#I can’t wait to see her go at someone on the stand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nhmkhnh · 1 day ago

Text

velvet boundaries.

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

preface: in a house where she’s your best friend’s mother and you were never meant to be hers, caitlyn makes you unravel one obedient breath at a time.

author's note: alright mama cait is here! enjoy, my girls.

wrn: lowercase ;; age gap (c: 39 ; r: 19)

navigation.

it’s a slow summer afternoon, all clinking glasses and polite laughter in the spacious backyard of the kiramman estate. you’re there because your best friend invited you—of course—but you didn’t expect her mother to look like that.

caitlyn stands by the hedges in a sleek navy sundress that hugs her waist too perfectly for someone "just turned thirty-nine." she’s pouring champagne into a flute, head tilted, soft smile gracing her lips as she chats with a family friend. but her eyes—her eyes are already on you.

she doesn’t smile when your eyes meet. doesn’t look away, either. it’s not flirtatious. it’s worse. it’s clinical. calculating. like she’s just filed something about you away.

you try to ignore it, to keep talking to her daughter like normal, but every time you glance over, she’s still watching you. unbothered. bold. one hand on her hip, thumb grazing the rim of her glass in lazy circles.

at one point, when your friend disappears inside for snacks, caitlyn walks up beside you. doesn’t say hi. doesn’t introduce herself.

“i don’t recall you dressing like this the last time you visited,” she murmurs, voice low and unimpressed, eyes flicking over your outfit.

you blink, stammer something about borrowed clothes, but she’s already turning away.

“i see,” caitlyn says, with that maddening hint of a smirk. “well. it suits you.”

and then she’s gone. just like that.

but her voice? her gaze? the deliberate slowness of her walk?

you feel it burn in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day.

your best friend’s texting someone on the couch, completely distracted, so she barely notices when her mom walks back into the living room after a phone call.

“it’s going to rain soon,” caitlyn says casually, looking at the window. then she turns to you. “you’ll stay for dinner.”

it’s not a question. you blink.

“oh—uh, only if it’s okay, i don’t wanna—”

“i said you’ll stay.”

you can feel your friend nudge you with her elbow, like yeah, that’s just how her mom talks. but there’s something in caitlyn’s tone that makes you sit straighter.

dinner is tense in ways it shouldn't be. caitlyn sits across from you at the long oak table. you try not to stare, but she’s in a blouse now, crisp and fitted, one button too low. her fingers cradle a wine glass, slow and deliberate, the same way her gaze moves down your face like she’s sizing you up—again.

your friend’s chatting with a mouthful of pasta. caitlyn ignores her entirely. she only speaks when she’s addressing you.

“so, darling—” that word makes you stiffen “—what are you studying these days?”

your voice catches halfway through your answer. not because of nerves, but because caitlyn interrupts, cutting right through the sentence with a soft, “that doesn’t suit you.”

you blink. “what?”

she sips her wine, eyes not leaving yours. “you don’t strike me as the type to follow rules. i imagine you’d get bored.”

there’s a silence. even your best friend looks up, confused.

caitlyn just smiles. “dessert?”

later, as you get ready to leave, your friend runs upstairs to grab her umbrella. you’re alone in the foyer with caitlyn, who’s helping you into your coat.

“you should visit more often,” she says, voice soft against your ear as she adjusts your collar, fingers brushing a little too slowly down your shoulders. “there’s something… refreshing about you.”

you don’t say anything. you can’t.

she opens the door for you, lets the cool air hit your skin before adding one last thing:

“don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.”

your best friend’s in the middle of a meltdown—midterms, boy drama, caffeine withdrawals—and she practically begs you to sleep over for emotional support. you agree. of course. because you’re kind. loyal.

and maybe, just maybe, because you haven’t stopped thinking about her mother’s voice all week.

the house is warm. the lights are low. your best friend’s already curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and deep into some trashy reality show.

“wait, can you grab my charger from upstairs?” she mumbles. “i left it in my mom’s room. top drawer.”

you hesitate.

but you go.

caitlyn’s bedroom door is slightly ajar when you reach the second floor. you knock, soft, but there’s no answer.

and then she says it—from somewhere inside:

“come in. i need a hand.”

you push the door open.

she’s standing at her vanity in a silk robe, back half-turned, one arm behind her trying (and failing?) to zip up a long dress.

her eyes catch yours in the mirror.

“zipper,” she says simply. “would you?”

you step behind her like you’re dreaming. her perfume is soft, sharp, familiar—like amber and velvet. her bare shoulder is warm under your fingers.

the zipper is smooth, but slow. too slow. and caitlyn doesn't move an inch. she just watches you in the mirror.

“your hands are cold,” she murmurs. “nervous?”

you don’t answer.

when the zipper reaches the top, she places her hand over yours, holds it there for a breath too long.

“there,” she says, finally turning around. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

you stammer something about the charger. she smiles and reaches into the drawer behind her, placing it in your palm—slow, deliberate.

as you step back toward the hallway, she speaks again. soft. amused.

“you should knock louder next time, sweetheart. or someone might mistake you for a voyeur.”

you don’t sleep well that night. you dream of silk and zippers and the sharp sound of your own breath.

you show up to brunch with your best friend wearing a soft cream sweater—something new, something that makes you feel… noticed. and you are.

the moment you step into the kitchen, caitlyn’s already leaning against the counter with a black mug in hand, nails polished, gaze unreadable. she looks you up and down once, then twice. the air shifts.

“that color looks good on you,” she says, voice low. “makes you look… sweet.”

you murmur a thanks, trying not to flinch under the weight of her stare. but she’s not done.

“i remember wearing something like that when i was your age.” she steps closer, casual. “though i never pulled it off quite so…” her eyes flick to your lips. “innocently.”

you freeze.

she sets her mug down—soft ceramic on marble—and brushes past you to the fridge. close enough that her shoulder glides along yours. close enough that your skin feels branded.

your best friend walks in mid-tension, yawning and stretching.

caitlyn doesn’t miss a beat. “i was just telling your friend how well she’s growing into her figure.”

your friend blinks. you nearly choke.

“mom.”

“what?” caitlyn shrugs. “i meant it as a compliment.”

but her eyes are still on you. calm. knowing.

later, while your friend goes to the bathroom, caitlyn walks past the table where you sit alone. she pauses behind your chair. one hand settles on your shoulder—light, but unmistakably firm.

“you do like compliments, don’t you?” she whispers.

you don’t turn around. you can’t.

but you feel her smile against the back of your neck before she walks away.

it starts innocently.

your friend’s mom invites you to stay for dinner again—some sort of semi-formal thing, wine glasses and roasted duck and linen napkins. you wear something nice this time. you don’t know why. maybe you do.

but the zipper at the back of your dress? it’s stuck.

your best friend’s already downstairs, yelling about how you’re going to be late, when caitlyn appears in the doorway to your guest room.

“problem?” she asks, tone deceptively casual.

you give her a sheepish look. “it won’t budge.”

caitlyn’s already walking toward you before you finish the sentence. her heels make no sound on the carpet.

“turn around.”

you obey.

her fingers graze your back first—cool and careful. the first tug is mechanical. but the second? the second one lingers.

“poor craftsmanship,” she murmurs. “a dress like this should glide open. don’t you think?”

you swallow. “it’s supposed to.”

“then hold still. let me.”

you don’t breathe as she works.

her knuckles trail your spine like a line being drawn. her breath grazes your shoulder. she doesn't speak again, but she doesn't rush either.

when the zipper finally gives, caitlyn’s hand doesn’t fall away.

instead, she rests her palm flat between your shoulder blades, grounding. possessive. like she’s checking your pulse.

“you should’ve asked for help earlier,” she says, voice so low it curls in your stomach. “it’s what i’m here for.”

you face her—slow, unsure. but she’s already turned away.

“i’ll be downstairs,” she says over her shoulder. “don’t take too long.”

you stand there in your half-zipped dress, heart in your throat, knowing damn well she didn’t just unzip fabric.

she’s unzipping you.

it’s late. your best friend’s gone out—date night, something forgettable—but you stayed behind. said you were tired. said you had studying to do.

caitlyn knocks on your door just past ten.

you open it, blinking at her silhouette. silk robe. bare legs. a glass of red in her hand.

“i made tea,” she says, but she doesn’t offer it.

instead, she studies you for a long moment, then tilts her head toward the hallway. “come with me.”

you follow without thinking.

she leads you into her study. a soft-lit room full of dark wood, leather-bound books, and shadows that feel too heavy for the hour. she sets the wine down, walks behind the desk, gestures toward the chair in front of it.

“sit.”

you do.

she pours herself another glass, deliberate and silent. then she leans back in her chair, crosses one leg over the other, and studies you with those cool, assessing eyes.

“you’re very obedient when it counts,” she says, swirling her wine.

you shift in the chair. “i just didn’t want to be rude.”

“oh, i don’t mind rudeness,” she replies. “but hesitation? that disappoints me.”

you don’t know where to look.

caitlyn takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“do you know what i see when i look at you?”

you shake your head.

“i see someone waiting to be told what she’s allowed to want.”

you suck in a breath.

she leans forward now, elbows on the desk, voice velvet-soft. “if you were mine, i wouldn’t make you guess.”

you don’t speak. can’t.

she smiles—small, amused. like she knows.

“still,” she says, standing, walking toward you. “let’s call this practice.”

she sets her glass down beside yours, then tips your chin up with two fingers.

“stay right there. don’t move.”

you stay.

she walks away.

you shouldn’t be wearing the dress.

it’s too short. too tight. too low. your best friend picked it out for a party she’s dragging you to tonight, but you knew the second you pulled it on: it wasn’t about the party.

it was about being seen.

specifically—by her.

you’re halfway down the stairs when caitlyn looks up from the foyer, eyes locking on your legs first, then climbing higher.

her lips part slightly. she doesn't smile.

“going out?” she asks, voice like warm velvet wrapped in glass.

you nod, nerves prickling. “with your daughter.”

“i see that.”

she takes a step closer. you should keep walking. you don’t.

she circles once, slow and precise, her heels echoing lightly against the wood floor. then she stops in front of you, fingertips brushing the hem of your dress. barely there.

“this fabric’s so thin,” she murmurs. “one wrong breeze and—”

you inhale sharply.

caitlyn tilts her head.

“did you wear this for her? or for me?”

you can’t answer. your pulse is hammering. she knows it.

she steps in closer—too close—until her hand is at the small of your back and your bodies are a breath apart.

“show me,” she says softly.

you blink. “show you… what?”

“what it looks like when you beg with your eyes.”

you freeze.

she leans down, mouth near your ear, breath warm. “you already know how.”

then the door bursts open—your best friend yelling something about being late—and the moment snaps in two.

caitlyn steps back, calm as ever. like nothing happened. but before she walks away, she murmurs, only for you:

“fix your lipstick, darling. it’s smudged.”

it wasn’t. until you bit your lip.

it’s another quiet evening in the kiramman house. your best friend’s asleep upstairs—headphones in, lights off. you’re in the kitchen, barefoot in shorts and an old tee, pouring a glass of water and trying to stop thinking about how caitlyn looked at you earlier.

but then—

she walks in.

silk robe. hair pinned up. a glass of something darker than wine in her hand.

“can’t sleep?” she asks.

you shake your head, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “just… thirsty.”

she walks over to the kitchen island and sets her glass down, slow. controlled. then she leans against the counter and nods at the stool across from her.

“sit.”

you obey. you always do.

she watches you for a long moment. then—

“put your hands on the table.”

your brows pull together, confused. “what?”

caitlyn’s voice doesn’t rise. it doesn’t have to.

“hands. flat. right in front of you.”

you hesitate—only for a second. but she sees it. and that pleases her.

you set your hands down.

she steps closer. walks around the island, until she’s behind you.

you feel her breath at your ear. “you follow instructions well. i like that about you.”

her hands brush over your shoulders, then slide forward until they’re ghosting above your wrists. not touching. not yet.

“but do you know how to stay still?”

you inhale. shallow.

she presses her palm down over your right hand. just one. not hard—but enough to anchor you there.

“i could ask anything of you right now,” she whispers. “and you’d listen. wouldn’t you?”

you nod.

“no,” she corrects gently. “use your words.”

“yes,” you breathe.

“good girl.”

her free hand traces your jaw, slow. her thumb skims your bottom lip. it lingers.

“keep your hands right where they are,” she murmurs. “no matter what i do.”

and then she leans down—kisses the corner of your mouth.

just once. barely there.

but you feel it like heat spreading through your spine.

she straightens, glides her fingers off yours, and walks away without another word.

you sit there for ten more minutes. hands on the table. shaking.

the rain’s falling outside, soft and rhythmic. your friend went to spend the night with her girlfriend, and caitlyn—well, caitlyn said she was staying in. you offered to help her tidy the guest wing before bed.

now you’re here. in her room.

you shouldn’t be. but you are.

you’re holding a stack of freshly folded towels when she steps out of her ensuite bathroom—hair down, skin dewy, dressed in an impossibly sheer black satin nightgown that clings like second skin. the light behind her frames her in gold.

you freeze.

she doesn’t.

“towels?” she murmurs, stepping closer.

you nod. your throat’s dry. “you said you needed fresh ones…”

“i did,” she says, taking them from your hands and setting them aside. “but now i need something else.”

she doesn’t touch you. not yet. but her eyes devour every inch—down your bare legs, up the line of your throat, resting finally on your parted lips.

“you shouldn’t walk around here dressed like that,” she murmurs. “not if you don’t want to be—”

her fingers find your chin. tilt it upward.

“—watched.”

your lips part. you forget what you were going to say.

caitlyn steps in closer, her body brushing yours. “tell me the truth, darling. did you wear this hoping i’d see?”

you shake your head. then nod. then can’t decide. your breath stumbles.

she smiles.

“honesty looks good on you.”

she walks around behind you, fingertips grazing your waist as she passes.

“i’m going to ask you once,” she says, voice velvet over steel. “just once.”

you turn, eyes wide. waiting.

“are you mine for the evening?”

silence.

your heart’s beating so loud you’re sure she can hear it.

then you say it.

“yes.”

she exhales—low and pleased. walks to her nightstand, takes a small black velvet ribbon from the drawer. loops it around her fingers.

“good girl.”

she gestures to the foot of her bed.

“sit.”

you do.

she walks over slowly. takes her time. then bends slightly, ties the ribbon loosely around your wrist.

“this isn’t to restrain,” she says, brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “it’s to remind.”

“remind me of what?” you whisper.

“that tonight, you belong to me.”

it starts with the ribbon.

you still wear it sometimes when you're alone—just to remember. but tonight, caitlyn sees it. wrapped loose around your wrist beneath your sweater sleeve as you help her carry dishes into the kitchen.

she doesn’t comment.

not yet.

later, when the house is quiet and your best friend’s asleep across the hall, she finds you standing at the window in the guest room, moonlight casting silver along your skin.

her voice is quiet behind you.

“you wore it for me, didn’t you?”

you don’t turn around. you nod.

caitlyn closes the door.

you hear the soft sound of her heels across the wood floor. you hear your own heartbeat in your throat.

then her hand slides up your arm from behind—slow, deliberate—until her fingers find the ribbon and tug.

it unravels, whisper-soft.

she pulls it free and loops it around her fingers once more.

“i gave this to remind you who you belong to,” she murmurs at your ear. “but it’s not enough anymore.”

you swallow hard. “what do you want?”

“i want you to say it.”

she turns you around gently, backs you toward the wall until you’re caged between her arms.

“say who owns you,” she says, so close her breath fans over your cheek. “say it with your mouth.”

your lips part. nothing comes out.

so she leans down, kisses your jaw. your neck. your collarbone.

“you want to please me,” she whispers. “i can feel it. i can hear it in every breath.”

then her hand slides beneath your sweater, gliding up your spine.

“be brave for me. say it.”

your legs shake. you’re dizzy with want.

then finally—

“you,” you whisper.

she hums, pleased. but not done.

“louder.”

you blink, dazed. “you.”

she cups your jaw. “say my name.”

“caitlyn.”

she inhales like she’s waited a hundred years to hear that from your lips.

then she kisses you. deep and slow and unforgiving.

when she finally pulls away, your sweater’s wrinkled, your breath’s stolen, and the ribbon’s in her pocket.

“mine,” she says, smiling darkly. “and you’ll keep saying it. every night i make you feel this way.”

#caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn arcane #arcane

140 notes · View notes

blissfulflw · 2 days ago

Text

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑇𝑜 𝐵𝑒𝑖��𝑔 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠

Pairing- Uchinaga Aeri (Giselle) x fem reader

Genre- Angst, (some fluff)

Word count- 4137

A/N: This fic is based off the song ‘Back to Friends’ by sombr

“We’re back to being friends but it’s never just that”

The lights in the practice room buzzed overhead, fluorescent and far too bright for how dim everything felt inside you.

Aeri sat across from you, laughing—too loudly, too easily—at something Ningning said. Her voice, warm and familiar, laced with that same lilt that used to curl around your name in the dark. Now it wrapped around everyone but you.

You laughed, too. Because that’s what friends do.

It had been three months since the night she ended it. Not with anger, not even with tears. Just quiet, tired resignation.

“I can’t keep doing this… not when it could ruin everything.”

Everything. Her career. Her image. SM’s precious doll couldn’t be tangled up in something so messy. So real.

So you let her go.

Well—no.

She walked away.

You just stood there and didn’t chase her.

Now, things were “normal.” Which meant you were back in the same room, the same group chat, the same proximity where nothing ever felt the same.

She glanced at you then—only for a second. Long enough for your eyes to meet.

Long enough for your chest to tighten.

Long enough to remember.

But she looked away first.

And that’s when you knew: she remembered too.

She just chose not to say anything.

Like always.

The ride home was quiet.

You sat by the window of the company van, earbuds in but no music playing. Just static silence and the occasional murmur of the others behind you. Aeri was a few seats back, talking softly to Karina, her voice muffled but unmistakable.

She used to sit beside you.

Your shoulder used to be her pillow on the way back from late-night rehearsals. You’d tilt your head, just enough to feel the weight of her hair against your cheek, and she’d mumble about how sore her legs were, how she hated SM’s mirrors because they made her look tired.

“You never look tired to me,” you told her once, eyes closed, fingers brushing hers beneath the shared blanket.

She had smiled—sleepy, soft, and so in love.

“That’s because you’re looking at me like that.”

You blink, the memory washing over you with a sting that feels almost physical.

When the van stops outside the dorms, you’re the first one out. The air is cold and damp, Seoul’s late spring drizzle soaking into your hoodie as you wait by the door for the others.

Aeri steps down last.

You hear her behind you, her footsteps slowing when she sees you standing alone. For a moment, the only sound is rain. You think maybe she’ll say something. That she’ll break character—just for a second—and let you see her.

But instead, she walks past you.

You catch the faintest whisper of her perfume—vanilla, musk, and something uniquely her—and the way her hand tenses by her side like she wants to reach for yours. Like she almost does.

Almost.

You don’t turn around.

You just whisper to yourself,

“You used to hold my hand like you meant it.”

_____

That night, sleep doesn’t come.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling of your shared dorm room, listening to the hum of the air conditioning and the distant rustle of someone getting water in the kitchen.

It’s probably her.

You hate that you know her habits that well. That your body still reacts to the sound of her steps, to the rhythm of her breath in the silence. Like it remembers what your mind keeps trying to forget.

Eventually, the ache becomes too much.

You swing your legs out of bed and pad barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie hanging off one shoulder.

She’s there, of course—leaning against the counter, sipping water like this is normal. Like the air between you isn’t heavy with everything you’ve both left unsaid.

Aeri turns, startled. Her eyes widen, then soften.

“Hey,” she says quietly, like it’s the first word of a song you used to know by heart.

You swallow. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She nods. “Me neither.”

You both stand there, the space between you only a few feet but it might as well be a canyon. Her fingers tighten around the glass.

You open your mouth—then close it. And she sees it. Of course she does.

Her voice breaks the silence. “Do you hate me?”

The question slams into your chest.

You stare at her, startled. “What?”

Aeri doesn’t look at you. Her eyes are fixed on the floor. “I mean… I would. If I were you.”

You take a breath, shaky and sharp. “I don’t hate you, Aeri.”

She finally looks up. And there it is—everything she’s been holding back. Regret. Fear. Love. God, it’s still there.

“I didn’t want to let go,” she whispers. “But I was scared. Of what people would say. Of losing everything I worked for.”

You laugh—dry and bitter. “So you let go of me instead.”

She flinches.

You step closer, just enough for her to feel your warmth. Not touching—never touching.

“I would’ve waited for you,” you say, voice low. “I still am, if I’m honest. But I can’t keep doing this if you’re going to pretend it never mattered.”

Her eyes shine, and you see the crack forming in her armor.

“I never stopped loving you,” she says, almost like it hurts to say it.

You smile, but there’s no joy in it. “Funny. You’re really good at acting like you did.”

Silence settles again. Thick. Heavy.

She opens her mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to beg—but you shake your head gently.

“Goodnight, Aeri.”

And you walk away, not because you want to. But because you have to.

She doesn’t follow.

You turn your back to her. It should be final. It should feel like closure.

But then her voice cuts through the quiet—cracked, raw, the way you’ve only ever heard when she’s breaking.

“How can we go back to being friends,” she whispers, “when we just shared a bed?”

You freeze.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

Each word lands like a blow. You can feel the memories rising, thick and unwelcome—her hand curled around yours under the sheets, the way she said your name like it was a secret, like it meant something sacred. The warmth of her skin. The way she kissed you slow, like time didn’t matter.

She shared everything with you.

And then she walked away.

You turn around, and she’s crying now—silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but she’s still trying to stay strong. Still trying to act like the truth doesn’t ruin everything.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that every single day?” you say, voice trembling. “You think I don’t lie in bed and replay every second we had, wondering how the hell you can pretend it didn’t happen?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

Because it did happen. And no amount of pretending can erase it.

You take a slow, shuddering breath. “You made me feel like I was something worth breaking rules for. And then you decided I wasn’t.”

Her knees buckle a little, like your words hit her physically. But she doesn’t stop you when you step back.

“I can’t keep being your almost, Aeri.”

Her lips part. Maybe she’s going to say your name. Maybe she’s going to say stay.

But she doesn’t.

And that silence?

That’s the loudest answer you’ve ever heard.

_____

You don’t see her the next day.

Not really.

She’s there, of course—at rehearsals, at meetings, beside you during makeup. But there’s a new kind of silence now. One that wraps around you both like barbed wire. Every glance you catch feels like a wound reopening. Every touch not given, another wall built higher.

You wonder if she’s avoiding you.

Or if she just doesn’t know how to be near you now that the truth’s cracked the surface.

You try to focus on the choreography, on the beat of the music, the count in your head. But your mind keeps flicking back to the kitchen. Her voice. The look in her eyes when she asked:

“How can we go back to being friends when we just shared a bed?”

You remember the night she meant.

It had been a week before she ended things.

You both knew it was coming—the tension from the company, the fear in her eyes every time your fingers brushed in public. But that night… you let yourselves forget.

You let yourselves be soft.

Her arms around you. Her lips against your throat. Her voice breaking as she said, “Stay, please—just for tonight.”

And you did.

You stayed.

Now, every moment since feels like a betrayal of that night.

Later, in the dorm hallway, you hear her behind you again. The silence that always comes before her voice. But this time, you don’t walk away.

“Aeri,” you say quietly.

She stops mid-step. You don’t turn, but you feel her gaze burning into the back of your neck.

“I meant what I said,” you continue, fingers curling at your sides. “I can’t keep living in the ghost of what we were.”

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, broken.

“Then why do you keep haunting me?” you ask. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m still yours, if you don’t want to be mine?”

The silence stretches long. Too long.

Then—

“I do want to be yours,” she says. “I never stopped.”

You close your eyes.

“Then why didn’t you choose me?”

Another pause. Then, even quieter:

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed.”

The honesty in her voice makes something inside you collapse.

You finally turn around. She looks like she hasn’t slept. Like maybe she’s been asking herself the same questions every night that you have.

You could run to her now.

You could forgive her.

But something holds you back—because loving her has always meant losing parts of yourself, and you don’t know if you can afford to keep bleeding for someone who won’t fight.

So you say nothing.

And she doesn’t push.

You both just stand there—bathed in hallway light, drowning in everything unsaid.

The hallway feels too bright. Too sterile. The kind of place where nothing raw is supposed to happen.

But you’ve reached your limit.

You look at her—really look. Her arms folded across her chest like she’s holding herself together. Her eyes rimmed red, mouth parted like she wants to explain, to beg, but she’s too scared to say the wrong thing again.

So you speak for her.

Quietly. Bitterly.

“How can we go back to being friends…”

Her head jerks slightly—recognition in her expression. You’re repeating her own words. But you’re not done.

“When we just shared a bed?”

You take a step forward. She doesn’t move.

“When you kissed me like I was the only thing in the world that felt real. When you cried into my chest and told me you were scared, and I said I didn’t care—I just wanted you?”

Your voice is cracking, but you keep going.

“How can you look at me and pretend that I’m someone you never met?”

She flinches.

Tears rise in your throat before they fall.

“How could you do that to me, Aeri? If you actually loved me?”

That’s the moment her walls finally collapse.

She takes a step toward you—just one, hands trembling, eyes wide with grief. “I didn’t know how to choose you without losing everything else.”

“And I was what, collateral damage?”

“No!” Her voice sharpens with panic. “You were everything. That’s what made it so hard.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough?”

It slips out before you can catch it, the truth naked and trembling between you both.

She doesn’t answer. Her face crumples.

You step back. The tears are falling freely now—hot, bitter, unforgiving.

“You broke my heart and then asked me to be your friend,” you whisper. “Like that would be easier. Like I’d forget everything you gave me just because you’re too scared to keep it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she chokes out. “I swear to God, I never wanted to—”

“But you did.”

Silence. A final blow.

And this time, when you turn away, she doesn’t stop you.

She just stands there, tears streaking her cheeks, hands limp at her sides, watching the one thing she said she loved walk away—again.

Except this time, it might really be the last.

_____

It’s a few days later when it happens.

You’re backstage at a music show, sitting stiffly in the corner of your group’s dressing room. Earbuds in, head down, pretending to scroll through messages you haven’t answered. You’ve kept to yourself since that night. Let the silence stretch. Let her live in the space she created.

You didn’t expect her to fight for you.

But part of you had hoped.

You glance up when you hear her laugh—bright, that specific octave you used to think she saved only for you. Aeri’s standing a few feet away, near the hallway connecting to the other dressing rooms.

She’s with another idol—someone from a popular boy group. Someone tall and golden and easy.

They’re standing too close.

Her arm brushes his.

He says something that makes her laugh, and she tilts her head just the way she used to when you whispered something against her ear. Playful. Intimate.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself it’s probably fan service. Just another planned interaction. SM is good at orchestrating chemistry where there is none. You know that.

But she looks too comfortable.

And he’s looking at her the way you used to.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Karina nudges your shoulder.

“You okay?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But your throat is tight. Your eyes are burning. And it feels like something’s clawing its way up from inside your chest—raw and sharp and loud.

Because maybe it is just for show.

Or maybe it’s not.

Either way, she’s still smiling for someone else.

And all you can think is:

How could you hold me like I was the only thing that mattered, and then laugh like that with someone new?

The jealousy isn’t even the worst part.

It’s the betrayal. The quiet ache of knowing she still hasn’t come to you—not to explain, not to fight, not to say she regrets letting you walk away.

She just moved on.

Or maybe she’s pretending again. The way she pretended not to love you. The way she pretended you could be “just friends.”

You turn your head and blink away the tears before anyone sees.

But inside, it feels like someone’s driving a blade straight through you—slow, deliberate.

And the worst part?

You still love her.

Even as she’s breaking you.

You don’t talk to her that day.

You don’t even look at her.

But she notices.

You can feel it in the tension of her body when you pass in the hallway. In the way her laughter falters when she realizes you’re in earshot. In the silence that follows her when she walks into the dressing room and sees you curled up in the farthest corner, earbuds in but no music playing.

She doesn’t approach.

She just watches.

And for once, you let her.

Let her see what she’s done—what you’ve become in the aftermath of her choices.

_____

It’s late that night when you finally break.

You’re alone in the bathroom, the fan humming above you and your hands gripping the sink so tightly your knuckles ache. You stare at your own reflection, and you don’t even recognize the girl looking back.

Tired. Dull. Hollow.

This isn’t who you were when she loved you.

This is who she left behind.

You whisper it at first, just to yourself.

“I hate you.”

Your voice cracks.

“I hate that you let me go. I hate that you kissed me like you meant it and then left. I hate that I still check every room just to see if you’re in it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The tears come too fast, hot and familiar.

“I hate that you looked at him like that.”

Your voice breaks entirely.

“I hate that it still feels like you’re mine.”

You slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the cold tile floor, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself because there’s no one left to do it for you.

Because she’s not here.

Because maybe she never really was.

The next morning, she tries.

Not with words—Aeri has never been good with those, not when it matters—but she lingers beside you in the kitchen, opening the fridge even though she doesn’t need anything. She brushes past your shoulder when you’re tying your shoes. She laughs a little too loud when you’re nearby, like she’s trying to recapture something lost.

And you snap.

You stand up. Loudly. And when she looks at you, startled, you finally say it:

“You don’t get to smile at me like that anymore.”

The room goes silent.

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You don’t get to act like we’re okay. Like this is okay.” Your voice is shaking, but the anger steadies it. “You let me fall apart while you kept performing like nothing happened. Like we didn’t happen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No. Stop.” You step forward, and her back hits the counter. “You don’t get to mean anything anymore. Because you watched me drown, Aeri. And you chose not to jump in.”

She looks like she’s about to cry.

Good.

Because for once, she should.

She’s still on the floor, her head buried in her arms, her sobs quieter now. A dull hiccup here, a shaking breath there.

You should walk away. You want to walk away.

But you don’t.

Because no matter how badly she hurt you, no matter how sharp the words she left behind, she’s still Aeri.

And you still love her.

You crouch down beside her slowly. “Come on,” you murmur, gently brushing hair from her face. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

She blinks up at you, eyes red and glassy. “Why are you still so kind to me?” she slurs, voice thick with guilt. “Why do you still… care?”

You avoid the question. “Let’s just get you into bed, okay?”

You help her up, and her body folds into yours like second nature. Like muscle memory. Her arms come around your waist clumsily, and she leans her head against your shoulder.

And then—barely audible, breath warm against your neck—she says it:

“Baby…”

Your whole body goes still.

She used to call you that only in the quiet. In the spaces between kisses. In the breathless seconds after laughter and before sleep. It was yours.

And hearing it now—drunk, broken, fragile—it shatters something in you.

You swallow hard. “Don’t call me that.”

But she doesn’t hear you. Or maybe she doesn’t care.

“I miss you,” she murmurs. “I miss you so bad, baby. Please don’t hate me…”

You guide her to her bed gently, ignoring the way your hands tremble as you pull the blanket over her. She clings to your wrist like a child.

“Stay?” she whispers.

You pause. You should say no. You should.

But she looks so small like this. So not the composed idol the world knows. Just Aeri—messy and drunk and terrified of being alone.

So you sit beside her, careful not to slip under the covers, careful not to give her the wrong idea.

She turns her head toward you. Her voice is quieter now. “I loved you first, you know.”

You close your eyes. “Then you should’ve fought for me.”

A long silence.

And then: “I still want to.”

You don’t answer.

Because wanting and doing are two very different things.

You sit there until her breathing evens out, until her fingers go slack on your wrist. Until the weight of everything you’ve been holding in settles like ash over your chest.

You brush a tear from her cheek before you even realize your hand’s moved.

And then, quietly—like a prayer—you whisper:

“I still love you too.”

But she’s asleep.

She won’t hear it.

Maybe that’s for the best.

_____

The room is quiet, sun bleeding through the curtains in soft gold. You’re still sitting in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed, head tipped back against the wall. You hadn’t meant to stay the whole night—but your legs felt too heavy to move, and maybe a part of you needed one last night close to her. Just to remember.

Aeri stirs.

You glance over as she groans quietly, hand pressed to her forehead, already wincing at the hangover. Her eyes flutter open, and the moment she sees you—really sees you—everything on her face shifts.

Regret. Confusion. Then shame.

She sits up slowly. “You stayed…”

You nod once. “You were a mess.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, then rubs her face. “I remember… some of it.”

“I figured.”

Her hands tremble slightly in her lap. “Did I say anything… awful?”

You look at her for a long moment, and when you speak, your voice is soft. “You called me baby.”

She freezes.

“And you told me you loved me.”

Silence stretches thin between you.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, voice hoarse. “That wasn’t fair.”

“No,” you agree quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Aeri looks at you like she’s searching for something—maybe a crack in your armor, maybe a reason to hope. “But I meant it. Even drunk. Especially drunk.”

You nod again, slowly. “I know.”

She opens her mouth to speak again, but you hold up a hand. Gentle. Final.

“You can’t keep doing this, Aeri. You can’t keep breaking me open every time you feel broken.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, desperate now. “I want to fix it. I want—”

“You already lost me,” you say, and it’s the first time you let the words come out. Really come out.

Her face crumples.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself. “I’ll always love you. But I can’t keep waiting for the version of you who’s brave enough to love me back.”

She nods, tears falling freely now.

You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It’s not a promise. It’s a goodbye.

“Take care of yourself,” you whisper.

And then you stand.

You walk out the door with your heart in pieces—but your head held high.

Because sometimes love isn’t about holding on.

Sometimes it’s about knowing when to finally let go.

_____

Alternate ending:

You wake before she does.

Your neck aches from where you’d slumped against the edge of her bed, but you don’t move right away. Instead, you just sit there, watching her sleep.

She’s curled toward you, face soft in the morning light, tear tracks still faint on her cheeks. Her hand rests near yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.

You should leave.

You meant to leave.

But something about last night still lingers. Not just the apology. Not just the pain. Something deeper.

When she finally stirs, her eyes flutter open—and panic sets in almost immediately.

“I—” Her voice is rough. “I didn’t mean to show up like that. I was just—God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then: “Do you remember what you said?”

She hesitates. Nods. “Some of it.”

You meet her gaze. “Do you mean it?”

She sits up straighter. Her fingers tremble as she reaches for yours but doesn’t quite take them. “I do. I meant all of it. I just… didn’t know how to say it sober.”

You watch her carefully. She looks raw. No defenses. No mask.

“I let fear control me,” she whispers. “I thought loving you meant losing everything else. But it didn’t. It just meant being brave. And I wasn’t. Until now.”

You swallow hard. Your heart’s thudding in your chest, loud and hopeful. But cautious.

“What do you want, Aeri?” you ask softly. “Really.”

She takes your hand in both of hers now—firm, sure. “You. Only you. And not just in secret. Not for a night. For real.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever—you believe her.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you slide your hand into hers and pull her gently forward until her forehead rests against yours.

“Then be brave,” you whisper. “Because I’m not doing this halfway again.”

She nods, eyes wet, smile trembling.

“I’ll fight for us,” she says. “Every day. If you let me.”

You press your lips to hers—soft, careful, but real. And when she kisses you back, it feels like coming home.

_____

The both of you step offstage after a joint performance. She’s sweaty and beaming, breathless from the adrenaline. You start to turn away—to keep it professional—but her fingers brush yours, and then she quietly, quickly laces them together.

A small gesture.

But this time?

She doesn’t let go.

And you don’t have to hide the smile that rises to your lips.

Because finally—she chose you.

And this time, she’s not afraid.

114 notes · View notes

laursdomain · 3 days ago

Text

you look perfect tonight

pairing: bodhi durran x marked!fem!reader

genre: fluff

synopsis: Days after Bodhi’s breakdown from Carr’s comment, all you want to do is show Bodhi how much you love him. A simple act of gift-giving turns into whispered confessions of your adoration for him, telling him how perfect he is. It isn’t until he begins to believe your words that you relent, adoring the way you can change his perspective of himself.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, reader affirms bodhi, reader and bodhi are in love, established relationship, takes place during FW

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: part 2 of don't let it break you down; song ➳ perfect by ed sheeran; this is my formal apology for day 2 & 3; day 4: perfect for bodhi week! @empyreanevents

@siobhanbooks thank you for helping me with the tyrrish nicknames <3

ྀིb.d week masterlist

¸.♡.¸

It’s been a couple days since Bodhi had an emotional breakdown from what happened in Carr’s classroom. Aside from you, nobody really knew what had actually happened. Imogen had questioned Bodhi afterwards, who brushed it off saying he was nearing burnout. The question was whether or not she believed him, but she didn’t speak a word about it afterwards. She typically voiced her concerns about something to Xaden, not to be a tattletail, but because she cared about Bodhi. What your boyfriend didn’t know was that you begged the pink-haired girl to not speak a word about it to anyone. She agreed, but you unfortunately owed her. It was worth it for Bodhi.

Nobody knew. More importantly, Xaden didn’t know.

i found a love for me

Bodhi seemed fine now, but you always enjoyed going above and beyond for him. He always did the little things for you, and you wanted to reciprocate that. You wait for him in your shared room, fiddling with the gift you made him inside the pocket of your flight jacket. Like clockwork, Bodhi enters the room, hair messy from flying atop of Cuir. He lights up at the sight of you, warming your heart.

“Hi, a thaisce” He speaks, tone indicating he was in a good mood.

“Hi, how was flight maneuvers?” You stand, wrapping your arms around his neck. You reach up, balancing on your toes as you plant a soft and loving kiss on his lips.

He smiles into the kiss, pouting after you pull away. “Boring, it was mostly me showing things to the first years.”

As always, you get lost in his eyes, loving how perfect they were. You can’t help but think about the things that made him so lovable, so perfect, so him. He notices how lost you are in your thoughts, but lets you stay like that as he rests his forehead against yours, enjoying your presence.

oh, i never knew you were the someone waitin' for me

You mentally note everything about him that you love, smiling to yourself.

Bodhi’s eyes were the warmest and most perfect shade of brown. Xaden’s were onyx, and according to Violet, they had golden flecks. You’d choose Bodhi’s swirling chocolate eyes over Xaden’s onyx ones.

Xaden was very tall, while Bodhi was a couple inches shorter–making the height difference between you two perfect. Not too large of a gap, but not too small. Just perfect.

The way he easily lights up when he sees someone he cares about–either it be you, Imogen, or even Xaden always makes your heart warm. On the other hand, Xaden acts like he is going to murder everyone.

Bodhi was always kind to everyone, even if they didn’t reciprocate it. Xaden always was snappy and cold to everyone, only reserving warmth for Violet.

Bodhi always found ways to show he cares–either it be through acts of service, or merely his presence. As for Xaden–unless you were Violet Sorrengail, don’t expect much.

Bodhi never flaunted around how amazing he was at his signet, or riding, or sparring. Though, if someone ever tried to challenge him, he’s instantly shutting them down within the first minute.

You always loved tracing his dragon relic on the bottom of his back, admiring how his muscles flex against Cuir’s green.

He always looked so naturally perfect atop of Cuir, the two fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” Bodhi murmurs, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You smile sweetly, “about the things I love about you.”

A light pink dusts his cheeks, not trying to hide it around you. He never hides around you, that’s how much he trusts and loves you. “I love you too. Penny for your thoughts?”

You pretend to think, though you know you’re going to tell him. “I love all your perfections”

“Surely that’s not a long list,” he jokes, though he’s truthful with his words.

You lightly slap him, scolding him. “It’s actually quite a lengthy list.” He raises a brow at you, urging you to continue. On any other day, you would’ve held out longer, making him earn your words. But you know that he needs to hear it, especially in light of the accident that occurred a couple days ago.

i found a love to carry more than just my secrets

“Let’s see,” you begin, noticing how he watches you with adoration. “I love the color of your eyes, they remind me of my favorite sweet–chocolate.” Your hands reach for his face, thumbs brushing under his eyes. He chuckles, knowing how you force him to sneak into the kitchens to get you chocolate after curfew nearly every night.

“We have the perfect height difference, not too large–but I can still reach up a little to get to you. And on our wedding day I can wear heels,” you hum out, reaching on your toes to prove your point.

“Wedding? You’re in a rush,” he teases, caressing his thumbs against your waist.

“Shut up, you brought it up first.” You lightly scold, recalling the conversation you two had two weeks ago before you fell asleep. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. “Let’s see…I love your hair, it’s perfect for me to play with.”

“I think you love my hair more than me,” he jokes, nuzzling his head closer to you once you reach your fingers up, tangling a couple of his curls in your fingers.

“I love how humble and kind you are, it makes everyone love you even more.” You look into his eyes, watching them crinkle as he smiles. He knows you’re right, he was the most approachable out of the marked ones. Typically, cadets went to him rather than Garrick or Xaden. And Bodhi had the most friends out of the three. Even though Xaden claims he ‘doesn’t do friends.’

“I love your dragon relic, Cuir placed it in the most perfect place. Plus, it looks perfect against your skin.” Your left hand leaves its spot resting against his chest, trailing down to his lower back, flattening it against his flight jacket, directing atop of Cuir’s relic.

“I admire the way you always strive to do the best, setting the bar to motivate everyone else, not putting them down. You always motivate me, particularly. You have the gauntlet patch for a reason,” your hand reaches to the array of patches on his jacket, lightly pressing one finger against his gauntlet patch.

You open your mouth to continue, but Bodhi beats you to it. “Okay I get it, you can stop now.” The flustered look on his face is adorable, loving the way he reacts to you. You giggle, wrapping your arms back around his neck again. He smiles at the sound of your giggles, unable to keep them under control. He could listen to the sound of your laugh and voice all day long if you’d let him.

oh, darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all i own

He places a chaste kiss against your lips, pushing all his love into the kiss. You smile, chasing his lips momentarily afterwards. You nearly forget the entire purpose of waiting for him, forcing yourself to wait before kissing him again. “I have something for you.”

“Is it you?” Bodhi smirks, lightly tickling your sides. He places a kiss on the corner of your lips, doing it to the other side as well before you speak again.

You ignore the heat rising in your cheeks, lightly slapping his bicep. “Not this time.”

He chuckles, “what is it, a thaisce?” You always loved the way he spoke Tyrrish to you, specifically in his nicknames for you. You added that to your list.

You remove one of your hands from his neck, pushing the arm that was blocking your pocket out of the way as you stuff your hand inside, fingers looping around the gift. “Close your eyes.”

He playfully rolls his eyes, smiling at your antics. He listens, closing his eyes as he waits. You remove your hand, revealing the woven bracelet you had made for him, placing your open palm between your bodies. “You can open them, mo ghrá dhil.”

Bodhi opens his eyes, meeting your gaze first, as always. His gaze filters down, landing on your outstretched palm as an even wider smile overtakes his features. One of his arms leaves your waist, gingerly taking the dark brown bracelet, “you made this for me?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to contain your giddiness. “Quinn taught me how to wove it for you. It took me too many tries, but I wanted it to be perfect, just like you.”

i don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight

Bodhi’s eyes snap to yours, and you can see his eyes glossy, emotion swirling within. You knew it wasn’t out of sadness, it was out of happiness. You could make out love and adoration gleaning in his eyes, along with another emotion you couldn’t quite name. Out of instinct, you caress your thumbs under his eyes again, silently telling him to not cry at the gift.

You had an inkling Bodhi would get a little emotional at the sight of your gift. He was constantly making and doing things for others, using his skilled craftsmanship to his advantage. Something his late father bestowed down to him. He always did things for others, but nobody ever did anything for him. That changes today.

He pulls you in for one of his Bodhi hugs, wrapping you up in his arms. “I love it, thank you.” You linger in his arms, enjoying the comfort you constantly feel from his hugs. He always gave the best hugs.

“I made matching ones,” you confess. When he pulls away with his brows furrowed, you maneuver yourself to pull up your left sleeve, revealing a nearly identical bracelet against your relic-clad wrist. You put most of your energy into his, wanting Bodhi’s to be as perfect as possible. You didn’t do the same for yours, but they were practically identical–as long as you didn’t squint.

Bodhi slides his bracelet onto his left wrist as well, “they’re perfect.” To prove his point, he extends his wrist so your bracelets were side-by-side, showing how perfect they looked together. Just like you two.

“I know they aren’t as good as Quinn’s weaving, but I really wanted to do something for you, and I’m not a natural like–” You are swiftly cut off by Bodhi’s warm lips on yours, easily shutting you up. You giggle into the kiss, cupping his jaw in your hands. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss before pulling away. You sigh out in content, knowing your lips were surely swollen by now, just like his. You’d be content with the state of the world as long as you were with Bodhi.

an angel in person, and he looks perfect

“They’re perfect, a thaisce.”

“You’re perfect, mo ghrá dhil.” You respond, watching the way he slightly nods, believing your statement.

You still had two classes, but Bodhi didn’t let you leave his arms for the rest of the day, not caring what repercussions Xaden had planned for you. You didn’t mind, though. You’d deal with any punishment for Bodhi, because that is how deep your love ran for him.

To you, Bodhi Durran is the most perfect being in the universe.

¸.♡.¸

#bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #bodhi x reader #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi x y/n #bodhi durran x you #bodhi x you #bodhi durran x y/n #bodhi durran fluff #fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame #onyx storm #rebecca yarros #bodhiweek2025

91 notes · View notes

ageingfangirl2 · 3 days ago

Text

Ran's Little Waitress (Tokyo Revengers - Bonten)

RAN HAITANI X FEMALE READER

CHAPTER FIVE: HOME VISIT

ONE TWO THREE FOUR SIX

The next morning, you woke up in agonising pain, the events of the night before not a dream like you’d hoped. It hit you the moment your eyes opened—throbbing behind your swollen eyelid, a dull ache in your nose and knees, your whole body stiff from tension and bruising. The events from last night came flooding back in cruel, vivid pieces: the VIP’s hand grabbing your wrist, the anger in his voice, the way his fist connected with your face, the way the pavement scraped your skin when you hit the ground.

You blink up at the ceiling, your body not yet willing to move. Your phone buzzed faintly on the nightstand, but you didn’t reach for it. Instead, you let your head turn toward the sliver of sunlight leaking through the curtains.

The silence was heavy. Almost suffocating.

The job had seemed too good to be true from the start—great pay, steady shifts, generous tips, and the kind of high-end clientele that usually meant you wouldn’t have to deal with creeps. But you had. And worse.

You press your fingers gently to the skin beneath your eye. Still tender. Still swollen. Your nose throbbed with a dull, aching rhythm.

What if it happened again? What if the next client didn’t stop? What if Mikey hadn’t been there? You squeeze your eyes shut. A lump formed in your throat. I can’t go back there.

You didn’t want to be scared every time a man reached for his drink, didn’t want to flinch whenever someone leaned in too close, didn’t want to feel watched—or worse, targeted—by your own coworkers again.

Was the money even worth it? You were new. No one would blame you for quitting. Maybe they’d expect it. Maybe they were even waiting for you to do it, so they could laugh and say they knew you wouldn’t last.

The thought made your chest tighten. You pull the blanket tighter, curling in on yourself like you could shield your body from the world with nothing but a layer of fleece.

The doubt seeped in like poison, quiet and sharp.

You’re not cut out for this.

You’re too soft.

You should’ve known better.

Your phone buzzed again. You finally reach for it with a trembling hand.

1 New Message — Ran Haitani

You hesitate, then open it.

Take the time you need. Don’t quit. We’re handling it.

You stare at the message. Simple. But firm. You read it again. Then again. Somehow…it steadied you. Not completely. Not enough to erase the fear. But enough to let you breathe again.

You still didn’t know if you could walk back into that club. But for now…you wouldn’t quit. Not yet.

Later In The Day

Ran and Rindou stood side by side in the hallway, the younger Haitani brother glancing down at the address on his phone with an arched brow.

‘This is it?’ Rindou asked, tilting his head toward the polished wooden door. The hallway was quiet, clean, and lined with soft lighting. No peeling wallpaper. No suspicious stains on the floor. It smelled like fresh lemon cleaner and fabric softener, not mildew and cigarette smoke.

Ran hummed low in his throat, gaze travelling the length of the hallway, ‘Huh. Didn’t expect her to be somewhere this...decent.’

‘Same. Figured she’d be living above some noodle shop with water damage like other girls,’ Rindou smirked, ‘She’s full of surprises.’

Ran didn’t comment. He stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against her door twice.

There was a pause. Then the shuffle of footsteps. The door opened cautiously, the chain still on. You peek out, eyes widening the moment you see them.

‘Ran? Rindou?’

‘Hey, lovely lady,’ Rindou greeted with a lazy grin.

Ran’s gaze dropped almost instantly. The ice pack you pressed to your face couldn’t hide the faint purpling of the black eye or the swelling along the bridge of your nose. You were in a soft, oversized tee and pyjama shorts, and even from the doorway, they could see the bandages on your knees. The bruises. The way you were standing—your weight shifted awkwardly, like everything still hurt.

Ran’s voice came out lower than usual, ‘You gonna let us in?’

You blink, hesitating. Then quietly unlatched the chain and stepped aside, ‘yeah. Of course.’

The brothers stepped into the apartment, and again, both of them took a beat to look around. It was small but tidy—cozy, with warm lighting and personal touches. Framed photos on a shelf. A half-used candle flickering on the coffee table. A blanket is draped over the back of a chair.

Rindou let out a low whistle, ‘well damn. This is actually...nice.’

You offer a faint smile, a little self-conscious, ‘I got lucky with the building. I liked feeling safe, so the extra money is worth it.’

Ran’s gaze flicked to her again, ‘Didn’t work out too well.’

You wince, the guilt clear in your expression, ‘I didn’t expect someone to follow me. I usually take the back exit or call a ride, but last night got chaotic.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Ran said firmly.

You look up at him, surprised.

‘I should’ve had better eyes on the place,’ he added, ‘That won’t happen again.’

You open your mouth to respond but falter. Your throat tightened a little. Instead of speaking, you just nod.

Rindou wandered over to your shelf, eyeing a small plushie nestled between some books, ‘You seriously look like the type that eats instant noodles and falls asleep with anime playing.’

You give a short laugh despite yourself, ‘sometimes, yeah.’

Ran was still watching you carefully, ‘How bad’s the pain?’

You lower the ice pack a little. ‘Could be worse. The nose isn’t broken. Knees are sore. Mostly just shaken up.’

‘Still thinking of quitting?’ he asked.

There was a pause, “…I was,’ you admit softly, ‘I thought maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. But your message helped. It reminded me that maybe not everyone there wants to see me fail.’

Ran’s expression didn’t shift much, but his tone was gentler than usual, ‘I don’t hire people I don’t believe in,’ he said, ‘and I don’t pay compliments I don’t mean. You’re good at what you do.’

Rindou snorted from across the room, ‘That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard you say to anyone this month.’

‘Shut up,’ Ran muttered without venom.

You laugh again, more genuinely this time, ‘thank you. Both of you. Really.’

Ran nodded, letting a beat of silence pass. Then he pulled a small bag from his coat pocket and placed it on the table, ‘First aid stuff. Extra bandages. Some painkillers. Sanzu packed it—don’t ask why, he just said injuries need supplies.’

Your eyes soften, ‘that was... thoughtful. Thank him for me?”

‘You can tell him yourself when you come back,’ Ran replied.

You meet his gaze, ‘I will.’

Rindou had made himself comfortable without needing permission. He was already in the tiny kitchen, rifling through your cabinets.

‘Are you seriously—’ you say, but Rindou interrupts you.

‘Chill,’ he said with a cheeky grin, holding up a box of cereal like it was evidence, ‘just checking if you live on sugar and sadness or actual food. This? This is dessert pretending to be breakfast.’

You give him a flat look, ‘It’s marshmallow cereal. It brings me joy.’

Ran ignored his brother’s antics, staying seated on the arm of your couch, his long legs stretched out and arms crossed. His eyes hadn’t left you since she sat down across from him, still cradling the ice pack to your cheek.

‘You flinched last night,’ Ran said, voice calm but direct, ‘when that guy grabbed your wrist. Not just because it hurt.’

You tense slightly, fingers tightening around the ice pack. Your eyes flicked toward Rindou, who was now poking through your DVD shelf like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen all day.

‘He doesn’t listen when I tell him to stop being nosy,’ Ran added, reading her expression, ‘but he won’t say a word about anything you tell me.’

You sigh, ‘…Yeah. It wasn’t just the pain.’

Ran waited, patient.

You look down at your lap, voice soft but steady, ‘I was in a toxic relationship a while ago. Controlling. Violent. It got worse the longer I stayed, until I finally just... ran. Left everything. Changed cities. Spent months trying to convince myself I wasn’t overreacting. That it wasn’t my fault.’

Ran’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

‘It took a lot to build up enough confidence to even apply to work in that kind of club,’ you admit, ‘I knew the job would mean being around drunk guys, flirtation, sometimes worse. But I needed the money and—I thought I was ready. Most nights, I’m fine. I can fake it. But when he grabbed my wrist like that…’ you trail off, expression twisting briefly, ‘It was like my brain short-circuited. I froze.’

Rindou’s voice floated from the hallway, ‘well, shit.’

You give a half-hearted glare toward the bedroom, ‘you’re still listening.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied unapologetically, ‘and for the record? That asshole’s lucky Mikey got to him first.’

Ran leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His voice dropped just a touch, calm, but firm, the way it got when he was focused, ‘you handled it better than you think. You didn’t run. You kept going. Even after he touched you, you didn’t let it spiral. That’s not weakness. That’s survival instinct.’

Your lips press together. ‘Doesn’t feel like it.’

‘Well, it is,’ Ran said simply, ‘and if any of the VIPs get handsy again, I don’t care how much money they throw around. I’ll make sure they’re blacklisted from every club under our name. No one gets to touch my staff without permission.’

There was a small silence, and then: Rindou popped his head back around the corner, holding one of her throw pillows, ‘You know, you keep acting like this, and she might actually fall for you.”

‘Get out of her damn bedroom, Rindou,’ Ran muttered, not even turning his head.

‘I was just checking the quality of her pillows—damn.’

You give a breathy laugh despite the swelling on your face and the ache in your bones.

Ran watched her a moment longer, then added more softly, ‘If you ever need more time off...or if the job’s too much, just say it. No pressure. But don’t quit because of fear.’

You nod slowly, touched by the offer, ‘I won’t,’ you say, ‘but… thank you for giving me that choice.’

Ran offered a rare smile, ‘Good.’

And then, from the hallway, Rindou speaks loudly, ‘You have three scented candles in your bathroom. Three. Are you summoning something in there or just super stressed?’

You snort and shake your head, ‘I’m starting to regret letting you both in.’

Ran chuckled, ‘Too late.’

You were curled up now in one corner of your couch, one knee tucked under the other, fingers resting over the edge of the ice pack on your cheek. The swelling had darkened, and the contrast against your skin was enough to make Ran’s jaw tick every time he glanced your way.

‘I’ll be fine in a day or two,’ you say quietly, ‘I’ve covered worse with makeup. You’d be surprised what foundation and a red lipstick can hide.’

Ran’s eyes narrowed, ‘that’s not the point.’

You look up at him, confused, ‘Then what is?’

‘The point is you’re not coming back to work until you’ve healed properly,’ he said flatly, ‘physically and emotionally.’

You blink, ‘you’re benching me?’

‘Temporarily.’

‘Because I look like this?’

Ran didn’t flinch, ‘yes.’

You sit up straighter, trying not to wince at the pull on your sore knees. ‘So, what—if I cover it up and smile real pretty, suddenly I’m good to go? I need the tips, Ran. Makeup can fix this.’

Ran stood from the armrest, stepping closer, and though his tone didn’t raise, the weight behind it was heavier, ‘It’s not just about appearances. I don’t care how much makeup you wear or how well you smile. If I send you in looking like this, the wrong kind of people will think they can get away with something worse. You think I don’t know how predators test boundaries?’

Your expression faltered.

Ran’s voice softened slightly, but the authority never left, ‘you’re good at what you do. But you’re still healing. I’m not going to parade you around for VIPs while you’re black and blue just because you think you can handle it.’

You look away, quietly defensive, ‘you’re just worried they won’t tip.’

‘That’s part of it,’ he admitted, ‘but only because I know the kind of sharks who sit in those booths. They see weakness, they pounce. And right now, you’re more vulnerable than you realise. I won’t put you in a position to be hurt again just to keep business flowing.’

You were quiet for a long moment, chewing your bottom lip, ‘…You’re serious about this,’ you mutter.

‘I don’t say things twice.’

From the kitchen, Rindou piped up, still half-digging through her fridge and freezer, ‘That’s a lie, I’ve heard you threaten someone three times in the same sentence before.’

‘Not the time, Rindou,’ Ran growls.

Ran turned back to you, voice low, ‘Take the time off. Heal. When you’re ready, we’ll bring you back in without question.’

You give a small nod, hesitant at first, but eventually give in, ‘okay. But only because you’re a pain in the ass about it.’

He gave you the faintest smirk, ‘Good.’

From the kitchen, Rindou called out again, ‘She’s got mint chocolate chip in the freezer! I knew she had taste.’

That earned a small laugh from you. Just what had you opened yourself up to working at this club?

65 notes · View notes

docrobinavitch · 7 hours ago

Text

say goodbye like you mean it | part four

dr. robby x f!charge nurse!oc content: 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, detailed descriptions of domestic violence, there is a gun involved in a scene but it doesn't go off, swearing, usual canon medical events, vague age gap (oc mid to late thirties) words: 7.9k PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE synopsis: gwen is confronted with the ghosts of her past and robby desperately wants to help her through it, but in the process ends up pushing her away. a/n: hellooooo there (: thank you all for following robby and gwen to the end. this is the last part! i had so so much fun! i hope you all like the finale. thank you again for all the support on the previous parts, it really means so much to me!! i'll probably turn my attention to one shot/reader fics for the forseeable future, unless some other idea really grabs me. feel free to send requests. ok!! well can't believe i'm saying goodbye to our gwendolyn. love her dearly. i hope she sticks with you all the way she has with me.

It had been a terrible shift. They had started the morning coding a 7 year old who had been in a car accident. Gwen wasn’t normally superstitious, but it had been true for as long as she had worked in the ER that if the shift started with a mortality, there was no saving the day. If a kid was lost first thing in the morning, she thought it was destined to be somewhere in the top five worst shifts of all time.

On top of that, they were slammed. Even more so than usual. There were too many beds in the hallways and the waiting room was standing room only for the entire shift. It was Gwen that day who had gotten snippy with Gloria when she came downstairs and Robby who had had to intervene and send Gwen out for a break to keep her from losing her job.

In order to not fall apart, to stop seeing that poor battered and bruised dead seven year old, Gwen had allowed her rage to fuel her the whole shift. She had broken up a few fights that day, mostly just to have an excuse to shout at someone. But it was the man at the end of the shift that had shouted at Princess that caused her to absolutely lose any semblance of cool she had left.

“Sir, back up. Now.” Gwen said loudly over his shouting, stepping between him and Princess. The man was speaking a mix of English and another language she couldn’t identify. She didn’t quite know what he was saying, but it was clear from the look on Princess’s face that she knew. And it wasn’t good.

The man didn’t back off, so Gwen shouted louder, taking a step towards him, hoping he’d take the hint and match her step back. But he stayed where he was, now directing his vitriol Gwen’s way.

“Sir, if you don’t back off right now, I will have security remove you from the premises. Your choice.”

He stopped his yelling and for a moment and Gwen thought she’d won. But then he curled his lip, “Fucking cunt.” He spat and then shoved her, hard.

Gwen’s head ricocheted off the wall behind her from the force of the shove and she lost her balance, sliding to the floor. There was shouting around her, from the man, and the other nurses around, and then security.

She was dazed from the blow to the head, so she wasn’t sure how long it was before Robby was kneeling in front of her, gentle, warm hands on her face and a bright light shining in her eyes.

“…Can you hear me, Gwen?”

She went to nod, but it immediately made her feel dizzy, “Yes,” She managed.

“You need a head CT.”

Gwen closed her eyes, “If you just let me sit here for five minutes, I’ll be fine.”

He laughed, “You really think that’ll work on me?”

“Considering the fact that your ER will probably be in shambles the second I leave the floor, yeah, I hoped it would.”

“We’re already in shambles,” He helped her up and onto a gurney, his hand lingering on her thigh, “It can’t possibly be any worse than it already is. Princess will take over as charge.”

Gwen closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the gurney, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Are you okay? Besides the obvious?” She heard Robby say softly into her ear.

She wasn’t. She was so far from okay and had been far from it all week, not just this shift. Tomorrow was her and James’s anniversary. The last couple of years, it had been tough to get through without being bombarded by memories, both good and bad. But she hadn’t been working, then.

Gwen had thought being back at work would make it easier. She’d be too preoccupied to think about it. But it just made everything worse because it had been in a hospital that most of their relationship had flourished. She saw him in every EKG ordered and every STEMI that rolled through.

They had been dating exclusively for a few months now so Robby knew her well enough to know something was bothering her, but he was hoping she would bring it up herself. She hadn’t thus far, and it was beginning to scare him. He was finally beginning to understand why refusing to communicate your emotions could threaten to destroy a relationship.

“I’m fine.” Gwen said.

Robby stared at her for a moment longer, his heart sinking, but he only nodded, “Mateo, could you escort her up to CT please?”

About an hour later, Robby found Gwen still in her gurney on the imaging floor, texting Princess about where to move patients in order to clear more beds before the night shift came in.

“Head CT came back clean, time to go home.”

“I could have told you that.” Gwen said, putting her phone down and swinging her legs over the side.

“Better safe than sorry.” Robby said quietly. Gwen said nothing to that. “I sent the police up here, did you talk to them?”

“Yes,” She said and began walking past him, “I told them I didn’t want to press charges.”

“You what?” Robby asked incredulously.

Gwen sighed, “Please don’t get all righteous on me, I’m not in the mood. Assaulting a healthcare worker is a felony, it seemed extreme.”

Robby scoffed, “It’s extreme for a reason, Gwen. If he pushed you any harder you could have a brain bleed or a skull fracture.”

She nodded, “But I’m fine, so.”

He stared at her as she got her things together, “Do you not care about your wellbeing or safety, is that it?”

Gwen headed for the stairwell, Robby close behind her, “You’re being very dramatic about this for no reason. I’m fine.”

Robby sidestepped her and planted himself in front of her, a step down, so they were eye level, “You’re doing the same thing now that you did in Manhattan, you’re running away instead of facing it—“

She flinched as if he had hit her, but he couldn’t regret it. He was pushing too hard, he knew, but he didn’t know how else to get through to her. To get her to admit something was wrong, whatever it was. He had his suspicions it had something to do with James. She had been more on guard recently. Jumping at the sound of the door or the drop of a pan. She was tense beneath his fingers, until her body seemed to register it was only Robby.

“This has nothing to do with him.” Gwen ground out, but she flushed as she said it.

“That’s not true,” He shook his head, “I mean, Christ, he nearly killed you and you let him walk away. Then you get assaulted by a stranger and you let that slide too, and why wouldn’t you? You’ve already set the precedent that you think your life meaningless—“

“Stop.”

“—What would someone have to do to get you to hold them accountable? Or will you just keep running until someone puts you six feet under?”

Gwen’s eyes shone with unshed tears and she looked down at her sneakers. Too far. She was dangling off a cliff and he had crushed her fingers beneath his foot. She was free falling, with nowhere safe to land.

“I think we should spend the night apart.” She said finally.

She kept her head down and heard him sigh deeply, “Pushing me away won’t make it disappear.”

Gwen stepped around him and started descending the stairs, “You have no idea what it’s like to fear for your life every second of every day. Do not talk down to me and act all holier than thou because you think you would’ve made a better decision. I did what I thought was best.”

“You did the thing that scared you the least.”

She almost laughed at his cruelty, tears clung to her eyelashes. Choking back a sob, she pushed open the stairwell door at ground level, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.”

***

Robby had tried calling her a few times the previous night, but she had let them all go to voicemail. He had only left a message once, implying that he was sorry he pushed her so hard, but that he still thought she should press charges. He went on to say that he would go with her to the police station if she changed her mind.

Gwen had been pretty certain that she was in love with Robby before this argument, but now she knew it for certain. Otherwise, it all wouldn’t have hurt so badly, knowing that he believed her a coward. And sure, she had the same thoughts about herself occasionally, but it hurt more to hear it from him.

She thought about calling him on her walk to work that morning, or stopping by his apartment. She longed to see him, to be folded into his arms, to be reassured that everything was okay. But he would want to talk it through. And she didn’t want that.

This week and this day especially were already hard enough. If she had to talk more about him, about all the ways she hadn’t been good enough at the end, the scars that still festered in his absence, she would fall apart completely.

It had been more than two years now since the last time she saw James. But that didn’t stop her from seeing him everywhere. Anytime she saw a doctor with thick dark curls from the back, her heart rate would pick up until she could see their face. It was the same in public, except she’d look for a baseball cap instead.

This morning, she walked her usual path to the hospital, through the park. She mulled over her argument with Robby in her head, thought about what she would say to him when she saw him. Probably nothing. It would be easier that way. Maybe if she ignored it long enough, they could pretend it never happened.

She was thinking about this as she crossed the street in front of the hospital, and how she was being childish, when she saw him. He was unmistakable. Dark brown curls peeking out from a Mets baseball cap she had bought him years ago, and in the middle of the street she stopped cold.

She vaguely heard a car slamming on their brakes. The horn pulled her out of her reverie finally, and she turned around.

“Shit, sorry!” She yelled at the car and then doubled back the way she came, back to the park.

Gwen turned back towards the emergency room long enough to see James walk through the doors she walked through every single day.

Her heart raced and her brain was going a hundred miles an hour. Why was he here? Today of all days? Surely it couldn’t be coincidence. He must’ve found out she worked here. He couldn’t stand the thought of her moving on and so had to come and ruin it all. She couldn’t breathe and she found she couldn’t bring her feet to move towards the ER.

She took a step back and hated herself for it, tears burning the backs of her eyes.

Robby had been right, she thought to herself, turning to walk back to her apartment. She was a coward.

***

When Robby walked into the ER that morning, he did a double take at the hub when he saw Gwen wasn’t there. He checked his watch and indeed it was 6:58 AM. Gwen was always here at 6:45 AM the latest. She liked to make rounds with the night shift nurses before everyone else came in so she could get the board in order before the day shift trickled in. It was possible she was running late, but he had never known her to be in the six months she’d been running the ER.

She hadn’t answered his calls last night, but he was certain she was just taking some space. He didn’t think she would abandon a shift just to avoid him.

“Princess, have you seen Gwen?”

She shook her head, “I don’t think she’s here yet.”

Robby nodded, though his mind was already rapidly extracting worst case scenarios. Maybe she was hit by a bus on her walk in. Perhaps she was mugged. Or she had finally tripped over that loose step on her apartment stairs that he’d been begging her to let him fix for months.

“I already told my landlord, why should you have to do it? This is why I pay rent!”

“Is sticking it to your landlord really worth the risk of breaking your neck every time you take the stairs?”

She had pretended to contemplate, and then grinned, “Yes.”

Though there was a small part of him that worried, he knew realistically she was just late so digging his phone out of his pocket, he dialed her number.

It rang for about thirty seconds and then went to voicemail. Well, was she still giving him the silent treatment or was something really wrong? He sighed and hung up, typing a quick message: Everything ok?

The message delivered. He waited another few seconds to see if she’d start typing, but nothing.

“Fuck.” He looked back up at the ER, the patients, the nurses, his residents and med students that were starting to trickle in. Abbot was still around with a patient.

Robby had grown so accustomed to Gwen being here, to leaning on her for support, he was afraid of who he’d be here without her.

It scared him, the way she’d enmeshed herself so deeply into his life, he could no longer imagine it without her in it.

Sighing, he turned back to Princess, “If she’s not here in ten minutes could you please call her again? And if she doesn’t pick up try and see if you can get Dana here?”

When Princess nodded, he began walking around the ER and gathering his residents and students for rounds.

Just as he was beginning them though, he heard a commotion in the waiting room.

He put up a finger to quiet Samira as he listened. Definitely yelling. “One second, I’ll be right back.”

Pushing through the double doors, he saw security manhandling a guy with a Mets hat on and Lupe yelling at him.

“Hey!” He shouted over the yelling and they quieted, though the man continued struggling against security, “Lupe what’s going on?”

“This man tried to sneak through to the back. He’s perfectly healthy, says he’s looking for a nurse.”

“My fiancée works here and it’s our anniversary! I just wanted to surprise her.” The man said, then added, “I’m a doctor!”

Robby crossed his arms, “You may be a doctor, but you don’t work here. You should know you can’t just go waltzing into any ER.” Then he sighed, “Who is it you’re looking for?”

“She’s the charge nurse here. Gwen Keating.”

His head spun and his blood went cold. Gwen was missing and this had to be James standing right in front of him, looking for her.

He cleared his throat after a moment, “And your name is?”

“James Loverde.”

He could barely hear past the roaring in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. Was it really their anniversary? Was that why Gwen had been off all week? The things he would give to be able to punch this guy’s lights out without repercussions.

But he needed to keep him here until he figured out where Gwen was. Otherwise, he might end up at her apartment.

“Alright, Dr. Loverde, why don’t you come on back with me.”

“But Dr. Robby—“

“I’ll take care of it, Lupe, thank you.” He gestured to one of the security guards, “Olsen, with me.”

The two men followed him through the double doors and he felt his students watching curiously as he brought James into an empty family room.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see if I can find Gwen for you, alright?”

Before he could object, Robby closed the door, leaving himself and Olsen outside.

James was already surveying the area through the glass, looking for Gwen he presumed. It made him feel sick. Robby’s mind kept flashing back to the shame on her face when she had told him the truth about why she had left New York. The image of her being pummeled by this fucker. The pain in her eyes yesterday when he had thrown her shame back in her face. It was taking everything in him to keep up his calm and friendly demeanor.

“Olsen,” He pulled the security guard to the side, “Whatever you do, don’t let him leave. And don’t let anyone talk to him or vice versa. Got it?”

Olsen frowned, “Should we be calling the cops?”

Robby sighed, scratching the back of his head, “I don’t know.” He hated that he hadn’t asked her more about her protective order. He knew most protective orders were carried across state lines, but that would have required that Gwen had registered it with the county when she moved here. And he had no idea if she had done that. If she hadn’t, the police wouldn’t help and this motherfucker would definitely leave to go look for her elsewhere, “Not yet.”

Olsen looked at him skeptically, “Boss, what is going on?”

***

Gwen stared at the safe under her bed, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Unconsciously, she rubbed at her throat. Her thoughts had been littered with all the ways James had messed her up as she had walked back home. The most recent memory that had assaulted her was when he had violently choked her during sex and then afterwards pretended like he thought she liked it.

Her therapist was always reminding her that her PTSD meant that her brain would hide away certain memories from her to try to protect her and that anything could trigger one. This was one she hadn’t remembered until seeing him again across from the hospital. It had hit her so forcefully, she had to pause her walk home to hyperventilate while she leaned against a tree. She could still feel his hands, the weight of him on her windpipe, the panic of not being able to breathe.

She remembered that she had scratched his hands up in an attempt to get him to loosen his grip and he had later made her feel so badly about it, she cleaned and bandaged them for him. He never so much as iced the bruises he left on her neck.

Gwen had let Robby’s call go to voicemail. She knew she should answer. Despite their argument, he would be there for her through this. Even though she had fled yet again, proving his point. But, his voice would probably soothe her. He’d know what to do. But she didn’t want to hear the voice of reason right now.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted. Mostly she felt stupid for believing that she was safe from him, here. That since she had dropped the charges he would leave her be. It was just fucking like him to show up at her hospital, her ER, demanding to see her. She was certain that’s what he would be doing. Entitled narcissist that he was. She hoped Ahmad kicked his ass.

But that would just mean once he was kicked out of the ER he’d find some other way to get to her. And she wouldn’t allow that. Could not allow him to float through Pittsburgh unsupervised. No. This was her city, her ER, her friends, her family, her boyfriend. He would not taint this new life she had built. She would not yield this fragile safety net that was beginning to feel like home. She would not run away again.

Her phone vibrated with a text. Robby.

Everything ok?

She stared at it blankly until her phone screen went black again and then turned back to her safe. Unlocking it, Gwen took out the gun.

Her hands trembled as she loaded the clip, slowly and methodically, just as her instructor had taught her, and then slipped it into her bag.

She stood and then stared at her phone that sat on the hardwood. It lit up again, this time indicating an incoming call from Princess.

Gwen lightly kicked her phone until it slid under the bed and then left her apartment.

***

“Hey,” Collins approached Robby with caution as he ended his most recent attempt to get in touch with Gwen, “I don’t want to pry, but is something going on with you and Gwen? I noticed Princess is charge today.”

Robby sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face, “No, we’re fine. Or at least, I think we’re fine, but she didn’t show up for work this morning and she’s not answering any calls.” He glanced towards the room James was sitting in, “Fuck, I don’t know, maybe she’s left the state by now.”

Collins frowned, “Why would she do that?”

Robby looked at her, deciding what to disclose. But fuck, Gwen was in the wind and he needed someone to talk to, to tell him he was overreacting, “Well,” He again looked at James through the glass, “She left New York because of that guy in there and she has a restraining order against him after he fucking beat her within an inch of her life and he turned up here this morning and she didn’t and she won’t answer any of my calls. So.” He looked at Collins, “You do the math.”

Heather’s eyes widened, “Shit.” She looked towards the man sitting in the family room, then back to Robby, “She’ll come back, Robby.”

“How do you know?” He asked, and he can’t help the way his voice shakes when he says it. He hadn’t fully allowed himself to feel how fucking scared he was for Gwen until this conversation.

Heather sighed and gave him what she thought was a reassuring smile, “Because she’s tough. And because she has something worth fighting for here.”

***

Gwen sat in the back of an empty ambulance hands shaking in her bag where she concealed the gun. She wasn’t quite sure what her plan was, if there was a plan. James likely was long gone by now. And even if he was still inside, she would never bring a gun into the hospital. She had been working during many gun scares. It never got less terrifying. She wouldn’t do that to her patients or her friends. Especially after the mass shooting they had worked through just months ago.

She doubted she could even pull the trigger if she was faced with him. In a way, she thought, it would be a bit like killing a part of herself. They had been together for a decade, shared the same bed, the same meals. The mannerisms and idioms they both picked up from the other. The language of people who had loved for so long they could no longer decode the outside world without the other by their side.

Gwen couldn’t look at James without seeing the man she had fallen in love with. The same man whose knuckles had split and bled after beating her was the same man who spoon fed chicken noodle soup into her mouth in bed when she had caught strep. And it was impossible for her to separate the two. She couldn’t kill him anymore than she could kill herself.

So instead she sat, running her hands over the gun in her bag, feeling stupid.

The adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off and she wished Robby were here. She should have answered her phone. He was probably worried sick.

Or maybe not, maybe he was just annoyed she had skipped her shift.

Gwen took her hands out of her bag and pressed her palms into her eyes, she was tired of thinking.

There was a knock on the ambulance door and Gwen jumped.

But it was only Robby and he was looking at her like he was scared out of his mind, eyes red rimmed.

At the sight of him looking at her like that, clearly distraught, she broke, sobs that wracked her whole body, “I’m sorry.” She managed.

Immediately, he was next to her, pulling her into his arms, “You have nothing to apologize for.” She felt him kiss her hair as he held her, “You’re okay. You’re alright.” He repeated, and she wondered which of them he was trying to comfort.

“James was here.” She managed through hiccups as she calmed down.

“He’s still here.” Robby said, slowly running a hand through her hair.

“What?!” Gwen started to jump up, but Robby secured her with an arm around her waist, effortlessly pulling her back to him.

“Not yet,” He said softly, “Stay with me.”

“Robby,” She said incredulously, “You can’t expect me to sit here when he’s in there.”

He was shaking his head, “What’re you gonna do when you get in there, hm? Scream at him? Cause a scene? Hit him?”

Gwen thought about the gun in her bag and rubbed at her eyes, “I don’t know. I’m tired of being afraid. I want to show him I’m not afraid of him anymore.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he resumes running a hand through her hair, “It was unfair of me, all the things I said to you yesterday and I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Of course you were scared. Of course you wanted to leave. Who am I to judge you for that?”

Gwen fully melts into him, his apology a salve to her frayed nerves, “Where is he?”

“In the family room. Olsen’s with him.”

“He was looking for me?”

Robby nodded, “Said his fianceé was the charge nurse here. Is it really your anniversary?”

“That fucker,” Gwen sighed, “He said that?”

“Yeah. Is that why you haven’t been yourself all week?”

She almost shook her head, almost denied that anything had been wrong before this morning. But what was the point of pushing him away besides hurting herself? “Yes.” She said finally.

“You could’ve told me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” She looked up at him, “I thought I could handle it myself.”

He stroked a hand across her cheek and then threaded it into her hair at the nape of her neck, “The whole point of having each other is so we don’t have to do this shit on our own.”

She nodded and then laughed, “When did you get so good at being a boyfriend?”

Robby smirked, “Well, I have this really lovely girlfriend and she taught me everything she knows.”

Gwen smirked, “Ah, she sounds really cool and well adjusted.”

He barked a laugh, “You’re ridiculous.”

She hummed, pleased with herself for making him laugh, “So, what do we do about… James?”

He was still running a hand soothingly through her hair, “Did you register your protective order with the county when you came here?”

Gwen nodded.

“Good, then we can call the police.”

She stiffened under his hands, “He… could lose his medical license.”

“Rightfully so.”

“If I ruin his life,” She said slowly, “He’ll want revenge. He’ll become even more obsessed with me.”

“Not if he’s in prison.”

She scoffed, “Violating a protective order doesn’t come with a very lengthy sentence.”

“No,” He agreed, shaking his head, “But domestic assault with a deadly weapon does. You mentioned a rolling pin as I recall.”

Gwen balked, “You just said I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”

“You don’t,” He said quickly, “I want you to do what you think is right. But the fact is James is in the ER right now… And…” He tore his gaze away from her, “If we don’t call the police, that means he just gets to walk away. And I am so fucking terrified of not being able to keep you safe if he comes back one day.”

He presses his palms into his eyes, “I know it’s not about me. And I really don’t mean to be selfish. But if you won’t do it for yourself, could you please do it for me?”

Gwen stared at him for a moment, floored to silence by his admission. When she opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by a voice that sent chills down her spine.

“Am I interrupting some sort of lover’s quarrel?”

A few things happened at once when James appeared in front of them, Olsen slightly behind looking remorseful.

Robby stood, placing himself between James and Gwen. He was almost a full head taller than James, and so James backed up just slightly.

“I’d like to speak to my fianceé now if you don’t mind.” James said quietly, his voice dangerous and menacing.

“Not a chance.” Robby said, then looked up over James to Olsen, “What the hell, man?”

“He started saying shit like ‘false imprisonment’, Robby.”

“Gwen, honey,” James called, never looking away from Robby, “Call off your dogs, would you? So we can talk?”

Then they all went very still when they heard a click from behind them.

Gwen had stood and backed herself away, gun behind her back, until she had a clear shot of James. Now, her hands shook and the barrel was aimed at his head.

“Woah, what the fuck?” James backed off, hands up.

“Gwen,” Robby said very carefully, “I don’t know where you got that, but I’m gonna need you to put it away.”

“It’s mine,” She said, her voice shaking, eyes zeroed in on James, “I have a license to carry.”

Well, Robby was certainly learning new things about Gwen today, “Baby, look at me,” He said gently and her eyes flicked to his, “This will ruin your life. Don’t let him win.”

“Olsen,” She said slowly, hands shaking, “Could you please handcuff him?”

Olsen obliges and Robby feels relief flood through him as she lowers the gun.

“Gwen, this is ridiculous,” James starts as Olsen starts walking him away from them, “I just wanted to talk—“

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” She shouted, “I heard nothing from you for two years, but the second I get a job, the second you hear an inkling that I’m doing better, you come down here to try to ruin it all. Fuck you. I hope they take away your medical license.” Gwen said, turning away from him again.

Robby watches Olsen lead James away as he continues to shout after Gwen and then walks up behind her as she unloads her gun and puts it back in her bag, “Would’ve been nice to know you were carrying a firearm earlier.”

She sighed heavily, shoulders curling in on themselves, “I was never going to use it. I just wanted him to be scared for once. To know how it felt.”

“I know.”

She finally smirked at him, “Really?”

“Well,” He rubbed at his beard, “For a second there you had me doubting myself.”

Without warning he reached out and pulled her to his chest, one arm around her shoulders, the other cradling her head to him.

“You scared the hell out of me today.”

“I know,” Gwen said, greedily inhaling the scent of him, “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you left.”

Gwen pulls back slightly to look up at him, “What, like, permanently?”

He nods, “I thought maybe you left the state or something.”

Gwen was exhausted of being angry, but she still felt the resentment stir in her chest, “Right, because you think I’m a coward.” She said bitterly.

Robby doesn’t say anything for a moment, just continues holding her to his chest, “Part of me hoped you had,” He said softly, “Because it meant he couldn’t hurt you. You were right yesterday, about how I didn’t know how it felt to be scared like that. I’m sure I still don’t know, not really. But when he showed up here and I couldn’t find you…” He trailed off, “You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

Gwen sighed and tightened her arms around his waist, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Dana walked up to them and they separated, “What the hell? I was told you weren’t here.”

“She’s not here,” Robby said, and picked up Gwen’s bag, handing it back to her, “She’s going home.”

Gwen frowned, “But you’ll be calling the police—“

“You don’t need to be here for that,” Robby said, “They can interview you later. You’ve been through enough today, don’t you think?”

Gwen looks like she might argue more, so Robby adds, “I’ll come find you after. Text me when you get home safe?”

Finally she sighs and nods, “Okay.”

As she walks off, Dana comes to his side, “Do I wanna know?”

Robby watched Gwen as she walked off, “Did Gwen ever tell you about the gap in her resume?”

“You mean the jack off cardio attending that beat her? Yeah, she told me.”

“He showed up at our ER this morning.”

Dana’s eyes widened, “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

“Happy to be here, cap,” She put a hand on his arm, “You okay? Maybe you should go with her. We can call Abbot. Or Shen.”

Robby shook his head, “No, it’s fine, I should really get back in there.”

***

When Robby lets himself into Gwen’s apartment after his shift, it’s dark and quiet. She had texted him that she was home, as he requested, but he still felt that little bit of panic at finding the apartment dark. The police had taken James into custody, but it was likely he would get out on bail while he awaited a hearing.

He found Gwen fast asleep on top of her bed covers, still in scrubs, her phone close to her face. He was relieved the find the gun was no where to be seen, but he made a mental note to ask her where she stored it later.

“Hey,” He sits on the edge of the bed and places a gentle hand to her shoulder, “It’s me.”

Gwen roused slowly, and then blinked up at Robby, giving him a sleepy smile, “What time is it?”

“Almost 7:30.”

She hummed and reached up to stroke his beard, “That’s early for you.”

“I was eager to see you.”

She smiled, “Well, lucky me.”

“The police took James in—“

“Can we not talk about James, please? Just for tonight?”

He nodded, “Of course, whatever you want. But can I just say one thing?” When she nodded her affirmation he continued, “I want to be clear that I know I asked for a lot from you when I encouraged you to press charges. I realize that it would take a lot from you and there would be only a slight chance that it would pay off. But I wanted you to know that if you did decide that you wanted to pursue charges that I’ll be here. Whatever you need.”

“Robby,” Gwen tilted her head a bit as she looked at him, “That’s sweet, but I just… You don’t have to do that, I… We’ve only been dating a few months and I have a lot of baggage.” He watched her eyes tear up.

“Well,” He scratched the back of his head, “I’m in love with you and your baggage so I think you’re stuck with me.”

She inhaled sharply, her heart beginning to race. They had never spoken about the depths of their relationship so openly. She had certainly felt like she was in love with him for weeks now, if not months.

They shared a bed most nights now and spent their days off together. Countless nights making dinner while sharing a bottle of wine, hikes in the mountains on their days off, nearly every moment spent together, even off shift.

It was in the dark of her bedroom the first time he had spoken of Pitt Fest, when she couldn’t quite see his face. She had wiped his tears silently, kissed his cheeks, whispered that he had done everything he could.

Weeks later, on a hike, he had told her about Adamson in the light of the Sun. She, in turn, shared her own stories about the pandemic. The Advanced Directives her and James had drawn up for themselves, just in case. The 12 year old girl she had lost in order to save her 9 year old brother. Some of her own nurses that had died on her shift.

It had healed something in both of them, just having someone to listen who understood.

And it had been staring her in the face for a while now that she could no longer picture her life without him in it.

But she had never expected him to be the first to admit it.

“Really?” She asked breathlessly, mind still reeling.

He nodded, “I mean it. I’m all in.”

She almost laughed, giddy at his confession, “I love you too.”

He exhaled slowly, and grinned at her, “Good, that’s a relief.”

He lowered himself beside her on the bed, and gently pulled her face to his to kiss her.

“Take a shower with me?” He murmured against her mouth.

She nodded, and he pulled her to standing. It was her apartment, but he had been here so many times, he knew how to find his way to her bathroom in the dark.

He left the lights off as he turned on the water and began to undress her. With every article of clothing he removed, he pressed a kiss to the bare skin revealed there. The gentle scratch of his beard against her skin left a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

Beneath his gentle and careful touch, she recognized the barely restrained hunger buried within. They had both had a difficult 48 hours, and so she knew he was keeping himself on a tight leash, should she not want anything further than this, this quiet tenderness. But one word from her and he would become ravenous.

They stepped into the warm spray of water and collectively sighed, Gwen rested her forehead against Robby’s chest. They stood like that for a few moments, the only sound was of the rushing water.

Robby pumped some soap into his hands, lathered it, and began running his hands over Gwen’s shoulders. She, in turn, mirrored him.

“You’re so tense.” She said quietly as she worked the soap into his skin. He grunted softly when she pushed her fingers deeper into his muscles.

As she worked the soap onto his body, she eventually felt his erection against her leg. He didn’t acknowledge it, instead continuing to focus on the sole job of cleaning her skin.

Gwen watched the warm spray of the shower wash the soap from his shoulders and then she kissed the freckles there, “Let me take care of you?” She murmured.

Finally his eyes lifted to meet hers. She saw the carefully lidded desire, embers smoldering in his eyes, but still, he said nothing.

Slowly, eyes never leaving his, Gwen lowered herself to her knees.

She took him fully into her mouth, one hand firmly on his base.

“Oh, fuck me,” He moaned and pressed a hand to the shower wall to steady himself.

Robby ran a hand through her hair, behind her ear, and down to her jaw, securing her chin between his fingers, “Gwen, baby,” He said breathlessly as she hollowed out her cheeks, “Keep looking at me, please. Want you to see what you do to me.”

Gwen moaned against his cock and Robby’s whole body shuddered at the sensation. He swore again, “I’m close,” He ground out and she quickened her movements in response until hot ropes shot down her throat.

She sucked until he was dry, Robby still shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and then she stood again.

Robby immediately grabbed her face and pulled her mouth to meet his. Gwen let out a soft gasp in surprise at the urgency of his kiss, she would’ve thought he’d be tired now, but he showed no sign of slowing.

“I want to taste you,” He said, and reached behind him to turn the shower off, “Go lie on the bed.” He instructed, mischief glinting in his eyes.

Gwen laughed, “I wasn’t done showering.”

“We’ll shower again,” He smirked and wrapped her towel around her shoulders, “After I’ve made a mess of you.”

She returned his grin and after drying off, headed back to the bedroom.

Gwen heard the padding of his feet on the hardwood behind her. He watched from the foot of the bed as she propped herself back onto the pillows.

Slowly, he crawled over her, kissing up her legs as he did so. His fingers dusted delicately across her skin, following his kisses closely.

Gwen fidgeted under his slow tease, sure she had to absolutely be dripping just from the look of him gazing at her body with pure undiluted adoration.

If he noticed her impatience he didn’t comment on it. When he began kissing her inner thigh, she could no longer hold back her sighs.

“Robby, please.” She whined finally.

He looked up at her, a cocky smirk on his face, “I’m sorry, I’ve been teasing you for too long, haven’t I?”

Finally, he parted her legs, hooking one of her thighs over his shoulder. He held eye contact with her on the first swipe of his tongue, drinking in the way her lips parted and eyelids fluttered. She was so beautiful, like an angel, the way her back arched at the flick of his tongue.

As he languidly circled her clit with his tongue, he slipped a finger inside her, and the moan she let out went straight to his cock. “So tight for me,” He murmured as he curled his finger upwards, “You’re already ready to finish, aren’t you sweetness?”

Gwen rutted her hips, searching for more friction from his mouth, chasing her high. She loved the sight of him between her legs. Loved the way he seemed to gorge on the taste of her, like he could never get enough. Robby could be difficult to read sometimes, he could be distant and moody and distracted. But here, on the hallowed ground that was their shared bed, she never doubted for a second how badly he wanted her. How he craved her, desperately. She felt it in every look, every touch, every kiss, every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

It felt holy, the way he worshipped her body when they were home together. She would never get tired of it. Just the thought of his soft brown eyes looking up at her from between her legs was enough to unravel her. And it did, then. He curled his finger once more against her walls before he felt her convulsing around him. She moaned his name as she came down and as she caught her breath, he came back up to her, beard full of the scent of her.

“Michael,” She said softly, eyes dazed, “Need you inside me, please.”

Robby tilted his head and smirked, “Really, you still want more?” The taste and feel of her had him erect again, but he doubted he’d be able to finish again.

“Please.” She said, and Robby noticed with some alarm, her lower lip was trembling.

“Hey, baby, what is it? What’s wrong?” He raised a hand to stroke her cheek gently, but she was shaking her head.

“I don’t know, I just feel…” She was crying in earnest now, “I think the day has finally caught up to me.” She reached between them, impatient to feel his erection, “Please, we don’t have to fuck, I just want the closeness, please, I want to feel you.”

He couldn’t deny her anything, not when she was like this, “Okay, shh,” He tried to say soothingly, “It’s alright.”

He slowly pushed himself inside her, watched as she gasped at the way he filled her up, and the tears that kept cascading down her cheeks, “I got you, baby.” He said softly as he slowly rocked his hips into hers. Robby cradled her head in his hands and kissed the wet trails on her cheeks, “You’re okay.”

Gwen pulled him closer, close enough that they were sharing breath, “I love you so much,” She said.

Robby pushed his nose into hers, “And I love you.” He kissed her, the saltiness of her tears on his tongue, “You’re alright,” He repeated, “I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t sure if he had somehow said the wrong thing, because she began sobbing earnestly. He stayed inside her, but he stopped his movements and simply wrapped her in his arms, holding her as tightly as he could manage. He continued to murmur soothing things in her ear, reminding her that he had her, that she was okay, that he loved her, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Eventually her sobs eased into hiccups.

“I’m sorry.” She said finally, her voice still thick with tears, “I don’t know what that was.”

Robby shook his head and pulled back enough to see her face, “It’s been a really hard couple of days for you. The physical release from your orgasm maybe triggered some emotional release.”

She huffed a laugh and stroked a hand down his cheek, eyes still shining wet with tears, “Well, thank you for…” She shook her head, “Maybe this is too much to say, but I don’t know that I would have survived today if not for you.”

“It’s not too much. I would do it ten times over if it meant ending the day like this, with you, in my arms. I would do anything to end every day like this, forever.”

Her lower lip trembled again and he caught it between his thumb and forefinger. She kissed the pad of his thumb and sniffled, “Careful. I might hold you to that, Robinavitch.”

He smiled, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Another laugh escaped her, and then she grew serious, “You’ll come with me to the police station tomorrow?”

He nodded, “Anything you want,” He kissed her slowly, “I love you.” He said again, drunk on the sound of it.

Gwen sighed against him, “I love you.”

God, did he love hearing it. The things he’d do to make sure he got to hear it every day for the rest of his life.

He brushed the backs of his knuckles against her cheek, “Let’s go get cleaned up again, shall we?”

In the shower again, they silently washed each other up. The desire in Robby’s eyes had been replaced by a tenderness, the depths of which Gwen didn’t think could be measured. She felt safe and loved and cherished under the weight of it, under the touch of his fingers as he methodically cleaned her body and followed the trails of suds as they were washed from her body with kisses.

Robby was safe. Robby was good. And most importantly, she got the feeling that Michael Robinavitch would love her until the end of time if only she gave him the chance to.

And she planned to give him the chance. She planned to give him everything.

#mine #the pitt fic #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby fic #michael robinavitch fic #dr robby x reader #dr robby x oc #the pitt fanfic #michael robinavitch fanfic

58 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 20 hours ago

Text

Forbidden

Summary: A lifetime ago, you used your hurt and your pain to terrorize the nation you called home. You were defeated by the Knight Commander of the Royal Family, and sentenced into exile. Years later, you’ve accepted your lot in life and use your necromancy to make sure that your farm remains sustainable. You never expect to see the Knight Commander again, he was very clear on that, and yet here he is. Sitting on your front stoop. Petting your skeleton dog.

Pairing: Commander Cody x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1856

Warnings: None, really

A/N: So I had something of an idea, and decided to see where I could go with it. I hope you all like it.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You eye the newspaper critically.

More specifically, the headline.

“CELEBRATING THE 10 YEAR DEFEAT OF THE NECROMANCER!” The story is a fluff piece. Detailing how wonderful life has become since the wicked Necromancer was killed.

You roll your eyes and flip open the paper to see what, actually important things, is happening in the wider world.

10 years ago you, A Necromancer who had been on the verge of achieving Lich-hood, was cut down by Knight Commander Cody. He could have killed you. He should have killed you. But instead, all he took was your arm and exiled you from your home nation with the promise that he’d come back if it looked like you were trying to take over the world again.

You wish you didn’t understand why.

But even before you were the Necromancer—a ridiculous title bestowed upon you by your enemies—and the Knight Commander, you and Cody had been friends. More than friends, even.

He had made promises, and you made promises in turn.

But the Princess of the Royal family favored Cody and she pushed and pushed until you finally broke. The straw that broke the camel’s back? The murder of your little brother. At the hands of the Princess’ personal guard.

You turned to necromancy to bring him back.

But the more you learned about the Princess, and the Royal Family as a whole, the more necessary your actions became.

...to be fair, you didn’t actually mean to kill the Princess. Oh, sure, you fantasized about it. But you weren’t actually going to do it. But she was the one who waltzed into your home as though it belonged to her, and she was the one who tried to stab you.

Really, all you did was defend yourself.

Still, you cast your gaze over to the female skeleton clad in a white dress who tends the herb garden outside your front window, you probably should have waited before turning her into a member of your skeleton army.

Oh well. It’s not like you can undo your actions, right?

Then you click your tongue as you read a smaller byline, talking about how the King and Queen are raising taxes. Again. It’s almost like they want a rebellion to form.

Whatever. It’s not your problem anymore.

You’re an honest citizen now. With cows and sheep and crops to tend to. With the able help of your skeleton legion, of course. You stand and stretch your arms over your head, making a face when your magical prosthetic makes a creaking noise in your ear.

Time for a tune-up. You’ll have to summon Monty from the in-between the next time you remember. You make a quite note on the notepad hanging on the fridge, and then grab an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table, and head towards the front door.

Maybe, this is the year you’ll start cultivating your own fruit orchard. It certainly can’t hurt. Besides, you’re fairly certain your neighbors are planning on selling their land, and if you get in early you might be able to get it for a steal.

You open your front door and immediately trip over the man sitting on the stairs.

You almost land on your face, but strong arms appear under you, steadying you and allowing you to topple into his lap instead.

“...seriously? Who sits right in front of someone’s door?”

“Ah, that would be me.” The voice is familiar. Familiar in a way that makes your blood turn to ice in your veins, and causes your fingers to twitch with the intention to gather your magic.

“Knight Commander.”

“Necromancer.”

You blink up at him, he looks...old. Tired. It’s only been 10 years, he’s only 36 years old. He shouldn’t look so old.

“You look like shit.” You say bluntly.

He shoots you a look that’s a mix between aggravated and painfully fond, “You still look like a model.”

“Oh, well. You know, clean living and fresh food—” You squirm out of his arms and smooth your shirt as soon as you’re on your feet, “So...are you here to kill me? I’m fairly certain I didn’t break any of your edicts—”

“No. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh.” You shift awkwardly, “So...why are you here?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?”

“Yeah, the last time you saw me you promised to kill me, so—”

“You killed the Princess and, like, a lot of other people. So many people.”

You scowl at him, “I’m aware of what I did and why I did it, Cod—er, Knight Commander. And I’m not anymore regretful about it today than I was ten years ago.”

He sighs, “Can we—can we maybe not?”

“You started it.”

Cody pauses and shoots you a look, “You haven’t grown up at all.”

You shrug, “If you wanna talk, you have to walk with me. I have chores I need to do.”

“You? Chores? Don’t you just made your legion do everything?”

“Don’t be silly. The animals are afraid of the skeletons. So they tend to the crops instead.” You turn to head towards the barn and you hear Cody fall into step behind you.

Though, as soon you you turn around the house, he pauses.

“What?” You ask, pausing as well to look over your shoulder.

“This is—” Cody trails off, “A lot more than I expected.”

You tilt your head curiously, and then flicker your gaze to your farm. You have four fields that you alternate between. You always have hay growing, one field is empty for recovery purposes, and then you have wheat growing in one field, and the other field is a mix of tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers. Plus a few other vegetables that you like to keep on hand.

You have two barns, one for cows and the other for sheep. And a single coop filled with hens. Not to mention the half dozen farm cats and herding dogs you have running around.

All in all, it’s a normal farm. A bit big for one person, but you sell the wheat and wool, and any spare milk, butter, and cheese you get from the dairy cows. Plus, you make good money on selling the calves to the other farmers in the area.

“I’ve been doing this for 10 years, Codes.” You finally say, “And I always excel in everything I do.”

“Yeah, but...you hated getting dirty. You used to pout whenever you got muddy.”

You scoff, “What? Did you send me out here to die then?”

“Of course not. I just expected you to need to rely on people out here.”

“Disappointed?”

“Happy.”

Your gaze lingers on his face for a moment, and then you sigh and look away, “You need to decide if you hate me or love me still, Codes. You’re confusing.”

He moves so he’s standing next to you, “If I hated you, I would have killed you all those years ago. What I want is what I’ve always wanted.”

“And what’s that?”

“For you to smile again.”

You falter, and then lift your hand to rub your temple, “You and your lines, Cody.”

“It’s not a line.” He bumps you with his shoulder, “You stopped smiling after I enlisted. And then your parents died to the pox, and your brother—” He pauses, “We found evidence, a couple of years ago.” He admits, “The Princess wrote down everything she did to discredit you. Including trying to kill you.”

“That was dumb of her. I should send her to Monty for some book learning.” You mutter.

“Why didn’t you say you killed her in self-defense?”

“Would you have listened?”

“Of course I would have! You’re you!”

You release a humorless laugh, “By the time the Royal Army arrived, I had already conscripted her into my legion. It wouldn’t have mattered what I said and we both know it.”

“If you hadn’t run—”

“I would have been killed. Properly killed. Not the pretend death you granted me.”

“That’s—” He trails off and you release a sigh.

“Cody, why are you here?”

“I need your help.” He admits.

“Shocking.”

“Don’t be mean.” Cody frowns at you, “The King and Queen are up to something. Something bad.”

“They’re royalty. That’s their whole thing.”

“No, you’re not listening.” Cody says through his teeth as he grabs your shoulders and spins you so you’re looking at him, “Please.”

You scan his face for a moment, and then you sigh, “Alright, Cody. I’m listening.”

“Servants and maids are vanishing. They show up for work and then no one sees them again. And the King and Queen have become very short tempered. And there’s this sensation—” He trails off.

“Go on?”

“I’m familiar with dark magic, because of you. I know what it feels like when it’s active. And the Palace absolutely reeks of dark magic.”

“I’m guessing you’ve investigated.”

“Of course, and I didn’t find anything.”

“And why me?”

“The King and Queen fear you.” He says it so simply that you just have to stare at him.

“They think I’m dead.”

“I may have allowed them to believe that you turned into a Lich.”

“Cody!”

“What? You were going to be the first human Lich in 2000 years. That’s a big deal. I was proud.”

You smack his arm, “You are supposed to be the Knight Commander of the Royal Guard. You’re not supposed to be proud.”

“Come on, it’s you.”

“You say things like that and it makes me feel like nothing has changed between us.”

“Nothing has changed.” His hands move from your shoulders to cradle your face, “You’re still the most stunning person I’ve ever met. And I still have an engagement ring in my dresser with your name on it.”

“Everything has changed Cody. You stood against me. You raised your sword against me. You took my arm.”

“I did. I did and I’m sorry.” His grip tightens, but not so much as to be painful, before he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, “But I’m on your side this time.”

“Codes, are you asking me to retake the mantle of the Necromancer?”

“Yes. I am. I can get my brothers on your side. All of them. Even the ones who don’t like you.”

“I’m a citizen now, Cody. Honest.”

“I’m not.” His answer stuns you. “I’m taking a stand against them with or without you, my love. But no one knows dark magic like you do. I need your help.”

“I don’t want to rule anymore, Cody.”

“That’s fine. You won’t have to.”

You sigh and avert your gaze, “Let me summon Monty. My arm needs some repairs, and he’s human enough to not spook the animals.” You pause and then focus your attention back on Cody, “They won’t thank you for this, you know.”

“I’m not doing it for thanks.”

“You’ll likely go down in history as the biggest villain in this nation’s history.”

“I know.”

“You’re lucky I still love you.”

And he smiles before he leans in a kisses you, “I know.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bb8-99

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@arctech-fox

@lokigirlszendaya

@sailorflora

@jetiimasterbekah

@six-1mpossiblethings

@clonetrooperjournals

@ct7567329

@thatforlornfeeling

@moose-ubi

@adamime

#star wars #tcw #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #star wars au

29 notes · View notes

theseinfernalangels · 6 hours ago

Text

“Just wait,” Ridoc says, plucking a bright gel pen from Rhi’s pencil case. “Go talk to her, and she’ll totally swoon. You can’t deny that it’s totally requited, man.”

Sawyer scowls and shakes his head, turning back to his binder full of notes. “It’s not requited,” he echoes, making little air quotes with his fingers. “And I’m not actually going to talk to her. She wouldn’t want me, anyway. She’s a library tech, and I do fucking mechanical engineering.”

Ridoc snorts. “So? Vi’s an English major with her, and look who she ended up with. Xaden ‘Exercise Science and Business Double Major’ Riorson. If anything, your brains seal the deal. Better you than some ROTC guy who’d try and reeducate her on the Cold War.”

The older boy groans a little, sinking into the worn couch. He rubs at his eyes, suddenly tired from studying and discussing the passing crush that he knows won’t go anywhere. Approaching someone like Jesinia was a stupid idea, anyway. According to Violet, she was nothing short of a fucking angel, and someone like that didn’t need all of Sawyer’s bullshit and baggage creeping up on them in their day-to-day. He couldn’t even talk to her properly — it felt like he was the only one on campus who never learned how to sign.

Oh, though — how he wished he could get to know her. Those beautiful eyes of hers held more than what she could convey. Sawyer knows complexity when he sees it, and he’s willing to bet that Jesinia’s more interesting than all four of his roommates combined.

“Mail time,” Ridoc announces. Sawyer looks up to watch Sliseag snatch a small stack of mail from his little box and pad over to the two men, pressing his nose to Sawyer’s leg in gentle greeting. He scratches between the husky’s ears in greeting before sifting through the papers easily. He curses as one slips out from behind his bank statement and falls softly to the floor.

“I got it.” Ridoc snags the envelope between to fingers and suddenly goes still at the sight of the light blue paper.

His eyes flit over to Sawyer’s. Waiting.

“What?” He asks, snatching the mail from his friend’s fingers. He looks down at the writing and fucking chokes.

The script of his name and address is beautiful, looped and even and absolutely perfect against the blue of the envelope.

Sawyer Henrick

3659 Cruach Ct.

Basgiath, Morraine, Navarre

What stands out more, though, are the words on the corner of the paper, at the return address:

Jesinia Neilwart

9362 Staidear Dr.

Basgiath, Morraine, Navarre

Sawyer doesn’t even need to look over to know that Ridoc has the biggest, widest, shit-eating grin on his face. “What was that about it being unrequited?”

It earns the sophomore a pillow and some muttered cursing to the face.

So, that post I made about the squad’s majors yesterday — I have subsequently came up with a fic idea, and now you all will have to live with the knowledge that it exists but isn’t written because I’m too busy now:

Sawyer Henrick has had a crush on Jesinia Neilwart, a cute library tech, for a little over six months, and he doesn’t plan on embarrassing himself by making it known. Sawyer’s roommates, though, have a different plan.

What does this plan consist of, you ask?

(Tasteful) Stalking

Well-timed entrances by Sawyer’s dog

A Sign-Language class

Ridoc using his student radio show to amp up the vibes

#fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame #onyx storm #sawyer henrick #sawyer x jesinia #ridoc gamlyn #fourth wing fic

21 notes · View notes

readwritealldayallnight · 5 months ago

Text

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

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #cod fanfic #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon fluff #simon riley fluff

5K notes · View notes

sevsgiirl · 2 months ago

Note

Omg okay I can't stop thinking about needy lovesick Sevika with a younger femme partner (you can totally do a continuation of the fic you wrote) so what if, she's a little needy&insecure for their age gap? That her girl gets bored/annoyed with her? (She doesn't have this type of thoughts all the time, but the seeds of doubts grows when she hears other people talk, not directly about her and reader, but in general but it does linger when others points out how different they are) or in her own way, she start craving more compliments, affections from her but dunno how to do it and at the same time she's trying to gauce if her girl still likes her (she does!!) yet just the thoughts/doubts hurts Sevika like so bad, because she would do anything for her darling, what she has to do to make her girl still love her and not leave her?

— sevika with a younger partner and feeling insecure

synopsis: sevika doesn’t have a type. whether they’re older or younger, just as long as they could keep up with her that’s all mattered. but ever since you two started dating, she starts to wonder if she’s the one who could keep up with you and how deep down, it scares her that you might find a problem with it eventually.

note: I just had to post this before going to sleep because the idea is too good. I love the way your brain works and again, thank you for sending in the req <3 love you and I hope you like this.

you were a beacon of light in the cesspool of chaos that is sevika’s life.

to this day, she still doesn’t understand how you and her got into a relationship but here you are now, going strong for almost a year and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you two rarely get into arguments, when you did she never hesitates to reach out and fix the situation right away because she can’t stand being on bad terms with you for long.

you two are on the same mental wavelength, which sevika appreciates given how you’re a lot younger than her. she’s in her 40s and you were in 20s, but sometimes she forgets because conversations always run smoothly between you two.

but just because she forgets that doesn’t mean other people fail to bring it up.

when you started dating, it was a bit difficult given how it wasn’t received well by a lot of her peers. not that they judged her for it because they could never unless they wanted to have their face busted in. but it was the occasional remarks that had a hint of judgement in them that made sevika uncomfortable.

things such as “she’s a bit young, isn’t she? you better keep an eye on her especially because you’re always at work. it’s hard being in a relationship with someone who’s at a different stage in life as you.”

both of you had jobs but her work compared to yours was hectic. you work as a waitress at jericho’s meanwhile sevika is paid to get her hands dirty for silco. the job was tedious and draining and sometimes she comes home, tired to the bone that she could barely catch up with you. which she feels immensely guilty for.

you’ve reassured her that it isn’t a big deal and that you understand her status in zaun is far more important than yours. you’ve always acknowledged sevika’s role in the under city and why she was feared by many, that’s what attracted you to her in the first place. she was loyal, devoted and her endurance was insane.

but still, despite how sevika’s job is her number one priority, it still doesn’t slip her mind that she may accidentally neglect you and your needs without her knowing.

and she knows it takes a toll on you too, you just don’t want to bring it up because you respect her too much. and she was right because when she came home early one night you weren’t there, and it was almost midnight when you finally returned and you were shocked to see sevika sitting on your couch waiting for you. usually she’d be back around 2-3am.

“hey, you didn’t tell me silco would let you off the hook early,” you said but your words became background noise because she was too focused on your appearance. you were dressed up and from where she sat she could tell you’ve had a lot to drink.

it’s not that it upset sevika you went out, you could do whatever you want but it saddens her that you didn’t even go out of your way to tell her about it assuming she’d be coming home late. is this what you do when she’s not here? go out with your friends and have fun? it’s not that she expects you to wait for her in your apartment all day while she’s away for work.

still, the thought bothers her as she wonders what you must’ve been up to while she was gone. she tries to set the thought aside, not wanting to think bad of you because she knows you’d never go against her back. but certain thoughts crept up at the back of her mind. did you meet someone while you were out? were you offered drinks? did someone invite you out to dance?

“sev, baby, you there?” she didn’t even realize she zoned out until she felt you cupping her cheek “are you tired? you shouldn’t have stayed up for me.”

she shook her head “it’s alright. but yeah, silco let me off early and I wanted to surprise you.”

your shoulders sagged “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d come home late again so I decided to just go out with friends. had I known I would’ve waited so we can stay in and cuddle.”

despite your flattery words, the only thing that stuck to sevika was you implying she’d be late again. you didn’t mean it maliciously, there was no bitterness in your tone but instead there was just… acceptance. which frustrated her because people were right.

perhaps being at different stages in life does this. you needed a partner who you can home to and have fun with but instead you got her who’s always late, is already asleep when you probably want to stay up and have sex at night. she would force herself to push through just for you but she isn’t getting any younger and it shows.

maybe it’s because others have planted it in her head that you two are just far too different that’s why she’s overthinking like this, but it’s becoming more and more evident that they were right and if she doesn’t find a way to fix this, god knows before you start seeing the cracks and the dents as well.

and so in the following day she asked silco if she could cut off her usual hours at work to get back home early. at least for a few weeks and silco was shocked for a second because if there was anyone who’s extremely dedicated to their job, it’s her.

but it’s because of that he deliberates on the request “very well,” he answered “but if the matters are urgent I expect you to come in either way,”

well, it’s better than nothing, sevika thought. what matters is she’ll try to find some time to spend the following weeks with you and to hopefully regain the spark in your relationship.

not that she’s saying it’s lost but she’s scared it will. because if her days don’t consist of work, she’s either at the bar playing cards to blow off some steam, which isn’t exactly a productive way of spending one’s time.

unlike you, you have tons of friends who you go out with at clubs and sevika just doesn’t want to think about all the people you meet there, who are probably the same age as you, and have wanted to ask you out but you turned them down because of her.

meanwhile, she’s here and she can’t even keep you happy like how you deserve.

it eats her up alive that’s why as soon as she comes back from work a lot earlier than usual, she immediately engulfs you in a back hug when she sees you cooking in the kitchen.

you gasped, not expecting her “sev, you’re home.” you were surprised as you turned around “did something happen?”

she shook her head, smiling “no sweetheart, silco just let me off early again. plus I’ve been meaning to spend more time with my girl…”

you still weren’t used to the disruption of the routine, because she’s normally away at these hours, but you weren’t complaining.

and with that, you spent most of the evening cooking and catching up with each other. you didn’t miss the way sevika followed you around the house like a lost puppy when you started cleaning up to get ready for bed.

you raised an eyebrow when she wrapped her arms around your waist while you were washing the dishes, noticing how she’s awfully more needy than usual.

“baby, go rest. you just got back home from work.” you giggled and she just shook her head.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like I haven’t been the best partner.”

that halted you in your tracks and you angled your head so you can face her “baby, what makes you think that?” your eyebrows were furrowed and she just held you tighter.

she lets out a breath, tired and awfully nervous about vocalizing her doubts. what if once she points it out you start seeing the red flags too? and then these affectionate gestures just won’t be enough? what then?

“I know with my job and the responsibilities I have, I haven’t been able to fulfill your needs. you have so much ahead of you and I’m always at work and I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m wasting your time.” she said and you just stood there, letting her words sink in.

“you’re young and you could be with someone whose head isn’t always stuck in a bunch of paperwork or is running around the lanes doing silco’s dirty work.” her jaw clenched and she starts to wonder if admitting to all of this was a good idea.

“I’m sorry, princess. I just don’t want to bore you by leaving you here at home all by yourself…”

you immediately swiveled around in her arms and took her face in your hands.

“sev, look at me.” you said, your voice stern “I could give less than two fucks about people my age. you think when I got into a relationship with you I didn’t know what I was signing myself up for? of course I did and I don’t regret any of it. I know you have responsibilities and I accepted all of your duties the moment you became mine.”

“I could never be bored of you, baby.” you told her, thumb caressing her cheek “you don’t treat me any differently because of my age so why should I? I love it that you’re so hard at work and that you provide for me. the fact my salary at jericho’s isn’t even enough to pay half of our rent but you don’t mind because you provide for us both, why would I find that boring? that’s fucking sexy.”

she couldn’t help but let out a snort “oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re staying with me because I’m basically your sugar mommy?”

you grinned “amongst other things,” you said before capturing her lips with your own.

the kiss was hot, heavy and slow as sevika gripped your hips and pulled you against her. pushing her knee up and sliding it across your thighs and she started rubbing against your clothed cunt, making you whimper.

“so you’re not bored of me? or mad?” she asked as she pulled away to look at you.

you rolled your eyes “you could be 23 or 75 for all I care and I still wouldn’t get bored of you.”

your finger drew circles around her chest as you fluttered your eyes up at her “plus you fuck me like you’re 23 anyway, so I don’t see why I would look for someone my age.”

she couldn’t help but laugh, swooping you up in her arms and you circled your legs around her waist as she walked you to your bedroom “god, you’re such a handful.” she said.

you smirked “but you love it.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #drabble #sevika drabble #req #dividers by ithemes

1K notes · View notes

not-neverland06 · 9 months ago

Text

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.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

5K notes · View notes