk to you, and it felt like no time had passed. 

This was supposed to be the second class, but the professor was sick last week, so there was no class. Even if this was the first class, he was already assigning a project. It was small, but it had to be done in groups of no fewer than three people, and those groups would remain for the rest of the semester. 

“You can work with us,” Kelce said. 

“Us who?” you asked, confused; he was alone. 

“He is late; he had an impromptu basketball meeting.” Just as on cue, the guy Kelce had been talking about walked into the class, excusing himself to the professor and standing in front of you. 

“You’re in my seat,” he said in a gentle tone. 

“Well, you weren’t here.” You gave him a little smile and added, 

“I think I can forgive you just because of that smile,” he smirked. 

“Just sit down, Rafe,” Kelce motioned to his friend, and you just stared at him. 

After the class ended, Kelce formally introduced the two of you and mentioned that he would create a group chat to talk when needed. You said goodbye to both and left for your next class.

“So, how long have you known her?” Rafe asked Kelce.

“Since when do you care how long I’ve known someone?”

“Since today,” he paused. “Now answer.” Kelce chuckled.

“Since we were kids; our moms are friends. You would’ve met her if she hadn’t moved away before we started elementary school.”

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Why would I mention it before?… Wait! You liked her,” Kelce laughed as they walked out of class.

“Not to be that guy, but have you seen her? Why wouldn’t I like her?”

“Have some backbone, would you? You don’t even know her.”

“And that’s your fault! Why have you kept her hidden?” Kelce laughed out loud again.

“I haven’t kept her hidden.”

“Do you like her?”

“Calm down, would you? No, I don’t like her. She is pretty, but she’s not my type, and I’ve known her for so long I can’t see her that way.”

“I didn’t know you knew Rafe,” Sarah says as you both make your way inside the coffee shop.  

“I don’t; Kelce introduced us yesterday in statistics class, and now we are working together as a group.”  

“That’s nice. He’s pretty good with numbers.”  

“Good to know. I’m not a big fan,” you said, chuckling softly. “How do you know him?”  

“Oh, he is my cousin. We were born almost at the same time and grew up together,” Sarah smiled.  

“It’s like you are siblings.”  

“Oh, we definitely treat each other like siblings sometimes,” she laughs.  

You both continued talking and decided to order because the guys weren’t showing up, and Ruthie had told you that she was going to be late because she had forgotten to buy groceries. After you two had ordered, you sat and continued talking while scrolling through your phones.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @drewstarkeyspecs @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry @ursogorgeous13 @pr3tty-pink @lmaowhatt @reeseswirl @xoxosblogsblog @lili-swagalicious @ayy1234567 @rihannamars @congratsloserr @moonywhisp3rs @iamheretoread1234 @rafesdrew @bee-43 @pogueprincesa @cokewithcameron @landososcar @drewstarkeyslover @wintersoldierslover @rafecqmeronslove @defnotayonna if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything i write

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[happy74827]

White Lies

[Spencer Reid x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You have constantly lied to your mother about your private life, as she was one to disapprove of everything, but those "harmless lies" become a lot more serious when you forget to cancel plans with your closest friend.

WC: 3036

Category: Fluff, Fake Dating, Sassy!Reid {TW: Reader’s mom is Authoritarian}

Another drafted idea that I finally wrote up because Spencer is the definition of pookie, and you cannot change my mind. This is also a dedication to my girl, @yoursacredqueenmother, for matching my crazy delulu fantasies 🫶💖

『••✎••』

Your mom has always been a force of nature—a whirlwind of opinions, expectations, and unsolicited advice that sweeps through your life like a hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who believes she knows what’s best for you, even when you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. Ever since you turned 30 last year, her visits have become more frequent, and her nagging has reached a fever pitch.

"You’re getting old, sweetheart," she’d say, her voice dripping with concern that felt more like judgment. "You need to settle down, find a nice man, start a family. I’m not going to be around forever, you know."

The words were always delivered with a smile, but they stung like a slap. You love her, you really do, but her constant pressure makes you feel like you’re failing at some unspoken test of womanhood.

So, to get her off your back, you’d started lying. Little white lies at first—"I’m seeing someone, Mom, it’s just early stages"—but they quickly snowballed into more and more elaborate fibs. Soon, you were telling her that you were dating a doctor who wanted nothing more than to start a family with you but was waiting for the right time.

It was easier to make up a fictitious doctor than to explain the real reason you were still single.

Because the truth is that the man of your dreams is already in your life, he's been here for years, and he's always been the perfect friend. The problem is that he's a little hard to read. You have no idea how he feels about you or if he sees you as more than a friend.

You'd tried to tell him how you felt about him before, but the words had stuck in your throat. He’d seemed so confused, so shocked by the mere suggestion of romance. Maybe he just didn't see you that way. Maybe you’d ruin your friendship by even mentioning the idea.

This led to where you are now: alone, frustrated, and trying to figure out how to keep your mother from butting into your personal life. You’d thought maybe she’d drop the issue after your birthday, but she’d come by to "surprise you" last night and is now currently sitting at the kitchen table, looking around your apartment with an expression of vague disappointment.

"Honey, you’re an adult now," she says, not looking up from her coffee cup. "You can’t keep living like this."

She gestures at the living room, which is scattered with discarded letters and half-read books. The mess is a symptom of the chaos in your head as you’ve been too preoccupied with thoughts of him to worry about cleaning up after yourself.

"It’s not that bad," you mumble, though you know it is. Even he’d commented on the state of your apartment when he’d last stopped by, and his place is usually worse than yours. Messy, not dirty. He’s a bit of an organized hoarder.

"Well, maybe not for a single girl," she sighs. "But what if Doctor Whoever comes over? Don’t you want to impress him?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your temper in check. This is the problem with your mother—she has a habit of steamrolling over your feelings, and you've never been able to stand up to her. You’d thought you were done having this argument when you turned 30. Apparently, you’d thought wrong.

"Mom," you begin, your voice firm. "I told you, he doesn't care about stuff like that. He's more concerned with things like—"

The doorbell rings, interrupting you mid-sentence. Thank God. You’re not sure what you would have said, but any excuse is better than none. You figured it was the mailman, late with that package you’d been expecting, but when you just so happen to glance at the calendar (the one your father bought you last Christmas, with pictures of cats wearing hats), your stomach drops.

March 21st, which may not seem important, and it really isn’t, unless you look closer and realize that the cat in the picture is wearing a lab coat and is holding a beaker. Because that, my friends, is not just a picture. It is a reminder.

The one thing you had not wanted to forget.

The one thing, apparently, you had forgotten.

You’d been so busy trying to avoid your mother’s questions about your non-existent boyfriend that you’d completely lost track of time. The calendar sits there, taunting you, and all you can think is:

Oh, no.

Because the person who had rang the doorbell? It was him. He and his adorable grin, hazel-like eyes, and messy brown hair. He probably even brought a bag of those terribly expensive chocolates you love.

You want to cry. Of course, it had to be that day, the day of all days, the day you'd been secretly anticipating for all month.

Chess day. It was a monthly ritual you'd started with him when he'd discovered that you, too, were a fan of the game. You were absolutely terrible at it, and he won every time, but honestly, you didn't care. Chess day was just an excuse for you to spend time with him.

Except today, you have company, and it’s not exactly the kind you want him to meet.

You were supposed to call him, but in your haste to please your mom, you completely forgot.

Your mother’s gaze shifts to the door, and her eyebrows rise as if she can sense his presence on the other side. "Well, aren’t you going to answer that?"

No.

That's what you wanted to say. Instead, you hear yourself saying:

"Yeah, just a sec."

And, like a complete idiot, you open the door.

You open the door, and he’s there, all bright-eyed, smiling, holding a box of chocolates and his perfectly polished travel chess set. You feel like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Uh, hey!" he chirps, his voice making your stomach flip. He doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air or the fact that your mother is standing right behind you, peering curiously over your shoulder. "I know I’m a little early, but I needed to pick up some things and..."

He trails off as his gaze settles on your mother. She’s eyeing him like a hawk and doing what she does when meeting a new person: leaning forward slightly, squinting her eyes, and tilting her head. You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Is this him?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

Before you can stop her, she grabs your wrist and pulls you aside. You stumble into the kitchen, and she takes your place, smiling warmly at him.

"So, you’re the doctor," she says, her voice full of approval. "My daughter has told me so much about you!"

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

"Uh," he begins, clearly caught off-guard. His eyes dart to yours, and you were expecting his classic confused puppy look, but this time, it’s different. He looks... honored? No, that can't be right.

"She… talked about me?" he stammers, looking back at your mother.

She nods. "All the time! In fact, I was starting to think she’d made you up. It’s good to know my daughter has such a handsome young man in her life."

You want to die. Right there, on the spot. But, somehow, you manage to force a smile, even as your heart pounds with anxiety.

And your mother? She beams.

"It’s lovely to meet you finally," she gushes. She reaches out and shakes his hand, and he stares at her with a dazed expression. "My daughter has always been a bit shy, and she tends to keep things close to the vest if you know what I mean."

"Mom, please," you cut in, mortified. "Stop."

He still hasn't said a word, and the silence is killing you.

"Well, come on in, then," your mother continues, ignoring your protests. "I insist. After all, I can't wait to learn more about my future son-in-law!"

And this is when the situation goes from bad to worse.

This is when he freezes, and the box of chocolates threatens to slip from his fingers. You watched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"I... Uh, that's not... we’re not..."

"Yes! Yes, we are!" you shout, desperate to cover up his stammering. He looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to shocked, and it’s like a punch in the gut. "That’s right, Mom. This is him. My boyfriend. Doctor Whoever."

"Oh, sweetie, this is so wonderful!" Your mother is so busy clapping her hands with delight that she doesn't notice his reaction.

"Doctor… Whoever?" He looks offended and a bit hurt. "What’s that supposed to mean—?"

"Shush!" You hiss, silently pleading with him to keep quiet. He must have caught your desperation because he shuts his mouth.

It allowed you a moment to process everything. Your mother is smiling widely, her face filled with delight. She doesn't even seem bothered by the fact that he’s currently dressed like a college professor with an evident love for scarves.

Meanwhile, he’s standing there, blinking stupidly, looking as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down. He seems torn between anger and elation, and honestly, it’s confusing as hell. You want to grab him and apologize and explain that this was all a mistake, but you can’t. Not with your mother right there.

So, you knew what you had to do.

"Mom! Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just give us like a few minutes? We have some important totally-not-boyfriend stuff to discuss."

"Sure, honey." She grins. "I'll do some unpacking. How about that?"

"Perfect!"

She practically skips into the other room, leaving the two of you alone. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

The sigh you let out is one of relief, tinged with the faintest hint of dread.

Though, he was the first to break the silence with words.

"I didn’t realize we were dating," he says, his voice low. He's not quite glaring at you, but it's a close thing. "Last time I checked, statistically, dating requires at least two people. Which leads me to the logical conclusion that you are, in fact, a liar. Unless this is some strange, newfangled term for friendship, in which case, I think it would be more appropriate for me to refer to you as the "teller of lies" rather than a—"

"I know, I'm sorry." You blurt out, your cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She was asking all these questions, and I couldn't tell her the truth, and then she just kept talking, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and... I panicked. Okay? That’s all."

"What do you mean, couldn’t tell her the truth?" He narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Then, what is it that you can't tell her?"

He steps closer, and the concern in his eyes makes you feel even guiltier.

"Look, don't worry about it, alright? It’s not important." You turn away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If it isn’t important, then why are you so embarrassed?"

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Your cheeks are flushed," he points out. "And you tend to rub your thumb against your forefinger when you’re feeling nervous or stressed. Which, coincidentally, is also something you do when you’re lying."

Damn it. You should’ve known better than to lie to a profiler.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be interrogated by my mother," you snap, harsher than intended. You soften your voice before continuing. "It’s like she’s constantly see-sawing between disapproval and pity. She means well, but when she’s around, I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of her expectations."

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"And I know, I know, that’s not an excuse for lying. I just... I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong and selfish and... I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection, the anger, the disappointment. Instead, you hear him let out a sigh, followed by the familiar look of resolve that comes over him when he's faced with a challenging puzzle.

"You know, when we first met, you used to lie all the time." He glances at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You would say things like, 'I don't watch rom-coms,' and, 'I have a real job,' and, most infamously, 'there's no such thing as aliens.'"

"Hold on a minute—"

He ignored your protests, his smile growing wider.

"You’re not that bad of a liar. Actually, you’re pretty decent, considering your lack of social skills. So the fact that you’ve managed to fool your mother is pretty impressive."

"Hey—"

"And, honestly, it’s a little flattering."

"I— Wait… what?" You gape at him, trying to figure out what's going on. "Flattering?"

He shrugs, but you can tell he's trying not to blush.

"Liars tend to use people they know well or trust implicitly when they need a cover story because they have more information about them and are therefore more believable. So, by lying about your fake boyfriend, that being me, it suggests that you trust me enough to make a convincing cover story, and the fact that you are embarrassed about the deception implies a certain amount of fondness."

"You can't know all that from a simple lie."

"Can’t I?"

There's something in his tone, the slightest hint of a tease, that makes your heart flutter. He's always been like this, so damn perceptive. You never knew what to make of it.

"It’s actually a well-established behavioral theory," he continues. "Deceivers typically show affection toward the person they are attempting to deceive. In fact, a study in the 1970s—"

"Spencer, please." You hold up a hand. "I get it."

"I'm not so sure that you do."

There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach do backflips.

"Because," he murmurs, moving a little closer, "if you did, I wouldn’t have had to spend the past three years of my life wondering why my best friend keeps avoiding my gaze."

"You noticed that?" You squeak, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I notice everything."

He takes a step toward you, and it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you can't help but glance up. He's actually extremely close, his face mere inches from yours, and you find yourself frozen, unable to speak, unable to think, as his eyes lock with yours.

"I notice that the color of your eyes changes depending on the lighting." He pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And I notice that your pupils dilate when I'm near. I notice the way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought. And I can’t help but notice that the closer I get, the faster your heart rate becomes. That could be a number of things, of course, and not just an indication of arousal, but considering the context, the likelihood that it’s due to anything other than sexual excitement is simply—"

"Spence," you breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re not sure what to do, so you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. "Do you want to be my fake boyfriend?"

There’s a moment of silence, followed by a quiet snort.

"I thought I already was."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but the tension between you has lessened. Now, he’s simply staring at you with a smug smile, and it's like a dam has burst. The words tumble out of your mouth, spilling out like water from a leaky faucet.

"Well, then, you should know that my boyfriend is absolutely infuriating and has a tendency to ramble about obscure facts at inappropriate moments. And he’s really, really bad at taking a hint."

His smile widens, and his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"Oh, he is, is he? Tell me, is he good at chess?"

"No, he’s terrible at it."

"Then, he sounds like a total loser."

"Yeah," you admit, biting back a smile. "He’s the biggest loser I know."

"In that case, you should know that my girlfriend is incredibly frustrating and a compulsive liar who uses her boyfriend for cover stories. She also tends to cheat her way to victory despite still losing most of the time."

"I do not cheat!" You protest, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No, you just make up rules on the spot in order to justify why you lose so badly."

"You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s been letting me win all this time."

"Perhaps," he grins. "Or maybe I’ve been letting you believe that."

You narrow your eyes.

"Are you admitting to me what I think you're admitting?"

"What is it that you think I’m admitting to?"

"I think you’re admitting to me that you’ve been throwing our chess games all this time."

"That sounds like the ramblings of someone who cheats and is trying to project their own faults onto others."

"Oh, you know what—"

And that's when the bedroom door swings open, and your mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"Ahem."

She's standing there, smiling, and holding a box filled with old pictures and baby toys. Your father had sent it to you last year, hoping that you’d have children soon and use it, but you’d put it in storage, intending to deal with it later. Apparently, your mother had decided now was the perfect time.

The both of you share a look, and it's clear that he’s thinking the same thing as you.

"Not interrupting, am I?" She asks, glancing from him to you and then back again. Her smile was practically glowing, and she had a strange look in her eyes as if she were a cat watching a bird. "I was just looking for a place to put these old things and thought maybe my daughter's boyfriend might be interested in seeing them."

The shared look between the two of you solidified what was going through both of your minds. This was indeed going to be a long, long afternoon.

[luvst4rc0r3]

I love the Loser!Jinx fics, there so funny and cute but I can’t help but think that no one believes in Jinx, like everyone believes she can’t do anything right and tell it to her face and to the reader. And I can’t help but the reader slowly getting mad at everyone for not believing in jinx or themselves being together and hoping for their downfall.

Overall: the reader getting mad at everyone so saying mean things about her loser girlfriend

Sorry if this was way to specific, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I do hope you have a great day tho!

It had been a long week. Between the whispers at school, the sideways glances, and the snickers from people who thought they knew better, Reader had nearly had enough. Every time someone so much as looked at Jinx, it was like they were waiting for her to mess up. And she did, sure—she was Jinx, after all, a wild, chaotic force of nature. But that wasn’t all she was.

Reader had seen the side of Jinx that no one else did. The one that hid behind that manic laughter, the one that cared deeply for the people around her, the one that was just trying to find her place in a world that had constantly kicked her down. But no one saw that.

No one except Reader.

-

It started with the comments in the halls.

"Did you see Jinx’s latest stunt? What a joke," someone sneered. Reader was walking beside them, trying to ignore it, but the words grated on her nerves like sandpaper.

"Yeah, how does someone that stupid even survive?" another voice added.

That was it. The last straw.

Reader’s hand curled into a fist, and her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t even realized she was walking faster until the voices were behind her.

“Jinx is more than her mess-ups. She’s more than the mistakes you keep throwing in her face,” Reader said, voice sharp. The words were out before she could stop them.

“Don’t get all defensive. She’s pathetic,” one of them spat.

That was the moment it clicked. The fury rose in Reader like a wave crashing over everything. She stopped, turned, and looked the person straight in the eye.

“Pathetic?” Reader’s voice was cold now, controlled but dripping with venom. “You don’t know her. You don’t see the hours she spends trying to make something of herself, trying to fix all the broken pieces no one else cares about. Maybe if you weren’t so busy tearing her down, you’d actually notice how much she’s trying.”

They all blinked, the words hitting harder than they’d expected. But the damage had been done, hadn’t it? The doubt in their eyes, the laughs they’d shared at Jinx’s expense—it was too much. Too far.

“I’m not going to stand here while you make her feel like shit. She’s mine, and I won’t let you tear her down anymore. So take your pathetic comments and shove them.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the whole group staring at Reader like they couldn’t quite process what had just happened. Reader didn’t care. They turned on their heel, storming off with a fire in their eyes that was impossible to ignore.

-

Later that day, Jinx was sitting by herself at the edge of the school grounds, fiddling with a broken toy she’d somehow managed to scavenge. Her usual chaotic energy was subdued, and her eyes looked tired, the weight of the day clearly starting to take its toll.

Reader walked over and sat beside her, the anger from earlier still simmering in their chest.

"Hey, you okay?" Reader asked softly, not wanting to push Jinx too much.

Jinx looked up at them, her lips curling into that small, hesitant smile that only Reader ever really saw.

“I’m fine,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. She was used to being the punchline, to being the odd one out. Reader could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, the way her hands shook slightly as she twisted the toy in her grip.

Reader reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You know, I don’t care what they say. They don’t know you like I do. And they sure as hell don’t get to treat you like that.”

Jinx’s gaze softened, her blue eyes brightening just a little. She leaned into Reader’s side, resting her head against their shoulder.

“Thanks... I don’t really care about what they think,” she murmured, but Reader could feel the doubt still lingering in her voice. They kissed her forehead, pulling her closer.

“You should,” Reader said, voice fierce now, as if it could somehow shield Jinx from all the hurt that had been thrown her way. “You’re not pathetic. You’re worth more than any of them could ever see.”

Jinx smiled at that, a little more genuine this time. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

“Always.”

And that was enough. For now, that was enough.

-

The next day, the whispers were quieter. The snickers were less frequent. Reader wasn’t sure if they had changed anyone’s mind or if they’d just earned a bit of respect. But what mattered was that Jinx was a little less burdened by the weight of the world, and that meant everything.

The world could think whatever it wanted, but Reader would never stop believing in Jinx. No one else had to, as long as they did.

And that was all that mattered.

I want sleep

[salty-autistic-writer]

Written for @bucktommyangstweek, Day 5: Missing in Action

Buck stares at the ocean.

The endless stretch of blue in front of him makes him dizzy. Once upon a time, the ocean crashed into his life and almost took something precious from him. The memories still feel like fresh cuts. Thinking he lost Christopher … It hurt so much to look into Eddie’s eyes that day.

Now the ocean lies still. Peaceful. It doesn’t let what it took from Buck now show.

Maddie clears her throat. She’s standing beside him, the wind making her hair float gently. She has her arms wrapped around herself and Buck what she sees. After all, his sister has her own painful memories of the water. But she still came to the beach with him. Even though, there’s nothing to see. Nothing to do. Nothing. Only the blue. 

Maddie's fingers brush his arm. “Buck. I think it’s time to -”

“Don’t,” Buck says quietly, keeping his eyes on the ocean. He can’t do this right now. He can’t.

Maddie bites her lip. “They lost contact so long ago, Buck. I … It’s just not realistic.”

I don’t care.

“I won’t give up on him.”

“Of course you won’t,” Maddie says softly. Sadly.

Everyone else does. Buck knows that. They are giving up. It’s been too long, they say. It’s been too long for someone to survive out there. In the cold water. Probably injured. Without any resources. Without water.

So far, the rescue teams have found nothing.

The storm brewed up so fast that night … It darkened the sky. Made the waves high and unruly. No one knows what exactly happened. Tommy was supposed to fly back to Harbor Station. But his helicopter went off route. He did send a call, but the connection broke after seconds. Since that, there has been no sign of life.

That was two days ago.

Two days. 48 hours of silence. Of uncertainty.

There are so many possible ways Tommy might have died out there.

The fatality rate of this kind of crash is 25%. Tommy’s helicopter might have sunk down to the bottom of the ocean with him still in the pilot’s seat, unconscious, drowning without even noticing. Or: He might have made it out of the chopper, but then he would still be out there, in the open, with nothing to hold on to probably, while the waves threw him around and he eventually froze to death.

Ocean water is so cold. Buck remembers and shudders involuntarily.

But if Tommy survived the crash and didn’t freeze, he might still be alive. A typical person can theoretically survive three to four days without water.

Buck sighs. It really feels like at this point, they are all just waiting for news. For something that gives them closure.

Maybe parts of the helicopter will be found floating on the surface. Or … a body.

A shiver runs down Buck’s back. He swallows, finally sick of staring at the ocean. It’s going to tell him nothing anyway. “Let’s go home.”

But just when they are about to walk to the truck, Buck receives a call.

His breath hitches when he sees who it is. “Athena?”

“Buck,” Athena says crisply.

He closes his eyes, a cold hand of dread curling around his heart. This is it, right? This is the moment she will tell him that they found the helicopter. Or Tommy’s body.

Maddie takes Buck’s free hand, holding it in silent comfort.

Athena takes a deep breath. “They found him.”

Buck expected to hear that but his heart still sinks. Like Tommy’s helicopter undoubtedly sank. Into an abyss of cold darkness. “O-okay. Am I … Do they want me to, like, identify him?”

“Buck. He’s alive.”

Buck’s mouth drops open. “I … What?” 

“He’s alive,” Athena repeats, softer.

Buck’s legs buckle. “Oh, oh God. But …”

“I swear, you and Tommy … You have more luck than possible. A cargo boat found him floating on a metal sheet and brought him back. He’s severely dehydrated, hypothermic, sunburnt, and he swallowed way too much water, but other than that … The doctors say he’s going to be fine.”

“Fine,” Buck echoes numbly, looking at Maddie who smiles, tears in her eyes. “He’s going to be fine.”

It seems so surreal.

Buck doesn’t quite believe it until he sees Tommy. Until he sees his chest slowly rising and falling. Until he hears the confirmation from the doctors. It’s a miracle, they say. Buck just stares at Tommy and all he can think is: The ocean gave him back. It gave him back. Oh God. I love him.

* Tommy looks horrible.

Where his skin isn’t angry red and dry, it’s ghostly pale. His hair is frail and his lips are cracked. The nurses put balm on them which makes them look shiny. A bandage is wrapped around Tommy’s head and both of his hands. He’s getting fluids from an IV bag.

Buck doesn’t dare to make noise. He stands and breathes and looks.

A part of him was so certain he wouldn’t ever see Tommy alive again.

He watches in awe when Tommy’s eyes flutter open, revealing hazy blue.

“Hey,” Buck says and God, he wants to hold Tommy’s hand. But he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Tommy's eyes widen a bit, flickering to him, trying to focus.

“Ev.” Tommy’s voice sounds like he gargled gravel.

“It’s okay,” Buck says. “We don’t have to talk right now. You survived two days in the open ocean. You can allow yourself to rest.”

A tear rolls down Tommy’s cheek and drops from his chin. “Ev,” he repeats. “Sorry.”

Buck can’t hold himself back anymore. He takes Tommy’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. *

“I had a horrible dream,” Tommy tells him two days later, still weak, but able to stay awake for half an hour at least. “I floated in the middle of the ocean, on a piece of my helicopter. It was wet, hot and everything tasted like fish.”

“Yeah. Well, that really happened,” Buck says sympathetically.

“I don’t want to ever eat fish again,” Tommy says, his eyes already fluttering close again. He grimaces. “Sometimes I could feel them. I think they nibbled at my toes, testing if I’m edible. Please. Don’t let them in here.” “I won’t,” Buck promises, suppressing a chuckle. “I won’t let the fish get to you.”

“Good,” Tommy whispers, his head lolling to the side as he’s dozing off. *

“The worst thing was the sun,” Tommy says, shuddering. “One time I yelled at it to disappear. But it didn’t, of course. It was so hot. I thought I would burn. It got so bad that I considered jumping into the water, but I was scared of the water. It was so deep. And dark. And … And I was scared I wouldn’t find the strength to get up on that metal sheet thing again.”

He swallows, feeling both exhausted and relieved he can share this with someone.

His therapist waits patiently as Tommy catches his breath, and prepares to tell her about the detail he thinks most about. He dreams about it.

“When it got really bad out there, when I thought I was about to die, I … I started to hallucinate. I saw Evan. My … my ex-boyfriend. He told me not to give up. Told me to hold on. I think his voice kept me alive. Kept me fighting. I wanted to get back to him. I love him. I know I do. But I’m scared he won’t want to take me back after I hurt him.”

He bites his lip. 

“I just wish I could stop being so afraid. I destroyed our relationship because I was scared it wouldn’t last forever and would break my heart. Now I’m scared I might not get another chance.”

“You should tell Evan about this,” his therapist says. “Just be honest. It’s okay to be scared. I’m sure he will understand.”

Tommy nods. He was just born again. He can be brave in this new life. *

“I’m so glad the ocean gave you back,” Buck says, his fingers drawing circles on Tommy’s bare chest.

“I’m glad too. I mean, I could have done without all the extra trauma, but this is exactly where I want to be right now,” Tommy sighs, kissing Buck’s head. “I love you.” "I love you too," Buck closes his eyes in bliss, snuggling closer to Tommy. They're warm and safe, ready to face the waves of trauma together.

(AO3 Link)

[literaila]

Re-reading ATF (as one does) and I realized that chapter 60 “mistakes” on AO3 doesn’t have a resolution. What did reader do when she stormed out? How did Satoru respond?

part one

“somewhere else” as it turns out, is only thirty meters away from the house.

as soon as the front door clicks shut, bitter air hitting your face, you realize it—you don’t have anywhere else to go.

you could walk to kento’s apartment. he would let you in politely and make you tea. he would listen to you talk too, even if he thought that you were just being ridiculous and immature. he would still sit there, though, kind enough to let you stay.

he might even get out his fancy whiskey—if a few tears escaped and he felt sorry enough for you.

but nanami lives further into the city, and you’re too tired to walk. ijichi should be busy with gojo, and you can’t even call a cab because you left your wallet inside.

by this point you’ve walked down the pavement, stopping just as you reach the fence.

you could call shoko. she might be at school still, and she’d never turn down a drink. she would even bitch about satoru with you, shaking her head and muttering i told you so under her breath.

but then she’d be drunk and you would still be sad. there’s no point in getting shit-faced if there’s no one to take care of you when you get home. if you even went home, that is.

and—worst of all—is that even if you did go to nanami, or to shoko, they just wouldn’t understand.

they’re both stronger than you are, they take trouble by the neck and leave it lying somewhere behind as they walk away.

neither one of them knows what it feels like to be left.

worst of all, the only person you want to talk to this about is satoru.

he understands you even when he doesn’t know, but he knows about this. he could talk you down from a ledge, make the catastrophe of it all seem scarce. he could make a joke and you wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

and you still haven’t moved. three more steps and the house would be behind you.

but you turn. you look down to the garden, hidden by the side of the house, in all its dying glory.

the cold has been a shock to all of you, but to the plants most of all. the flowers are drooping, petals scarce, colors dull. tsumiki used to take care of the garden.

you’d never be able to take care of it like miki. you don’t have the same patience as she does, the same nurturing hand.

you might as well set it on fire—just to start anew. you’ve been meaning to.

but it’s just feels like a bad reminder, anyway.

and you stand there, for a bit, unmoving. thinking of dirt under chipped fingernails, sweaty hair and brown eyes. you think of waiting outside in the sun, looking forward to that one moment of the day where everyone comes home. the collection finally complete.

eventually you’ve been standing there for ten minutes and nothing has changed. you’re still alone, it’s still cold outside.

satoru should be gone, though. you’ve walked far enough that he wouldn’t have been able to see you from the windows. he always packs at the last minute, so he’s probably left by now.

the thought makes you even colder, and you decide that even if you’re going to leave—to god knows where—you at least need a jacket.

so you walk around the back of the house, peering through the windows just to check for any sign of him. but it’s only dark, a bit too clean inside.

it’s ridiculous to have to sneak into your own house, but you do it anyway.

you use the fence as a jump up to the roof, only hesitating a little bit. then you crawl to tsumiki’s window, carefully peeling the screen off, wondering, for just a moment, why it isn’t locked. tsumiki liked sitting in the sun, wind blowing in her hair.

it’s all very easy. high school taught you how to break into forgotten places a month in. and you got used to sneaking back inside the school, always knowing that someone would find out.

though, when you were younger there was always someone standing at the bottom, ready to catch you if you fell.

he’s just busy right now.

it takes about three minutes, by the time you’re done. at least jujutsu high was good for one thing.

but instead of going to get a jacket, or your wallet, or scoping out the house like an intruder—you sit on tsumiki’s bed, feeling that weary tiredness. the kind that only comes with time.

it’s dark in her room, flyers from months before still on the wall, her bed made, desk tidy.

it doesn’t really look any different than when she was still here.

you sit there, feeling like a fool. your finger traces the floral pattern on her duvet, and you think about how you still feel so young. how you still feeling like a teenager, with none of the answers but all of the grief.

you don’t know if you’ll ever get older, or just keep pretending to be.

your lip is twitching at the framed picture of her and megumi on the desk—and then the door creaks open.

you’re not shocked, really. there was a reason you didn’t go through the front door.

you don’t look up, but say, quietly, “shouldn’t you be gone by now? you’re going to miss your flight.”

satoru steps in, not bothering to be quiet now—even though you both know he could be, if he wanted to. he could sneak up behind someone without a blink and then destroy their entire world.

but he only shuts the door; like you both need from privacy from the quiet of your house.

“i rescheduled,” he says, stepping in. “new flight is tomorrow.”

you nod, still looking at the floor.

“i can sleep on the couch,” he adds, just a hint of humor in his voice. “if you want.

“no, you—you don’t have to.”

“well, i mean, you can, i guess, but we both know that you hate the couch.”

and you could joke—should—about how he picked out the worlds most uncomfortable couch just so you’d want to cuddle with him more, and he should deal with the repercussions.

but the words get stuck in your throat, and you just keep looking at the floor.

so satoru kneels down, and his gaze find yours instead. he’s not wearing a blindfold, or his glasses.

so you can see his red-rimmed eyes, knowing that it’s not because of tears. he’s just tired. he always works so hard.

he nudges your chin, tilting his head, “i thought… you were going to go stay somewhere else.”

your face falls.

you’ve known, maybe this entire time, that satoru wouldn’t just let you walk away. that even if he did—if, that is—his eyes were always going to follow you, stuck on the remnants of your cursed energy, the shape of your soul, tracking every step you took.

sneaking in was pointless because he was always going to know where you were. no blindfold would keep him from knowing.

for some reason, you just thought that he wouldn’t bother this time.

you close your eyes, wanting to keen into him. “i don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“i shouldn’t have said that,” satoru’s hand finds your knees, squeezing. and he sounds a little bit guilty, bothered. “you don’t belong anywhere but here.”

you shake your head, tears already sneaking out from tight eyelids.

satoru is still kneeling in front of you, waiting. “you want to talk?” he asks, knowing that you do. he always knows.

your hands cover your face, and you exhale, so strong that your shoulders shake.

“c’mon, i’m listening,” satoru tells you, nudging his head against your leg.

“satoru,” you whisper, voice trembling. “i—i cant—“

“breathe, baby, it’s alright.”

you look right at him, somehow not faltering at the intensity of his gaze. “i don’t—i don’t know how i didn’t—“ you shake your head. “i can’t do anything without you. and i never realized it before, b-because i always had the kids and they were always there, but now it’s—megumi’s gone, tsumiki’s gone, and i always knew that was going to happen but…”

satoru’s hands are careful as they wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“i hate being here alone. i don’t have anything else, satoru. even tonight i—i didn’t know where to go, or what to do. i just wanted to be here. home.”

he hums, nodding with you, listening so intently it makes you cry even more.

“and i know—i know i shouldn’t take it out on you. i know it’s not your fault. work is important, and everyone needs so much from you, and i don’t want to make that worse but i just—“

you look away finally, shaking your head.

“hey,” satoru’s hand finds yours. “it’s my fault too. i shouldn’t have taken anything you said personally. i know when you’re picking a fight,” he grins a little bit, squeezing.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whisper. “i know you don’t want to leave.”

“i know, baby.”

“i’m sorry.”

“yeah, i know,” satoru says, leaning up so he can rest his forehead against yours. “you remember when we had to make dinner and tuck the kids in bed every night?”

“yeah.”

“those were the easy days, huh?”

you give a half smile, and murmur, “you wouldn’t kiss me back then.”

satoru pulls you closer, body almost falling off of tsumiki’s bed. “i loved you, though.”

“i know.”

satoru sighs, leaving a soft kiss against your head. and then, with strength so annoying it hurts, he pulls you down to the floor with him, wrapping his arms around you.

“you gotta tell me stuff like this,” he says, finally, soft enough to feel caring, comforting. “i need to know.”

“i’m sorry—“

“uh-uh,” satoru shakes his head, squeezing you. “no sorries. i could’ve guessed. i should have. you’re just really strong, you know? it’s hard to tell.”

your brows furrow and you have to push against his chest unless he loosens his grip, just to look him in the eyes. “stronger than you?”

he smirks. “way stronger, babe. i’ll never catch up to you.”

“wow,” you grin, unbeknownst to you. “i never thought you’d say anything like that.”

satoru laughs, and he finally relaxes, just a bit. at least he can still make you smile. maybe that’s all he’s ever been able to do.

“we’re going to figure it out, okay? it’ll—it’ll get easier. we’ll fix this.”

“are you sure?”

“‘course i am.”

you nod, wishing you could fully trust him—but nothing has gotten easier in your world recently, just more complicated.

after a minute or two, satoru’s hand running up and down your back, he whispers, “you could always move back into your old dorm.”

“what?”

“you’d be around megumi, and the kids. and i would come visit you. i miss sneaking in.”

“are you kidding?”

“no, it’s a good idea. i can talk to yaga—“

[mangilingo]

Unwelcome familiarity

(Part 2)

Summary- The reader and Luigi grow distant after their argument, but when she sees him with another girl, jealousy forces her to finally admit she doesn’t want him with anyone else.

.・゜゜・ ✧༺♥༻∞ ・゜゜・．

The air between you and Luigi is thick, weighed down by everything unspoken. His hand is still wrapped around yours, warm and steady, but your pulse is racing too fast for you to focus on anything except the tension between you.

Rachel and I… we’re just friends.

The words should be enough, but they aren’t. Because if they were, you wouldn’t have felt your stomach twist at the sight of them together. You wouldn’t have spent the last few days trying—and failing—to pretend it didn’t bother you.

You pull your hand away, slow and deliberate. “Then why does it feel like you wanted me to see that?”

Luigi’s brows knit together. “What?”

“That picture,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. “Rachel. All of it. Did you want me to get jealous? Because if that was your plan, congratulations, it worked.”

Luigi exhales sharply, shaking his head. “That’s not fair. You’re the one who’s been keeping me at arm’s length. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you to make up your mind?”

Your jaw clenches. “I never asked you to wait.”

“But you want me to,” he fires back, eyes dark with frustration. “You don’t want me to move on, but you won’t let me in either. Do you even know what you want, or are you just stringing me along?”

His words strike like a slap, and for a second, all you can do is sit there, stunned. The worst part? He’s right. You don’t know what you want—not entirely.

But you do know this: the idea of him with someone else makes you sick.

“Maybe I don’t know what I want,” you admit, your voice quieter but no less sharp. “But that doesn’t mean you get to use Rachel to—”

“I’m not using her,” Luigi interrupts, exasperation seeping into his tone. “She’s a friend. That’s it. And if you actually trusted me, you’d know that.”

The accusation stings. “Trusted you? You’re the one who never takes anything seriously! How am I supposed to trust someone who hides behind jokes every time things get real?”

Luigi’s expression hardens. “And you’re the one who runs the second things get difficult. You keep acting like you don’t care, like I don’t matter, and I let you. Every damn time, I let you. But I can’t keep doing this anymore, not if you’re never going to choose me.”

The words hit deeper than they should. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because this is it. The breaking point.

Luigi stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. His jaw is clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He looks at you like he’s waiting for something—waiting for you to stop him.

But you don’t. You can’t.

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer before he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Let me know when you figure out what you want.”

And then, just like that, he walks away.

Leaving you alone with the mess you’ve made.

Luigi doesn’t text you. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t even glance in your direction when you pass each other on campus.

And it’s killing you.

The weight of his absence is heavier than you expected, settling deep in your chest like a dull ache that won’t fade. You told yourself space was what you needed—that this tension between you would burn itself out if you ignored it long enough. But instead, it lingers, growing worse with every moment he stays away.

Your brother notices first.

“You and Luigi fighting?” he asks one evening, leaning against the counter as you push your dinner around your plate.

You tense. “Why would you think that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because I haven’t seen him around lately. And because you look like someone ran over your dog.”

You roll your eyes, shoving a bite of food into your mouth to avoid answering.

Your brother doesn’t let up. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but you two have always been close. If something’s wrong, maybe you should just talk to him.

Talk to him. As if it were that simple.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you mutter, setting your fork down.

Your brother sighs, crossing his arms. “You know, for two people who spend most of their time arguing, you and Luigi really suck at actually talking.”

You glare at him, but he just shrugs. “Just saying.”

You tell yourself you won’t think about it.

But a few nights later, when you find yourself in the library again—alone, exhausted, and staring at a textbook without actually reading it—you feel the weight of it press harder on your chest.

Luigi used to be here. Even when he was annoying, even when he teased you endlessly, he was there. Filling the space beside you, nudging your foot under the table, tossing pencils at your head when you got too serious.

Now, there’s only silence.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus. You have an exam in two days, and feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to change anything. But just as you start scribbling notes, a familiar voice drifts from the other side of the library.

Luigi.

You freeze.

Against your better judgment, your gaze flickers toward the source of the sound. He’s sitting at a table near the windows, leaned back in his chair, talking to someone.

Rachel.

Your stomach twists.

She laughs at something he says, leaning in just a little too close, her hand grazing his arm. He doesn’t pull away.

You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping your pen until it snaps in half.

Mia, who had taken a seat across from you not long ago, follows your gaze and winces. “Yikes.”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to look away. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

But it does.

It matters more than you want to admit.

“I need some air,” you mumble, shoving your books into your bag before Mia can say anything.

You leave without looking back.

The cool night air does little to settle the storm in your chest. You pace outside the library, hands shoved into your pockets, heart hammering as you replay the scene over and over in your mind.

It doesn’t mean anything. He said she was just a friend. He told you—

But that was before. Before the argument. Before you pushed him away. Before you made him think you didn’t care.

Maybe he got tired of waiting.

A lump rises in your throat. You blink hard, tilting your head back to stare at the sky, willing the feeling away.

You don’t know how long you stand there, but suddenly, footsteps sound behind you.

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Luigi stops a few feet away, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. He doesn’t speak right away, and for a moment, neither do you.

The silence between you is thick, heavier than ever.

Finally, he exhales. “You left in a hurry.”

You swallow. “I needed some air.”

He nods slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “Mia said you looked upset.”

You force a hollow laugh. “And you care?”

His jaw tightens. “I always care.”

The words hit harder than they should.

You shake your head, looking away. “Doesn’t seem like it. You’ve been doing fine without me.”

Luigi studies you for a moment. Then, his voice drops, quieter. “Are you jealous?”

You freeze.

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes before you can stop it. “Are you serious right now?”

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. “Just answer the question.”

You clench your fists. “No.”

“Liar.”

You glare at him. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. You said you weren’t going to wait forever, remember?”

Luigi’s eyes darken. “So that’s what this is about?” He steps closer, and suddenly, there’s barely any space between you. “You pushed me away. You chose this distance. And now, what? You see me with someone else, and suddenly you don’t like it?”

Your breath catches. “I never wanted you with someone else.”

“Then say it.” His voice is low, almost desperate. “Say you don’t want me with her. Say you—”

“I don’t want you with her!”

The words tear out of you before you can stop them. The second they’re out, you realize there’s no taking them back.

Silence.

Luigi just stares at you, his breathing uneven, his expression unreadable. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, heavy and electric.

You’ve never felt more exposed in your life.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, Luigi exhales, running a hand through his hair. A slow, almost disbelieving smirk tugs at his lips.

“Finally,” he murmurs.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

But before you can say anything else, before you can even think about running away from this, Luigi steps even closer, until there’s barely an inch between you.

His voice drops lower, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Say it again.”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

He smirks, but there’s something softer in his eyes now—something real. “Say you don’t want me with her.”

You swallow hard. Your pulse is racing, your entire body tense, but when you open your mouth, the words come easier this time.

“I don’t want you with her,” you whisper.

Luigi’s smirk fades, replaced by something deeper. His hand lifts slightly, like he’s about to reach for you—but at the last second, he hesitates.

Like he’s waiting.

Like you have to be the one to close the distance this time.

And for the first time, you think you just might.

[bktempted]

Our Entertainment. The dining room buzzes with chatter and the clink of wine glasses as you step inside. Your eyes snag on it immediately — your throne. It’s parked at the head of the table, a sleek, sturdy thing with a matte black finish, and jutting up from the seat is a thick, glossy dildo, shameless and impossible to ignore. My friends are already here, interspersed around the table, half drunk and grinning, their curiosity pinging between me and that obscene piece of furniture.

“What’s with the setup?” one of them asks, jerking his chin toward the chair. His smirk says he’s already got a guess.

I don’t dodge it. “It’s for her,” I say, locking eyes with you. “Keeps her cunt busy while we drink. She's the night’s entertainment.”

Their laughter ripples through the room, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck. You’re still standing there, frozen for a second, but I nod towards it. “Go on. Sit.”

You hesitate, but the pull’s too strong — my voice, their stares, the slick promise of that thing waiting for you. You ease yourself down, and the dildo slides in slow, stretching you open with a dull, insistent pressure. A ragged little sound slips out of you, and someone across the table snickers. I get to work fast, looping rope around your wrists and ankles, tethering you to the chair’s frame. Your arms flex, testing the give, but there’s none. Your legs are splayed, locked wide, and that dildo’s buried deep now, pinning you in place.

“Can’t have you pawing at yourself,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’d ruin the show.”

I step back, letting them see you. All of you. Your thighs twitch, muscles jumping under your skin as you adjust to the fullness. I dip my fingers between your legs, brushing the edge of where the dildo’s sunk into you, and pull them back glistening. “Look at that,” I say, holding up the evidence. “Soaked already.”

They lean in, eyes glinting, and the questions start flying. “How’s it feel?” one asks, teasing. “You like being stuck like that?” Another chimes in, swirling her wine like she’s discussing the weather.

You try to answer, but your words come out fragmented, sliced up by the shudders rolling through you. “It’s—fuck—it’s a lot,” you manage, and then your breath gets caught as the first orgasm slams into you, yet another uninvited guest. Your head tips back, lips parting, and a moan spills out, raw and loud. The table erupts with laughter, a few claps, someone muttering, “Wow, already?”

I don’t let it settle. I circle behind you, resting my hands on your shoulders, and nod at the guy closest. “Go ahead. Touch her.” He doesn’t need telling twice. His fingers graze your chest, finding a nipple and tugging hard. You yelp, a high, desperate sound, and your body jerks against the ropes. Another hand joins in — someone’s pressing two fingers into your mouth, sliding them along your tongue. You choke a little, drool pooling at the corners, and they laugh again, delighted.

“She’s a mess,” one of them says, almost impressed. “You trained her good.”

“She’s a good fuck doll,” I agree, casual as anything. “Watch this.” I remove their fingers, grip your jaw, tilting your head back, and shove my cock into your mouth. You whimper; eyes glassy. “See? She’ll take whatever I give her.”

You’re fighting the restraints now, hips shifting, chasing friction that isn’t there. The initial entrance pushed you to orgasm, but now that you've settled in, it's not enough. The dildo is filling you up but not moving, not giving you what you need. It’s maddening, and I can tell — it’s in the way your breaths turn shallow, the way your fingers curl into fists. I love it. They love it. The whole room is feeding off your desperation.

Another hand snakes out, latching onto your other nipple, pinching it tight and rolling it slow between their fingertips. Your moan comes out choked, garbled around my thick cock shoved deep in your mouth. “She’s loud,” one says, grinning at me. “Is that the only way you can shut her up?”

“Pretty much," I fire back, voice flat and smug. "Only keeps quiet when I've got her throat stuffed” That earns a burst of rowdy yells, glasses clinking in approval. “Don't be shy now, I'm the only one that can fuck her, but you all can touch!”

And just like that, they swarm you. Hands everywhere, a frenzy of grabbing, stroking, yanking at your skin — fingers digging into your thighs, palms smacking your chest, someone raking nails down your side. It’s a flood of sensation, too much to track, hitting you like a shockwave that leaves you squirming, ropes creaking as you strain against them.

You’re trembling now, sweat beading on your forehead, and I can see the strain in your arms as you pull against the ropes. Another orgasm’s building — I know your tells, the way your thighs clench, the little gasps you can’t hold back. “Go on,” I mutter. “Show them how greedy you are.”

It hits you hard, your whole body locking up as you cum again, a strangled cry breaking free. The table’s a chaos of noise — cheers, filthy comments, someone banging a fist on the table. You’re panting, chest heaving, and I slide a hand down between your legs, stopping just short of where you want it. “Good girl,” I say, voice carrying over the racket. “Keeping us entertained.”

[wonwoosmagnetic]

The Things He Left Behind | jww

ONESHOT!

Pairing: wonwoo x hopeless oc! Warnings: heartbreak, angst Word count: 1.1k words. Synopsis: Somewhere, in another life, maybe just maybe, wonwoo doesn't let you go. Authore Note: A little drabble I wrote in between drafting my next no saints here chapter! hehe hope you like it! oc's name is chaeyoung!

You had spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Tell me your name." He had asked it so casually, so effortlessly, like it wasn’t the beginning of something that would ruin you. "Why?" you had asked, teasing. He had smiled, lopsided and warm. "Because I think I was meant to know you." And just like that, you had been lost.

You had erased him in every way a person could be erased—deleted his number, blocked his calls, ripped every reminder of him from your life.

But before you erased him, he had been everywhere. His laughter in your ears. His touch on your skin. His promises—so soft, so real—that you had been foolish enough to believe in. "You’ll stay?" you had whispered once, buried in his arms, afraid of the answer. And he had kissed your forehead. "Always."

You had spent every second since trying to forget.

And for a while, it worked.

Until tonight.

Until now.

Until the moment you heard your name.

"Love isn’t real." He had said it so casually, as if the words weren’t a knife. They were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets and moonlight, your fingers tracing patterns against his bare shoulder. You had looked at him then, waiting for the teasing smile, the flicker of hesitation. But there was none. Just quiet certainty. "You don’t believe in it?" you had whispered, voice small. "No." You could have left right then. You should have. But instead, you pressed closer. "That’s okay," you had said. "I’ll believe enough for the both of us."

You had been moving through the city like a ghost, head down, heart carefully buried somewhere it couldn’t be reached. The streets were alive, chaotic, full—voices and neon lights colliding in a blur of sound. The kind of noise that made it easier to breathe, easier to pretend that nothing was missing.

But then—

"Chaeyoung."

Soft. Familiar.

A voice you had sworn you would never hear again.

Your heart stopped.

No. No, it can’t be.

But you turned anyway.

And he was there.

"Promise me." His voice had been raw that night, his fingers tight around yours, desperate. "Promise me we’ll always find our way back." And you had smiled, because you had been naïve, because you had believed that love was enough. "I promise."

You felt sick.

You had spent so long trying to forget him, to convince herself that he was just a ghost, a figment of your past that couldn’t hurt you anymore.

But he wasn’t a ghost.

He was here.

And he was looking at you.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t alone.

"You’ll leave one day," he had told you once, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. You had shaken your head, smiling as if it was the easiest truth in the world. "No, I won’t." His jaw had clenched then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You say that now." "I mean it." But it didn’t matter. He never believed you. Never trusted that someone could want him without conditions, without expectations. So he kept his walls high, locked every door, kept you at a safe distance even when you were right beside him. And you let him. You had been so desperate just to be near him that you accepted every cold shoulder, every dismissive word, every quiet rejection masked as indifference. Because you thought one day he would see. That one day he would believe in love, too. But he had.

You breath hitched.

The world kept moving, kept spinning, but you—you were stuck.

Because he was standing right there, close enough to touch, close enough that you could almost imagine it had all been a nightmare, that none of it was real, that you could still reach for him and—

But then you saw her.

The girl beside him.

The one with her hand in his.

The diamond on the woman’s hand catches the light, and your stomach twists violently.

Because now, you know.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t love. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how.

He just didn’t want to love you.

And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

"You’ll forget me," you had whispered. He had laughed, shaking his head. "How could I?" But now— Now you were nothing but a forgotten name on his lips.

He blinked. For a second—just a second—he looked almost surprised to see you. Like he hadn’t been expecting this, like he hadn’t considered what it would mean to run into you again.

And then—

His fingers curled tighter around the other girl’s hand.

And just like that—

You knew.

"Wonwoo, I love you." You voice cracked, but you didn’t care. You were past the point of pride, past the point of pretending this didn’t hurt. Your heart was breaking in real time, splintering into pieces right in front of him, and he just stood there. You took a shaky breath, stepping closer, searching his face for something—anything. A reaction, a flicker of emotion, even pity. "Why can’t you love me too?" Your voice was louder this time, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "Why can’t you just—" you stopped, pressing a trembling hand to your chest. "Just say something, Wonwoo. Just—please." He looked at you. For a minute too long. And you thought, maybe this is it. Maybe he would finally let himself feel, let himself see you the way you had always seen him. Maybe he would reach for you, pull you close, whisper something that could make all this worth it. But then— He blinked. Turned around. And walked away. No hesitation. No final words. No second glance. The air left your lungs. You stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared, waiting for him to stop, to turn back, to realize. He didn’t.

The crowd surged.

A wave of people moved between them, breaking them apart, tearing her away from him before you could even think, before you could even move.

You stumbled back, your chest caving in, your hands shaking.

No. No, no, no—

You pushed forward, desperate, needing to see him, needing to find him—

And then—

There.

He was still there.

Still standing in the same spot.

Still looking at you.

But this time—

He wasn’t reaching for you.

He wasn’t fighting the crowd, wasn’t calling your name, wasn’t trying.

He was just watching.

And then—

He turned.

And walked away.

With her.

"We’ll always find our way back." But they hadn’t. He had found someone else instead.

Your vision blurred. Your fingers curled into fists.

You could run after him.

You could call his name.

You could fight against the tide, push through the crowd, make him remember.

But you didn’t.

You just stood there.

Because this—this was how it ended.

Not with screaming. Not with a fight. Not with desperate pleas or broken promises.

But with him walking away—and not looking back.

And that— That was what hurt the most.

----

[se4ttlellie]

YOU’RE HIS AND NOT MINE - E.WILLIAMS (PART 2)

Warnings : SMUT, wlw relationship, head (reader receiving), kissing, cheating, AU, use of y/n, cuddling, fingering (Ellie receiving), use of pet names, swearing

Summary : In which, the reader can’t get Ellie’s confession off of their mind and finally gives in to temptation

Authors Note : This is part 2 of my series and I hope you guys are loving it! I can’t lie, this is my first time writing gl/wlw smut so you’re gonna have to bear with me, I will try my best. If you are reading this and you haven’t read part one and you want to, I would suggest you go for the plot. You can read it here. Enjoy! <3

Purple is y/n

Green is Ellie

Blue is Ben

Italics is flashbacks

__________________________________________

It’s been three days since Ellie confessed her feelings to you and you are still very confused about how you feel about it

You are currently lay in bed with your boyfriend after you two made up and all you can think about is Ellie’s words… “you’re his and not mine.”

You and Ben made up yesterday because he bought you flowers and properly apologised instead of half heartedly and angrily apologising like last time.

“Baby… I’m so sorry,” your boyfriend says, holding a bouquet of flowers as he stands at your doorstep. You really want to be mad at him but you truly can’t.

You and Ben talked it out and, eventually, you came to an agreement that he would apologise to Ellie and would only speak to her if he really needed to.

As you are laid in bed, cuddled into Ben’s side, you’re trying to watch a movie together but the scene with Ellie keeps playing over in your head like a broken record.

Part of you wants to jump into Ellie’s arms and kiss her until she can’t breathe but, the logical part of you is reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend, who, despite everything, you love so much.

You and Ellie haven’t spoken much since she told you about her feelings because you are trying not to let temptation get the better of you and she thinks she has ruined her chances with you.

When you feel your boyfriend’s hand in your hair, gently scratching your scalp, you are broken out of your trance.

When you look up at him, he is still watching the movie and, when he notices you looking at him, he looks down at you with a smile and a kiss on the forehead.

You smile back at him, leaning up and pressing a small kiss to his lips. You turn your attention back to the movie, trying to distract yourself from your thoughts of Ellie.

After a while, your impulses take over and you quickly get out of bed, changing out of your pyjamas and into something else. You quickly kiss Ben and he looks extremely confused.

“Sorry, darling. I’ve got to go and help my mum with something. She asked me yesterday but I forgot about it.”

“Oh okay, I’ll see you in a bit then. I love you.”

“See you later. I love you too.”

You practically run out of the front door, grabbing your keys and getting in the car. The second you sit down in the drivers seat, you start to second guess yourself.

Sighing, you almost get out of the car and go back inside but you don’t. All you can think about is Ellie. You start your car and drive over to Ellie’s house.

When you get there, you knock on the door and wait for someone to answer. Thankfully, Ellie opens the door and, before she can get a word in, you press your lips to hers.

She stumbles back a little, surprised by your sudden kiss but she doesn’t push you off. She grabs your waist gently and pulls you closer to her, closing the front door with her foot.

You wrap your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss. She starts to kiss you back even more, pulling you impossibly closer to her chest.

When you finally pull away for a bit of air, her eyes are wide and she looks extremely shocked. You try to go back for more but she stops you.

“Y/n…? I’m not mad that you’re here but what the fuck are you doing?”

“I couldn’t get what you said out of my head and I knew, deep down, that I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“I want this too but... what about Ben?”

“I don’t know…”

You sigh, feeling really guilty now. You know that this is exactly what you want but, now that she has brought up Ben, it brings you back to how wrong you know this is.

She gently grabs your waist, hesitation in her eyes as she does so because, she too knows that this is wrong.

“I mean… if this is really want you want, who am I to stop you?”

You smirk and wrap your arms around her neck, moving closer. You do want this. A lot. You can deal with the consequences later, right?

“Fuck it.”

You lean in, kissing her again with the same passion and desire as before. She pulls you closer again, her hands roaming your body as you quietly moan against her lips.

When you pull away again, you grab her hand, running upstairs and into her bedroom. You slam the door shut, even though there is no one there to interrupt.

You push her against the back of the door, kissing her again and breaking the connection every now and then to remove an article of clothing. First your shirt, then your trousers, then her shirt, then her trousers.

When you are both down to pants and a bra, she pushes you down onto her bed. You giggle, eyes wide at her boldness but pull her on top of you, kissing her once more.

She stands back, running her hand down your body and admiring you black, lace two piece underwear and bra set.

“Wore this just for me, huh?”

“Sure.”

You both smile and laugh, helping her take off your bra. When you are exposed to her on your top half, you get a little self conscious but, that all melts away when she starts kissing your chest gently, treating your body like an antique.

You moan, gripping her hair and running your fingers through her auburn locks. She looks up at you, smiling as she takes your nipple into her mouth softly.

You moan even louder, your head falling back onto the bed. Your eyes roll back as she looks up, extremely proud that she has got you like this when she is usually so shy and quiet and now, she is a little freak.

You start to feel her kisses move downwards, slowly moving down to where you need her most. She hooks one finger into the waistband of your underwear and the other rests on your waist.

“Can I?”

“Fuck yeah…”

She smirks at your needy reply and slides off your underwear, kissing your inner thighs, just to tease you.

“Shit, Ellie. Please.”

Slowly, she pushes your thighs apart, swallowing hard at your dripping wet heat. She starts to get a little nervous as she has only done this once before but she goes for it.

She buries her head between your thighs, starting to lick up and down your slit. You moan out again, gripping her hair and pushing her face into your pussy even more.

The sound of your moans is like an aphrodisiac to her, immediately encouraging her to carry on, her tongue working magic on your clit.

Your hand that isn’t in her hair grips onto the sheets, balling it up into your fist, your back arching off of the mattress a little bit.

You feel yourself getting close and you let out a little, desperate whimper and push Ellie’s head even further as your thighs start to shake.

“Fuck- Ellie… I’m gonna-“

You can’t even finish your sentence before moaning out for the last time and finishing on her face, gently squeezing your thighs around her head.

She moves her head from between your thighs, her face covered in your cum. You softly laugh, wiping off her face with your t-shirt that has been discarded on the floor.

She leans into your touch, probably more than she would like, holding your arm as she looks at you with soft eyes.

“Ellie… you’re so fucking good at that.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles and lays down on your chest, expecting to be done. You look down, stroking her hair and kissing her head.

“Come on. Lay down. Your turn.”

“Wha-“

She isn’t able to finish her sentence before you’ve flipped her over, laying her down on the bed with you on top of her now.

You start to remove her sports bra and her underwear, kissing her neck and shoulder. She wraps her arms around you desperately, already a whiny mess.

A soft kiss is pressed to her temple before you start to move down. You waste no time pushing her legs apart and running your fingers up and down her heat.

Even before you’ve properly touched her, she is a mess. Moaning, groaning, gripping onto you, breathing heavily. It’s so cute.

You slowly slide a finger into her, holding her waist with your other hand to stabilise her. Her hips buck up to meet your hand, grinding onto your finger.

“Oh my fucking god… mmm.”

You start to move your finger in and out of her, curling it inside of her to meet her soft spot, causing her to whine and whimper.

You interlock your other hand with hers, holding onto her hand tightly as you slowly add a second finger. She jolts a little from being filled up but throws her head back, squeezing your hand.

Moving up the bed, you start to kiss her while your fingers stay firmly inside her. She kisses you back with increased fervour, using her free hand to pull you closer, her hand on the back of your head.

As you kiss her, you can still taste yourself on her lips. You pull her closer, starting to kiss her neck again.

She lets out little moan into your mouth, her legs starting to shake too. She squeezes her legs shut, trapping your hand in between her thighs.

Her hand squeezes yours even tighter as she finishes, screaming out your name in ecstasy. Her head falls back onto the bed, feeling spent as you gently pull your fingers out of her.

You look into her lidded eyes, seductively licking your fingers as she breathlessly laughs, pulling you closer by your waist.

“Fuck…”

“Good?”

“Hell yeah. I’ve only ever done that to someone else so, damn… that was an experience.”

You laugh, lying down on her chest and she wraps her arm around you. She rests her chin on your head, kissing your hair.

You both end up staying like that for a little while, lay in each other’s arms. Eventually, you change into one of her oversized t-shirts just so that you’re a little bit covered but you still don’t have underwear on.

She moves her hand down to your waist, slowly inching it down towards your ass before letting her hand rest on your butt. You giggle and look up at her, kissing her again but softer this time.

“I don’t know if I should feel bad about this or not…”

“Me either. Because, it was amazing but like… Ben, you know?”

“Yeah I know. Are you gonna tell him?”

“I’ll probably crumble when I see him but I’ll try not to for both of our benefit.”

She nods and kisses your forehead. Then, you get a message from Ben. Your eyes go wide and you look up at Ellie.

“Shit. Speak of the devil.”

You open the message and you are relieved when he is just asking if you’re okay because you’ve been away for a while. Luckily, he doesn’t suspect anything.

Hey babe. Are you alright because you’ve been out for a while x

Yeah, thanks, I’m alright. I won’t be long, my mum just ended up making some food for me x

Okay, I love you and I’ll see you soon x

I love you too x

You sigh, feeling guilty now that you read his messages. You look up at Ellie and she kisses you again.

“More?”

You laugh and kiss her back, still feeling a little guilty but also, not able to deny Ellie when she is being all sweet and needy like this.

She nuzzles her head into your shoulder and you play with her soft, short hair before kissing her forehead.

“Ellie. I’m gonna have to go in a minute.”

She doesn’t respond, she just nods, not wanting to let you go. Eventually, she lets you go and you get redressed.

Ellie puts on the shirt you were wearing and walks you downstairs, kissing you again before letting you go, holding the kiss for longer than you should.

“Okay… I’ll text you when I can.”

“Alright. Tonight was great.”

“I know, it was.”

There is a sweet silence as both of you stare into each other’s eyes for a second and she pulls you into a hug.

You rest your head on her shoulder, kissing her behind her ear before squeezing her one more time and reluctantly saying your goodbyes before walking out of the door.

__________________________________________

Taglist : @elliesanqel @ellieslvvt @bloodywilliams @ashlynlovestlou

[ednacrabapple]

My one coworker thinks the world revolves around her and I’m so fucking sick of it

[readwritealldayallnight]

You know the woman in line behind you is getting impatient, hearing her not so subtle exasperated sigh as you continue to search through your bag, your cheeks burning a deeper shade of crimson when you catch the barista’s tight lipped smile in your direction, her attempt at reassuring you as part of her job, though you can tell she wishes you’d hurry up as well

As if your debit card declining a mortifying four times hadn’t been enough, but then your attempt at using your credit card was just as unsuccessful, the sound of the failed transaction on a stupid 6£ drink sounding out for everyone in queue to know how broke you really were

Embarrassment coursing through your veins, already thinking about how you’ll never have the guts to come back to this cafe again as you desperately search for enough spare change at the bottom of your purse to cover this morning’s coffee, your scrambling comes to a pause when a large shadow suddenly eclipses the overheard lighting above you

In the midst of your frantic searching, a tall figure has come to stand just next to you, their gloved hand stretching past your figure to tap a card against the machine, the happy beep of the teller confirming the transaction’s been accepted this time

“I’ve got tha’ for ya.” A deep, gravelly Manchester accent mutters low enough for only you to hear, before the figure tries to retreat back into queue unnoticed

You eyebrows shoot up in shock, the barista equally appearing surprised but not displeased as she finally gets to hand you your drink and quickly wish you a good day before she’s already trying to help the woman waiting behind you

You step aside out of the queue, swinging your head around to try and spot your mystery saviour who stepped in and helped you out without even needing so much as a thanks in return apparently

You spot him instantly, the absolute size of him easily giving him away. No one else in the small cafe could have created such a large, intimidating shadow, let alone spoken in such a deep voice that sent chills down your spine

He stands a head above anyone else in queue, currently last in the line after he stepped out to pay for you. He’s wearing a simple black medical mask on the lower half of his face, a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head offers you only a small glimpse of his eyes, which are noticeably pointed at the ground at the moment

You’re walking towards him before you even realize it

“Th- thank you. I don’t-” You’re cut off when those same eyes glance up to meet your own, stealing your breath away. He seems almost as surprised that you’re speaking to him as you were when he stepped in and paid for you, his eyes betraying his shock for only a fraction of a second before he’s steeling himself and his eyes darken. You get the vague impression that he isn’t someone who’s used to being caught off guard

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.” You say to him, wanting to express just how grateful you are to him for his random act of kindness, but he says nothing in return, hardly blinking once as he simply stares back at you

“I can’t understand why my cards weren’t working today. I promise I don’t like- this isn’t a thing I do. Go into coffee shops and pretend I can’t pay, hoping someone else will…” You awkwardly laugh to yourself, beginning to ramble in an effort to fill in the silence

“Anyways I just, really wanted to say thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.” You’re scrambling now, attempting to save face as this man just looks at you, an arm beginning to swing your purse off your shoulder in hopes of maybe finding enough change to appease this guy

“Not necessary.” The deep voice finally says again, his eyes leaving yours to scan you from top to bottom and then back up again, almost examining the sight before him. You almost feel like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, seeing the mask moving along with the sound of that gravelly voice an enrapturing vision

“Oh- well I- I mean that’s really nice of you, but I swear I can pay you back.” You recognize that feeling beginning to swirl low in your stomach, familiar with the warmth gathering in the apples of your cheeks; your body realizing it a split second before your brain catches up. You’re kind of into this guy. You can’t see much of his face, but the sliver you do see certainly isn’t unattractive, his height and build speaks for itself, with a voice like that and the fact that he’s just saved your butt and expected not even a thanks in return, you’re wondering if he’s too good to be true

“Do you come here often?” You’re asking him before you can stop yourself, watching a single one of his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. “I just mean that- I come here a lot- sometimes. And if you’re here next time I’m here, then maybe I can pay you back, buy you a drink.”

You’re losing confidence the longer he stands there, not answering. What were you thinking? This guy was just trying to be nice, get the annoying girl holding up the line out of the way so that people can order their drinks and go about their day, and here you are holding him up even longer-

“If it’ll make ya happy.” He’s suddenly answering, snapping you out of your downward spiral. If you could see the grin that slowly creeps upon your face, you might be otherwise embarrassed, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Oh okay, amazing. I mean- yeah that would- that would be cool. Okay.” You reply, glancing at your watch. “I’m not sure for you, but um, I’m almost always here each Sunday. Around this time.”

“I’ll be here next Sunday. Around this time.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Next in line please.” The barista at the corner calls out, interrupting the two of you. You glance back to see that it’s now his turn to order, feeling bad that you’re about to hold up the queue yet again.

“Great. I’ll see you Sunday then. Thank you again, seriously. I really owe you one.” You say, gripping the straps of your bag tighter as you offer him a sheepish smile before ducking out of the busy cafe, a small grin playing across your face.

Ghost watches your figure through the large windows as you walk out of the shop, across the street, disappearing into the crowd of morning goers strolling about. Only once he cannot see you anymore, does he walk up to the counter, slipping a 20£ note to the barista along with a slight nod of acknowledgement, before he himself is turning to walk out of the cafe, empty handed, intent on catching up to you from a distance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

AKA Ghost has been stalking you for months and finally comes up with a way to have you approach him

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play. 

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was. 

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck. 

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate. 

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say.  “He’s ready for you now.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in. 

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed. 

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks. 

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology. 

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it. 

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all. 

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes. 

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack. 

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble. 

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea. 

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering. 

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him. 

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this. 

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time. 

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike. 

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it. 

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat. 

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite. 

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward. 

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word. 

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist. 

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash. 

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off. 

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it. 

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs. 

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her. 

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in. 

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study. 

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while. 

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer. 

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine. 

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him. 

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth. 

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen. 

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you. 

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim. 

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends. 

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you. 

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today. 

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes. 

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed. 

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles. 

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground. 

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage. 

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late. 

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage. 

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again. 

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off. 

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again. 

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you. 

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that. 

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his. 

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door. 

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day. 

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut. 

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow. 

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown. 

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it. 

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that. 

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon. 

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy. 

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something. 

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room. 

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking. 

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you. 

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut. 

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find. 

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it. 

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling. 

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety. 

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet. 

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs. 

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it. 

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it. 

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing. 

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit. 

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter. 

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle. 

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt. 

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side. 

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest. 

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that. 

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody. 

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules. 

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. 

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty. 

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more. 

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree. 

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with. 

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you. 

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror. 

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work. 

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you. 

“We look good,” you muse. 

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly. 

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything. 

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule. 

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to. 

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions. 

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward. 

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head. 

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together. 

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever. 

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning. 

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face. 

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school. 

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment. 

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary. 

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are. 

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient. 

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck. 

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach. 

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night. 

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom. 

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money. 

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children. 

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it. 

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you. 

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily. 

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter. 

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine. 

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing. 

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out. 

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now. 

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected. 

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell. 

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do. 

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again. 

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so. 

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches. 

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks. 

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy. 

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine. 

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side. 

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition. 

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away. 

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you. 

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[urlocalmagicalcat]

really long rant (happy rant) in the tags, mostly towards @synthetic-lavender /vpos

romance repulsed aros and romance favourable aros are both cool and valid but because i never see anything about us: shoutout to romance indifferent aros. romance neutral aros. aros who just couldn't care less. aros who have a conflicted relationship with romance. aros who are fine with romance in some contexts but not in others. aros who don't mind romance when it's not amatonormativity being shoved down their throats. aros who haven't yet figured out their feelings about romance. aros to whom romance is Just Something That Exists. y'all are rad as hell and it's okay not to 'pick a side'!!