#and fury actually dragged him by it at one point

[to-be-spared]

fadelstyle post episode 7 fix-it sorry i couldn't help myself bye

(even if it’s handcuffed) i’m leaving here with you (here on AO3)

Style has always been an enthusiastic and vocal member of the not a jeep club, but driving Fadel’s is making him rethink his stance.

He’s momentarily keeping that thought in the ever growing tell Fadel while he’s not holding a gun pile of thoughts in his head. There are some good ones in there. You look hot holding a gun. Can we get a re-do of the I love you thing? Seems like you might have missed it.

It’s not the gun that’s stopping him, if he’s being fully honest. Or, well, it’s not just the gun. It’s the combination of the gun and the frankly worrisome shadows under Fadel’s eyes, the line between his eyebrows and the way he keeps digging his fingers in the nape of his neck.

“You really should take a nap.”

Fadel throws an annoyed glance at the road in front of them. Style is kind of jealous. “Yeah, well, you really should shut the fuck up.”

“Have you tried shutting up when you have so many important things to say? It’s borderline criminal.” Style thinks about it for a second. “Unlike the kidnapping at gunpoint thing. That’s jumping over the line with both feet kind of criminal.”

Fadel glares at him, and Style counts it as a win. He shrugs. “You’re the one with the gun.” He looks down nonchalantly, at the dark space between them where he can still catch the gleam of the gun aimed at him.

“You’re the one who likes it,” Fadel spits out, and seems to immediately regret it as he looks away with a heavy sigh.

Too late.

“Funny you should mention it,” Style provides enthusiastically, adjusting his hold on the steering wheel so he can sit up a bit more, “It’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Any moment is a right moment when you’re about to die,” Fadel responds, voice low and eyes fixed outside his window.

Style’s brow creases for a moment. “It doesn’t seem like you follow your own philosophy. Firstly. Do you remember how long it took you to finally give in and sleep with me? The right time was when you crushed your car into mine.”

Fadel’s mouth snaps open and shut so quickly that Style would have missed it if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s alternating looking at him and the road like he’s watching a ping-pong match. He smirks. “Secondly, enough with the death threats. You’re overusing them and I fear they’ll stop doing it for me sooner than I’d like.”

Fadel glares at him. There’s genuine fury there, and Style braces himself, fingers tight on the wheel. Fadel turns fully towards him, gun aimed at Style’s stomach. Which, would hurt.

“Do you think it’s wise to remind me of the fact that you pretended to like me because of fucking Kant while I have a gun in my hands and no good reason to not fucking shoot you?”

Style tries to bite down on it. He really does. “I’m the one driving. That’s a pretty good reason.”

There is a moment of glacial silence before Fadel says, “Pull over.”

Style ponders his options for a moment. Death, if Fadel does actually want him dead. If not, well. He hasn’t had a chance to explain the gun thing as thoroughly as he would have liked quite yet.

He pulls over. It’s dark outside and there’s barely anyone around.

Fadel fights against the seatbelt and his shoulder to open the car door. Yeah, Style gets his gun speech ready.

Fadel opens the door on Style’s side and grabs a clumsy fistful of Style’s shirt to drag him out of the car – which would be easier, Style would like to point out, if it wasn’t a fucking jeep.

Style half steps, half tumbles out of the car, ends up standing on his tip-toes in an attempt to not crush into Fadel’s injured shoulder.

“You’re not driving now,” Fadel growls, hand still mercilessly twisting the fabric of Style’s shirt.

Style’s breath is a bit shallow. “You left the gun in the car.”

“You think I need a gun to kill you?”

And Style has to give him that. Hitman, after all. “No. I know you don’t.” He glances at Fadel’s lips because, yeah, Fadel doesn’t need a gun to kill him.

“I swear to god,” Fadel’s voice is shaking with anger, “I swear to fucking god, Style, if you kiss me right now I will kill you and I won’t think twice about it.”

Style’s eyes slide upwards. He considers Fadel for a moment. “You’re upset about the Kant thing,” he verbalizes slowly as the realization hits him, “You don’t – ”, he exhales an exasperated sigh as he opens his arms wide. “How many times do I have to tell you that I like you?”

He barely gets the words out before Fadel’s hand slams on his mouth, so much strength behind it that it sends them both falling back into the car, Fadel ending up on top of him with a pained moan as he hits Style left shoulder first.

“Oh, great plan,” Style grumbles, something digging painfully into his back, fucking jeeps. “Is this amateur hour?”

“Shut up,” Fadel says, but there is enough pain in his voice that it comes out more breath than sound. He braces his good hand on Style’s chest and pushes himself up, sweat collecting on his forehead, eyes shut.

“No,” Style says, bending his knees awkwardly as he pulls himself back up, “No, fuck you, I won’t shut up. Sure, you’ll kill me,” he parrots before Fadel can interrupt him. “Whatever, at least I’ll have made on thing fucking clear. Sit in the fucking car.”

Fadel’s shoulders move with the depth of his breaths, quick things he’s trying to sedate the pain with. He doesn’t move.

Style negotiates. “Your shoulder hurts,” he says, calmly. “Sit in the car, I’ll keep driving.”

Fadel doesn’t move, standing stubbornly in the shadows.

Style rolls his eyes. “I won’t say that I like you, okay? Is that enough?”

Fadel tilts his chin, ever so slightly.

“Please,” Style says, and it’s his last resort and his voice goes a little bit softer. “You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

There is a moment of hesitation, and then, “See if you can keep your word about this, at least,” Fadel spits out.

Style thinks about getting in the car and leaving him there. But he does enjoy a challenge.

He gets in the car and slams the door shut. He’s back on the road before Fadel has gotten the chance to fully close his own.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Style presses down on the accelerator. “Shoot me,” he says, eyes fixed on the road that’s lit up by the car’s headlights and seems endless in front of them. “I don’t care. You will listen to what I have to say, you’ve done way too much talking for someone who’s so bad at it.”

The briefest of silences is interrupted by Fadel’s bitter laugh. “Of course you’re this selfish.”

“Fuck off,” Style replies without missing a beat. “You know I am, and you like it.”

“I don’t like anything about you.”

It’s petty and childish, but it’s tinged with enough venom that Style feels it. He pushes it to the side for the moment. Fadel and he will have to talk about conflict resolution strategies.

“I fell in love with you when you blushed while we were having sex at my place – shut up, shut up, I didn’t say anything about liking you. And you know what, for the record? That was after Kant told me what you do for a living, or as a fifteenth fucking job, I don’t know, I’ve lost count. You fucking blushed, man, and I just lost it. Me.” He leaves a moment of silence to emphasize how unbelievable that had been. “You once asked me why I started flirting with you and sure, fine, okay? I started because Kant asked me to, and that was shitty of me, but do you seriously, seriously,” he looks at Fadel for good measure, “think I would have been able to go on for so long if I hadn’t found you fucking irresistible when I saw that you actually care and that you go to the market every morning for your restaurant and that you protect your brother and that you’re scared shitless and that you like heavy metal so much you learnt how to do makeup?”

Style might have raised his voice more than he’d intended. “Oh, and since we’re laying it all out here, I do find you hot as hell, too.”

Style shrugs his shoulders, trying to shrug the tension out of his neck. “So, be angry. Be furious at me because of the way this whole mess started. Be mad because I was unknowingly, by the way, technically working for the police. Shoot me. But I’ve had enough of you telling me how I feel. I know how I feel.”

He looks at Fadel, and he clearly thinks fuck the road for a moment. Fadel’s eyes are wide, his jaw clenched shut. If Style sees him cry one more time he might actually take his gun, turn back and go solve shit himself.

He takes a couple of deep breaths. He softens his voice because this is not a weapon. “I do love you. I don’t care. You’re my one-hundred percent.”

He turns his eyes to the road. “Even if I’m not yours.”

There is silence, and Style isn’t fully comfortable with it. He probably makes it one minute. “How’s your shoulder?”

When it takes Fadel more than a handful of seconds to reply, Style chances a look at him. He’s half expecting to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

But Fadel is just leaning against his seat, head tilted back slightly as he looks at him. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself and is trying very hard to figure it out. Almost, it seems, against what he wishes was his better judgment, he says, “Eighty-one percent.”

[rainbowsuitcase]

There’s an extra strap on the back of Cap's suit and no one can figure out what it's for

AN: This is heavily inspired by an AO3 fic with a very similar premise but I cannot for the life of me find it. If you recognize it, please send it my way so I can credit the author

Tony adds the strap to every new suit he designs, even though he's as clueless about its use as everyone else. The srap is completely hidden when Steve has the shield on his back, so it seems utterly useless to Tony, but he figures it's some old army thing he doesn't understand.

When Steve noticed it on the first suit Tony made him, his face did a very weird thing but he never said anything. And because he's not someone who has trouble expressing his dislike for something, it was obviously supposed to stay there.

Sometimes the strap drives Tony mad. The whole team has a bet on what it's for, but all of them have pretty much given up hope that they'll ever get a real answer.

And then they don't have the time to worry about it anyway, because they find the Winter Soldier. Or rather, he finds them, in a way unpleasant for everyone involved, and with him comes Hydra and a giant mess they need to fix.

It takes a long time, painful, exhausting, but eventually, they get to go on a normal, less serious mission again (really, it's a ridiculous mission - a cruise ship that's stuck on the open ocean because robot fish started terrorizing it is just... really?), with Bucky Barnes sitting in the quinjet right next to Steve, who still hasn't come off the high of getting him back.

From the cockpit, Natasha alerts them that they're nearing the drop off point and the hangar door starts opening for them to get out. As usual, Steve is the first to get up, shield already on his arm.

It should really be Tony, because he's the one who can actually fly, but Steve is proactive like that and they've all gotten used to just letting him do his thing.

Except now, Bucky's hand shoots out and he grabs the backstrap.

All of them freeze to stare.

"Parachute," Bucky grumbles as Steve tries to twist out of his hold, but he seems to know it's a losing battle.

"Buck, c'mon!" he complains. "I don't need it!"

Bucky grabs the parachute with his free hand and gives it to him with a pointed look.

Steve sighs and actually reaches for it with an eyeroll, and Natasha gives Tony the sign to jump, so he unfortunately doesn't get to see the rest of that interaction.

He also unfortunately doesn't get to adress it until they're on the way home.

"So, Barnes," he says casually, holding a wonderfully cool water bottle to his neck. "Is that what the thing is for?"

Bucky frowns at him. He looks at his own metal hand, like Tony could somehow be talking about that, but he seems to conclude he has no idea. "What thing?"

"The strap thing." Tony gestures vagualy in Steve's direction. "On Cap's back, the thing you grabbed. Is that what it's for?"

Bucky glances at Steve with a frown that seems surprised, confused and pissed off at the same time. Thought to be fair, he always looks pissed off. "You mean the Cap handle?" he says slowly. "You haven't figured that out until now?"

It's Clint that bursts out laughing first, but Tony isn't far behind. "The what?"

Steve's whole face goes bright red.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves” -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[killerpancakeburger]

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse

SUMMARY: Soap finds out that his girlfriend is a skilled mercenary. And that he likes it... a lot.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Established relationship, Badass!Reader, Smitten!Soap.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, misogynistic comments/insults, mention of: blood, death, kidnapping/hostage taking, torture, weapons, suggestive content (Soap is Horny), military inaccuracies, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: yes I am still writing the civilian fic with Ghost and Soap... but then I had this idea and thought I could finish it ""quickly"". Written on mobile so if there are mistakes feel free to tell me!!

Soap let out a yawn big enough to dislocate his jaw, staring at his captain with mild resentment.

“This couldn’t hae waited til after breakfast, sir?”

“‘Fraid It could not, John. Actually in just a few minutes you'll be barking at me to know why we haven't gotten a move on already.”

Johnny looked back at his superior with perplexity, before glancing over at his teammates around the table, hoping for a scrap of information. Ghost remained imperturbable while Gaz shrugged.

“We received this video thirty minutes ago. Addressed to a certain Sergeant MacTavish.”

His captain turned on the projector and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. It was his teammates’ turn to glance at him questioningly, and to him to shrug with ignorance.

The Scottish soldier rubbed his face in an attempt to get rid of his lasting drowsiness as the video projected on the white screen facing them was starting.

A group of armed men in balaclavas were occupying a room. The one in the front spouted the classic ransom demand in exchange for a hostage. Nothing worth being summoned at the crack of dawn for.

Then the spokesman moved aside, revealing their detainee, bound to a chair and gagged, shooting daggers at her captors, and Soap almost knocked over the table with how brutally he stood up. Carried away by white-hot fury, he slammed his hands on the table.

“Fuckin’ - what the fuck is this!? When did this happen? Where are those fucking bastards? I -”

Rage had roughened his usually smooth voice, granting it a gravelly pitch, turning his shout into a growl.

“Control yourself, Sergeant”, interrupted Price, “It's not over yet.”

On the screen, the same man as before grabbed your hair, ignoring your murderous glare, forcing you to look at the camera, and coaxed you with disdain before taking off your gag:

“Come on doll, gonna have to beg real pretty for your man to get him to rescue you.”

The second your mouth was freed, you snarled at him, baring your teeth like you were about to bite.

“I'm gonna rip your throat out with my bare hands, you f-”

“Fuck, someone muzzle that rabid bitch”, swore your agressor, your belligerence clearly having thrown a wrench in his plans.

Soap could not help the flare of pride soaring in his chest at the view of your defiance and your grit.

After receiving their orders, the team left the room to prepare themselves for the assault. 

“A friend of yours?” asked Gaz, while Ghost questioned “Ya know her?”

“That's mah girl”, admitted the Scotsman, a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away. The cat was out of the bag. For your own sake, you had been a well-kept secret, but it was blatant that it didn’t protect you.

“Been together for a year. Never meant to drag her into this, though.”

“She sounds like a bloody riot, mate.” teased Garrick.

“She doesn't seem fazed to be taken hostage. Mainly pissed.” pointed out Ghost, wary.

“She's fearless.” admitted Soap with an enamored little smile. “Doesn't mean we don’t have to get her out of this though.”

His expression shifted from fondness to cold determination.

“‘F course.”

“We've got your back.”

“Gaz? You copy?” called Ghost over coms.

The afornamed was tasked with overwatch. His response arrived, marked by hesitation.

“...  I don't think she needs our help, guys.”

“The fuck s’that supposed to mean?” grumbled the Lieutenant.

“It'd be better if you'd see for yourselves. Third window on the right, second floor.”

Ghost took out a pair of binoculars and pointed them at the given position.

“Fooking hell…”

The expletive was mumbled with a mix of surprise and… awe?

“What? What! Lemme see L.T.!” pleaded Soap.

Ghost quickly passed him the tool, eager to make him shut up. The sergeant hastened to shove them against his face. His gaze took in the sight in front of him and he let out an appreciative whistle.

“Steamin’ jesus…”

He drank in the view that was your bloody display of fierce skill and deadly efficiency. You staggered between the enemies with fluidity, making them seem like clumsy amateurs. Slicing a throat there, shooting a head here, he watched with fascination as you used a dead attacker as a human shield.

“I think I'm hard.”

“TMI,  Soap.” 

Gaz coupled his comment with a gagging noise.

“Can ye blame me! Mah lass is oot there bein’ a bonafide badass ‘n’ that's the hottest shit a've ever seen.”

“M not blaming you for being a horny bastard, I'm blaming you for not keeping it to yourself.”

“If you two are done bickering, we could go pick her up.” groaned Ghost.

Letting Garrick past, he grabbed Soap by the shoulder as he was walking by him.

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going out with a killer.”

“Nae, but it turned out to be a good thing, didn’t it? Cannae imagine how badly this would have ended with a civilian. The wounds, the trauma…”

Ghost let out one of his grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.”

Positioning themselves near that final entrance, Soap nodded in response to Ghost's hand signal, waiting for him to break the door down. They were still on their gard in case some of the assailants survived.

In the ensuing silence, your voice reached his ears through the wall he was propped against.

“Come on doll”, you taunted, imitating your captor's scornful tone from earlier, sickly sweet then venomous. “Tell me who you work for and I won't gouge out your remaining eye.”

Johnny gulped. Eavesdropping on this definitely did not help with the… situation in his pants.

The racket produced by Ghost dealing with the door had the merit to make him focus once again. 

His body moving automatically, his training taking over, Soap charged into the room, pointing his rifle at the only person left standing there. Like a reflection of himself, you were aiming your own firearm at him. Your eyebrows were frowned in concentration, your eyes glinting with cold determination. Then recognition dawned on your face, and you heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your weapon.

“It's you! You scared the shit out of me.”

Relief flooded through him at the sight of you, bruised, battered, and blood-spattered, but alive. He tossed his gun aside as you put down yours, ready to embrace you, but Ghost's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Back off, Soap.”

An order. Johnny stared at him in shock.

“What the hell, L.T.?”, he hissed in his direction.

You docilely raised your hands in the air as the masked man lined up the end of his gun's barrel with your head.

“Worst rescue party ever”, you mumbled to yourself.

“Sorry, Johnny”, grumbled Skullface, not sounding sorry in the slightest, never taking his eyes off you. “But do your usual conquests take down a dozen armed men on their own?”

Illustrating his words, he gestured with his rifle to the ground littered with corpses. The man you had started to interrogate - the only one left alive - whined in pain.

“So what's your deal? Ya a mole? Shagging Johnny for intel?”

“Ghost!” Soap gasped, offended for himself as much as for you. “M not some clueless newbie!”

You made a face at the question. You understood where he was coming from, hell you’d do the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed sharing details of your sordid past, especially with a stranger. The less people knew about it, the better.

“I used to be a mercenary for a family who did organized crime. Been clean for years though.”

“Oh yeah? They let you leave just like that?”

“The boss’ daughter had a soft spot for me.”

The lieutenant stared at you for a few more seconds, as if judging the veracity of your statements through sight alone, before lowering his weapon.

A resounding “Bonnie!” rang out. Next thing you knew, your boyfriend's muscular arms closed around you, causing you to yelp, pain running through you at the overeager contact. Soap cursed and apologized profusely.

“Bloody hell, a'm sorry, didnae mean tae hurt ye. Are ye alright? Show me where it hurts. If those bastards leid a hand on ye, I swear-”

There was something both flattering and arousing with how the more Soap lost his cool, the more pronounced his accent became, and the rougher his voice sounded. You placed a finger across his mouth to put an end to his verbal onslaught, an endeared smile on your own.

“At ease, soldier. I'm OK, just some bruised ribs and a busted eyebrow.” you summarized while pointing to the trickle of dried blood on the side of your face.

He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture that felt terribly intimate, an adoring grin adorning his lips.

“Cannae believe ye wiped out those sorry fuckers all on yer own. Fuck, that's hot.” he confessed in a subdued tone.

You threw your head back in laughter, only to wince when your sore ribs manifested themselves.

“Never heard that one before. Could get used to it, though.”

You laced your fingers behind his neck, nonchalantly leaning against him, not fighting back an impish smile. Soap's hands grabbed your hips in response. Your roguish expression must have gotten the better of his restraint, because one breath later, he was hungrily pressing his mouth against yours. You replied in kind, swiftly deciding you did not care for his colleagues’ presence, and he moaned in appreciation.

After a minute or two, you broke the kiss against your will, remembering an issue that needed to be solved. You smiled, amused by the vision that was Soap chasing your lips blindly, then pouting when you refused him.

“So you guys are gonna take care of the bodies, right…? I can deal with one or two, but this is a bit much.”

The last soldier, the one you didn’t hear from yet, a pretty man with dark skin that Soap would later introduce as Gaz, assured you that they would handle it.

Transferring your attention back to Johnny, you noticed a trace of guilt in those ocean eyes of his, as he was staring at you.

“Something wrong?”

“Ye not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” you frowned.

“It's mah fault if those bastards took ye.”

“Oh, Johnny…” you sighed wistfully, cupping his face. “I knew what the risks were when I chose to date a soldier. Plus, there will always be a chance that my past catches up to me. I was pretty fucking mad when I got a hood shoved on my head and my arms twisted behind my back before getting hauled away in the middle of the fucking night, but not at you.”

Once they gathered all the intel they needed and dragged away the only survivor, the team and you left the building. Your testimony was required for the mission report, so you accompanied them without protest, longing for the care that would be provided by their medical facility.

As you were walking to their vehicule, hand in hand with Soap, you noted how he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His cerulean eyes kept greedily roaming all over you, like you were a vision so dream-like it was making him doubt your reality, like you would vanish the second he stopped contemplating you.

“Yer one badass lass, y'know that? ‘M so proud o’ ye. Proud tae be yers.”

A/N: Ghost's "grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.” " is based on my grandma 💀

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (08)

It’s been a while everyone, how have you been? Good I hope, final season is officially over for me, so I’ll go back in my usual schedule.

Warning: cursing

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

07 <- 08 -> 09

Masterlist

Taglist -> if you want to be tagged on the next update

The first day after the "incident" had been spent curled up in bed at your apartment, feeling like a prisoner awaiting their inevitable sentence. You half-expected the police to burst through your door at any moment, Red Riot at their side, ready to un-break your nose all over again. Maybe even Shoto Todoroki, wrapped in a Mylar blanket, pointing at you and shouting, “That’s the one, officer!”

Anger pulsed through you, searing and relentless. Each time you closed your eyes, memories ambushed you. Shoto’s desperate pleas, Kirishima’s glare brimming with fury, the sharp sting of your broken nose. The rage felt alive, coiling beneath your skin, hot and suffocating. Sleep was a distant and impossible dream. Every time you thought you were drifting off, your mind screamed at you, reminding you just how utterly fucked up this whole situation was. You had replayed the scene over and over, thinking about what you could have done differently. Fantasies of smashing Red Riot’s nose into an unrecognizable, never seen before, shape shape danced in your head. You had cursed yourself for not slapping common sense back into Shoto Todoroki’s head the second he started his « alpha alpha » bullshit. Sure, as a doctor, you understood how bad heat could cloud someone’s judgment and his was so absurd it bordered on mockery. Alpha ? You ? Yeah no. You had accepted your beta sentence years ago. Still you were too furious to listen to your inner doctor self.

The rage still burned beneath your skin, raw and unrelenting, until it felt like shards of glass grinding against your skull. Every furious thought made your head throb, the ache bleeding into your nose, your jaw, your very core. It was suffocating—too much. So, you forced it down, swallowed the anger and shoved it deep into the pit of your stomach. You were so tired. Your body ached, heavy and fragile, ready to collapse under the weight of it all. Eventually, stillness crept over you, your body sank even deeper into your bed and finally sleep came.

.

.

.

The piercing sound of your ringtone jolted you awake the next day. You groaned, threw the phone across the room, and buried your head under the pillow. The hospital, no doubt. You could already imagine their cold, painfully professional and clipped voice stripping away years of sacrifice and dedication: “Your license has been revoked as a result of gross negligence and inappropriate conduct toward a patient. You are no longer permitted on hospital premises.” The thought made bile rise in your throat. Not yet. You weren’t ready to hear it.

Muttering curses, you dragged yourself upright, only to be startled by the loud growl of your stomach. Hunger clawed at you, and for the first time in days, you had a problem you could actually solve.

"Alright," you mumbled to the empty apartment. If this was your last stretch of freedom before the cops came knocking, you might as well enjoy it. So you ordered everything: Italian, Vietnamese, Chinese. Thankfully, the food arrived quickly. You might have felt a twinge of guilt for the overworked delivery man, struggling to juggle all your bags in one trip—if you had the energy to care. Instead, you handed him the payment, mumbled a quick thanks, and hurried back to the table, arms overflowing with paper bags and boxes. It was a feast. Too much, by any reasonable measure, but reason had no place here. It was pure indulgence, but in your situation, indulgence couldn’t possibly be a sin. It was a necessity—the final wish of a professionally dead woman.

The first bite was salvation. Rich, greasy cheese melted on your tongue as the thick crust of the pizza gave way beneath your teeth. The bánh mì’s savory pork and tangy pickled vegetables paired perfectly with the glossy noodles of the stir-fry. Every dish brought its own moment of glory, and you ate with reckless abandon, savoring every bite until you couldn’t. The dull ache in your nose and jaw faded into the background, drowned by the sheer joy of taste.

The hospital called again and again, but you put your phone on mute after the third call. The whole place could burn down for all you cared. Right now, none of it existed—not the hospital, not the broken nose, not the rage—just the food and the blissful emptiness in your mind. You ate and napped all day long.

.

.

.

By the third day, something shifted. You woke up later than you had in years, sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds, its warm glow painting the room in the late-afternoon. It hadn’t fully hit you yesterday, but now you realized—for the first time in forever—you had nowhere to be. No patients waiting for you, no charts demanding updates, no surgeries looming over your schedule.

You’d always loved your job. Truly, you had. You took pride in every life saved, in every crisis averted by your hands. But as you lay there, sprawled across the mess of your unmade bed, you couldn’t deny the comfort of a morning like this. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine. This wasn’t the end of your life but rather the beginning of a new chapter. You could see it now: you, working in a small and quiet café with cute uniforms and friendly customers. Surely, being a waitress couldn’t be harder than being a doctor, right? The image of yourself laughing as you served pastries in a adora black-and-white uniform brought a fleeting smile to your lips. An easy little life, far removed from all of this.

The rest of the day drifted by in unapologetic laziness. The mental picture of café life faded as you succumbed to hours of mindless scrolling—movies, Twitch streams, YouTube video . It all blurred into a soothing, numbing stream of distraction. You laughed at the dumbest jokes, cursed fictional characters for their stupid decisions, and fell asleep at random intervals, with your phone slipping from your grasp. You had leftovers from yesterday which you didn’t even bother to reheat them. You just ate straight from the containers, curled up in bed.

Every now and then, your thoughts wandered back to the incident: Kirishima’s furious glare, Shoto’s desperate eyes. The bitterness rose, bitter and acrid, but you shoved it back down each time. What was the point? There was no one to confront, no resolution to be had. Besides, a one-hour video essay on some obscure game you’d never played and probably never will, seemed far more appealing.

The day passed in a haze of nothingness. And as night fell, a quiet thought crept in: maybe unemployment was your true calling after all. This aimlessness.…wasn’t so bad, was it? At least, that’s what you told yourself. Over and over again that day.

This chapter is shorter than I initially planned, but it's all I have for now. I just wanted to post something for you all. I didn’t spend as much time reviewing it after writing, so there might be more mistakes (like spelling/grammar) than usual, lol. The next chapter should be much longer, and I know I mentioned that Izuku would be in this one, but I realized it makes more sense to give him his first pov chapter in the next update. It’ll flow better that way, in my opinion. I hope you all continue to enjoy this fic! The holidays are coming up soon, so I’ll be back to my regular schedule then.

Also, I hope the timeline is clear. I’m it isn’t clear so just in case some of you are confused: After the incident at the hospital, Reader hid in her apartment for about 3 or 4 days while Kirishima and Todoroki were going at it. Eventually, after Todoroki’s heat was over, he went to the hospital to apologize (as seen in the last chapter), but the Reader was nowhere to be found because she is still hiding in her apartment. I hope that clears things up for anyone who had questions!

As always, criticisms are welcomed

07 <- 08 -> 09

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

-> I think we’ve reached the limit of the taglist—I can’t tag more than 50 people in one post, sadly. So, I’ll stop the taglist here and will only tag the first 50 persons who asked to be in it initially. If anyone knows how to change this, I’d love some help! Anyway, if you still want to be notified of the next updates, you can follow me. Thank you all for your support, I can’t believe over 50 people like my work and want to keep up with it!

Taglist: @too-much-gacha ; @electronicexpertshark ; @poopopp ; @cjdjfhfhfufjfdj ; @kimi01985 ; @icycoldbeanieweanies ; @ghostlyworld ; @marsbars09 ; @queenondeezmatatas ; @imnotherw ; @bedheadloser ; @chrisbiniesluvrr ; @fsocs-blog ; @jadeddangel ; @qardasngan ; @omgeyeless-blog ; @goldenglow149 ; @andysteve1311 ; @pinkmelodies ; @hopefulb1ue ; @redkarmakai ; @zukusluvr ; @navezepol221 ; @candiiee ; @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaq ; @mniya ; @randomhuman112 ; @mintvender r ; @deadendgrim ; @captainswanarcher ; @figbaby ; @midnight-nightmare ; @bluepatrolbear ; @talilosha ; @bawlangya ; @optimisticprime3 ; @purplescorpi0 ; @astrolovedy ; @desiree-lee ; @okaysxx ; @the-faceless-bride ; @thelameone101 ; @gethexxed ; @lowkeyhottho ; @bvirrious ; @heespretty ; @roxy776699 ; @kamy-thee-egg ; @talia-the-gemini ; @pikachuzhc ; @itsnotjustmyself-blog ; @roxy776699 ; @mystic60 ; @reallysparklychaos ; @sixxze ; @blurryperrtymoonlight ; @1poison-cat1 ; @allyfoxglove ; @mindsbloody ; @jkvolgs ; @haruaikawa ; @k3nmakyan ; @my-anime-garden ; @fto6 ; @hanniesroom ; @readeryn68 ; @queenofsimps001

[dollycxre]

req: Hi I really liked your fic with Athena and I would like the same fic with Hades if you don't mind. Thanks in advance!

yandere PJO! Hades x demigod! darling 💀🐺👑 - general hcs

I would like to start off by establishing that I truly and firmly believe that Hades would NEVER hurt you or torture you like some of the other gods and goddesses *agressive coughing* Athena, Ares and Hera *more aggresive coughing*

Well and truly he is too in love with you to even THINK about that

I mean have you seen how he reacted to Persephone hating him at the start of their relationship???

Anyways, I believe that the way you would meet is if you were a mother figure to Nico

Nico was immediately drawn to you, an older camper who had stayed back to help Chiron as a counsellor

You weren't afraid of him like most other councellors, rather, like Percy and Annabeth, you saw him as more of what he was; a child who just needed love and affection, a neglected and abandoned child who had to grow up too soon

He's rightfully suspicious and offstanding to you at first but if you act the correct way around him, he definitely takes to you

He starts opening up to you about different things, how he felt about his sister's death, how he felt about Jason's death and how he was struggling to see the point in anything

Comforting him at any time late in the night because he's anxious and depressed and being the one to introduce him to Will also helps :)

I think after he starts dating Will is when he takes you to introduce you to his dad because he finally feels like he has a mother

And that is when you, unfortunately, catch the attention of the Lord of the Dead himself

It's very very hard to gain Nico's trust, considering what he's been through, Hades knew you must have a heart of gold or atleast cared about Nico to have one around him

He finds you intriguing, the way you stand tall to him and only give him a stiff bow, how you roam about and talk to his ghoul servants with ease and of course, how well you're able to take care of and calm down Nico

So his inner stalker starts acting up and he starts sending his servants to spy on you, following you around in the darkness, watching you in the shadows, showing up in your dreams, resulting in them melting into nightmares

Waking up trembling and sweating because of the horrifying creatures and distant memories tormenting you :(

Hades hates tormenting (traumatizing) you but he can't really help it since he needs to know your routine to kidnap you

Actually, I don't know why I censored that, he does kidnap you

He basically sets his furies on your ass which sucks for you but he had no choice

Like imagine just having a quiet, comfortable time in your cabin, all alone with just a nice book and your favourite drink

And then screeching she-demons descend on you and literally drag you all the way to the underworld

Of course, you were having absolutely NONE of that, kicking and screaming

But he gets you eventually

As soon as they deposited you in your bedroom, the man himself comes to see you

Hades confesses to you immediately and tells you he loves you

You immediately remember the story of Persephone and shove him away in horror

From then on, it's just a never ending cycle of him trying to win you over with his wealth and confessions of undying love

Visiting your bedroom everyday with flowers from Persephone's garden

They're beautiful of course but that doesn't mean you'll forgive him

Chucking things from your incredibly expensive bedroom at him while he just stands there and stares at you sadly before leaving

Yelling at him and begging for him to take you back home but he just shakes his head no and apologizes to you over and over

This could go either of two ways, depending on the kind of person you are

1. You keep fighting against him until you finally give in, accepting your situation and deciding to make the most of it

2. You accept his love, thinking that it's better to have undying love than mortal love

He'll be delighted when you finally storm out of your room and go to his throne room, calmly informing him that you accept his proposal

He ADORES you

He's very clingy and he wants you in the throne room with him at all times

He's the kind of person to stare at you for hours and get completely distracted from his job

Like most of the times, you're gonna have to be the one to interview the souls who come to meet him because he's too busy gazing at you

He loves being romantic and will wake you up every day with flowers

He isn't very touchy-feely, he's more of a gift giver kind of person

I mean, he's the god of wealth for god's sake

He will literally get you ANYTHING you want

Even if it's sold out EVERYWHERE, he will personally commission Hephaestus to make it for you

Literally dream of anything, anything that you could possibly want and boom, the next morning, you wake up with it on your bedside table

All he wants in return is a little kiss every day and you telling him you love him

He's one of the gods who will let you roam the above world

He knows that he treats you so well, you'll come back to him anyways

He loves taking you on romantic dates to literally any place you want

Renting out the Eiffel tower just for the two of you is quite the common occurrence, it's his favourite place for a date <3

Complete gentleman, notices everything about you and will literally just chuck money at people, gods, ghosts and monsters alike to make whatever you want happen

Even the slightest show of affection from you is enough to make this poor god pass OUT

Like imagine picking a pretty flower from the above world for him and presenting it to him in the throne room??

He almost fainted of happiness and immediately ordered it to be planted in the royal garden so he could go and gaze at it for eternity

He's in the seventh heaven when you tell him you love him

For everyone wondering what's going on on the Persephone aspect of things, I think she'd be pretty damn pissed at first

Not only because he kidnapped ANOTHER girl

But also because that's her husband??

But unlike Minthe, he actually defends you and refuses to let her hurt you or turn you into a plant and crush you

Eventually, depending on your behaviour and attitude towards her, Persephone will either hate you but not do anything about it, learn to tolerate you OR she'll love you <3

Maybe a little too much....

I mean, you caught her husband's eye....so surely there's something about you that intrigues her too....

But that's a good thing!.....right?

Good luck to you if she ends up turning yandere for you because she is definitely not as soft-hearted and non-violent as Hades

Either way, living in the underworld turns out not to be so bad, especially when you can wander around in your choice of clothes all day, throw money around on things you want, living in a gigantic palace decorated to your design and basically do whatever you like in return for loving an actually really sweet god

Y'know, even if it IS completely filled with spirits and zombies

But that's just minor details in exchange for literally anything in the world....right?

Also, Cerberus ADORES you

Even if you have dog allergies, since he isn't technically a real dog, his 'fur' doesn't affect you

Will follow you around everywhere, begging for pets with all 6 of those cute puppy eyes

Also loves playing fetch :3

Once Nico found out that his father kidnapped you, his reaction was something along the lines of silent, shocked staring

"Nico...I can expla-"

"What. The. Fu-"

He gets used to it pretty fast, he's used to his father's weird, obsessive antics by now

And besides, it just means he gets to spend more time with you <3

I have this irrelevant hc that he likes dragging you with him to his father's throne room and giving him a forceful makeover, just to embarrass him

Hades puts up with it, mostly because he's a softie

In terms of punishments and such, the only time he'd really get pissed is if you tried cheating on him

Like he is so whipped for you that he is willing to let anything slide...except for disloyalty

Even then, the most he'll do is isolate you

He really can't keep himself away from you either

Mostly, he'll just send his minions to guard you a lot more

Which is just more inconvenient and annoying than anything mentally damaging

Overall, he's one of the tamest yanderes in terms of Greek gods

He really doesn't want to hurt you, he just wants you to stay with him forever

He's just clingy :)

[thecharacterchronicler]

The Bitter Taste Of My Fury (Part 4) || Coriolanus Snow X Reader || Smut

GIF is not mine, credits to the creator/owner ❤️

Outline: After a vicious attack from the rebels, Coriolanus lets some of his true feelings for you show.

Word count: 5’133

Warnings: death, murder, PTSD and explicit smut.

Author’s note: I wrote this forever ago and can’t seem to be 100% satisfied with it for some reason, I’m feeling awfully self conscious putting this out so please have mercy on me.

I made a few changes to the original story so that it would fit with my fanfic. (Making the quarter quell for which they sent two boys and two girls the 25th one instead of the 50th so that Coriolanus and his wife’s ages would fit into my plot.) I tried to make it readable as a one shot but keep in mind that it’s actually part of a multi-part series if you need/want more context.

It would help me out a lot with my next WIPs if you could answer the poll down below 🖤

((Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler)) - ((Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top)) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable)) - (( Part 5 - Craving ))

Coriolanus risked a glance from behind the black curtain to survey the large amphitheater quickly - and noisily - filling up. It was his last speech before the day of the election, his last opportunity to convince the people of Panem that he would be a good president. He had been working on his text for weeks, the last few days he had even stayed up all night to practice and memorize it to the point that the words were constantly turning in his head. He was nervous and, even if he usually was pretty good at hiding it - he felt like all the citizens taking place in the room to listen to him would notice how much he was afraid of messing up.

“You’re supposed to go on stage in five minutes.” Minerva said, Coriolanus’s young assistant was stressed out, as per usual. “Excuse me Sir, but I couldn’t help but notice that your wife isn’t here… Yet ?”

The last time Coriolanus had seen you, you both got into an argument which ended with him, fucking you rougher than what he ever allowed himself to until then. Once he was done with you, you still seemed upset with him and the reason of the dispute still grated on his nerves. For the three following days, he had spent his nights at his office. He had been mulling over what your strong feelings about such a futile matter might mean. He had expected you to be unhappy with his decision to fire Marius, your driver, but he hadn’t thought you’d be so vocal about it, even daring to demand that he be rehired. He had fired a lot of his employees in the past and you had never complained about it once, but your personal driver seemed more important to you than all the others… Was it because you had an affair with him ? Was he the one to provide you with comfort and attention whenever Coriolanus worked late ? And what if he was the one who ended up getting you pregnant ? Surely he couldn’t accept that. His heir needed to be his.

“I sent Alastair to get her an hour ago, they should arrive any minute now.” He replied, his tone unexpectedly soft in contrast to his growing irritation. But he had faith that his own driver would drag you out of the manor himself if you refused to attend such an important event for your husband.

Coriolanus glanced in the amphitheater once again, scanning the crowd in search of your familiar face but still didn’t find it. He tugged on his collar, feeling more stressed than ever before. He knew every word to his speech, he knew exactly how to behave, how to move, how to smile to win this once and for all and yet, beads of nervous sweat were forming on his forehead, his tie suddenly too constricting for his rapid breathing.

When Minerva waved a hand at him, he had no choice but to take his place at the center of the stage, even if he still hadn’t spotted you among the crowd. It was unlikely of you to be late. And even less likely that his driver would be late… The applause and cheers from his audience as he walked out from behind the black curtain almost made him forget about it all though. For a brief moment, he felt the adrenaline buzzing in his body, making him believe that he was capable of anything and proving yet again that his place was there, on stage, at the center of everyone’s admirative attention.

He smiled, waved, spotted a few influential people seating in the first rows and made sure to make eye contact with each of them as he started his speech. His best one.

But no matter how perfect his tone was, how carefully chosen his words were, the crowd slowly began to grow agitated. A few heads turned to take a look at the doors, some noise coming from behind them and before he could even fathom what had happened, an intense blow pushed him back, making his ears ring.

The loud explosion made the foundations of the ampitheater tremble, windows shattered, pieces of the ceiling came crushing to the ground but the chaos that followed was by far the scariest part. People screamed in terror, rushing in every direction to get out, pushing and stepping over each other with no decorum left, the crowd had turned into a bunch of frightened animals and they all were individually fighting for their lives.

A door was opened and a thick dark smoke rapidly filled the room, making everyone cough and scream louder. Coriolanus pulled his collar over his mouth and nose, trying to filter the smoke he’d inhale and retreated behind the black curtain, knowing there would be a door for him to escape much more easily there, out of the frenzy and chaos of the crowd.

He rushed to the back, fleeing by the concealed door while his people kept fighting to escape the suffocating smoke. He looked around, trying to get his thoughts back in order to come up with a plan, he needed to find a way to warn your driver about what had happened, so that he could avoid bringing you straight into danger. Better yet, he could drive you far away from it.

He walked in hurried steps while the people who had managed to escape ran away, the magnificent and imposing capitol building menacing to completely shatter and tumble down into dust. Leaving and reaching the street outside was the best course of action to ensure his safety, but a part of him with visibly no instinct of survival, remained determined to look around in search of a phone or whatever device he could use to warn you. To make sure you’d be safe.

He reached the front desk of the town hall, searching among the fallen bricks and thick layers of rubble with the hope to find something that would work to contact your driver…

Alastair ?

Coriolanus blinked a few times, stopping his frenetic search of the desk to stare at the silhouette running to the doors, recognizing the bald head and small frame of his driver.

“Alastair ?!” He called, as loud as he could to be heard above the distant screams and cries. The man turned around to look at him, fear appearing in his eyes when he recognized his boss… So he kept running.

Coriolanus took off after him, his tall legs giving him a clear advantage to catch up on the older man. He pushed him aside, grabbing him by his collar and slammed him against a dangerously unstable pillar.

“Where is my wife ?” He asked, leveling his face with his so that he could stare at him with his most menacing look.

“The rebels, they attacked… It was an explosion.” Alastair mumbled, inconherently. Coriolanus purposely slammed him against the hard surface again, hoping the shock it caused to his head would bring him back to his senses.

“WHERE IS MY WIFE ?!” He shouted, making it clear that if he had to ask again he might knock him unconscious instead.

“I don’t know, it exploded… The smoke… I ran.”

“You left her ?!” Your husband asked him, rage dangerously starting to take over at the realization that the one he had trusted with your security had so easily left you behind to save his own life.

“I have a family.” Alastair justified, his voice weakening and his breathing coming out raucous and labored. What was that supposed to mean ? That he was more important than you because he had children ? Was he implying that you didn’t deserve to live as much as he did because you hadn’t gave him a heir yet ?

Coriolanus’s gaze fell to his hands, the ones he was holding tightly around his driver’s neck, squeezing with all the strength of his rage. The older man started choking, tried to fight his employer off but he wasn’t strong enough and the shock of the whole situation didn’t help him think rationally enough to hope win this fight for his life.

Tighter.

Alastair’s face became alarmingly pale.

Tighter.

Alastair’s lips turned blue.

Tighter.

Alastair’s body dropped down on the floor.

Dead.

Coriolanus took a step back, watching the limp figure on the ground with clear disgust but he wasn’t sure if he felt it because Alastair had abandoned you or for himself, for adding someone else’s blood to his already stained hands.

There was no time to ponder his actions anyway. The judgment of his morals would have to wait until he found you and got you to safety. It was all that mattered. So, while people were still running out of the falling apart building, he ran back in, straight towards the thick smoke.

He called your name, so desperate to hear your voice answering him but the fleeing crowd was way too loud and agitated for him to hope hearing it and let it lead him to you. But he kept shouting anyway.

Some of his employees found him, tried to convince him to turn around and leave before the ceiling would collapse on him but he refused, determined to find you, even with the smoke burning his lungs and irritating his eyes.

His head was spinning, if the first people he had ran into were wearing their formal attire, slowly he started recognizing the red academy uniforms he used to wear every day. Then, he noticed the colors of a rainbow dress, fading in the thick smoke in front of him. A long time ago, the person wearing it had ran to him to save him from a similar situation, now she seemed to be running away, impossible for him to catch.

Was she the one who had led this violent attack against him ? And now she was here, running around the debris like an untouchable wild animal just to taunt him ? Of course she did. All she ever wanted was to end him. Ruin his life. Ruin everything.

Real or not, he followed her path, desperate to see where she would lead him. He didn’t like the feeling it gave him though, the feeling of being an eighteen years old boy who knew nothing about anything anymore. A naive man, who thought his survival depended on other people rather than on himself.

“Coryo…” Your voice called, answering his calls.

He perked up with a renewed determination to make his way through the smoke and find you. Rainbow colors and blood red uniforms faded from his vision. You were close, so he kept shouting your name, frantically searching around him until he collided against you.

He knew your body well enough by now to instantly recognize you, no one fitted in his arms the way you did. He looked down at you, trying to decipher wether you were injured or not but the dust covering your skin and hair made it hard to spot any trace of blood. He turned around, wanting to go back on his footsteps now that your hand was secured in his but he stopped when he noticed you could barely keep up, limping and coughing after each wince of pain that deformed your face.

Without a word, he came back to you and picked you up, carrying you in his arms even if his lungs were about to give up too. If he was going to die today, so be it but not before he got you out of there.

A plea for help resounded next to you, the barely visible shape of a woman stuck under a heavy pillar outstretching an arm in your direction, begging for her life. Coriolanus looked at her but kept walking, collateral damages were inevitable.

Finally, the smoke started dissipating, replaced by fresh air that burned your lungs in an entirely different way. A large crowd had formed in the street, kept at good distance from the collapsing building by peacekeepers. Many pairs of curious eyes turned to you, recognizing the presidential candidate heroically carrying his wife away from a vicious rebel attack. Some peacekeepers approached, freeing your husband’s arms to carry you to safety. They brought you to a medical tent that had been set up, where professionals and volunteers were running around, trying to care for the many injured and wounded victims.

An oxygen mask was placed on your face, providing you with the air you so desperately needed while a young woman tried to make you as comfortable as possible despite her apparent overwhelm.

“I’ll find some oxygen for you too, Sir.” She promised Coriolanus but he shook his head, refusing.

“Take care of my wife first.” He asked, and the woman nodded before scurrying away.

Time seemed to slow down as Coriolanus spent countless hours in the armchair next to your hospital bed, watching over you, making sure you were taken well care of and mulling over his thirst for revenge. The rebels had crossed a line with this attack, they were clearly targeting him - and you - with it and that was simply unacceptable. His desire to become the new president of Panem was consuming him more than ever, thinking about the possibilities such a position would offer him to retaliate in kind against the districts. He could order the troops to bomb them, erase them from the map and the surface of the earth. He could decide of the fate of the very ones who committed the crime to try and kill him, he could set an example of what doom would be brought upon anyone who ever tried to hurt a Snow again… But he wasn’t president, yet.

However, his position as head gamemaker of the Hunger Games gave him quite a unique chance to keep the districts in check and remind them who truly held the power, after all, he had learned all the tricks from Doctor Gaul during the few years he had been working for her. He knew the only way to get his message to the rebels would be to answer in kind and make sure they’d know the fear of potentially loosing someone precious to them too…

A few days later, the doctors cleared you to go home so he decided to go back to his office and put his plan in motion.

As soon as he sat behind his desk, Minerva entered his office, holding a large file against her chest.

“I received the official report of the incident.” She announced, handing him the paper. He flipped the pages, brows furrowed and eyes rapidly darting across each paragraph.

“Twenty four deaths… And counting.” He read out loud.

“And I’m very sorry to tell you that I was informed that Alastair is among the victims.” She told him, which caused him to look at her, gravity etched on his face.

He had the perfect reaction. Not too emotional. Still professional. Believable.

“Do we know what happened to him exactly ?”

“The coroner said he died of asphyxiation from the smoke, like many others unfortunately.”

“It’s unfortunate indeed.” Coriolanus nodded, with a forced frown. “Make sure to send our condolences to his family.”

“Of course, Sir.” His assistant said, taking notes. “Anything else i can do ?”

“Yes… Call the press, I have an important announcement to make.” He stated, still more determined than ever to make everyone involved pay for what they did.

“And now, a message from Coriolanus Snow, head gamemaker of the Hunger Games and candidate for presidency.” The news anchor announced, as the camera zoomed in on your husband’s tired face, his brow furrowed and severity marking his traits.

“On Friday, people of the Capitol were the target of a terrible attack from an outlawed and violent group of radical people. We’ve lost precious lives and many of our citizens were gravely wounded during the attack.” Coriolanus spoke, solemnly, as the cameras shifted between different point of views of him. His voice was calm despite the rage displayed on his face. “Therefor, in retaliation, as head gamemaker, I have decided to make the 25th edition of the Hunger Games one that will remind everyone of the Capitol’s power… For this first quarter quell, each district will be required to send two boys and two girls into the arena.”

You watched your husband’s press conference on the television in the quiet and lonely living room of the manor, jaw dropping at his announcement. Was he taking advantage of the attack to give a lesson to the district, show his almighty power and advance his presidential campaign by gaining the Capitol’s support ? Or was he seeking out revenge for you ? Your chest tightened at the thought, could he care about you enough to be doing this for you ? Imagining you could be one of the reasons - among a thousand more important ones - for the punishment he decided to impose on the districts made your heart beat faster. With a husband so shy for words, a gesture like this one would speak volumes about how he truly felt.

You reached for the remote with a wince and turned the TV off, plunging the living room in darkness apart from the faint light coming from the crackling fire in the chimney. You stood with another wince, silently cursing at the doctors for sending you home without any meds to manage the pain you still felt so vividly in your body. If you had been a simple citizen, surely they would have kept you there longer, made sure that you were fully healed before letting you leave the private sector of the Capitol’s hospital but since the crowd of reporters, cameras and photographers was increasing with each passing day by the entrance of the hospital, they took the decision to send you home. Officially, it was meant to reassure Panem about the health of their potential future First Lady, show them you were as strong and courageous as your husband. But really, they just wanted to get rid of the public disturbing their other patients‘ peace.

You climbed the stairs leading to your bedroom slowly, and then sat at your vanity with a sigh. The reflection in front of you didn’t do justice to how you really felt. As soon as you had been discharged, a team invaded your room to make you look as flawless as you were always supposed to be, taking care of your hair, your makeup, your clothes, hiding any trace of the attack so that you could walk out, dazzling and smiling for the cameras. And of course you did just that. You managed to answer a few questions shouted at you with elegance and respect , offering sympathy to the ones who had suffered more than you did , smiling as some children handed you flowers and holding your head high just to let the rebels know that it would take more than this to bring Mrs Snow down.

But deep inside, you were a wreck. Images of the attack kept popping in your mind, you could still smell the smoke, feel it filling your lungs, suffocating you. You could still hear the screams, the cries, the shouts and the explosions. You could still feel the sharp pain in your shoulder when the column behind you collapsed and a heavy piece of marble hit you. You still had the bruises and the scratches on your skin from all the debris that flew in your face, even if they currently were hidden under a thick layer of makeup.

You slowly took it all off with a wipe, feeling almost relieved at the sight of the purple mark on your cheek and the other one on your neck, like a validation that you weren’t feeling so bad for nothing. You reached up to untie the sophisticated hairdo your beauty team had insisted on doing, but the sharp pain in your shoulder combined to the stiffness of your neck made it impossible to take more than two pins out before having to bring your arms down and take a deep breath to try and soothe the pain.

You had always considered yourself lucky to have such a big team of talented people to prepare you for every event you had to attend, sometimes they even got you ready and looking your best for simple shopping trips or private dinners if they expected you to be followed by reporters and photographers. But then, once the lights were out, the crowd long gone and the cameras pointed somewhere else, once you were back in the privacy and loneliness of your own home, then there wasn’t anyone to help you take off all this attire and help you be yourself again.

You were about to give up. At the moment, sleeping with twenty pins stabbing your scalp didn’t seem merely as painful as lifting your arm again did. But a movement in your mirror caught your attention. You lifted your eyes to the reflection, noticing a white silhouette, almost glowing in contrast to the darkness of your room, standing by the door, big blue eyes set on you.

You observed him quietly for a moment, unsure if he was really there or if it was yet another trick your mind was playing on you. Because you had a lot of visions of him lately. His face appearing in thick smoke. His voice shouting your name. His arms carrying you out of the chaos. His hand holding yours in the cold hospital room… You weren’t sure which memories were real or not. You couldn’t tell if he really had been by your side at the hospital this whole time or if you had just imagined his presence to reassure yourself. Were you imagining him there again so you wouldn’t feel so desperately lonely ?

“Let me help you with that.” He said, his tone softer than usual. He took the few steps in your direction, stopping behind you. You watched in the mirror as his fingers wandered in your hair in search of pins to take off, letting locks of hair fall down on your shoulders each time he removed one.

His touch was real. The heat you felt coming from his chest and radiating on your back was real. The expression of worry on his face every time he met your gaze in the reflection was real. He was real.

And instead of reassuring you like you thought it would, you suddenly felt invaded in your privacy to have him here, in your bedroom for the very first time. He shouldn’t see you like this, with your makeup off and your hair down, the bruises and the sorrow all too visible on your face. This wasn’t the image of the wife he had asked for. The wife who he wanted to impregnate. It was a pathetic reflection of a wounded and scared girl, wondering if she’ll ever be able to recover from such an horrific incident.

“I didn’t leave the hospital looking like this.” You felt compelled to say to justify how you looked in front of him, uncomfortable at the thought that it was the very first time he’d see you as you really were.

“I know, I watched the news from my office.” He simply said, focusing on finding the few last pins still tugging at your hair.

“And I watched your press conference.”

“What do you think about my idea for the quarter quell ?” His pale eyes found yours, silently gauging your reaction.

“I think a lot of people will love it, it’ll probably gain you many votes for the next round…”

“Probably but I meant what do you think about it ? Will it be a clear enough message to the districts that there will be hell to pay if they ever even think about hurting us again ?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Do you think all of Panem will now know that nobody hurts my wife without meeting the consequences ?”

You left out a breath, shocked by the rage you saw burning in his usually charming eyes. Either he was masterfully manipulative, wanting to make you believe that the decision he took to hold special games in retaliation was to avenge you, while it was, in fact, all about his career first. Either he really had done it for you, and the implications of such a revelation in regards to his true feelings for you were as terrifying to you as the first hypothesis was.

He remained quiet, removing his hands from your hair once he had pulled out the last pin and reached down to the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down with his pale eyes fixed to yours in the mirror.

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he trying to help you ? The zipper being in your back, you probably would have struggled to reach it, but the way he was taking care of it, so torturously slow, the tip of his fingers grazing the soft skin he revealed on his path made you question his true motives.

He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your neck, exactly where your heart started pulsing wildly in reaction. He pulled the fabric of your dress down, until it pooled around your hips. You saw him take a look at your reflection in front of him, the sight of the bruise on your chest and the other one over your clavicle setting his fury ablaze. He balled his fists tightly, as if he was trying to contain himself so you turned around to face him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

You didn’t dare consider that the reason for his anger was because he cared about you enough… But the way he relaxed into your touch made you wonder if you should.

He kissed your lips. Softly. Gently. Almost reverently, as if he was taking the full measure of what he could have been deprived of for the rest of his life with a different outcome of the events of that night.

“I will kill them.” He declared, a cold determination in his tone you had never heard from him before. “I’ll kill every single person responsible for this.”

He moved his fingers over the purple bruise on your chest, a featherlight touch that still caused you a sting of pain, to mark his words.

You remembered a quote you had studied in school, it said something like “pain is the only thing that makes us feel alive.” And, since it was written in your book and taught by your professor, you had always considered it to be true… Until now. Now you knew that there wasn’t anything else on earth that could possibly make you feel more alive than Coriolanus Snow and the way he kissed you, touched you and filled you up. And no pain would be able to stop your determination of feeling alive tonight. Maybe his way to cope from the attack was to hunger for violence and blood, but yours was to live.

You leaned towards him and kissed him with more fervor than he did. He returned the kiss but kept some restraint from the usually hungry and rough way you were used to having him.

“Don’t tempt me.” He groaned, against your lips. “Not when you’re hurt and still recovering.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” You assured him, with a soft smile but he didn’t return it, moving away to look at you like he had seen a ghost. Did he have flashbacks of the attack too ? Or something else ? He’d probably never tell you anyway, because he shook it off before you could open your mouth and ask him if he was alright, worry leaving its place to resolve on his face.

He walked to your bed, stopping at the edge and scanning your nightstand carefully as he slowly started unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he looked around, his eyes taking a moment to consider each object, each piece of decoration in your bedroom. It was the first time he entered it and although the way he threw his shirt on the floor and began unfastening his belt suggested he had other plans than simply asking you for a tour, he still took in most of the details of the only place where you could find privacy in your own home.

You stood up, removing your dress too and feeling suddenly very exposed to him. Your room, your face without makeup, your hair undone, your bruised skin, everything you usually kept hidden from your husband was now on display for him to see and you felt self conscious about it.

“Lie down.” Coriolanus demanded, kicking his pants off, leaving him with nothing on but his bare body for you to stare at, his skin almost as white as the suits he liked to wear.

You obeyed, climbing on the bed from the opposite side from where he stood. You let your head fall down on your fluffy pillow, breathing a sigh of relief as you noticed how the many aches in your body were appeased by the comfortable mattress under you.

He climbed on the bed next to you and it felt somewhat strange to see him there, in your room, on your sheets, naked. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of your underwear and gently pulled them down your legs, the lace fabric sending shiver down your spine on its way down your body.

He spread your legs open for him, and placed himself between them, sitting back on his knees. He looked at your bruises again so, instinctively, you tried to hide them with your arms and hands in fear that he might change his mind and leave you wanting. Thankfully, he had mercy for you and, even though he didnt seem quite sure about how to proceed this time - as if he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to tame his usual roughness - he slowly stroked the tip of his cock between your folds.

He guided it in circles, teasing your entrance every once in a while, pressing over your bud, spreading your growing wetness all over in its wake and you noticed how it made him harden too, his cock increasing in length and girth in his hand with each movement.

It didn’t take long for either of you to be ready for more. After all, it had been a whole week during which the only physical contacts you had shared was him holding your hand at the hospital or placing a chaste kiss on your forehead each time he had to leave you for a while, and that was if you hadn’t dreamed or imagined it.

No longer able to tease you, he ended up pushing his erected member inside you, finding its way in so easily it felt like you were made to fit him by now. He noticed it too, how easy it was for him to bury himself all the way in you until his balls were squeezed between your bodies and he sighed with contempt as your warm and wet pussy engulfed him fully.

You said his name in a panted breath, loving the way he filled you up with his hard cock and his eyes darted to yours, his gaze shining with lust. He moved, starting with short slides back and forth to make sure you could take it then, once he saw you close your eyes and bite your lip to conceal a moan, he got a bit rougher and faster, shoving himself back in with enough force to make the bed crack loudly.

“Yes!” You cried, as you felt his dick repeatedly hit the perfect spot so deep inside you, sending such pleasure through your entire body that you already felt close to coming undone. If there was any pain in your bruised body, you didn’t feel it anymore. All your mind could focus on was the intensity of his thrusts inside of you and the ecstasy building in your core in reaction.

He moved to hover over you, the change of angle making his strong movements even more intense. A moan fell from your lips but he silenced it with a hungry kiss, his taut chest pressing against yours.

He gathered you in his arms, holding your body tightly against his as he kept relentlessly thrusting inside you, swallowing all the moans that escaped from your lips with his desperate kisses.

You closed your legs around his hips, holding on to him as tightly as he was holding on to you. His thrusts lost their speed and intensity, but he still hit exactly where you needed him, making you whimper and moan with pleasure. His grip tightened and so did yours, both of you determined to never let each other go, him holding you like you might vanish at any moment and you holding him like your life depended on it.

He groaned, spilling his seed inside you with one powerful push. You dug your nails in his back, as his movements slowed down and your body contracted, your mind swimming in bliss.

He was panting, from his efforts and from the feverish kisses he kept giving you through it all. And yet he captured your lips with his again, in a much softer - almost loving - kiss. Then he set you free from his embrace, rolling on his side next to you and you istantly felt cold without the weight and warmth of his body on top of yours.

You shivered and he noticed, pulling the sheet over your numb body. You looked at him, wondering if he’ll stay the night. It would be the very first time you’d get to sleep with your husband. If the idea would have been dreadful to you just a year ago, now you wanted nothing more than to press your spent body against his and feel his presence as you drift off to sleep, knowing that you are safe with him by your side.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

I Might Change Your Life, I Might Save My World

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre/early)

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Mentions of canonical character death; Some verbal aggression

A/N: I had them on the run alone. I hope that’s okay!

*gif is not mine

The run had so far been uneventful. You’d even dare say boring. That was a word that wasn’t used carelessly. Life in the apocalypse was rarely boring and usually consisted of running for your life while scrounging up anything possible to ensure you could just survive. At least you were out with Daryl. He was your best friend and could usually keep you at least mildly entertained whether or not it was intentional. 

You were a survivor of the Governor’s insanity at Woodbury. It had seemed safe enough, but he had fooled everyone. Or maybe he had at one point been a kind, reasonable man that was just pushed too far by the cruelty of the end of the world. Regardless, it was there that you had met Merle, the right hand man. You had always teased him about that. Right hand? Get it? To most people, it would have seemed cruel, but not to Merle Dixon. He would ruffle your hair with a gentle shove and tell you to get lost. 

You never did.

When Merle left, you had followed and he had allowed it. He even held your arm and dragged you out behind him. That’s when you actually met Daryl. You had seen him in the fight pit, eyes wide as the Governor revealed he was Merle’s younger brother. He had never mentioned having a brother. Maybe he had thought him dead. Most would say Daryl was everything Merle was not, but they just didn’t know the elder Dixon like you did. Merle was crass, sometimes downright unkind, but below that rough exterior, he had a big heart. He was learning, little by little. You would have liked to take some credit for that.

Daryl had left his group that day, following Merle, just as you did. You remained quiet, watching the younger Dixon watching you. He looked almost wary, but there was a naked curiosity there too. When the two butted heads, you trailed behind while Daryl led the way back to the prison. Where he belonged, he had said. 

You had fit in easily. Merle, not so much. It made your heart ache for him when you could see the poorly hidden love he had for his little brother. He was absolute shit at showing it, sometimes selfish, but it was there. When he proved it by trying to be better, trying to show Daryl that he could do the right thing, it had cost him his life. You blamed Daryl for the longest time. You knew it wasn’t his fault, deep down, but you needed someone to catch the fury of your grief. The archer had taken it willingly.

When the prison fell, you had tried and failed to save Beth. Grieving yet again, right on the heels of losing Merle and then Hershel and then your home, you found a way out with Daryl, leaving the two of you stuck together on the road, alone and with a dense cloud of animosity billowing between you. It wasn’t until one night in a rundown home that Daryl had said reminded him of where he grew up, moonshine was flowing and then so were the emotions. You had both yelled, thrown things, killed the walkers that the fight attracted while continuing the verbal onslaught. In the end, drained and resigned, the two of you had talked. 

And the rest was history.

Alexandria had been a saving grace. It had taken a while to adjust. For Daryl, he had never lived in a community like that. He slept on the porch most nights, fleeing the confined spaces that left his chest heaving and his skin damp with sweat. You felt as if it were Woodbury all over again, destined to crash and burn and leave the group nothing but ashes. So, you slept on the porch with him, if for no other reason than to keep a fellow outsider close. You both knew it was more than that. 

Months had gone by. You had both finally moved inside a house and were even closer now than you had once been to Merle, which was surprising. Rick was confident in sending the two of you out together. You got shit done. That day in particular, things just weren’t moving in your favor.

For one, it was cold. The seasons were changing and you hadn’t adequately prepared for the chill in the air, especially when on the bike. The two of you were scouting for places that could possibly still have necessary supplies. Daryl had—as always—been quick to notice your discomfort. Though he had usually sewn the sleeves of jackets right onto his sleeveless shirts, that day, he had actually worn a leather jacket. 

“Here.” He shoved the article toward you, prompting a raised brow in response.

“What for?” You queried. It was a stupid question, but useless banter always kept things light between the two of you, comfortable even if Daryl would always claim the opposite. The space that lingered was never oppressive, not anymore.

“You’re cold, idiot.”

“Daryl Dixon is being sweet to me. This is one for the record books!” You chuckled while slipping on the jacket. The hunter scowled and bumped you with his elbow.

“Stop.”

“Didn’t hear you disagree.” You would have continued to tease if he hadn’t held up a fist just in front of you, the signal to be still and silent. The telltale groans, snarls, and shuffling feet were growing closer, blocking the two of you from the bike. “Aw, crap.”

“Yup.” He agreed, leaning around the corner of the building just enough to see the sizable herd. “Need a plan.” He mumbled, unclipping the sheath of his knife for a quick draw when needed.

“Got one.” 

“What?” When Daryl turned, you were already rounding the opposite corner of the building with a quiet shout of get the bike. “That fuckin’ woman’s gonna be the death’a me.”

There were a great deal more undead than you had anticipated. “Well, hell.” You grumbled. It was too late to turn around, several of the milky yellow eyes already landing on you. As you walked backward, keeping a safe distance but close enough to hold their attention, you could see Daryl peeking out from the corner. You exchanged nods before you began to wave your arms. “Hey! Over here! Keep your eyes on me!!” The noise ensured that Daryl’s already near silent footfalls would go unnoticed. He would get the bike, circle the herd, and you’d jump on. Piece of cake. 

Until you bumped right into a walker that led the other half of aforementioned herd. 

“Oh, fuck!” Quickly grabbing its throat to hold it back, you pivoted, walking backward toward the open area at the edges of the corpses. Daryl was shouting your name, the bike roaring to life. You just happened to choose the wrong time to glance in his direction in an attempt to gauge the distance between you. The next walker had fallen somehow, levering clumsily to its feet just beside the one you were grappling with, your knife having just sank into that one’s skull. There was no time to react. You could only watch the blade slip free as the teeth came together on your arm. It was painful but nothing like you had expected, more pressure than anything. Still, it was too late. You were bit.

“Y/N!!” Daryl shouted, grabbing you away from the dead man, your arm slipping free from its jaws to throw it off balance. That gave you a chance to climb on behind Daryl, the injured arm cradled to your chest while the other wrapped tightly around his abdomen. “Just a minute, just hang on. We’ll take care’a this.” He was rambling anxiously, the cool wind whipping and stinging as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

“I’m bit. I’m bit. I’m bit.” You chanted against Daryl’s back, only barely holding back your sobs. The bike slowed to a stop, the kickstand lowered roughly before Daryl was scrambling off when you should have been the first to move. 

“Lemme see.” When your teary eyes met his, he growled through the sting at his waterline. “Lemme fuckin’ see!” He wasn’t as gentle as he could have been but he didn’t hurt you. Pulling your arm away from your chest roughly, he grabbed the shoulder of the jacket and yanked it down, ripping one of the seams in the process. You were both greeted with bruising flesh, the slightest indents of where teeth had vehemently pressed, but no broken skin. No blood. No scratches. While you stared in a shocked relief, Daryl wasn’t so graceful. His legs buckled and he went down hard to his knees. “Goddamn it, Y/N!”

“I’m okay.” You blinked, eyes transfixed on your arm. It hurt but it wasn’t a death sentence. You weren’t going to turn. “I’m okay, Daryl.” You smiled through the tears, now falling for an entirely different reason. “Daryl?” He was trembling fiercely, his shoulders moving in a way that suggested he might have been crying. You started to throw your leg over the seat to comfort him when he drew back his arm and planted his fist into the asphalt with a crunch that made your stomach turn.

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid!” He roared, barreling upright to stand with his nose nearly touching yours. You were too shocked to react properly. “Ya couldn’a waited for a actual plan, just had to go balls to the wall an’ run out there like a fuckin’ lunatic!” Your eyes followed anxiously as he started to pace.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get us out there in one piece. I didn’t even see the—”

His uninjured hand grabbed your wrist, tight and firm but not without care. He’d never hurt you. Not intentionally. Not physically, at least. “Ya call this one piece? I woulda had to take your arm, ya fuckin’ useless idiot!” That sent you reeling. Daryl had been angry with you before, but for things like keeping the squirrel over the fire for too long or kneeing him in the groin while trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. But that? That was different.

If Merle Dixon had taught you anything, it was to never show how you really felt. When you began to laugh, Daryl dropped your arm and stepped back, eyes wide and full of disbelief. “My god, you’re dramatic. I’m fine, Dixon. Let’s just chalk this up to a shit day and get the fuck out of here.”

“A shit d—are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Stop it. Get on the bike and let’s go.” You pulled the jacket back onto your arm, your red flannel peering through the tear in the shoulder. Now adjusted once again and ready to go, you looked back to find him still staring at you with the same incredulous expression. You chuckled and shook your head. “Stop being ridiculous. Let’s go.”

“Nah.” He was stepping backwards with his own head twisting back and forth. “Take the bike and go home. M’gonna walk.”

“It’s at least fifteen miles and it’s cold. Now who’s being stupid?” When he turned his back, leaving his crossbow strapped to the motorcycle, you actually began to panic. You could drive the bike, sure. He had taught you a few months back, just in case. Still, leaving him behind with nothing but his knife was not something you would do without a fight. “Daryl! Seriously, please, let’s go.” He ignored you, stalking off into the trees until the wings of his vest disappeared. 

Chasing him wasn’t a good idea. You knew him well enough to know that much. Or did you? It had been a long time since an argument like that, one where both of you had shut down in one way or another. You started the bike, toeing up the kickstand before propelling it forward, your chest constricting tighter and tighter with every mile. 

It had taken him far longer than necessary to make the walk back to Alexandria’s gates. Granted, he’d stopped for several smokes to calm himself down. He’d slide down the nearest tree and sit there—flexing his throbbing fingers—until he had drawn the cigarette down to the filter or he heard the incoming growls of the walkers that had been tailing him. He had to take an extra half hour to put down the ones he could and lose the ones he couldn’t. By the time Sasha pulled open the gates, Daryl was bone weary and more than a little ashamed of how he’d reacted. 

“Seen Y/N?” He asked in lieu of answering when she questioned where he’d been.

“She came back a while ago. Haven’t seen her since. Sorry.” She patted his shoulder and returned to her post. You were back, so that anxiety was at least remedied. 

Still, he needed to talk to you. The way you had laughed in the face of his anger had unnerved him. It reminded him so much of his brother that it hurt. That type of behavior didn’t suit you. Then again, who was he to tell you how to behave? He had spoken to you so harshly instead of just telling you that you scared the shit out of him. He should have hugged you and been thankful that you didn’t lose your arm, didn’t lose your life. But emotions and Daryl weren’t exactly on speaking terms. When he didn’t understand why or how something made him feel a certain way, he lashed out at it. He was conditioned that way, it was in his blood. He had been trying so hard to be better. He actually thought he was getting better. Boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong. He was still a work in progress. He needed you to know that. He needed to apologize, even if it burned coming out of his mouth to admit he was wrong, to admit to feeling anything at all. 

Damn you for wiggling your way into his useless heart. He thought he had crushed and buried the thing years ago. Then you came tagging along on his brother’s heels and challenged everything he thought he knew about himself. He chose not to acknowledge it, even when people like Carol and Rick did. Often. 

Sighing, he stopped on the porch of the home he shared with you and Carol, lighting up a cigarette and leaning over the railing on his forearms. He would have assumed that you’d already spilled everything to Carol but when she didn’t barrel out of the house with a rolling pin aimed at his head, it was easy to figure out that you hadn’t. Maybe you hadn’t even been home yet. He trampled that worry down quickly, not willing to let it compound into another wave of anger he’d have to answer for eventually.

The streets were quiet with the sun now completely gone, replaced by the waning crescent moon. There was enough light for him to see, of course. His eyes were trained from years of hunting and surviving out in nature. He could hear frogs close to the pond, even hear the paper of his cigarette sizzling with each drag. But then he heard something else. Something that shattered him to his very core because he knew immediately what and who and why it was.

He didn’t bother to keep his steps light. It wouldn’t do to surprise you. You’d just be even more upset without time to even try and compose yourself. Even so, it was possible you still didn’t hear him approaching. Your sobs and sniffles continued, probably barely audible to anyone who didn’t know how to listen and not just hear.

You were perched on the bench beneath the gazebo, knees drawn up to your chest with your face hidden behind them. Even in the dark, he could see your shoulders shaking. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there watching you but once it was clear that you hadn’t noticed him, he cleared his throat. Had it been any other day, any other situation, the way you unfolded and nearly climbed over the back of the bench would have been comical. Maybe it still would be when the two of you looked back on this, but that was only if he could make things right.

“Hey.” He rasped, still rooted to the same spot.

You sniffed, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your flannel. The leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. “Hi.” All the confidence from earlier was gone, leaving your voice but a tiny echo of the woman that had called him dramatic. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”

“Ya alright?” He chanced a step toward you, pausing after one when your eyes darted down to his boots and back up. God, he felt like an asshole. Were you afraid of him now?

“Mhm. I’m okay.” You sniffed again and settled back onto the seat, pulling your knees against you once again. “I hung your jacket on the doorknob of your room. I fixed the sleeve.”

Great. You fixed the thing he tore. Now he felt like a major asshole. “Listen, Y/N, I—”

“It’s okay, Daryl.” You interjected, offering him a small, feigned smile while your eyes betrayed you. “Carol has dinner ready. I put your plate in the oven.” It was just getting better and better. You had still thought of him enough to make sure he had something to eat when he got back. And the award for Asshole of the Year goes to: Daryl Dixon.

You stood so quickly that he nearly flinched. “I should—I have a new job assignment tomorrow. Need to get some sleep.”

That threw him. “New—ya ain’t goin’ out anymore?” You shook your head.

“I’m gonna work in the pantry, dabble in the armory too. Give Olivia a break sometimes.” Your tone wasn’t cold but bordered on emotionless. You’d asked Rick to take you off the run list, and you’d done it because of him.

“Y/N, don’t do that.” He watched as you approached, your head down. If you hadn’t seen his boots when he stepped into your path, you surely would have slammed into him. “Shouldn’a talked to ya the way I did.” Even while you looked off to the side, he could see the way your face screwed up like you were about to cry again, but after a moment, you settled.

“No, you were right. I should have waited. Things could have gone a lot differently. I didn’t stop to think about how you would have felt if I had been bitten.” Daryl deflated at the utter dejection in your voice. “Anyway, goodnight, Daryl.” 

Watching you walk away, your arms wrapped around yourself so tightly, he let himself think about it; allowed himself to think about what he would have felt if you had been bitten. It wasn’t anger then. It was loss, despair, guilt. Whether he’d had to have taken your arm or not, the prospect of possibly losing you was more than he could even think to bear. What was more terrifying was that he realized that your loss would devastate him more than his own brother’s had.

“Y/N, wait!”

He couldn’t let you think he had acted that way out of anger alone. Yes, he had been angry but he had been scared. He couldn’t say you were his closest friend. That spot was taken by Carol. You were something else entirely. Something that he would never get the chance to explore or define, fear and awkwardness be damned, if something happened to you.

His feet were carrying him toward you at a brisk pace, your eyes wide at his approach but you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch or cower, even when he grabbed your shoulder and pulled in against his chest, wrapping both arms around you to hold you there.

“M’sorry.” He whispered into your hair. You weren’t hugging him back but that was most likely because your arms were pinned between the two of you. “Ain’t no reason for me to ever talk to ya like that. Ya ain’t stupid. You’re quick on your feet an’ it ain’t fair’a me to fault ya on that just cause m’too scared to lose ya.” He felt your sharp inhale while his face and neck flushed at the admission. “I—Christ, ain’t no good at this talkin’ an’ shit.” When your shoulders shook, he knew he’d made you cry again and took a step back, his hands sliding up to hold your shoulders. While that was true, the movement was from the laughter bubbling up from your chest instead of the tears falling down your cheeks. “The hell ya laughing at?”

“I like you too, Daryl.” Goddamnit, you had a pretty smile. He’d make a fool of himself ten times over if it meant you’d give him that smile just once.

“Ain’t a thing ‘bout likin’ ya.” He swallowed hard and looked away, the pink hue on his cheeks deepening. “Don’t know what it is, but, uh—well, maybe we can try to figure it out together?” He sounded like a lovesick teenager and was two seconds away from rolling his eyes so hard that they would relocate permanently to the back of his skull.

“I’d like that.” 

“Really?” He straightened, expression embarrassingly hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.” 

“Right.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, not feeling like he’d entirely lost the right to call himself a man. “So, uh—Guess we should tell Rick that Olivia can get Spencer to help her. Maybe he’d stop oglin’ ya all the damn time if he’s cooped up in the pantry.” You reached for his hand and he let you take it. “Maybe I could talk her into lockin’ him in there for a while.” The walk back to the house wasn’t a long one and all too quickly, you were climbing the porch steps just in front of him.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want other guys checking out your girl?” 

Daryl almost missed the top step. “My girl?” He didn’t mean for it to come out quite so breathlessly. He was mostly definitely losing his man card that night. You were blinking at him, your smile slowly faltering.

“I—I misunderstood, didn’t I? Jesus, Daryl, I’m—”

“Nah.” He quickly derailed that train of thought. “Just liked hearin’ ya say it s’all.” 

“Are you—”

“Yup.” The smile was back and Daryl could breathe again. Somehow, standing there with you on the porch and him on the top step, just staring at one another was more comfortable than he could have ever imagined. 

“So,” you began, twisting your upper half back and forth, “you walked me home. Are you gonna say goodnight and kiss me now?”

Daryl’s face contorted in confusion, a dark brow arching. “I, uh—I live here too.”

“Does that really matter?” You asked, stepping a little closer. 

“Guess it don’t, really.” When you leaned forward, he didn’t stop you. Found that he didn’t want to. Even as new and undefined as whatever this was, this felt right and he’d be damned if he’d let a chance like that pass him by. 

Inside the house, Carol swirled the wine around in her glass, watching the kiss happen with a sigh of relief. “Finally.” Picking up her book, she took a sip and placed the glass down on the table before opening to the dog-eared page. “Now I don’t have to lock them in the pantry together tomorrow.”

[loverslodge]

Glitch

summery: you is a broken mutant and Bucky is very adamant to protect her

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warning: experiments, violence, ptsd, angst, fluff

A/N: finally a bucky baby romance. love him so much i want to cuddle him to death.

You didn't know how to react. You were kissing Bucky Barnes and you didn't know how to react. This was not the way you thought kissing Bucky Barnes for the first time would go.

You joined the team over two years ago. You weren't an agent, you were a lab rat. Well, a lab rat is a harsh way of putting things. You had somehow gained some sort of superpowers. You were attacked during the Ultron takeover and something burst near you that gave you just enough powers that could make you glitch. Many glitches later, you determined that it was the panicked adrenaline that set off the glitches and once you calmed down, everything was ‘normal’. Someone must have found out about you after years so SHIELD came to you. They basically kidnapped you and shoved you in their labs.

You met The Avengers. The new recruits as well. Including the famed Winter Soldier. You have seen him work, when he was under control. Actually, they had exchanged conversations. He did save you from an enemy, the one he was supposed to assassinate. But he was beat so you had nursed him. You had left the next day, you were on the run after all. And now, here you were again, meeting him. He didn't remember you and why would he? You were nobody with whom he shared a passionate kiss as Winter Soldier. He made her a promise that he'll come back for you but you knew you weren't going to see each other again.

He stood on the other side of the glass and was talking to Captain America and Iron Man about something. He kept on glancing and pointing at you. You also saw the Eye Patch Man join the discussion. Winter Soldier was getting angry, frustrated maybe, you couldn't really tell. Captain America put a hand on his shoulder and patted his back. He huffed in frustration and left the room.

Bucky saw the state you were in. none of the avengers were allowed in that facility till two years later. He was shocked to see you, a person, like him, treated like a lab rat just like he was. Something about you seemed familiar but he couldn't put a finger on it. He got angry. They told him she was going to be part of the team and yet she was trapped in a glass cage for everyone to look at. She had wires attached to her. She seemed unbothered, unfeeling even. It broke him a little, to see you give up. He used to be like this, then he got friends and they helped but you had nobody. He had Steve. He argued with Tony and Fury but they said you needed more time. He knew what that meant. They were willing to keep you in there till they had control over you. He didn't like that. All of them walked in the conference room where the rest were. They all put out points. Wanda saw his point and agreed, so did Natasha. They finally agreed to have her roam free in the compound but she would be engaged in the lab with Banner. She would be his helping hand and might also be part of experiments that will help her. They explained to Bucky why you needed to be experimented on. You had become part mutant which was not good for you. Either they can help you be a complete mutant or take away the powers and turn you human. Till they find the root of it all, they couldn't even give you options. Bucky agreed. He just wanted you not tied to the wires.

You got your own room. To your right was Wanda, to your left was Natasha and across you was a huge room of Winter Soldier, whom you now know as Bucky Barnes. You were introduced to almost everyone. Others later, once they came back from their missions. They were so nice to you. Especially Wanda and Natasha. But you knew, they had you close because they were supposed to watch you. Make sure you dont glitch on the compound and if you do, drag you straight to the labs. Sleep was evasive. You would wake up glitching because of nightmares. You would not sleep with water because it gave you a reason to walk to the kitchen and settle your glitch. Every night you would meet Bucky there. You didn't talk but both of you shared a silence. He kept your glitches a secret from Fury. and that made you want to look for a solution even harder. You didn't want him to be in trouble because you were sure it was because of him you roamed free.

You avoided Tony’s parties. But your window provided enough entertainment of these parties. You would gaze down and see people buzzing. Sometimes you had tears in your eyes and sometimes you glitched. Bucky knew you were watching. It was obvious. He felt eyes on him and he could hear your little squeaks when he looked up at your window. He liked having you around but he didnt know how to help. So he would stay silent. He followed your schedule. He knew you had nightmares. He also knew you liked to go to the kitchen to grab water because it took your mind off. He started to wait for you. The moment he would hear your door lock after you after you returned from the kitchen, he would go back to sleep as well. He wanted to keep you safe, he doesn't know why.

It was the Fourth of July. It was also Captain Rogers’ birthday. You loved to make small desserts so you thought this was a good time of showing the team that you were grateful for inclusion. You gave the first piece to Steve and he very graciously accepted. He loved it so much he asked you to bake some more for him whenever you had time. You blushed. He nodded vigorously and bumped into Bucky. He insisted you call him that. You offered him your dessert. He didn't have to say he liked it, his face and eyes talked for him. You felt your heartbeat rise and you ducked away from them, yelling ‘happy birthday steve’. That was the loudest he had heard you. He loved your smile. He loved your voice. Even though none of it was directed to him, he still soaked them in.

You started to open up more. Not a lot, just enough for people to interact more casually with you. You started to spend more time in the kitchen. It started relaxing you. You did glitch sometimes, if startled, but over all, you were getting ‘better’. Dr. Banner had taken your blood samples and had been working on reconstructing your cells. He said something about broken threads needing to be sewed but you wouldnt understand. You were more of a stenographer in the lab, everything Banner said was written down. You were happier, more relaxed. Even tried to step outside the compound once but someone saw you glitch and you ran back to your room. You spent more time with Bucky too. He said he could train you and you had said yes. Twice a week was your schedule with him. He would make sure you both were alone in the gym and so, even if you glitched, he would be there to calm you. His presence did that to you. Calmed you so much that even the tiniest glitch disappeared. Just like it did when he had kissed you way back.

There was a part of this though. You were very scared of fireworks. It reminded you of your lonely years and attacks. You had been dealing well because New York had been protected by The Avengers. You rarely hear fireworks too. Just during the New Years this year but they were muffled because FRIDAY had turned on sound blockers after seeing you flinch, glitch and shiver.

The celebrations began. You were in your room again, looking down the window. Your eyes were following Bucky. Again. He was enjoying his drink with Steve and Sam. he glanced up and you squeaked and slid down to hide. You still weren't aware that people couldn't see you from down there but Bucky loved it. He loved that your eyes followed him everywhere. But then he heard Tony say that he had bought shit-ton of fireworks this year to celebrate Steve. He tensed. He weaved his way to your room. You were unaware of this blasting development and gazed down at the people. Bucky knew you feared fireworks. FRIDAY told him after the first time. He was vigilant and made sure nothing startled you but he would always startle you. He was very stealthy after all.

He was seconds away from your room when the fireworks started. You jumped and glitched and screamed. He heard you. He ran. He asked FRIDAY to open your door. He saw you glitching and quivering under your blanket. He rushed in. He held you tight and covered your ears. The sound blockers were not working. You grabbed his shirt. You think you tore it a little but it didn't matter. You were holding onto him for your dear life. You were hyperventilating.

“Can't… breathe…” you huffed, trying to regain your pulse.

“Breath with me, y/n. Here, feel me. See, I am breathing well, yes?” he tore off his shirt and placed your palm on his heart. It did calm you a little but not enough. You tried to concentrate on his breathing but the loud fireworks riled you up even more.

He had read that stopping someone’s breathing for a few seconds would help with hyperventilation. He could choke you but you were a blubbering mess and he didn't want to leave marks saying he tried to kill you to save you. So he did the only logic that spun in his head. He pressed his lips against your. His hands were cupping your face and his lips firmly against yours. He felt your breath hitching to a stop and he sighed. He held for a few more seconds to actually feel your body relax against his. But something unexpected happened. Your lips moved against his. Now his breath hitched. You were kissing him. You angled your head for better access and he registered that. He immediately pulled you on his lap and moved his lips. You opened your mouth and his tongue went right in. you moaned. The familiar feeling of kissing him was back and you didn't want to let him go. Your hand moved from his chest to his neck, pulling him closer. His hand held your waist tightly against himself and the other cupped the back of your neck.

Suddenly he was transported to his Winter Soldier days. One day to be very specific where he had almost become Bucky just because he shared a heated moment with a girl. That familiar touch, that moan and those lips. They were the same. He latched onto you even further. He remembered you. He went back to look for you but you were long gone. Then shit went down and he came back to be Steve’s best friend. He had forgotten about you, almost, till this very moment. He cradled your head and tried to pull back to let you breath but you caught his lips again. As if you were thirsty. He chuckled and started caressing your head. He slowed down the pace of the kiss and you calmed down. You slowly pulled away and looked down. Your face was on fire. The fireworks had died down.

He cupped your face and tilted it to make you look at him. “It was you, the one who almost pulled me out of my insanity. I have you back in my arms.” he sighed and kissed your forehead. “Are you okay? I will talk to Tony to not schedule updates on fireworks days.”

“I thought you didn't remember me.” your voice came in whispers. “I'm okay. Now. I didn't mean to pull you away from Steve’s party. I, uh, waited for you. A bit. Back then. But I had to run.”

“You didn't pull me away from anywhere, doll. I came to you myself. I always found you familiar but it was your kiss that reminded me that you were the one I had lost back then. Now you wont run, will you?” He asked, looking at you. You shook your head and he pulled you to his chest. You could hear his heartbeat clearly. You breathed deep. You were exhausted after the episode.

“Let’s get you to bed.” he stood up and carried you to his room. Your blanket was still wrapped around you. He lowered you down on his mattress and went to change out his clothes. You nestled deeper into his bed and tried to keep your eyes open. He trudged back in the room and got in bed beside you. Your arms immediately went for him and he let you pull him to you.

“You will not let me go again, will you?” you asked softly.

“Never. You are holding on to me forever.” he wrapped his arms around you and you both snuggle to sleep.

[merwgue]

You thought I forgot? @naravelia

The Tamlin Mandela Effect: How Fandom’s Misremembering of Key Events is Turning into a Haters’ Anthem

There’s a peculiar phenomenon in the A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR) fandom that echoes something you might find more commonly in conspiracy theories or internet forums. It’s the Mandela Effect, named after an odd cognitive twist where people collectively misremember or distort facts—like a whole generation swearing that Nelson Mandela died in the 1980s, despite him actually living until 2013. But we’re not here to talk about Mandela (no, this is not that essay). We’re here to talk about how Tamlin, our misunderstood High Lord of the Spring Court, has been subjected to this exact effect. And it’s spiraling into disastrous consequences for his reputation in the fandom.

If you’ve spent more than five minutes on any ACOTAR discussion board, you’ve probably seen it. Tamlin haters, pitchforks in hand, rattle off the same tired arguments, claiming that he’s the worst villain in the series. “He sold Feyre’s sisters to Hybern!” they say, even though that literally didn’t happen. “He sexually assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain!” they continue, though that scene plays out very differently if you actually read it. It’s becoming a Herculean task to correct these misconceptions every single time someone drags Tamlin through the mud, but here we are, doing the Lord’s work.

Let’s dig into the mess, piece by piece, shall we?

The Non-Existent Sale of Feyre’s Sisters to Hybern: The Misinformation Continues

Here’s a hill people are dying on that is as fictitious as it is frustrating. There is this collective belief that Tamlin, in all his "evilness," sold Feyre’s sisters to Hybern in some dramatic betrayal. Let’s be real: if Tamlin were a sleazy car salesman in another life, he wouldn’t have any buyers. Because he didn’t “sell” anyone.

Let’s revisit the facts. Tamlin teamed up with Hybern in A Court of Mist and Fury out of desperation to get Feyre back. Was it the smartest move? No. Did he expect things to go smoothly without Hybern’s penchant for destruction taking the reins? Probably. But nowhere in the text does it indicate that Tamlin knowingly offered up Feyre’s sisters on a silver platter.

In fact, Tamlin seemed to have absolutely no idea that Elain and Nesta would be dragged into the mess. The King of Hybern double-crossed everyone, Tamlin included. Feyre’s sisters being thrown into the Cauldron was Hybern’s decision—not some malicious masterstroke from Tamlin’s end. This narrative where Tamlin is painted as the orchestrator of their suffering is wildly inaccurate. It’s like saying a passenger in a car crash is guilty of the accident. Was he complicit by being in the metaphorical car with Hybern? Sure. But did he plan for it to happen? Absolutely not.

And yet, despite this being pretty clear in the text, people still treat it as canon that Tamlin personally wrapped Feyre’s sisters up in pretty bows and delivered them to Hybern like Christmas gifts. The Mandela Effect strikes again.

The “Tamlin Assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain” Lie That Refuses to Die

This one is probably the most egregious example of people twisting canon to fit their own narrative. Now, look, I get it—Under the Mountain was a dark time for everyone. Emotions were high, trauma was rampant, and it was one hell of a mess. But this claim that Tamlin sexually assaulted Feyre during her time there? That’s not just a stretch—it’s an Olympic-level leap of inaccuracy.

Here’s what actually happened: Amarantha had Tamlin under her thumb. He was powerless, trying to bide his time and keep himself (and others) alive. Was he the best emotional support system for Feyre during this period? Absolutely not. Did he make questionable decisions? Yes. But at no point did Tamlin assault Feyre or take advantage of her.

The argument stems from a scene where Feyre, reeling from her third trial, is given a brief moment of respite with Tamlin. They have a charged, emotionally heightened interaction. It’s not comfortable, but it’s also not what people are accusing it of being. Tamlin is desperate, Feyre is desperate, and they’re both stuck in a situation with absolutely no control. If anything, it’s a moment that reflects the trauma of being trapped Under the Mountain—not a moment of assault. The fact that this narrative continues to be twisted into something more sinister is a disservice to both characters and to the complexity of trauma and survival.

Moreover, Feyre doesn’t feel violated by Tamlin in this moment. She doesn’t reflect on it later as assault. If Feyre, who narrates the entire series, doesn’t see it as such, why are we putting words in her mouth? The Mandela Effect here is just baffling—people are conflating Tamlin’s flaws with things that never actually happened. It’s like misremembering the plot of Titanic and insisting that Jack could have survived if only he’d kicked Rose off the door sooner. Except, you know, worse.

The Constant Gaslighting Narrative: Feyre’s Love for Rhysand Suddenly Erased All Else?

Perhaps the most absurd consequence of the Tamlin hate train is this retroactive gaslighting of Feyre’s own character. By the time we get to A Court of Frost and Starlight, Feyre casually drops that she’s loved Rhysand since Under the Mountain. Excuse me, what? Let’s go back to the text, shall we?

In ACOTAR, Feyre is doing everything in her power to save Tamlin—not Rhysand. In fact, Feyre hates Rhysand for most of that book (and rightly so). She is willing to sacrifice herself for Tamlin, to endure Amarantha’s torment because of the deep love she feels for him. The entire climax of the book hinges on Feyre’s determination to free Tamlin, not Rhysand.

But suddenly, we’re supposed to believe that she’s been in love with Rhysand this whole time? Yeah, no. That’s like claiming you’ve loved pizza your entire life but spent your formative years swearing you couldn’t stand the taste of cheese. It doesn’t add up. The revisionism here is frustrating because it attempts to erase Feyre’s complex feelings for Tamlin, reducing them to some passing crush while elevating her relationship with Rhysand to an almost predestined love story. It’s not only inaccurate; it’s unfair to the nuance of Feyre’s journey.

And for those who claim that Tamlin was manipulating Feyre from the start: let’s not pretend Rhysand wasn’t manipulative as well. Rhysand, for all his brooding High Lord charm, was hardly honest with Feyre at first. He didn’t tell her about the mate bond until after she’d fled the Spring Court, allowing her to suffer through an emotional tailspin in the meantime. If we’re going to talk about manipulation, let’s talk about it on both sides of the equation.

Tamlin’s Villain Arc: When Did Fandom Decide He’s the Devil Incarnate?

Let’s get one thing clear: Tamlin is not perfect. He has anger issues, control issues, and makes some boneheaded decisions. But turning him into the ultimate villain of the series is not just a misstep—it’s a full-blown mischaracterization.

Tamlin’s actions in A Court of Mist and Fury—his attempts to lock Feyre in the Spring Court, his alliance with Hybern—are not the actions of a villain, but of someone who is deeply flawed and unable to cope with the trauma he’s experienced. He is desperate to hold on to the one thing he thinks he can still control: Feyre. Is it right? Absolutely not. Is it a classic case of toxic masculinity and overprotection? Yes. But that doesn’t make him an evil character—it makes him a tragic one.

The fandom has somehow turned Tamlin into a one-dimensional antagonist, ignoring the deep trauma he’s endured and the complicated reasons behind his actions. People seem to forget that Tamlin genuinely cared for Feyre—enough to let her go at the end of ACOTAR. That’s not something a villain would do. Villains don’t sacrifice their happiness for the well-being of others, but Tamlin did. He wanted Feyre to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.

But thanks to the Mandela Effect of the fandom, Tamlin’s complexity has been erased, replaced with a caricature of a monster. Every time someone falsely claims that Tamlin sold Feyre’s sisters, or assaulted her, or that he’s some irredeemable villain, it becomes harder and harder to pull the conversation back to reality. The narrative has been hijacked by misinformation and misremembering, and the truth is becoming increasingly difficult to find.

The Lord’s Work: Fighting Misinformation One Comment at a Time

At this point, defending Tamlin’s character feels like doing the Lord’s work. The sheer volume of misinformation being spread about him is staggering. And every time someone presents an accurate, well-reasoned argument about what really happened in the series, they’re met with a wall of denial from those who have bought into the Mandela Effect narrative.

It’s exhausting, and yet it’s necessary. Because if we don't keep correcting these misconceptions, the narrative only gets more distorted. The truth gets buried under layers of fan-driven exaggeration, selective memory, and willful ignorance. It’s as if every time someone tries to present a factual argument, they're drowned out by a chorus of “But Tamlin sold Feyre’s sisters!” or “He assaulted her!”—as though saying it louder makes it more true.

Yet, here we are, repeating ourselves like broken records, diligently doing the work to remind people of the actual storyline. Is it thankless? Sure. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Because when the truth is at stake, when a character as complex and tragic as Tamlin is being reduced to an easy-to-hate villain, it’s our responsibility to keep the conversation grounded in fact.

Why Do People Cling to These Misconceptions?

Here’s where it gets a bit more philosophical. Why, despite the evidence in the text, do so many fans persist in demonizing Tamlin and clinging to false narratives? The answer, I think, lies in the very nature of fandoms themselves.

Fandoms are not just about the source material—they’re about how people feel about the source material. And feelings, as we all know, are not bound by logic or facts. For many readers, Tamlin represents a particular archetype of toxic masculinity—one that they’re all too familiar with in the real world. When they see Tamlin’s controlling behavior, his anger, and his mistakes, it triggers a visceral reaction. He becomes, in their minds, the embodiment of every harmful, controlling man they’ve encountered or heard about.

Rhysand, by contrast, is portrayed as the perfect “feminist” male hero—someone who respects Feyre’s autonomy, who lifts her up instead of controlling her. It’s easy to see why readers gravitate toward Rhysand and against Tamlin, even when the actual story is far more nuanced.

The problem, of course, is that Tamlin isn’t just an archetype. He’s a fully fleshed-out character with his own trauma, motivations, and flaws. But once a fandom has decided that a character is “bad,” it’s incredibly hard to change that perception, even with cold, hard facts.

The Real Tragedy: A Missed Opportunity for Redemption

What makes this whole Mandela Effect situation even more tragic is that it closes the door on one of the most interesting possibilities in the ACOTAR series: Tamlin’s redemption.

Tamlin is a character who has made mistakes, yes—but so has every major character in the series. Feyre herself is no saint; Rhysand’s hands aren’t exactly clean either. Yet these characters are given the chance to grow, to learn from their mistakes, and to become better versions of themselves. Tamlin, on the other hand, is left to wallow in his misery, largely abandoned by both the narrative and the fandom.

Imagine if the fandom allowed Tamlin the same grace they allow other characters. Imagine if, instead of reducing him to a one-note villain, they embraced the possibility of redemption. Tamlin’s arc could be one of the most powerful in the series—a story about a broken man learning to rebuild himself, about a leader who learns to lead with compassion instead of fear. But as long as the Mandela Effect continues to distort his actions and his character, that possibility remains out of reach.

Conclusion: The Battle Continues

In the end, fighting the Mandela Effect surrounding Tamlin is an uphill battle. It’s frustrating, it’s repetitive, and at times it feels hopeless. But it’s also necessary. Because Tamlin, for all his flaws, deserves better than the treatment he’s received from large swaths of the fandom.

He didn’t sell Feyre’s sisters. He didn’t assault her Under the Mountain. He’s not the devil incarnate. He’s a deeply flawed, deeply human (or, well, fae) character who made mistakes but also showed moments of love, sacrifice, and growth.

So here we are, doing the Lord’s work, repeating the same truths over and over again, hoping that someday the message will finally stick. Because Tamlin’s story is not one of villainy—it’s one of tragedy. And it’s time the fandom started treating it that way.

[areyouwell]

Alea Iacta Est

Ch.2

Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI

Word Count: 27.1K

A/N: uh... oops? okay so this took like forty years because i wasn't expecting it to be sO LONG. this is also the initial length of the chapter CUT DOWN because there were three more scenes i wanted to add but JESUS it would have been around 40k if i did that soooo here :3

🏷 : @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

“Alecto? That’s what she said her name was? Are you sure?” 

Logan sighed for the millionth time that evening, his arms folded securely across his chest as he answered question after question about his encounter with their latest mission target. This one came from Jean, her eyes bearing into his as if she could peel back his cool façade and dissect the truth from within. Which, to be honest, she probably could. 

“Like the Fury?”

All heads in the room turned to look at Kitty, who shrank in response to the sudden attention. “It’s uh, a Greek myth. After Cronos castrated the Primordial God Uranus–” Logan had to suppress a childish snort of amusement. Uranus, what a ridiculous name. “–his blood fertilised the soil and three Furies sprang into existence. Tisiphone, Magaera, and Alecto. They’re sort of supposed to punish sins like Magaera punishes sins committed through jealousy, Tisiphone punishes sins committed against the gods and avenges the murdered, and Alecto punishes sins committed through anger. They’re… torturers of sorts, mainly in the Underworld serving Hades. It’s actually in interesting–”

“Right, thanks for the Mythology lesson, Kitty, but that’s not really the point here,” Scott grumbled, clearly still not over the fact he was bested on the mission by someone he didn’t even have time to react to. But Kitty’s explanation got Logan thinking. It made sense, he thought, that you would name yourself after some kind of punisher. After all, every single one of your victims had been some criminal of sorts, your own acts against the law put to the side. 

“I’ve heard that name before…” Charles pondered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched his mind for the source of his recognition. Logan grunted in confirmation. 

“Yeah, she mentioned you by name. An old pupil of yours?” He asked, a brow raised in suspicion. It wouldn’t be the first time Charles had kept something like that hidden from the rest of the team. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest when it came to his failures, and if you were one of them, it would make sense why he’d never mentioned you before. But Charles shook his head. 

“No. Not this one. We couldn’t get to her in time.” He muttered, almost to himself, and Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. Couldn’t get to you in time? In time for what? Who the hell were you? What the hell did ‘in time’ mean? Jean and Charles exchanged a quick glance, the redhead nodding in silent understanding before she left the room. Some telepathic thing, no doubt. A spark of jealousy ignited in Logan’s chest. He hated it when they shared secrets, and he briefly wondered if Scott was ever let into their little silent communications club. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Charles sent him a long look of disapproval, to which Logan responded with nothing but tensing his jaw, dragging his eyes away from Xavier’s omniscient ones. 

“None of this matters,” he began, clearing his throat. “Unless I go to this Gala thing on the 18th. She said if we wanted to help–”

“Stop this slave trade business, yeah you said. But what’s to say she isn’t lying? Who’s to say this isn’t a trap to lure you away so any little friends she has can invade the school? Who’s to say she wasn’t involved in the burning of the orphanage?” Scott rebutted, and Logan could almost taste the irritation in his voice. 

“We’ve been over this. She couldn’t have anythin’ to do with it cuz she was–”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have others working for her.” Storm offered as calmly as she could.

“How do we know she’s not workin’ for someone else?” Marie interjected the first words she’d said since entering the room. 

“Scott’s got a point, she knew more about the orphanage than any of us did.” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between fuzzy fingers. 

Logan huffed in irritation. “Because she fuckin’ told me. Why the hell would she say anythin’ if she was involved?”

“Why’re you defending her?” Scott accused, leaning forward against the broad table in the centre of the room. “Sounds like she got under your skin.”

“‘M not defending her–”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“What would you’ve done? Blasted a hole through her chest without a second thought?”

“Would have been better than letting her get away.”

“That’s ENOUGH.” Charles’ voice echoed through the room and Logan’s head, and judging by the winces and flinches from the rest of the team, he’d done the same to them. The room fell silent, though the tension was palpable. Logan’s fists bled white as he clenched them tightly, fighting every instinct in his body not to leap over the table and pound the ever-loving shit out of Scott’s stupid sunglasses-wearing face. “She didn’t have anything to do with the orphanage. That’s final. Scott, I think your anger is clouding your judgment. Logan’s right, she wouldn’t have said anything at all if she had any kind of involvement. As for others working for her, I didn’t see anyone else in the vicinity last night. She was working alone.”

A sick sense of satisfaction inflated his chest as he watched Scott lean back in his chair with a sharp huff, and he knew the motherfucker was rolling his eyes behind those tinted shades. 

“So… you’re going? To the gala thing?” Marie asked, cutting the tension in the room and forcing everyone back on track with the conversation. Logan shrugged in response, nodding simultaneously. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll search my closet, see if I have any kind of gala-appropriate outfits. A week doesn’t exactly give us much time...” Ororo mused, making to leave before Logan stopped her in her tracks, rising from his seat. 

“You won’t be needin’ it because you’re not goin’. None of you are.” He stated firmly, taking a step back to lean against the wall behind him, exhaustion pounding in his head. He knew this meeting was going to be fucking endless, but he didn’t think it would be this bad.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of going alone? That’s suicide!” Kitty exclaimed, her hands clasped firmly against the edge of the table as she too stood up. 

“You heard what Alecto said. Come alone or not at all. If we all show up, we run the risk of her boltin’, and not gettin’ any closer to findin’ out what the hell she was talkin’ about. Or who’s doin’ this and why? Charles?” Logan turned to the Professor for help, hoping to shit he was on his side. And the way Xavier sighed heavily, his head almost hanging low in defeat, told him he was right. 

“We don’t have a choice. Alecto specifically asked for Logan and nobody else. She had the chance to talk to Scott and instead incapacitated him.”

Logan suppressed a bark of laughter as Scott gaped at the blatant putting down of the incident, but Charles continued before he could refute the claim and tell them all how he thought everything went down. “Logan’s likely the only one who can pull this off. Now this isn’t to say none of you have the capabilities, it’s more than if things do go wrong, and this is, as Scott says, a trap, then he’d be the only one to make it out alive.”

‘Thanks…’ Logan thought sarcastically, and Charles narrowed his eyes at him, clearly having heard the faux gratitude. 

“I really don’t like this…” Marie muttered, running a hand through her nutmeg hair.

“Neither do any of us, but this is the only way forward I can see, and Logan’s willing, so it’s settled.” Charles finalised, looking to each team member individually, no doubt to gauge their reactions. None of them seemed happy, but they all seemed to have accepted the reality. 

“Alright, better search for somethin’ to wear. No offence, Slim, but I don’t think any of ya suits would fit me.” Logan jabbed with a crooked, shit-eating grin, and Scott simply glared at him from behind his sunglasses. There was no greater satisfaction than pissing him off. 

With the meeting ended, the rest of the team filed out, Logan making a promise to Marie to find her later so they could properly talk about what happened. He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth, making his way to the front hall and out the double doors so he could smoke in peace. He’d just flicked open his lighter when the cigar in question was pulled from his mouth by invisible fingers and placed delicately back in the leather jacket he was wearing. A small, instinctual smile tugged at his lips, and he raised a brow as he looked behind him to see Jean leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, cleavage almost spilling from the low-cut top she was wearing. But, remarkably, Logan managed to ignore it. Not on purpose, it was more of a subconscious decision. 

“You’re really going to this thing, huh?” She sighed. It wasn’t a question, more a statement of acceptance, as if she needed to voice it out loud to truly understand. Logan hummed in confirmation, turning his body so he was facing her, mirroring her stance and leaning against the wall.

“Yeah. I am.” He responded simply, a surprising flare of irritation curling in his gut as he took out the cigar again, slotting it between the gates of his teeth and lighting the end, inhaling the thick, nicotine-laced smoke for a moment, before blowing it out into the night air. Jean’s lip curled in momentary disgust, before she schooled her features once again, although there was something flickering in her eyes. Something that almost looked like disapproval, and not at the fact he was smoking. 

“Something’s changed. You’re not as… you, as you were before.” She murmured, taking a few steps closer to him. Any other time before, his heart would be stuttering in his chest, and all sorts of filthy, debauched thoughts would be racing through his head. But this time, he couldn’t be far enough away from her. That instinctual smile that had pulled at his lips earlier had been wiped completely clean, replaced by sheer disinterest. 

“The hell does that mean?” He asked, the sudden need to defend himself dripping from his tone as he took another drag if only to blow smoke in the decreasing space between them. Jean’s eyes narrowed, and Logan felt the softest caress against the walls of his mind, his jaw clenching against it. “Outta my head, Jean. I mean it.”

She looked as if he’d just insulted her, slight hurt flickering across her sharp features. “Yeah, something’s definitely changed. What did she say to you?”

“Who?”

“Alecto.”

Logan rolled his eyes, turning away from her again to lean his back against the brickwork. Honestly, he was sick and tired of explaining himself, and you, to the rest of the team. He didn’t know what had happened, to be honest. But it was something greater than him. Greater than all of them. There was something going on that he didn’t understand and he didn’t like it. And he liked Jean’s prodding and poking even less. 

“She didn’t say anythin’. Jus’ thinkin’ about this whole slave trade thing, y’know?” He deflected. In all honesty, he couldn’t explain the sudden shift in his dynamic with Jean. He’d noticed it the moment he returned from the mission, realising she wasn’t the first person he wanted to see. Wanted to talk to. In fact, she hadn’t even been on his mind until she came running up the halls to crush Scott in a squeezing embrace. He didn’t even care about the way her hands cradled his face, searching for any sign of injury. He’d walked straight past her and into the board room without so much as a second thought. He was as thrilled as he was unnerved. 

It was peaceful, not having his heart bruised and beaten with every word exchanged. To not feel chewed up and spat out every time they looked at one another. Refreshing to feel absolutely nothing when Scott tucked her into his side, his hand braced against her waist, and he was only now realising his jealousy from earlier came from the fact that he was the one who interacted with Alecto, and she was still the one Charles was sharing his secrets with. That was what bothered him most. Shockingly enough. 

He blew out another cloud of smoke, watching the wispy tendrils rise and found his mind pulling back to his fight with you, the whirls of grey strikingly similar to the way the blood around your palms would twist, separating and joining at different points, as if they weren’t liquid, but something more. Something alive. 

“Sure, I guess. But you’ve barely said a word to me. Barely even bothered to say hi before you marched on through to the Professor. What’s– Logan would you look at me?” She urged, her hand on his shoulder sending a ripple of… something, across his skin. He couldn’t discern the feeling, but it sure as hell wasn’t a good one. Something really had shifted in him. How the hell could this happen seemingly overnight? 

But he did as she asked, hazel eyes sliding to look at her out of his periphery, and she removed her hand when he finally accepted he wasn’t going to turn to her again. “What’s that supposed to be?” She asked, gesturing to the way he hadn’t even moved. 

“‘M lookin’ atcha, like you asked me to.” He shrugged, fingers fiddling with the roach of his cigar as he twisted it around. He felt another strange sense of satisfaction at her defeated sigh, her eyes downcast as she traced the patterns of the gravel ground. 

“Just… Look. Be careful, okay? We don’t know what this Alecto is capable of, or what she’s planning, and I– I’d rather you came back safe.” She whispered like a secret. How long had he been waiting to hear something like that from her? How long had he been yearning to hear those kinds of caring words fall from her mouth and actually be directed at him? It didn’t matter, because he felt nothing. It was confusing. Freeing. Terrifying. All at the same time. 

“Thought I was the bad guy who didn’t stick around? How’d ya know I’ll come back at all?” He mused, flicking the cinders from the foot of the cigar and putting it out completely on the cold, slightly damp wall behind him. “Who knows, maybe I’ll come back the good guy you’d take home to your parents. Isn’t that what you said girls wanted?” He didn’t know where these sudden jabs were coming from, but it felt strangely good to get his inner turmoil out in the open. To call her out on the things she’d said in the past, contradictory to the fact he’d stuck around for the last god knows how long. He stood from leaning against the wall, placing the half-smoked cigar neatly back in the steel tin before shoving it, and both his hands, back into his pockets. 

“I was wrong… okay? Is that what you want me to say? You’ve proven you can stick around for a while, but it’s not just that. I’m with Scott, and I have been for a long time.” The exasperation in Jean’s voice baffled the fuck out of him. Why was she saying this as if he didn’t know? As if it wasn’t shoved in everyone’s faces every moment of every day. It irritated him to think that she cared. Irritated him to wonder why the hell this was even brought up. But he drew in a deep breath, finally turning to face her once again. 

“Okay.”

The night fell silent, only the distant sounds of crickets filling the sudden void as he watched the redhead process what he’d just said. The acceptance in his tone. The finality in one simple word. Okay.

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? Years of you flirting with me, pining after me, constantly jabbing and insulting Scott and all you have to say is ‘okay’? Like none of that ever happened? Like you didn’t kiss me that night we were running from Stryker?” She floundered, and Logan just watched. Sure, it was all true. He did kiss her that night, and when Mystique later entered his tense wearing her skin, he didn’t even hesitate. But that felt like such a distant memory now. After all, it had been a few years since that. 

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? It’s sure as hell what Scotty wanted, f’me to finally back off his girl. Isn’t this what you wanted? Cuz I’m gettin’ real confused over here.” He ground out between grit teeth. Why was she angry? What the hell was going on? Did she not want him to back off? Was this all some sick kind of powerplay to keep his attention? Or was she just as confused as he was? Despite all his questions, he suddenly found himself without a willingness to care. He’d had enough. 

“I didn’t–”

“G’night, Jean.” He interrupted before she could get a word in, shrugging past her and back into the warmth of the school’s interior. He’d never been the one to leave the conversation before. Never been the one to put an end to their interactions before now. It was thrilling, in a way. Leaving her out in the cold while she was stuck thinking about everything he’d just said. It was nice to turn the tables for once and to be the one in control of the situation.

Things truly had changed.

A sharp hiss echoed against the empty walls of an old abandoned factory as you bound your wounds, crimson blood seeping through the stark white gauze you wrapped tightly around both hands. Sure, they’d probably be healed up in a week or so, but the scars left behind were just short of infuriating. And the scabbing process across your hands already meant they would take longer than usual to heal over. 

This was not your finest work. 

You leaned against one of the solid beams, your legs dangling either side of the rafter you were perched on as you savoured the slight sting of closing your fists, reflecting on whatever the hell just happened. Of all the people to get mixed up in your business, why the hell did it have to be Professor X? Why couldn’t it have been Magneto? At least he would be more likely to side with you. 

The buzz of your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you breathed a heavy sigh. You knew who that was. You always knew who called you after a victim. Tugging out your phone, you swiped up on the screen, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. 

“Hey Tiss, what’s up?” It took a great deal of effort to make it sound like you weren’t utterly exhausted, and a sharp knife twisted in your gut at the realisation that you were about to lie to her. 

“Hey Alec, the Boss wants to know if you found anything?” She asked, her already husky voice crackling slightly over the receiver. Wasn’t there anywhere in this godforsaken city with good signal? You ran a hand through your hair, pushing down your hood at the same time. And it was with heavy hands that you removed the mask from your face, taking a gulp of the fresh air, air that to anyone else who hadn’t been wearing a mask for the last ten hours would more than likely both taste and smell incredibly stale. 

“Yeah, the location. Some fancy estate called Thornbury. Some kinda owner gathering so these sick fucks can discuss trades.” You spat involuntarily, disgust curling in your chest at the idea of people, humans, fucking about with the lives of mutants. Of your people. The natural order of the world had gone insane. How had it happened that the more advanced race had been subjected to torture and slavery? What the fuck was wrong with this world?

“Thornbury… that’s almost a hundred miles west of the city, some posh prick’s country estate. It’s been in the Thornbury family since the 19th century, and Lord Thornbury –apparently self-proclaimed– has been under fire for some less-than-savoury controversies. Tax evasion, mostly. They say–”

“You’re reading this from a Wikipedia article, aren’t you?” You asked and the line fell silent, prompting a snort of amusement to fly from your nose.

“...Maybe. You never know, my intel could just be super fast.” Mag offered, though you could tell she was grinning on the other side of the phone. 

“Tisiphone… nobody’s intel is that fast. Not even Magpie’s.” You chuckled at her offended gasp from the other end.

“What’re you tryna say? That Magpie’s a better informer than I am? I’m shocked and hurt, Alec,” you just knew she was clutching her chest, her phone facing up on the desk on loudspeaker. “By the way, did you kill that guy because he had the same name as you?”

You pursed your lips. You weren’t that petty, but for some reason, it did piss you off that this dirty little fuck stick did have a similar name. At least, a similar name to the one you were given. Your birth name you kept close to your chest. Not even the other Furies knew what it was, and they were like your sisters. 

 “...Maybe.” You mimicked her tone from before and she barked a laugh. 

“Fuckin’ knew it. I told Per– oh shit Mag’s on the other line. Must’ve found something in Phoenix.”

You cocked a brow. “Mag’s in Phoenix? Why? I thought we were focussing our efforts here?” You queried, a little irritated that none of this had been passed to you, and you heard Mag suck in a breath down the receiver. Clearly, you weren’t supposed to know. 

“Special assignment from Bossman, wouldn’t even tell me what it was, but I guess I’m about to find out.” She refused to elaborate further, and you heaved another lengthy sigh. 

“Alright, fine. Call me back after you’ve spoken to her,” you resigned, going to press the red button on your phone screen before you had the sudden urge to ask her something. “Oh, Tiss? How’s… how’s Monkey doing…?” You were slightly hesitant, and Tisiphone’s answer was the reason why.

“Alec… you know you’re not supposed to ask shit like that,” she sounded tired, and you couldn’t blame her. At the end of every assignment, you asked how Monkey was doing. It was an instinct. You just had to make sure he was okay. “He’s fine. Tired and worried, but fine.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks. I know what you risk telling me. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah yeah, save your gratitude for someone who needs it. I’ll call you back.” And without another word, the line went dead. 

You sat for a moment with your thoughts. At least Monkey was okay. You knew he’d been through a lot lately, and in all honesty, you worried about him. Deeply. It irritated you to no end, but you couldn’t help it. Ever since you brought him back it had been a nonstop rollercoaster of emotions for the both of you. It hadn’t exactly been easy.

But then again, nothing ever was. 

You dragged your hand down the side of your face, your fingertips catching on the prominent scar over your eye. The only reason you had to wear some kind of mask twenty-four fucking seven. Even when you weren’t on an assignment, you felt more comfortable with the soft leather that usually hid half of your face. You could still see, thank fuck, they weren’t cruel enough to blind you in one eye.

Just cruel enough to permanently brand your face.

Your legs ached slightly as you rose into a seat, stretching your arms above your head before deftly swinging down from the rafter, using the support beam to slow your descent. You really didn’t feel like opening your wounds again, not after you’d only just bound them, so you grit your teeth and clung to the steel beam as you clambered down, your ankles barking in slight protest as you landed heavier than you would have liked the sound of your boots echoing across the empty, run-down factory. You’d scouted the area beforehand, usually a hotspot for drug deals or street urchins.

You half-smiled at the idea. You were one yourself not so long ago. Wandering the streets. Stealing what you could, running from those who’d caught you. You and–

You smothered the memory before it could take over. 

Sliding your mask back over your face, a paradoxical sense of comfort enveloped your chest. Whilst yes, you hated having to wear it, you also liked how it concealed who you were. Kept you and your family safe from those who would prefer to hunt you down and sell you to the MSR. Your fingers ghosted atop the mask, over the scar along your left eye. You were trying to put a stop to it. The Mutant Slave Ring. Nobody should have to suffer like that. Nobody should have to suffer anymore. And if that meant burning the human race to the ground, you’d be happy being the one to light the match. 

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, and you immediately held it up to your ear. “Yup?”

“Wow, rude. Yeah, that was Mags. Said she’s gonna be in Phoenix a little while longer. Ran into trouble.” Tiss explained, her voice seemingly brighter than it had been during your last call. You rolled your eyes. 

Disgusting lovebirds.

“The good kind of trouble or the bad kind?” You asked, your boots crunching on the earthen ground as the night air greeted you, leaving the abandoned factory behind. Tisiphone sighed through her nose. 

“The bad kind. She’s okay, she assured me she was okay, but she was almost caught. Looks like the MSR is as active there as it is here.” You listened to her voice get progressively heavier, and you knew she was worried. Though you’d all made a pact when you joined not to get feelings caught up in the mix, you cared for each other as if you were blood-related. Argued with each other as if you were blood-related. And now Tisiphone and Magaera were friends-with-benefits-but-not-really-friends-more-completely-in-love, it was getting harder and harder to hide the fact that you all cared for each other. Deeply. 

“Well, at least she’s okay.”  You offered weakly, not really knowing how else to help Tiss’ worrying. You never were very good at that kind of thing. And the way Tiss chuckled down the line told you she knew exactly that.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot to ask the standard questions earlier–”

“Magpie would never forget.” You jabbed lightheartedly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just because I’m on a field ban doesn’t mean you can be mean to me.” She pouted, and anyone else who didn’t know her as well as you did could never imagine one of the Furies pouting the way she did. “Right, are you hurt?”

“Minimally, but I’m always hurt. Kinda part of my mutation.” You shrugged, taking the spare time you had to wander around the darker sides of town, admiring the peace of distant sirens. 

“Don’t get smart, Alec. Uhhh, did you get what you needed, yep we already covered that. Okay, were you seen by anyone?” 

Your heart stopped. This is what you were dreading lying about. Because, yes. You were seen. Not only were you seen, but you asked for help. You asked for help. From a man you’d never met before and was sent there to stop you, maybe even kill you. You asked for his help. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Nope, stealthy as a cat, like always.” You lied easily, though it twisted your gut to do so. You hated lying to your sisters. There was nothing you couldn’t tell them. Except for this. Because not only had you asked for help. You’d asked one of Charles Xavier’s for help. You were sort of holding out hope that Logan wouldn’t turn up on the 18th. Though from the look in his irritatingly perceptive eyes, it wasn’t much of a hope. 

“I don’t even know why I need to ask you these things to be honest. You’ve got these assignments down to a science at this point.” Tiss lamented, and you felt that knife of guilt twist further into your gut. You didn’t even know how you were going to explain when a strange man turns up to an exclusive MSR event asking for you by a name only those in your own inner circle know, and you knew your sisters were going to feel betrayed, let alone your Boss. You didn’t even want to think about how he would react to this. Not after everything he’d done for you…

Well, you hadn’t actually ever met him. It was more the things he’d done down the grapevine. Saving your sorry ass from a gruesome fate was a start, and letting Monkey in was something you never thought he’d agree to. Not to mention the fact he’d given you a home, food, a family. And now you were going behind his back to employ someone you’d met for less than an hour, and spent most of that time trying to kill each other?

You must be insane. 

“Yeah well, been doin’ it for a while, I guess,” you shrugged despite the fact you were on a phone call and Tiss couldn’t actually see you. “I’ll be coming back soon anyway, you know if Mags has any kind of gala-wear I could steal? Don’t particularly fancy a shopping trip, to be honest with you.” You chuckled humourlessly, though hoping she couldn’t see through the poor attempt to disguise your discomfort. Luckily, you assumed the shitty signal drowned out any kind of complex communication, so Tiss was none the wiser. 

“Not that I know of. I’ll have a look. Aren’t you coming back soon anyway?” She asked, her voice distant as if she’d left the informant’s desk to rifle through one of the communal clothing drawers. And the light thumping of discarded hoodies and jackets proved your assumption correct. 

“Yeah, on my way back now. I’ll see you soonish.”

“Soon-ish? How long is soon-ish?” She called from across the room, and you chuckled slightly. 

“It’s soonish. See ya Tiss.” You disconnected the line before she could question you further. If you were being totally honest with yourself, you wanted to walk about the alleyways for a bit before you return to the stuffy underground hideout. As much as you appreciated the Boss’ roof over your head, you often felt the need to stretch your metaphorical wings, so to speak. That and you were slightly claustrophobic, though you’d never admit it. But the thought of seeing Monkey had you turning homeward bound instinctively, your mind playing the events of the night over and over like a provocative carousel. And your thoughts kept returning to one face. One name. 

Logan.

Storm was right. A week really wasn’t much time. It only seemed like yesterday Logan was in the board room with the rest of the team, trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do about these seemingly random murders. Now he was on the road heading west, a black two-piece suit hanging neatly from the passenger seat roof handle, the matching white shirt placed in a separate plastic cover, that too hanging from the roof handle in the back seats. What the hell was he doing? Walking completely unprepared into something he barely understood, on the likely empty words of a serial killer. Usually, he’d just puncture six holes in their chest and be done with it. But there was something different about you. 

A certain desperation in your tone he couldn’t ignore. The sudden flip from trying to kill him, to asking for his help. Or rather, suggesting that if he so wanted to help, he could by turning up at this location at this specific time. It all seemed too… spontaneous, for him to think any more of it. You didn’t look like you’d been prepared for him to even open his mouth, let alone start asking questions. He’d caught you off guard, that much he could see now. And your instinctual response had been to in turn, ask for help. 

How could he ignore that? How could the rest of the team think there was an ulterior motive here? And though he barely caught sight of them, in the brief moments he could see your eyes, they weren’t the hardened eyes of a killer, like he had expected. There was so much… life, in you. Like you weren’t fighting a battle for the sake of it, but rather for something more. You had a purpose, and that was something else he couldn’t ignore. Whether that purpose was good or bad, he supposed he was about to find out. But there was purpose there nonetheless. Much more than any of the team was expecting. 

You were… interesting. That’s how he’d put it. And he wanted to understand why. Why you were doing this. Why you were caught up in something as big as this. Was it simply to stick up for the little guy? Or was there something more sinister running beneath the surface? He couldn’t assume. The last time he’d assumed, he’d been proven seriously wrong. So he wouldn’t this time. 

The radio crackled slightly as he left the outskirts of the city, where the signal strength was getting weaker and weaker by the second before all he was listening to was white noise and he was forced to change the channel. Logan didn’t make a habit of listening to the radio, but since this was technically Kitty’s car, it had turned on automatically when he started the engine, and he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to notice. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. Filling the rest of the silence whilst his head worked overtime. Only now, it was hurting his damn ears. Flicking through the stations, he raised a brow as a familiar, seemingly appropriate song thundered in the speakers, the guitar solo to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell becoming his new road trip soundtrack. And he honestly couldn’t think of anything more accurate to his situation. 

Highway to Hell indeed.

He kept the station on, occasionally peering out the side window at the change of surroundings, from the suburbs to the countryside, he watched as homes were switched out for fields and farmland. Just where the hell was he going? He’d punched Thornbury Hall into his phone’s GPS and he’d already been driving for what felt like centuries. He would know. And when you’d said west, what exactly had you meant? Because right now he was heading southwest. Was that deliberate? Or were you just really shit at directions?

He’d like to think it was the latter.

Logan spent the next hour planning out an escape route if things were to go wrong. He hadn’t been a stranger to being on the run, so that seemed to be the safest option. Calling for backup was also always there, but there was something prideful in him that really didn’t want to, even if things really did go the worst way they could possibly go. He could always fight his way out. Leave no survivors, old school style. But he’d left that life behind. That wasn’t him anymore, And he didn’t particularly fancy returning to that version of himself. 

Well then. Running it is.

Dusk was falling by the time he rolled up to the estate. Two broad, cast iron gates remained open as ridiculously fancy cars lined up around the central courtyard. This place had a courtyard. Various couples all dressed to the nines walked arm in arm up to the doors, where he could just see a butler offering a welcome glass of what he assumed would be champagne. Wasn’t that what these fancy folk drank? Fuck.

This already wasn’t going to plan. 

The car rolled to a stop before it entered the trail of tall lamps leading up the driveway, pulling into the side of the road. It felt better to walk than to roll up in Kitty’s beaten-up old Ford. That and he needed to change. He knew he should have just driven up wearing the damn suit, but Marie insisted he needed to hang them up. ‘They’ll crease’, was her reasoning. 

Why oh why had he listened to her?

With an irritated huff, he snatched the suit from the hangar, reaching into the back to the shirt before borderline contorting in the driver’s seat to get this stupid fucking suit on and get this stupid fucking night over with. He had to remind himself several times why he was here whilst fighting with cuff links, had to remind himself to steal Marie’s CD collection in payback for insisting a clip-on bowtie would be obvious to these people and they’d know he wasn’t one of them. 

Although, surprisingly, he had to thank Scott for reluctantly letting him borrow his black shoe polish, because despite all the struggling and fighting with the fabric, he didn’t scrub up too badly. Sure, his hair could probably do with some kind of gel, but he wasn’t about to go up and ask for some. Not after he’d gone to the trouble of tying his own goddamn bowtie in order to blend in with these people. Nothing says ‘outcast’ like having to ask to borrow some fucking hair gel.

Why was this even something he was entertaining? 

Pausing to take a breath, Logan reached into the console to pull out his tin of cigars, flicking open his steel Zippo lighter and clamping the roach between his teeth, cupping the flame out on instinct and taking a long drag, before exhaling the cloud of smoke. He knew Kitty would likely give him an earful for smoking in her car, but if nothing else, he was doing it out of spite. Taking one last moment for himself, he opened the door and put out the foot of the cigar on the tarmac.

Stepping from the car, he briefly looked over his appearance in the wing mirror, straightening his jacket slightly by the lapels and smoothing down any creases he could see. He was sure it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. The first true test of his disguise would be trying to find you, wherever the fuck you were. Were you even here yet? Only one way to find out…

The house was almost exactly how he imagined it. Some shitty imitation of an English country house, oozing inauthentic extravagance in every way conceivable. From the over-flashy imitation gargoyles to the poorly kept white roses climbing the side of the double doors. Two pillars held aloft the front porch, painted and foiled with gold which he was certain would have washed away if they truly were in England. Although, he swore he could smell rain in the air. Fucking great. 

His eyes scanned the greeting hall, searching swiftly for the man with the runic tattoo you’d told him about. Which was borderline impossible since every peacock here seemed to be wearing high collars. All except the countless security guards, who kept their collars flat. Why the fuck he would be looking for a security guard, he had no fucking clue, but for some godforsaken reason, he trusted you. Trusted you enough to turn up to this event anyway. 

He stayed still for a moment, his eyes flicking to the necks of every guard he came across before a wave of relief settled over him. Whilst he wasn’t well versed in runes the same way Kitty was with her mythology fixation, she’d talked his ear off enough to know one when he saw one.  A shorter man with patchwork black and white hair stood to attention at the foot of the grandest staircase he thought he’d ever seen, arms held firmly behind his back, mahogany watching the room like he could see more than just people. The moment his eyes landed on Logan’s, they widened almost imperceptibly, but just enough for Logan to realise. 

He strode over, fixing the cuffs of his white shirt as the blonde looked away, pretending he didn’t notice he was coming toward him. But Logan wouldn’t let that happen. Whether he knew he was coming or not, he didn’t care. Not finding you wasn’t an option. 

“Looking for Alecto.” Was all he muttered, setting his jaw against the way the man turned back to him, his own jaw tensed in muted surprise. He looked Logan up and down, as if sizing him up, before offering him a curt nod and turning on his heels to head up the stairs, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce that he was meant to follow. 

With a small shrug to himself, Logan did just that, though keeping his wits about him and making mental notes to remember where he came from, which turns he took, and which doors they entered through and exited out of. He swore this damn palace was bigger on the inside, and it felt like he’d been walking for hours before he was striding up the hallway behind the smaller man toward another security guard, blonde hair and with eyes so deep blue they almost came across as violet greeted them. 

 “One of Alecto’s.” He heard the blonde mutter, clearly not meant for his ears, and Logan tried his best to make it look like he couldn’t hear them, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You sure?” Violet-eyes responded, looking past the blonde and straight into Logan’s damn soul. 

“Said so himself.” 

These two really didn’t exchange more words than necessary, did they? If Logan didn’t know any better, he’d assume they hated each other. But by the smell of them, he knew they were mutants. Poppyseeds and bird feathers with the slightest hint of sulphur that wasn’t coming from either of them, but rather from behind the door. A smell so strong he couldn’t scent anything else further than that. 

The ebony-haired guard narrowed his eyes to Logan, before stepping to the side and opening the door, allowing them both to enter, following on after and closing the door behind him. 

It had to be some kind of guest room, various sofas all arranged facing each other, ornamental coffee tables completely untouched separating the space. Various masks and equipment settled on a small round table near the large bay windows at the end of the room, with another set of white double doors leading off to the left, the coppery scent of fresh blood barely noticeable over the borderline overwhelming stench of sulphur.

The source of the scent now facing him, two deep red flames burning in her hands, neatly curled black hair falling in front of her face slightly. 

“And just who the fuck are you?”

You weren’t nervous. You’d never been nervous about things like this. Sure, you had a history of being a little… flighty, before a mission, but that never meant you were nervous. But, if you weren’t nervous, then what the fuck else could explain the twisting of your stomach or the unsteady, jumpy beat of your heart. You’d already thought over every possible eventuality, twice. What the hell had you so worked up?

It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what had got you so worked up. And he wasn’t even here yet. If he was coming at all. You’d put so much faith in a complete stranger, a man you didn’t even know, and for the twenty minutes you were introduced, you’d spent nineteen of them trying to kill him. Only to learn he couldn’t die. Only to learn he was… kind. Kinder than you were expecting. And more understanding in those twenty minutes than anyone else had been in your entire life, except maybe Boss. 

You blended the concealer on your neck with a sponge, coating the already hefty layer of foundation before brushing on setting powder, taking extra caution not to spill any on your dress. You hated the trials and tribulations of trying to get white powder out of black fabric, and this dress was fucking expensive. ‘Nothing but the best!’ Tisiphone sang whilst dagging you through clothes store after clothes store, genuinely enjoying the experience. 

You, on the other hand, hadn’t felt more like sleeping on the highway in your entire life. 

Delicately, you picked up the lace-covered mask from the vanity, turning it over in your hands, feeling the delicate material beneath the pads of your gloved thumbs. You’d made sure it wasn’t sheer, not wanting to take the risk of anyone peering through it and seeing who you truly were. Layers and layers of spiderweb-thin material gave the illusion of solidarity, the only thinner segment being the small, almond-shaped hole that would fit directly over your eye. Sheer enough that you could see out of, but not light enough that those could see in. 

Fixing the mask to the left side of your face, you’d barely pressed it securely before a rogue shout filtered through the closed doors to the bedroom, and you paused for a moment. You could have sworn that was Tisiphone’s voice you’d heard. But just who the fuck could she possibly be yelling at? Morpheus was outside the room and Magpie was downstairs keeping watch. Was she just having a breakdown over her choice of dress? You had mentioned that–

Oh fuck. 

Now that wasn’t a voice you would easily recognise…

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

“Oh… shit.” You muttered, standing from the vanity and quickly crossing through the conjoined doors to the living room, where the sounds of raised voices became nothing but a cacophony of ceaseless noise. The strong scent of sulphur hit you like a truck, and you knew Tisiphone was moments away from incinerating your hired help where he stood. You burst through the doors, your hands held up as if to ward your sister away, barely taking in the scene of Tisiphone’s hands glowing with deep red flame, and six razor-sharp knives pointed in her direction from the spaces between each of Logan’s knuckles. “It’s okay! It’s okay. He’s not– fuck. He’s here because of me!” 

You watched Tiss’ head tilt in confusion, her thin brows furrowing behind her masquerade as she tried to comprehend just what you were saying. You took a deep breath, nodding to Magpie and Morpheus as the two of them turned on their heels and headed back out the door to stand on guard, leaving you to your explanation. 

“The fuck you mean he’s here because of you? Alec, who the hell is this guy?” Tisiphone asked with no small degree of accusation, though you were thankful that the overwhelming stench of sulphur was fading slightly, Tiss’ hands falling back down by her sides. 

“Uh, Tiss, this is Logan. Logan… Tisiphone.” You introduced them a little warily, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes trained on you rather than the real threat in the room. “We met. On the assignment. Last week…”

“Oh, the one where you said you weren’t seen by anyone?” Tiss continued her string of accusations, now seemingly more pissed off at you than she was at the intruder. A small blessing, you thought. 

“Okay, so I bent the truth a little–”

“Bent the truth? You snapped it in half! Alec, what the fuck were you thinking? Why the hell is this guy still alive if he saw you?”

“Because I couldn’t kill him!” You explained, exasperation dripping from your tone, and Tiss narrowed her eyes behind her mask. 

“Like ‘I was bested in a fight’ couldn’t kill him or ‘He asked me nicely not to and I caved’ couldn’t kill him, because I’ve never known either of those things to be true when it comes to you.” She folded her arms across her chest, the silken fabric of her gown creasing every so slightly. Logan filed away what information he could about you, adding that latest little tidbit to the mix. 

“No, like ‘he literally cannot die’ couldn’t kill him.” You sighed, running a hand down the side of your face that wasn’t covered by scratchy, lace fabric. 

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t try,” Logan added gruffly, the first words he’d spoken since getting into a fight with one of those guards outside the door. In all honesty, he was just trying to understand what the hell was going on, and trying to get over the fact that Scott was right. You did have people working for you. Or rather, judging by Tisiphone’s reaction, you were working for someone. And Tisiphone’s mere existence made him think too. Kitty said there were three Furies in that mythology. And since there were two of them, it only stood to reason that there was a third somewhere. 

“Look,” you started, exhaustion already creeping into your voice and the evening hadn’t even started yet. “You said it yourself, a woman not on the arm of a man at events like these means nothing. My feelings on that aside, and since Magpie and Morpheus are borderline mute when it comes to social interaction, I found one that can actually hold a conversation. Just, trust me, okay? When have I ever made a mistake?” You implored with a half smile, relief settling in your chest as Tiss exhaled a long breath.

“You really want me to answer that?” She asked wryly, and you huffed a laugh. Whilst making mistakes on assignments wasn’t something that ever happened, the trouble you got into in your downtime was another story altogether. Your mouth really did get you into deep shit on occasion…

“Not really.”

“And just how do you think he’ll get past security? Not only does he have the same X-gene as us, but I don’t think those claws of his would make it past the metal detector either.” Tiss sighed, looking Logan up and down as if to weigh up the pros and cons of not incinerating him where he stood. 

“I’ll figure it out.” You hissed back, mentally punching yourself for not thinking of that. Whilst yes, you could attempt to hide the mutation in his blood the same way you did for yourself and the others, the metal was going to be a serious problem. 

“Uh-huh? And how are you going to explain–”

“I’ll figure it out, Tiss,” you paused to take a long breath, calming your irritation. “Look, we were getting nowhere by ourselves, and these fuckers were the only ones who managed to trace, follow and catch me in the act. Don’t you think that says something? All the officers in the city. The detectives, the undercover cops. None of them could do what they did. Not even a whisper. So just back off and let me handle this, okay?” The room fell silent and Tisiphone looked at you, her brows pinched with indecipherable emotion before she relented. 

“Alright. But when you’re in the shit when Boss finds out, I can’t have your back. You know I can’t.” 

“...Yeah. I know.” You responded with a quiet that made Logan pause. Just how much were you risking bringing him here? 

“And I won’t be able to help Monkey, either.” She added, and though her tone was harsh, there was something behind her masked eyes that told him she was regretful over that. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You were happy to suffer the consequences of your actions, happy to endure whatever punishment Boss deemed necessary if he found out about this. But the thought of anything happening to Monkey because of something you’d done? It was almost unbearable. 

“Tiss… please. Boss’ll kill him if he thinks he has any knowledge of this. You have to vouch for him. The same way I vouched for you.” You emphasised, and she paused. At least now Logan had somewhat established a motive for what you’re doing. Whoever this Monkey guy was, you clearly needed to keep him safe. 

“...Alright. If it gets to that, I will. I’ll see if I can get Mags to do the same,” she smoothed her dress, holding her chin high. “Do what you gotta do, Alec. I’ll see you out there.” With a nod of finality and one last wary look to Logan, your sister left you alone to explain just what the hell was going on, and why he was here.

The silence was deafening as you did nothing but regard each other cautiously before you drew in a breath. “Was starting to think you weren’t going to come…” You shrugged, turning your back to him in a deliberate display of confidence, peering at yourself in one of the many mirrors of the room to fix your hair back into the loose butterfly clip you’d tucked it into and securing the lace mask tighter across half of your face. Didn’t want that coming loose anyway anyhow…

“You asked, now here I am.” He responded with the exact same level of disinterest, something that irked you slightly. Self-righteous asshole. 

“I didn’t ask,” you snapped back, sending him a sharp glare through the mirror. “I offered. You’re the one that took me up on it. Tell me, does Xavier know you’re here? I’m shocked he’d allow a pet like you to walk into such a mess.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. What exactly was your relationship with the Professor? Why did you hold such a grudge against him? Charles didn’t say he didn’t know you, but you weren’t a pupil, and unless you were much older than you looked, you were too young to be a past lover. He had no family that he knew of, so just who the hell were you? 

“You want my help or not? Cuz it would probably save me a lot of hassle to just leave.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, raising a brow as he stared at you in the mirror. You exhaled slowly, knowing he had you in a box.

“Yes, I wa– I need your help. And it’s not easy for me to say shit like that so don’t be an asshole about it.” You grumbled, scowling as he scoffed.

“Right back atcha toots. So what am I here for?” He asked, using the slightly more relaxed environment to survey his surroundings. It was the kinda place you’d see in some period drama. Silken upholstery, long floor-length curtains, everything gilded with gold foil. He’d never felt more out of place in his life, and he’d gone from a feral life on the run to being a damn supply teacher. 

“Unfortunately, that depends,” you hummed, as if this wasn’t a huge problem and running your finger beneath your lower lip, smearing away any traces of lipstick. “If I can get you past security without an issue, you’re my esteemed husband looking to invest in the MSR for a large sum.”

“MSR?” He asked, raising a brow as you rolled your eyes.

“Mutant Slave Ring. Keep up. The Thornbury’s don’t own it. Not by a long shot. As far as we know, they’re just hosts for things like this. Events and functions where like-minded freaks gather and share their trade secrets. We’re here trying to separate those directly involved, and those who watch from the sidelines. Quite literally.” You shivered slightly, memories you’d rather not relive flashing in your mind. Sweat dripping into your eyes. Blood trailing from the corner of your mouth. Rampant cheers and hoots of thrill with every aching punch. The collar tightening around your neck. 

You shook yourself, your hand reaching absently for the base of your throat. You were free. You’d never go back there. Boss had freed you from that life. Both you and Monkey. 

“Right…” Logan acknowledged slowly, choosing not to comment on the way your eyes glazed slightly, the way your gloved hand skimmed across the skin of your neck. “And if you can’t get me through security?”

“Then you’re my mutant pet, essentially.” You stated flatly before your eyes dropped from the mirror and you turned to face him. “Look… you don’t have to do this. You can walk away. We know the risks we take every time we do something like this. You’re walking into this blind, and there’s only so much I can tell you without compromising our whole operation. You have people who care about you, Logan. But us? We’re nothing more than a collection of circus freaks and street kids. This is all we have. We are all we have.” You explained, subconsciously divulging more than you’d ever really said to anyone, and it took you a moment to realise. But it was a bit late to take it back now. 

And Logan seemed just as stunned as you were. But not by what you said. But more because you said it. And what that did to him. He never thought he’d feel his heart soften for a killer he’d been chasing, but here he was, finding it difficult to associate you with all those gruesome, bloody murders he’d seen on the slideshow. He sucked in an awkward breath, observing the way your jaw clenched as you started to regret opening your damn mouth. 

“I don’t really know what your relationship with the Professor is, but he wouldn’t want me walkin’ away from this. An’ I don’t know what happened, but he’s happy to take in circus freaks and street kids. Always has been. An’ he’d have a place for you, ya know. If you wanted it.” He took a step forward, ducking his head slightly to drag your fallen gaze back up to him. 

You pursed your lips, hating the way your heart broke slightly. “You seem to think quite highly of him.”

“Yeah well, the man’s done a lot f’me.” He shrugged, and he watched your lips pull into a slight, half-smile. 

“Circus freak or street kid?” You asked quietly, standing your ground as he continued to step closer, removing his hands from his pockets like he was approaching a cornered animal.

“Stray dog,” he smiled as you huffed a laugh, nodding your head in understanding. “You?”

“Street kid. Then a circus freak.”

“The whole package?”

“Nothing less.”

He was close enough for you to see the slight crease in his shirt, just beneath his ribs. Close enough to see he wasn’t used to tying a bowtie around his neck, and for some godforsaken reason, you found it slightly endearing. Even the cologne he wore wasn’t something recognisable. Wasn’t the same dreary, vain attempt at masculinity the rest of the men here wore. You supposed he had nothing to prove to these people, but you had a suspicion it wasn’t just here he felt that way.

Logan was close enough now to see why your fingers had lingered on your neck, a borderline unhealthy layering of makeup coating the base of your throat, expertly hidden. Interestingly, it was the only part of your body left uncovered. Your black dress was floor length, long thin sleeves exaggerating the curvature of your arms, barely concealing the muscle beneath. Close enough to see where your mask had rubbed at the side of your face, the slightest catch of what looked to be the beginnings of a scar peeking out the only part the mask didn’t entirely cover on the left side, parallel to where he assumed your eye was. It was hard to tell above the lace. 

“Who are you?” He asked quietly, an unmistakable, static tension now charging the air between you as you raised a thin brow. 

“Alecto. You know that already.”

“That’s not really your name, is it?” It wasn’t a genuine question. He already knew the answer but was rather prodding for more. More information other than what you’d already told him. He was a perceptive man, knowing when to listen and what was important. And the nuggets of your past had been collecting in his brain for the past thirty or so minutes. The nuggets of who you were. 

“Could be.” You shrugged, and he tilted his head to the side. You hated looking at him. Hated how you realised he was actually incredibly good looking. His face was hard but his eyes were… softer. Almost kind. You wondered if his heart reflected that. 

You had a feeling it did. Or he wouldn’t be here now. 

No. He was here because of Xavier. You had to remember that. 

Logan watched as your features flickered with something akin to remorse before they were schooled into neutrality. “We should go.” You uttered, before breezing past him and heading for the door. With each step away from him, you found breathing easier. Found your chest loosening, your heartbeat growing steadier. You hadn’t even realised it was racing.

He took a moment to inhale as you walked past him, his nose itching with the masking scent of your chosen perfume. He waded past it, finding the coppery smell of your mutation, and the surprising, underlying tone of lavender. It wasn’t fabricated. Wasn’t something anyone could bottle and spray. It was you. You smelt like lavender. 

And blood.

Loosing a long exhale, Logan took another moment to collect himself before he turned to follow you out the door, seeing you already halfway down the hallway talking to Tisiphone, who to be quite honest, he didn’t entirely trust. Although, did he entirely trust you? His gut told him yes, he did, and it was a good idea too, but he’d been wrong before. He wouldn’t be wrong again. Exercise caution. That was probably the smartest thing to do right now. 

And don’t get attached.

“And you’re sure this is going to work?” He overheard Tiss asking, to your almost comically exaggerated eye-roll. Clearly, you’d already had this conversation, and not just about this. 

“No. Tiss. I have no idea. When do we ever? But I’ll have Opheus in my ear and Magpie’s eyes on the whole room. If shit goes haywire, we bounce, okay? Like always.” You shrugged, and he saw you pull at an invisible piece of lint from your glove. You were nervous. Were you always nervous? Were you like this before any of your other assignments? Were you like this when he met you?

“That’s not what I meant, Al, and you know it. I meant bringing Claws along with us. Do you know how fucking dangerous this is? He could blow the entire operation!” Tiss hissed, gesturing wildly to both ends of the hallway. The moment her head turned toward him, she straightened, smoothing down any creases on the front of her shimmering silver dress. You glanced his way, clenching your jaw.

“He won’t.” He heard you hiss back, and Logan was forced to pretend he’d heard nothing as he all but sauntered up to the two of you, hands lodged firmly in his pockets. With a heavy sigh, you flipped open the clip of your small shoulder bag, bringing out a sleek-looking masquerade and wordlessly handing it to him. He quirked a brow.

“This isn’t a masked ball…” he stated lowly, trying to ignore the look of pointed exasperation on Tisiphone’s face, her own matching silver mask barely concealing any of her expression. He chose instead to focus on the way you shot her a glare, your lip curling slightly before she huffed and folded her arms. 

“It isn’t. Not for anyone else. Each family has their symbol. This is ours. Your name is Jonathon Hargraeves, but don’t mention that until asked. We as the Hargreaves have never been to one of these socials and only decided to invest in the MSR. This is Evie Hargreaves, married to your brother, Henry. Magpie and Morpheus are our security, so will remain nameless. As will you if we can’t get you through security, because then–”

“I’m your mutant pet. Yeah, you said,” he muttered, slightly regretting sharply snatching the mask from your hands when he saw how genuinely sorry you were. It was smart, he thought, to keep one of your eyes covered. Because though your face itself was masked to perfection, your every emotion shone through your eye. “And you are?”

“Amelia. We met four years ago at a hunt ball in England. I was there as an au pair for the family. The connection was instant blah blah blah we’re married, got it?” You didn’t wait for him to confirm before you nodded to Tisiphone, who rifled through her clutch bag to pull out one, infinitesimal earpiece, one that could be mistaken for some kind of alternative piercing. She handed it to you and you fiddled with the lace at the side of your mask and slipped the earpiece securely within, tapping it once and nodding in confirmation. He took the time to fix his own mask over his eyes, finding that, remarkably, it fit like a glove. No chance of it falling from his face unless he removed it himself. Had you ma–

“Stick with Al. She’s your only point of communication since the rest of us didn’t know you’d be tagging along.” Tisiphone instructed with no small degree of begrudging, halting his train of thought. Like he was going to wander off anyway, in a strange place he didn’t know full of strange people who hated him for even existing? Yeah, not a chance. 

But he nodded all the same. 

“Magpie, you here?” you murmured, waiting for a beat before exhaling in muted relief. “Morpheus?” You repeated the same cycle, dipping your head to Tisiphone and, to Logan’s surprise, him, in confirmation. “They’re at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone ready?” You asked breathlessly, and Logan found himself wanting to take your hand. To reassure you. A wanted killer. And he wanted to reassure them. What the fuck was he on?

“Let’s go then.” Tisiphone finished, linking her elbow around yours and looking pointedly at Logan as if waiting for him to do the same. It took him a beat to understand, but the moment he linked his arm through yours, he clenched his jaw against the foreign prickling of his skin. You looked down momentarily to where the crook of his arm rested against your own, confusion furrowing your brows, but not because of the action itself. And the way you glanced up at him confirmed what he’d suspected. 

You felt something similar. 

But you once again schooled your expression to neutrality, each step measured as the three of you approached the top of the stairs, the hum of idle chattering in the ballroom growing louder until he could see the two men he’d briefly met with before, shades now concealing their eyes, looking every bit the part they were playing. You did too, he realised. You looked the spitting image of a young, upper-class woman at her first big social. It was impressive, the number of skins you could wear. 

“What happened to the real Hargreaves?” Logan asked quietly, barely moving his mouth as he descended down the staircase by your side. You raised your head slightly as those lingering in the front hall looked up to see just who it was whose footsteps were echoing down the stairs. Though, upon the lack of recognition, they all turned back to their conversations. 

“You catch on quick,” you murmured, impressed. “Tiss took care of them. They won’t be a threat to mutants anymore.” A delicious sense of satisfaction laced your tone, and Logan’s gut twisted, looking past you to find a similar satisfied expression sitting neatly on Tisiphone’s masked face. 

“Hellfire. Not even their bones will be found.” She flashed him a knife-like grin, and he gripped your arm a little tighter, though he couldn’t say why. 

The steady beeping of the security measures sent your nerves spiking, Magpie and Morpheus now flanking the three of you as you approached the door to the ballroom. They really took security seriously here, having a separate conveyor for bags and personal items, such as necklaces, watches, belts and so on. 

Due to a lack of logic or sheer dumb luck, names were taken after passing through security, Logan breathed a small sigh of relief. That’s at least one problem taken care of. 

“It’s not just a metal detector,” you explained quietly, looking as if you too were engaging in idle chatter. “It can detect the X-gene. I can hide it in the rest of them, but there’s nothing I can do about your claws. Don’t suppose they detach?” You asked hopefully, and Logan clicked his tongue in a firm no. 

“It’s not just the claws.” He muttered, letting go of your arm the same moment Tisiphone did, joining the queue to be searched. He heard you hiss a quiet curse, and his shoulders tensed involuntarily. He didn’t like how this had already taken a bad turn. 

“Bags and jewellery on the left. Please declare if you have a mutant with you before they enter the detector and we have spare collars if needed. Next!” The guard manning the security called, waving his arms and beckoning Tisiphone forward. All your focus honed in on her bloodstream, separating the X-gene-carrying cells and pushing them into the deepest parts of her body, holding your breath as she took a step forward after placing her bag and silverware on the conveyor belt. This was always the worst past. If you fell at the first hurdle, it was likely you’d end up back where you started.

And that simply wasn’t an option for you. 

But she stepped through clear, sending you a nod as she placed various rings back on her fingers, securing her tennis bracelet back around her wrist. One down, two to go. Magpie and Morpheus had flashed their security badges, completely fabricated of course, and were promptly let through the side door with a respectful clap on the back from the man in charge. And whilst spite curled in your chest for how easy that was for them, you were slightly relieved you didn’t have to exhaust yourself further by simply trying to get them in. You only had to hide yourself now. 

And Logan… but you’d burn that bridge when you got there. 

You steadily removed your necklace, placing it delicately next to your bag on the belt, before once again honing in your concentration, this time on yourself. It was always harder when you had to hide the fact you were using your mutation as if your own blood was struggling against you to be free. But you repeated the same action to yourself, sending the genes flowing through your blood to the furthest corners of your body, heart thundering in your chest as you took a step beneath the detector.

And waited.

“All clear. Next!” Those words were both music to your ears and the equivalent of hearing nails down a chalkboard. You were through, yes. But now was the issue of getting Logan through as well. You fought to keep your knee from bouncing as he removed all the metal from atop his body. Your chest squeezed as he sent you a look of what you could only describe as ‘here-goes-nothing’, and you focused your mutation on his blood.

But, predictably, your efforts fell for naught as the alarms blared and lights flashed red as he was instantly stopped, two guards flanking him frm either side, guns suddenly in their hands from where you hadn’t seen them before. But he looked as calm as ever, and you wondered just how many times this had happened.

“Step this way, please.”

“Don’t want to cause a scene now, do we?”

The threats in their voices made your spine shiver with apoplectic rage. As if they could do anything to actually harm any of you. If only they knew just who they were dealing with. Or rather, what they were dealing with. You craved to see them cower, but a display of power right now really would blow the entire operation, and you had to keep your head. 

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” You asked smoothly, gliding over to where they’d taken him to the side and started a search. The two men turned to you, looking you up and down appraisingly, before gesturing to Logan with their guns. 

“There’s no metal on him. This one yours?” One asked, and your gut writhed like seething vipers. The idea that mutants belonged to anyone made you want to–

“Yes. Why?” You asked flatly, folding your arms and tapping your foot in a display of annoyance Logan had no other choice than to be impressed with. You really were playing the part perfectly. But no matter how good of an actor you were, the guards eyed you with equal suspicion.

“You should know all mutants must be declared ahead of time. If I could have your name, please.” One of the guards took a notepad and a pen out of his pocket, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Amelia. Hargreaves. My husband–”

“Hargreaves?” He asked, raising a brow and lowering his notepad. “As in, Jonathan Hargreaves?” He clarified, glancing at his partner who still had his hands securely around Logan’s arm. The sigh made you seeth. 

“That’s right. I don’t like repeating myself gentlemen, yet here we are. What seems to be the problem?” You took their shock and ran with it, hoping they were staring at you in reverence rather than disgust. But the moment Logan was released, you had to fight to hide your sigh of release. 

“Our apologies, ma’am. Your husband has done more for the security business than he knows. But, I’m forced to remind you all show-pets must be tagged and collared for your own safety and the safety of the event.” Your stomach dropped, taking a glance around the room. Sure enough, there were various different mutants, all with blinking lights embedded into their necks, just above where those collars sat. Those collars you knew all too well. Some kind of suppressant frequency hummed at the constant high, rendering them completely powerless. Your fists clenched by your sides, something the guard seemed to notice. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Tag him to your heart's content, however unfortunately you cannot collar him.” Whilst putting a tag in his neck would plant yet another spanner in your already spanner-filled works, collaring him was another problem entirely. Getting those fucking things off was borderline impossible without the passkey. And you refused to subject him to that. “You see, he has a rare genetic disease. Other than being a mutant, of course,” Your throat burned with the words, but it was worth it to put the guards at ease, their light chuckles were a stark contrast to your barely concealed rage. “It’s only due to his enhanced immune system that it doesn’t kill him. Take that away and he’ll be dead in minutes. And I don’t suppose you know how expensive this one was now do you? This was my darling husband’s first true mutant investment. I wonder how much he’ll continue to do for the security industry when he learns his prized pet was killed at the hands of one?” You mused absently, lying through your teeth and pretending not to notice the way the guards straightened their backs, sending each other sharp glances as if trying to figure out what they were going to do.

“I uh– of course, ma’am. As long as you know what you’re doing and he’s kept under control at all times. Would you like some extra security?” One of the guards asked, now taking a step forward. You could see the eagerness in his eyes to prove himself, and something darker that bubbled just below the surface, making your skin crawl. 

“No, thank you. My own guards should suffice. Thank you for your time and concern, gentlemen.” You gave them an appreciative bow of your head before your features hardened as you looked at Logan, who’d done remarkably well to hold his silence. He was even better at this than you were. “Heel.” You barked sharply, and without hesitation, he strode to your side, his face betraying nothing. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen.”

You turned to leave them behind, your heart thundering in your chest, praying they were done with their inspection and would finally leave you alone to do your job. Only, any prayers you had were answered the second you took a step forward. And you really didn’t like the answer. 

“Ma’am!” You stopped in your tracks, whirling back to them and not bothering to conceal your haughty irritation. But before you could open your mouth to ask them just what the hell they wanted now, the same guard from before waved the tracker gun in his hand, hurrying over to you. “For tagging purposes.” He explained, before bringing the gun to Logan’s neck and pulling the trigger. 

You inhaled as he barely winced, the light blinking just below the surface of his skin, and your gut twisted. You knew he could heal, but was this something he could heal from? Did the tag have to be removed before the wound could heal up? Fuck, there were already too many unknowns. But nonetheless, you nodded gratefully, and the guard looked you over one last time. 

“Where is your husband tonight? I’d greatly appreciate the chance to thank him for all he’s done for us.” He asked with a tilt of his head, and you schooled your expression into something of remorse.

“Unfortunately my husband has taken gravely ill. He is in our bed back home, and I am here in his stead upon his wishes. I will pass on your gratitude. Good evening.” You wondered how many times you could end this interaction before it actually finished, but he seemed to take your answer on board and step away, heading back to his station by the security gates. Thank fuck for that. You watched him go, making sure he was actually back to work before turning your back on him, and stealing a glance at Logan. “Are you okay?” You murmured, fighting the urge to graze the back of his hand with yours in something you hoped he’d interpret as comfort. But he just nodded, his hand instead cupping the side of his neck where the tag blinked beneath his–

Or rather, where the tag had just been pushed out from beneath his skin. With a swift movement, he used his thumb to wipe away any trace of blood before it stained the collar of his shirt, crushing the tag in his hand and pocketing the remains. Well, that answered your question from before. 

“I’m sorry…” you continued, finally causing him to glance down at you, and whilst his face betrayed nothing, his eyes shone with surprising calm. When you asked him to help, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. And now having to treat him like something less than human just because he was born with the X-gene almost made you want to throw up. 

“Don’t think about it. Just focus.” He replied with equal quiet, and under any other circumstances, you’d ask just who the hell he thought he was ordering you around like that. But annoyingly, he was right. You didn’t have the time to say what you wanted to say, and you sure as hell weren’t in the right environment to do so. 

“On your right, 4 o’clock. De Voss. Owns an electrical company, one of the largest in the country. He’s here with his sons. A regular at these events.” Magpie’s voice muttered into your earpiece, and you straightened your back, preparing for your first interaction of the evening. The first of many, you assumed. 

“Quite the impressive pet you have. Worth a small fortune, no doubt.” As you turned, you managed to catch sight of Tisiphone, already deep in conversation with another family whose tie bore the image of two dancing swans. Another family symbol, no doubt. 

Your eyes met with the monocle-wearing Mr. De Voss, and you stole a glance to his two sons sporting the same look. Plastering on a bashful smile, you placed your hand into his outstretched palm, grimacing as he brought it to his lips, his thick moustache scratching against your knuckles. You felt Logan stiffen next to you. “De Voss, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss…?”

“Hargreaves. But my friends call me Amelia. And you’re not wrong. Wulfred here did indeed cost my husband a small fortune.” You delicately removed your hand from his as you thought up a name on the fly, your skin crawling at the way his lips split into a broad, predatory smile. 

“Amelia it is. You're Jonathan’s wife, correct? I met the man a few weeks ago at the new gentlemen’s club. I have to say, he undersold your beauty, the old dog.” You had to suppress the urge to scoff. If only he knew. But your brow raised in a careful display of shy amusement. “So this is the mutant he was boasting about. Now I understand. You don’t think you could give us a quick show, do you? He wouldn’t stop talking about this thing’s ability to command the very earth itself.” De Voss laughed, though he eyed you expectantly and your blood ran cold. This wasn’t what you were expecting. A display of mutation in a slaver’s gala? You really hadn’t been counting on that. Nor had you been counting on any members here already having basic knowledge of who you were. Or, who you were pretending to be.

“Now now, I hardly think that would be appropriate. I wouldn’t want to be escorted out of my first gala now would I?” You joked, placing a strategic hand on his arm, watching as he pursed his lips in thought. 

“No, I don’t suppose that would be appropriate. However, you must visit us in the south, and bring your pet with you. As long as you’re both well-behaved, of course.” He winked, and you barely managed not to gag. The people truly were the epitome of disgust. “We have quite the range of mutants, from pyromancers to telepaths, and we’re finalising the details of our new breeding programme if you’re interested. This one here looks of good stock, incredibly obedient as well. Those are the kinds of qualities we’re looking for,” he walked around Logan, eyeing him up as if he were nothing but cattle and to be quite honest, he was feeling like it. But he held his tongue tightly behind clamped, letting this worm appraise him. “I mentioned it to your husband the other week, since he’s just getting into the game, this would be a wise investment for him. A good place to start. I’m sure we could find an appropriate bitch for this one.” He didn’t mean the word as an insult, and you couldn’t help but think that was worse. 

“I see. And how much would be the first instalment?”You asked, appearing as if you were simply inspecting your nails whilst you fought every instinct not to explode this motherfucker’s face where he stood. De Voss’ eyes narrowed at you, an expression of dawning realisation settling on his features.

“Ah, I understand now. Your husband… he’s not the brains, is he? You know what they say, behind every great man there’s a powerful woman, and here you are.” Oh, he had no idea. “Fantastic act, by the way, but not much gets past me. I’ll be keeping a watchful eye on you, Amelia.” He emphasised your alias as if to truly seal the friendship card, and you looked at him through your lashes, painting your expression to look impressed. “Here, my details. Get your husband to give us a call and we can discuss terms and prices.” He flashed a grin, producing a small, thin card from between his fingers. Was he just keeping a bunch of them up his sleeve for this very purpose? You would have laughed at the ridiculousness if you weren’t so seething with fury. 

“I’ll pass on the offer, Mr De Voss, I’m sure my husband would be more than interested in your… programme.” You couldn’t say it. Couldn’t force the words out your throat because he would have known you were disgusted by the idea simply by your tone. Plucking the card from his fingers, you made a show of slipping it into your bag, all the while keeping eye contact with the weasel. 

“Please, call me Simon. It’s what my friends call me.” He replied with the same wink as before, before dipping his head to you and gesturing for his sons to follow as he went to rehearse the same spiel to someone else. Your hands shook as they balled to fists by your sides, whatever Magpie was saying in your earpiece was drowned out by the pitched screaming in your ears. 

“Y’okay?” Logan murmured, but to no response. He cautioned a glance at you to find you were staring straight ahead where Simon had been standing, your eyes burning a hole into the ground. He was thankful your mutation had nothing to do with fire because he was certain there really would be a hole burned into the ground. 

“No, no I’m alright darling, just feeling lightheaded is all.” He heard a finely dressed woman say as she passed by with her partner, flicking open the fan in her hand to cool off her face. He had hoped it was just coincidence, but the moment he saw another, a man, having to put his drink down and shake his head of fuzziness, he knew this was no coincidence. 

You were messing with their bloodstreams. Intentional or not, he didn’t know. All he knew was that you needed to calm down. Now.

“Alec… what’re you doing?” He hissed, pretending to accidentally bump into you in order to snap you out of your daze. It worked for a moment, and he watched as you blinked a few times at him, your brows furrowing in confusion before you glanced around, your face paling. 

“Shit…” you cursed, concentrating for a moment and reining in your mutation, watching as those who had started to feel dizzy came back to their senses, reassuring their partners or blaming their mutant pets. “Magpie? No, I’m here. Fine. Yep, I just need– yeah I know. Tiss I do not need your input. Fuck.” You clenched your jaw, and Logan barely had time to repeat his question before you were on the move, making a beeline for one of the doors that lead from the ballroom and deeper into the house. You dipped your head in respectful hellos to the people you passed, promising a few of them a moment of your time after you’d ‘freshened up’ or ‘powdered your nose’. It was impressive, how you could appear so collected on the outside when he could sense your unrelenting rage on the inside. He could see it with each stride, the bounce of your loosening hair as you walked with purpose through the now quiet hallways and into an empty room, somewhere far away from the rest of the chattering crowd. 

Similar to the one from before, yet another meeting room, you swung your bag onto one of the many gorgeously upholstered chairs, snatching the earpiece from your ear and slamming it onto the table, Magpie’s concerned voice still chiming through, occasionally interrupted by Tisiphone. Logan took the liberty of picking it up, holding it closer to his own ear so he could hear what they were saying more clearly. Mainly it was Tisiphone spitting feathers at you losing your cool like that. And for some reason, it pissed him off. 

“Give us a minute, we’ll be back out there soon.” He spat, ignoring Tiss’ concealed squawk of rage as he placed it back down on the table, along with his mask, turning to where you’d taken your hair down and were staring out the broad, tall window into the darkness beyond. He wanted to walk up to you, to place a hand on your shoulder, sweep your hair to one side, anything, but he kept his distance. “...Y’okay?” He asked again, hoping this time you would answer. 

You stayed silent for a moment, staring at your own reflection in the window, running a hand through your hair. “A breeding programme…” you whispered, fearful that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. “Breeding mutants. Like we’re livestock. Like we’re prized racehorses or pedigree dogs.” Your every word was dripping venom, toxic vowels spitting from your mouth. “I thought this was just about the MSR. The system. Trading and bartering with lives for the most money. The most earnings. But now they’re starting to breed us?” You could feel your blood coiling in your veins, yearning to strike out, and you inhaled a deep breath. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Logan responded, now taking that step toward you he wanted to take, placing that hand on your shoulder he wanted to place. Satisfying the itch to sweep your hair to the side, silky strands flowing through his fingers in what he hoped was comfort. “Stopping this fucksticks is the goal, but if you lose your cool in there, we’re all screwed.” His tone was surprisingly gentle and warmer than you were expecting, and you masked your pleasant reaction with a humourless chuckle. 

“You sound like Tisiphone.” Your head fell into your hand as you continued to peer at your own reflection through your spread fingers. The lace mask still perfectly concealed half of your face. The shadows of your past lives. But your eyes slid from your own to his in the window. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this…” you murmured, only now noticing you didn’t instantly shy away from his touch like you would most others. And only now remembering you didn’t earlier, either. 

“You didn’t. You didn’t ask, remember? You offered, and I took you up on it.” He shrugged, his heart skipping a beat when your chuckle this time held a lot more genuine humour in it, your lips quirking into a half-smile as your eyes fell from his gaze to the floor thoughtfully.

“You don’t belong in this kind of life. You’re too kind for it.”

Now that took him by surprise. Never, in his century of being alive, had he been told he was too kind for something like this. He would have laughed aloud if you hadn’t been looking so riddled with guilt. 

“Never heard that one before. Don’t forget I was a stray dog before Charles found me.” He wanted to make you smile again. Or, as much of a smile as he could get out of you, but instead you crinkled your nose, your lip curling slightly. 

“Please don’t refer to yourself as a dog after that conversation…” You muttered, turning to face him, his hand still steady on your shoulder. “Some strays are already tame, anyway.”

“Not this one.”

“No?”

“Nope. Feral as they come.” He smirked, and you ducked your head as your lips cracked into a smile, before composing yourself again and returning your eyes to his face. 

“Feral?” you gave him a look that suggested you didn’t believe him, before sighing through your nose. “A feral stray dog and a street-kid circus freak. What a pair…” you hummed in bittersweet melancholy, and Logan had to wonder just what the hell the world did to you. And he’d just opened his mouth to ask before a familiar scent struck him like a slap. His eyes hardened as he looked at you in confusion, leaning in closer and inhaling your scent a few times, his nose scrunching with each exaggerated sniff. 

You drew back, utter bafflement crossing your features. “What the hell are you doing…?”

It wasn’t you. It wasn’t coming from you. The mutation he was smelling… it wasn’t yours. “I can smell something.”

“I’m gonna try really hard not to be offended by that.” You quipped back, folding your arms in what could only be described as offence. 

Logan rolled his eyes skyward. “Not you. Mutants. Other mutants.”

You tilted your head to the side, wondering if he’d run completely off the rails. “Yeah… they’re out in the ballroom. We saw them.” But Logan shook his head definitively, and your pulse quickened slightly. 

“No, not them either…” he glanced around the room, head snapping in alert, before he turned back to you, both hands now gripping both of your shoulders. “You said you can hide the X-gene in mutant blood, right?” He asked frantically, and you nodded, staying quiet to allow him to brainstorm. “So you can detect it? Mutant blood?” You nodded again. Where the hell was he going with this? “Good. Imma need you to concentrate real hard. Focus. Expand your range.” He wracked his brain to remember how the Professor taught telepaths and telekinetics to use their powers as you closed your eyes, remembering his wording and hoping to whatever sick gods there were that this would work. He had no idea if it was the same for sense-based mutations, but he had to try. “Like you’re puttin’ out feelers, testin’ the waters for–”

“Hard to concentrate with you yapping.” You snapped, but you took his advice on board, expanding the range of your mutation and doing exactly what he described, putting out feelers and waiting for any kind of feedback. You could sense the ballroom, the various mutants pulling your blood in various directions. Someone had once described it as a ‘birds of a feather’ situation. Your blood wanted to be near others with the same gene. He’d explained it like a pack animal situation.

Before you exploded his arm off…

But all you could sense was the ballroom. Nothing else was pulsing back to you. You shook your head slightly, and Logan huffed in resignation, his head bowing low, almost touching yours. He was positive there were others here. The scent was faint, but it was there. Unmistakable. He was convinced. 

And then you felt it. Like the whisper of a breeze through trees, something pulled you back, your knees almost buckling as you were also pulled down. What the fuck?

“You’re right…”

Logan’s head snapped back up, his gaze flickering over your concentrated features, your eyes moving beneath closed lids as you searched, brows twitching. “It’s big, whatever it is. I can’t… pinpoint it, but it’s below us somewhere.” Just what the hell had the Thornbury’s found to give off that kind of pulse? What the hell had they locked away in the bowels of the house? You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he’d gotten to you, the warmth of his body causing yours to shiver almost imperceptibly. What the fuck had gotten into you? You were a hardened, seasoned killer, and the proximity of one man had your body behaving in ways you didn’t tell it to. That in and of itself was a novelty, let alone the… feelings that came along with it.

You couldn’t be far enough away from him. But, at the same time…

You couldn’t be close enough. 

You were glad when he removed his hands from your shoulder. But if you were glad, then why did you suddenly feel so damn cold?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for this. 

“We should go.” You muttered sternly, shaking your head at whatever the fuck had just happened, turning away from him to allow yourself to breathe. Logan cocked his head to the side as you turned, your shifts in demeanour giving him whiplash. One moment you could be so kind, so genuine, and the next you were stony and emotionless. It was hard to keep up with, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah.” He agreed, following you back out the door, trusting your sense of direction and his own sense of smell, your earpiece left discarded on the table, left behind as Tisiphone, Magpie and Morpheus continued trying to get a hold of you. 

But you were long gone. 

“So what’s with the mask?” Logan asked absently as you led him through hallway after hallway, descending downstairs where available, popping your head into various different rooms. You both knew you’d find nothing until the scent and the pulse were stronger, but it was worth a look anyway.

“We’re not doing this.” You snapped sharply, not bothering to even cast a glance in his direction because you feared that if you did, you’d open up further, and that terrified you.

“Doin’ what? Idly chattin’ whilst aimlessly wanderin’ the halls of this fuckin’ palace?” He snapped back defensively, finding your sudden irritable mood grating. Just moments ago you were telling him he was too kind to be here, and now you couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. 

“Sharing our sad, tragic backstories. You might all sit around braiding each other’s hair and making friendship bracelets back at that cushy little school, having group therapy sessions sitting in a circle, but we don’t really go for that kinda shit here. The people who know, know. The people who don’t, don’t. That’s all there is to it.” You shut the door to the room you were peering into, hoping to fuck that would be the end of his line of questioning. Truth be told, you didn’t really want to relive your past. You didn’t want to have to explain why you wear a mask, because he’d perceive you differently, and it would become all too obvious why you’re doing what you’re doing. And a deeper, more vulnerable part of yourself simply didn’t want him to care.

Logan bristled, striding forward to snatch your wrist before you could walk any further in front of him. You whirled, a sharp breath sailing from your lips. “Listen bub, I don’t give a damn about what shit you’ve been through. If you don’t wanna talk, fine by me, but we’re gonna have a problem if you keep jumping down my fuckin’ throat every time–” he stopped abruptly, the sudden haze of anger clearing as he registered just how quickly you’d shifted again. Guilt spiked through his chest as fear flickered across your features, your eyes stuck on his grip around your arm. 

But it was gone the moment he loosened his hold, your wrist snatched from his palm, subdued rage replacing the deep, scarring terror on your face. “Touch me again, and I will boil you alive, got it?” You hissed, though your voice shook ever so slightly, shards of broken memories slashing through your head, the same harsh grip, the same enraged eyes, the pain that was soon to follow.

The shower of blood. The screaming of agony. The slick, wet crack of bone splintering bone. It rang in your ears like a tannoy, and you closed your eyes to shove it back down where it belonged. Deep, deep within the carefully stacked boxes in your mind, where you kept the rest of your past. You clenched your jaw, your teeth groaning as they ground together, and turned back away from him. He was gone. You’d scared the shit out of him and he’d run. You were free. 

You were free.

“I didn’t–” Logan began, but you cut him off. You didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit apology he had. 

“Save it. Let’s keep moving.”

“Alec–”

But you’d already started walking. Well, pacing, really. And Logan couldn’t help but think it was to be far away from him. He sighed, running an exhausted hand down the side of his face and making a mental note not to touch you again. How complex could one person be? Was this how Jean felt?

The thought of her made his stomach turn, conflicted. They hadn’t exactly left off on the best of terms, and he was dreading the conversation looming over his head when he returned. What more could he possibly say to her? Should he apologise? Explain how he knew what it felt like now? But what exactly was it that she wanted? She seemed almost hurt that he’d changed so much so quickly. Not only that, but he had his own shit to figure out. 

Anyhow, now truly was not the time to be sorting through his own messes. 

“The fuck?”

Logan was broken from his thoughts, looking up to where you’d stopped at the end of the hallway. At a complete dead-end with nothing but an enormous oil painting of a landscape. The landscape around the house. But the scent was getting stronger, how could this lead to nowhere?

Striding up next to you, he briefly caught your wary glance, before turning his attention back to the painting, running the tips of his fingers around the frame. Old houses like these… they always had some kind of secret entrances and exits. He was surprised you didn’t think of it, considering the first time he met you, you’d escaped through said secret exit. 

You eyed him with baffled curiosity, watching his hands skirt around the wooden frame, up to where he could reach, before feeling beneath the bottom, his expression shifting from one of concentration to one of satisfaction as something clicked behind the painting. 

“Gotcha.” He muttered, the painting sliding up the wall with a mechanic hiss, the wooden boards behind the wall shifting inwards and clicking into place, before a door that wasn’t there previously swung open and a cold draft swept your hair back. You would have snorted in amusement if the tension wasn’t so high, the walls changing from wooden to metal beyond the entrance, steel steps leading down into the darkness.

“Well… That’s not ominous.” You quipped sarcastically, folding your arms as you flared out your mutation, the pulse of blood feeding back to you stronger than it had ever been. 

“Yep, these people love a cliché. Shall we?”  He raised a brow, and your lips pulled into a slightly apologetic half-smile. You didn’t mean to lose your temper earlier, truly. He was helping you, and you’d lashed out in a moment of vulnerability. The least you could do was pretend like it never happened. 

“Age before beauty.” You shrugged, and Logan sighed, expecting you to wait for him to go first. But to his continuous surprise, you started down the steps, your heels echoing against the metal. 

“Just how old do you think I am?” He asked, following you into the dark, your huffed breath of a chuckle louder within the empty stairwell.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re prettier than me.” You threw back nonchalantly, and Logan’s gruff laugh bounced off the walls alongside your footsteps. But when you didn’t laugh with him, something in his chest twinged. 

“Hold on, you’re bein’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. You should see me without the mask.” He didn’t need to. Holy shit you were truly blind, weren’t you? 

“Thought we weren’t talking about each other’s sad, tragic backstories?” He asked wickedly, and you could hear his smirk, his tone making your stomach flip. 

“You brought it up.”

“And you shut it down.”

“Just… shut up.” You whispered over your shoulder, and though the light was dim, he could see the humour sparkling in your eye, the knowledge that he had you in a box once again. And the realisation that you were liking it. Enjoying having someone who could keep up with your sharp tongue and even sharper wit. He grinned back at you, and you gave him an exaggerated eye-roll, huffing as you turned back to watch where you were going. 

The moment between you, however long he wanted it to last, was quickly broken by the coppery stench of blood. And not just the lingering hint of your mutation. You paused as if you could smell it too, and he could see the way the muscles in your back stiffened slightly. 

The stairs opened up into yet another large hallway, only this one was vastly different the the ones up above you, and you could only tell because the air wasn’t so stiflingly thick, the lack of light still impeding your vision. Though, whilst you swore there was absolutely no light, the moment you turned back to Logan, you almost jumped out of your skin. 

His eyes were fucking reflective. Just what the hell was he?

“Here,” he murmured, stretching out the the side and finding the large switch for lighting, the humming of electricity filled the silence before white lights overhead stuttered to life. You blinked a few times, squinting as your eyes adjusted, but the moment they did, you felt like you were going to be sick. 

The walls were almost green with age and damp, mould crawling up every corner it could find. The hallway split off in several directions, and you nodded to Logan in a silent agreement to split off and find what you could. You took the left room, the steel door cold against your palm as you pushed it open, the hinges squealing with complaint. A single desk and chair stood imposingly towards the back wall, with various monitors and keyboards littering the surface of the table. Your breath clouded in front of your face as you cautiously walked in, eyes flickering over the various papers strewn across the tabletop, various family seals all stamped into the bottom corner, signatures of all kinds signed atop dotted lines. 

Your blood ran cold. 

‘Ownership Terms and Conditions’

The paper was thick beneath your fingers as you picked up one of the documents, scanning through the text. It was all here. The details of mutation, the strengths and weaknesses, age, height, weight, and gender. Everything but name. They’d taken away the only thing these people could call their own. Referring to them as numbers or mutant abilities. 

And you realised now you’d already made your first mistake. You’d referred to Logan by a name when talking to Simon De Voss. Shit, had he caught it? Were you already fucked? You tapped your finger to your ear, your panic rising when you realised you’d left your fucking earpiece behind on that damned table. Fuck fuck fuck. 

You had to go. You had to get them out. By now, if De Voss had noticed, they’d have already started the hunt for anyone wearing a mask like yours. And Logan had left his–

You had to go. Now.

“Alec!” Logan called urgently, and the uncharacteristic fear in his tone had you backtracking through the doorway and into the room he’d been investigating. 

And the moment you joined him, you felt sick to your stomach. 

Cages. Cages lining the walls, stacked on top of one another, crammed into little corners. Large ones, tiny ones, long ones. And each containing at least one pair of terrified eyes, staring back at you with measured caution.

“This isn’t a country house,” you breathed in utter horror and you tried and failed to comprehend just how many mutants the Thornbury’s had locked up literally in their basement. 

“It’s a collection point… Those deals made tonight? They’ll be finalised tonight.” Logan finished darkly, his teeth aching with how hard he was clenching his jaw. He sidled up next to you as you stepped up to the closest enclosure. And sure enough, someone within shrank back, but not fast enough for you to miss a black circle tattooed around her right eye. Like the De Voss’ monocle. Logan was right. 

Everyone had brought stock today… including you. 

“Help me get them out,” you barked, frantically searching the room for anything sharp enough to prick your hand with. Just one small wound was all you needed, and you’d be able to free these people. The operation be damned. This is why you did what you did. You knew the kind of lives that awaited these captives. Knew intimately the way the system worked. They’d be passed from rich prick to rich prick, sent to fight in the cages until they either burnt out or were killed. Even if they lived, they’d be tossed to the streets or executed. There was no future if they remained slaves. You were lucky. You were bought out. 

You knew not everyone had that luxury. 

Logan nodded wordlessly, releasing the constant leash he kept on his claws and allowing them to slide through his knuckles, and sliced through the top of the steel bars of the one in front of him, crouching to slice through the bottom before stepping back as the metal crashed to the ground. Without notice, you slashed your palm down his other hand, blood welling from the cut before he jerked his hand away. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell you were doing, eyes wide with concerned frustration before the blood in your hand spiralled and solidified into the same blade you’d used to fight him with. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you,” you soothed, stretching out your unarmed hand to the terrified-looking woman within the shadows. You spoke with a gentleness Logan could never have expected as if you were talking to a child, and he briefly wondered if you’d ever had much experience with kids. 

The woman took a shy step forward, peering at you with more curiosity than fear, and your heart soared. You were doing something. Finally, after months of torturing loose ends, you were finally making progress. 

For the first time since he’d met you, Logan saw you smile. Not the half-assed quirk of your lips he’d gotten used to, a real, genuine smile. And despite the pressing situation, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away. How could you believe you weren’t beautiful? And when you turned to him, your grin only broadening, he found himself smiling right back at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to pull you in. 

Almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you. 

Fuck… you were gorgeous. 

But before he could say anything, you were back on the move, slashing through steel bars and coaxing terrified men, women and children from their cages, one of which had instantly attached herself to your leg, curls of dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions, a tattoo of a galloping horse family crest peaking just below the ripped short sleeve of her filthy t-shirt. Logan ignored what the sight did to his chest, distracting himself by freeing the others you hadn’t got to yet. He wasn’t as reassuring with his words as you were, but seeing the way the others were treated with kindness was enough to show them he wasn’t going to hurt them.

“Well… they’re out,” Logan murmured, his claws retracting back through his knuckles, his suit jacket and tie long discarded inside one of the cages, leaving him in just the white shirt. You nodded, now at a slight loss as to what to do. You sure as shit couldn’t get back through the way you came. Sneaking thirty or so mutant slaves through a trader’s gala? Not likely. You wracked your brain for a plan, thinking of things on the fly was supposed to be your strong suit. That was until a little hand tugged on the fabric of your dress, the girl who’d attached herself to your leg looking up at you with large, determined eyes as she pointed to a door behind you. Looking back at Logan, you glanced to the door, and he nodded, crossing the room to shove at the steel.

Only it wouldn’t budge. 

He tried it again, this time putting more strength behind his arms, but the door was stubborn. So with a frustrated huff, he unsheathed his claws and slashed straight through the hinges, giving the door one last kick as if fell through, crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. 

“We’ve got activity in the cages, over.”

“Shit,” you hissed, your head whipping back to the hallway, and Logan tensed as he heard various colliding footsteps all honing in on your location. Detaching the kid from your leg, you hauled her up into your arms, handing her to Logan by the door. He took her without question. “Get them out. I’ll give you as long as I can.” His gut twisted at the implication, and before he could stop himself, his palm rested against the side of your face. But you didn’t boil him alive like you promised. His breath caught in his throat as you instead leaned slightly into his touch, your hand gently holding the base of his wrist. The moment was brief, like all other moments between you, but it felt different. It felt solid. 

But the growing threat behind you shattered it, and he dropped his hand the moment you dropped yours. 

“Stay alive.” He instructed softly, and your lips quirked into a smile as you nodded, eye glinting with determination before glancing to the open door. 

“Go.” Was all you said, before you turned, your crimson blade growing from the open wound in your hand, the blood writhing and shimmering in the white lights, before you were round the corner and gone from his sight. 

He didn’t stick around to hear the pained screams of guards and security alike, holding the kid in his arms as he raced down out the door and down more steel hallways, letting his nose guide him as the scent of rainfall and fresh air called him left and right. And it only felt like minutes before he burst through another door with his shoulder, stepping to the side to allow the rest of the mutants to sprint through to the outside, watching as they didn’t stop, scattering in different directions. He kept the girl close to him, secure in his hold as he waited for the last captive to race through, before stepping out into the rain himself.

The moment he did, he was drenched. It was the kind of rainfall that doused everything the moment it touched it. Lashes of water flooded the ground, his hair sticking slick to his head. And it was freezing. He shivered slightly as he ran, his shirt clinging to his body like a second skin. Shouts and sirens rang out behind him, and he looked back to see the country house up on the hill, torches pointed into the woods just beyond.

And no sign of you. 

Logan knew he had a choice. Protect the kid or go back for you. But the moment he paused, the girl made the choice for him. 

Sharp claws scratched at his shoulders as she fought in his grip, her little cat-like eyes narrowing with every wriggle, a tail he hadn’t previously spotted whipping and swishing. Freedom. She craved freedom. And the moment he set her down, she bounded off into the woods on all fours. Like she belonged there. 

A little wildling. He chuckled briefly, swiping his wet hair from his forehead. Something told him she’d be okay, and it was that thought that had him turning back, racing up the hill to where a line of torches was advancing forth. Torches that he knew were fixed to the end of guns. 

They really did take their security seriously at these events. 

Your feet screamed at you with every thunderous step you took, and you cursed yourself for wearing fucking heels to an event where it was more than likely you’d have to make a quick getaway. You were lucky you were light on your feet because every obstacle seemed intent on tripping your up. You’d stumbled more than once on a loose stick or thread of bramble, your leg bleeding where the thorns had snared your ankle. Drenched hair stuck to your back, the canopy above doing nothing to shelter you from the deluge, weak leaves bending with each droplet. You shivered uncontrollably, despite the adrenaline in your blood as you raced through the undergrowth, twigs and branching whipping at your arms and face, catching against the lace of your mask, threatening to tear it free. 

Your breath like ice in your lungs, burning with each panting inhale, your legs aching as you lept over a moss-covered log, the torchlight barely catching your sprinting form, but enough for the shouts of “There!” to echo throughout the wood. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. You’d received strict instructions and you couldn’t disobey them.

“Stay alive.”

His voice calmed your freight train panic as you squinted through the rain, focussing on what was ahead of you rather than what lay behind. “Stay alive.”

‘I’m fucking trying.’ you responded mentally, the mutation in your blood flaring as you forced it to pump faster. The ache in your muscles dulled, the haze in your mind cleared, and you were running again, your reflexes heightened. You dodged, ducked and weaved through the trees faster than the gunmen behind you could keep up with, their voices fading into the distance as you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Things were finally looking up. Maybe you’d gotten away. Maybe they were too busy searching for the rest of the escapees. Maybe they were distracted by–

You could barely finish the thought before an arm caught around your waist and a broad hand settled over your nose and mouth, pulling you back behind a large oak tree. You kicked and writhed as much as you could, your elbow colliding harshly with the figure’s ribs, the blood from your ankles and arms drawing up in front of you and separating into several crystalised points, all aiming behind you. 

But then a thumb smoothed down the bridge of your nose repeatedly, and the hand at your side squeezed not in fight, but reassurance. The crimson-throwing knives liquified in the air, dropping to the ground. 

Logan.

You stopped struggling, letting him bring you closer into his chest as steps crunched through dead leaves. He moved his hand from your nose, though keeping it over your mouth to allow you to breathe, his thumb unceasing in its movements. And despite being huddled in his arms, you couldn’t feel any of the warmth you’d felt within the country house. He was freezing as if his very bones were nothing but ice. You weren’t much better off, shivering violently in his hold. You both stayed there, waiting in the increasingly charged silence until those footsteps had receding into the roar of the rain. Only then did Logan slide his hand from your mouth, but it didn’t go far, moving just enough to cup your jaw, turning your head to look at him. 

You were caked in blood. Your dress had been completely ruined, crimson stains spotted your arms and legs, your collarbone and neck were painted a diluted scarlet as the rain did its job to wash it all away.

His eyes fell to the hollow of your throat, where the rain had not only washed away the blood but the makeup. An angry, jagged scar ran all around the circumference of your neck, slightly raised from the rest of your smooth skin. You really had masked it well, a perfect concoction of concealer and foundation combined with colour corrector. But all your hard work was now washed away, leaving behind the cruelties of your past. 

He was lying about what he said earlier. He did give a shit about what you’d been through. In fact, he gave more shits than he cared to admit. 

“Y’alright?” He asked, his hushed voice barely audible over the rain, and you nodded, droplets falling into your eye, your other still covered with your mask. You were fine, physically at least. Sure you had a few scrapes and bruises but other than that, you weren’t hurt. But you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that everything you’d just worked for had gone down the drain. Sure, you’d saved them from their imminent slavery, but you’d just lost them all. Who’s to say they weren’t going to be found again? Who’s to say you’d only succeeded briefly, only to fall back into the vast depths of failure? It had become your constant companion recently. The empty, hollow void of failure. After every pointless torture, every pulled nail, every busted lip, you’d trudge back home with that same pit in your chest. You’d filled it for a moment. Smiling for the first time in years, only for it to be snatched away from you the moment you let yourself think that maybe, just maybe, you were making a difference.

You hoped the rain would disguise your watery eye. You should be used to the feeling now. Used to feeling completely and utterly useless against the forces constantly working against you. Then why? Why did it feel like you’d accomplished nothing? You stepped out of Logan’s hold, shivering slightly in the freezing weather, your skin crawling with the way your dress was pasted against you like wallpaper. 

“We need t-to get out-t of the rain…” you managed to stutter through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it could provide any kind of heat. 

You only succeeded in making it worse. 

As per usual.

Logan nodded in agreement, his hand reaching for yours only to stop when you flinched away. He wished he could brush the hair stuck to your face away from your eye. Wished he knew what was going on inside your head. What you were thinking. What you were feeling. Damn…

Telepaths had it so easy. He guessed Jean never needed to worry about this shit. It almost pissed him off to think about it. 

So instead he just gestured for you to follow him, shaky steps careful in the downpour, less for the sake of slipping and more for the sake of noise. Though he couldn’t hear anybody close, that didn’t mean they didn’t know how to mask their footsteps. And the rain made it much easier to be snuck up on. It made him uneasy. He’d glance back at you every now and then, his heart lurching at the way your eyes focused on the ground in front of you, your arms still wrapped around your body. It was the first time he’d seen you truly look vulnerable. Like the victim of the world, he suspected you were. Makeup washed away, hair flat against your head, shoulder hunched and your body shivering so violently he was mildly concerned you were going to lose your head. Not that he was much better off. Yet another downside to having bones of metal.

His body was really shit at regulating his temperature. Heat felt overwhelming, and freezing felt like he could barely move. Each step was a challenge when he wasn’t fuelled with adrenaline. And if he wasn’t so close to chattering his teeth out his own skull, he’d probably make some kind of joke about sounding like a steel bar being dropped down a hollow well just to make you smile again. At least, that’s what it sounded like to him. 

“N–not far now.” He tried his damnest to keep his voice steady. He’d spotted it when peering into the darkness after the little Wildling. A logger’s cabin, looking abandoned in the deluge. Wasn’t much, but it would do for shelter until the rain lessened. He glanced back to you again, and genuinely couldn’t tell if you’d heard him or not. You made no indication and he once again found himself wishing he could read your mind. 

You’d been following him almost blindly, simply letting him guide you as you disappeared into your head, thinking over the original plan until you had it down to a script. You knew Tisiphone wasn’t likely to forgive you for this. That was if she was still alive. The house hadn’t been set ablaze, so there was that at least, but if anything it made you sink deeper into your concern. Why hadn’t she set the house alight? She hadn’t had a problem with it before when things went wrong. It was why she was on a field ban in the first place. She’d lost her shit on an assignment and the whole place went up in smoke. You didn’t know any of the details, you were out on your own mission. All you knew was there was absolutely nothing left for Boss to save. Not even bones. Hellfire…

It was one hell of a force.

“Here…” Logan murmured, breaking you from your thoughts by running his hand down your shoulder. You finally looked up, squinting through the pouring rain to see an open door to possibly one of the smallest shacks you’d ever seen in your life. It was more of a shed than anything else, but you guessed it would do for a couple hours. Your eyes flickered from the little cabin to Logan, holding the door open for you. But before he could say anything, you trudged inside, mildly grateful to be out of the wet. 

The interior was as bleak as the exterior. Mostly abandoned, with the only sign of life being the slightly messy bed. But you guessed whoever had been holding up in here had left in a hurry, blankets strewn over the wooden floorboards, the fireplace unused and damp. That was the perfect way to describe how this place felt. 

Damp. 

The door closed behind you and you turned to face Logan, his white shirt now completely sheer and stuck to his body. And if you didn’t feel like a drowned rat, you probably would have made a comment on his insane build. All hard lines and cut muscle. But in this moment, you couldn’t have cared less. You were freezing, you were defeated, your colleagues scattered all which ways and all you wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry. 

Well, you didn’t care until his finger started frantically popping open button after button.

“W-what the f-f-fuck are you d-doing?” You chattered, eyes now blowing wide as he peeled the shirt from his body, suddenly finding the ceiling incredibly interesting when his hands shot to his belt.

“Str-stripping off wet clothes. And-d if you d-don’t wanna f-f-freeze, you’d d-do the same.” He answered, belt clattering to the floor before he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks. You turned around before you saw anything else, your necklace jingling with just how hard you were shivering. Fuck, he was right. Wet clothes were a killer, especially in these temperatures. And without a proper way to heat up… you’d freeze. Shit. This is not where you expected this night to end. 

“F-fine. But d-d-don’t look.” You hissed, shaky hands fumbling with the clasp of your necklace, struggling to find purchase before you managed to get lucky and it dropped to the floor. Logan had already pulled the dry blankets around his body, soaked clothes lay spread on the floor. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance they had to dry. He found your sudden timidity endearing, almost rolling his eyes as he kicked his shoes into the corner of the room, scrambling to find somewhere that would be a little warmer than standing on the freezing floor in nothing but a blanket. The bed seemed like the best bet.

Your long satin gloves crumpled to the floor in a wet heap, and it was only when you started to remove your dress did Logan truly realised why you didn’t want him to look. The fabric slid down your shoulders, and his gut twisted just as he lay down. 

A latticework of scars littered the expanse of your back. Line after line all carved into your flesh with careless abandon. Your dress continued to slide down your body, and he watched as more of your skin became a canvas for whatever sick, twisted bastard did this to you. Despite your wishes, his eyes roamed your back freely, landing on a small black tattoo of a curling snake just below your ribs. Cogs were turning in his brain, but before he could open his mouth to ask, you’d kicked off your heels and turned back to face him. 

Now he was staring at you for a completely different reason. Scars still covered your body but–

You were breathtaking. 

“Th-though I t-t-told you n-not t-to look.” You didn’t seem irritated. No, you sounded resigned. Tired. Your arms were still wrapped around your middle, water pooling at your feet from where it dripped from your limp hair. And it was instinct for Logan to pull the blanket open, a silent invitation for you to stop freezing in the middle of the room. But your lips quirked slightly, eyes glinted with exhausted mirth. “B-bit presumptuous, no?”

Logan answered you with an exaggerated eye-roll, raising a brow as you continued to stand out in the cold. As if wanting to make sure he was sure. “Get in-n.”

You didn’t need telling twice. Not when one of your two options was to freeze to death. And the other just looked so…

Welcoming. 

You joined him beneath the blanket, shivering for a whole new reason the moment his hand slid around your waist, his arm holding you tight against his chest as he wrapped the blanket back around you. Fucking hell he was freezing. You didn’t know if this was worse or better. The blanket was scratchy and smelled faintly of mildew, but at least you weren’t still out in those damn woods. 

You placed a palm on his shivering chest, his heartbeat solid beneath your fingers, and Logan looked down at you, head tilting to the side as he saw your face still obscured. But you looked concentrated on something, your eye honed in on the centre of his chest, above your hand.

Temperature regulation. It was never something you excelled at. Sure you could slow blood flow in others to the point of dizziness and fainting, but accelerating it was another problem altogether, and for some reason, you just couldn’t get the hang of it. Your mutation flailed and writhed like a stubborn horse as you tried to get a solid grip on Logan’s blood. It should be simple. Easy as falling asleep. But you’d proven to yourself time and time again that your powers weren’t created to heal others. Only to hurt. 

“W-what’re you doin’?” he asked with no small degree of suspicion, and you closed your eyes against the accusation, almost tempted to say you were trying to blow him up. 

“Trying to inc-crease your b-b-blood-pressure. Helps with b-body heat.” You explained curtly as if to get him to shut up. Not that he needed any more encouragement, you appeared to have stunned him into silence. How the fuck did somebody like you get so wrapped up in a mess like this. Spouting so much nonsense about him being too kind to be involved when you were the one spearheading the whole operation. And whether it was due to your mutation or just your surprising display of decency, he felt his muscles slowly cease their endless trembling, a slight warmth spreading from where your palm rested at his chest.

You breathed a little easier when you felt him relax a little, unable to bask in the rare win for your mutation when he uttered a single word that instantly had you on the defensive. 

“Mask.” He prompted monosyllabically, and you tensed your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“No.”

“It’s fabric and soaked. Take it off.”

“No.”

“Just–” his hand skipped from around your waist to the side of your face, and you shot from his chest, sitting bolt upright, the blanket falling from your body. Logan followed you, bracing a hand against the mattress as he sat up in front of you. “Why?”

He didn’t need to know. No, more than that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Because I can’t.” You answered, your voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. It did something to his heart he’d rather not think about right now. 

Slowly, like approaching a spooking animal, Logan’s hand drifted back to the side of your face, halting when you flinched away and only moving again when you’d settled. The tips of his fingers ghosted the edge of the black lace, your breath stilling in your lungs as he pulled his slightly.

“Yes you can…” with me, he wanted to say. You would be safe here. With him. You wouldn’t have to take on the burdens of this world alone. You wouldn’t have to scar yourself to get what you needed. There was a reason you asked him to be here today. And he’d be damned it he didn’t find out what it was.

When you didn’t move away from him, Logan carefully, gingerly lifted the mask from your face, keeping your hair back with his fingers. It took him a moment to register, but everything made sense now. Why you were doing this, the mask on your face, the tattoo at your waist, the scars around your neck. It was like the final piece in the puzzle that was who you were.

A burn had been branded across your eye, three letters seared into your skin for the rest of your life. Your cross to bear. 

MSR.

You were one of them. 

Logan was almost taken aback by the maelstrom of emotions that suddenly kicked up in his chest. Utter, unending fury, earth-shattering heartbreak, and a sense of understanding that he’d never felt before. 

Somewhere in the process, you’d closed your eyes, fearful of his reaction when he pried off your mask, finally revealing the answers to so many of his questions. You didn’t really know what to expect. Whether he would get up and leave now knowing your reasons were far more personal than heroic. Or whether he would try and find some bullshit common ground between you, with his tone disgustingly sympathetic. But none of that happened. Instead, the pads of his fingers ghosted across the letters, tracing them with a gentleness that was foreign to you. 

“Circus freak…” he understood now. You weren’t one of the personal ones. You were a money maker. Sent to fight in the collard cages for gamblers and drunks who didn’t know any better than to bet against David fighting the goliath. A prized possession kept locked away and promised freedom after every win. 

“Nobody should have to live that life.” You whispered, slowly opening your eyes to find yourself stunned by the way he was looking at you. No pity. No sympathy. Just… perception. He saw you. He understood you. When was the last time anyone had understood you?

“Not even you.” He didn’t mean it as a joke, but he savoured the way you huffed a small laugh, your head moving imperceptibly into his touch. But he was right. Not even you deserved to live that life. And you’d done plenty of things to deserve a lot of shit. But not that.

Never that.

“Did you know them? Whoever sold you off?” He asked lowly, still tracing the three letters across your eye, and you nodded slightly.

“Yeah you uh, could say that. Known him for a while. He uhm, taught me everything about my mutation. Thought he could use me, kept me close with bullshit lies about loving me. The day he branded me I uh, blew his arm off.” You shrugged, and Logan surprised you yet again by snorting a laugh. “What?”

“You blew his arm off?”

“I was kinda going through some shit at the time, okay?” You laughed, and Logan could only compare the sound to delicate wind chimes in a soft breeze. “Alright then, what about you, stray dog? Don’t look like a stray to me, especially not tonight. So out with it.” You poked his chest and Logan heaved a sigh, lying back against the mattress and dragging you with him, a gradually building warmth seeping into your bones. 

“Kinda the same story, ‘cept I wasn’t in the system. Lost my memories some day some how and just kinda… wandered, for a bit. Fighting in cages too, but I got to keep the winnings,”

“Lucky shit.” Your viscious tone had not heat to it, and it almost made Logan laugh. He didn’t think he’d met anyone who would consider fighting in cages for money lucky, but he supposed he’d never met anyone who’d fought in cages for someone else to claim the winnings. 

“Met a girl there–”

“Ooooh? Now it’s getting interesting.” You quipped, and Logan didn’t bother fighting the urge to pinch at your waist, your soft skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Not like that. She was just a kid. On the run from herself, honestly. Hid in my damn truck she was so desperate to escape. So I took her with me–”

“How chivalrous.”

“Could you stop?” He huffed, though his disobedient lips pulled into an equally disobedient smile. You schooled your expression dramatically, your heart singing with the surprisingly pleasant feeling of this conversation. You hated getting to know people. Hated their bullshit backstories. You often found you didn’t have the time to listen to them cry. But Logan? There was something mesmerising about the way he spoke. It wasn’t a fond memory, that much you knew, but he wasn’t telling it like it hurt. He was just telling it as it was. “Some asshole mutant was huntin’ her, named Sabretooth–”

“Sabretooth? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Wanna talk about dramatics, Alecto?” He raised a brow to you and you huffed.

“That could be my real name, you don’t know.”

“It’s not.”

You pulled a mocking face, sticking your tongue between your teeth. “Fine. Maybe it’s not. What’s yours then, if you think mine is so dramatic.” You shot back, eyes narrowing as he pulled his lips into a thin line, mumbling something under his breath. “Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Wolverine.” He repeated defeatedly, and you let the moment hang for a second, pursing your lips to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Wolverine?”

“Yep.”

“Like, the cute little badger thing?”

“I don’t think I knew what it was at the time.”

“You don’t say… isn’t it technically a weasel?”

“I didn’t know it was a damn weasel.” 

Your restraint on your laughter shattered in an instant, your shoulders shaking with fits of wind-chime giggles, and honestly, the mocking was worth it just to hear you laugh again, your lips splitting into a full grin that had his heart skipping several beats. “You done?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained on you as you fought to recover yourself.

“Yeah, sorry. Please, continue, weasel man.”

Logan groaned in exasperation, choosing to ignore your little lighthearted jabs. “He was trackin’ her, wanted her for some master mutant plan. Turns out he was bein’ tracked by the X-men. Picked us up on the road, ‘n that’s where I met Ororo, Scott ‘n Jean.”

Your eyes flickered over his face. He said that name differently from the rest. Jean. There was history there, you could tell. His tone both softened and hardened at the same time, paradoxically, and you felt a twinge of something deep within your chest. 

“Huh… so you stuck with them ever since?” You asked sincerely, and Logan noted the way your demeanour had shifted. 

“Yeah. Well, kinda. Been here there ‘n everywhere since, but pretty much stuck around for the last few years. ‘N that’s it.” You had a feeling he was holding back from divulging his truth. Sure, it was a lot, but something was missing. Something he wasn’t telling you. But at least now you knew why he referred to himself as a stray. Taken in by a family he wasn’t expecting. You knew what that was like. Sure, your team were a bunch of self-serving dickwads, but you were family. 

“And… Jean? What’s up there?” You asked before you could stop yourself. You didn’t know why you wanted to know. Curiosity, you supposed. You wanted to know as much as he would tell you. A stark contrast to everyone else you’d met in your life. 

“What’d ya mean?” He asked, masking his sudden defensive surge with confusion. 

“You said her name differently. Hope I’m not gonna have some pissed-off mutant after me when she finds out I was naked in bed with her man.” Your chuckle was humourless, and Logan raised a brow. In truth, he’d almost forgotten the circumstances, too wrapped up in your face to truly notice that, underneath everything, there was nothing separating you. 

“Doubt it. Her boyfriend would be thrilled though.” He muttered surprisingly bitterly, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Boyfriend huh? Ohhhh, I get it. Love triangle?” You wiggled your brows.

“You ask a lotta questions.”

“And you give a lotta answers, you just don’t realise it. So, who likes who? Obviously you like Jean–”

“Obviously?” He asked, finding himself feeling extremely exposed. 

“Written all over your face. And Jean has a boyfriend–”

“Scott.”

“Oh shit, the guy I knocked out?” You clarified, trying to ignore the sudden sense of satisfaction. No wonder he referred to the guy as his acquaintance, he was dating the woman he liked. Despite the kernel of something you refused to acknowledge of jealousy in your gut, you were glad to have helped in some way. 

“The very same.”

“Assuming Scott likes her back since they’re together and everything. But what about Jean? Where’s her head at?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighed, wondering how and when you got onto the topic of his love life. Things had become so much more complicated the last time he was at the mansion. He’d pulled back, and she’d gotten angry with him. For pulling back. Which made no sense since she was always refusing his advances. So why the hell had she been so pissed off with him?

“So you’re jealous?”

“I was, maybe a little.” He shrugged, finding himself at peace looking down at you as you furrowed your brows in thought, trying to decipher just what that meant. He wasn’t lying. He was jealous. In the past. But things had changed now, and he’d only just realised when, and why they had. 

“You were? What changed?” You asked, and you watched him hesitate for a moment, which only added more questions to the pile. Not that the pile wasn’t already a mile high.

“I–” Logan stopped himself, allowing a moment to truly think over his answer. It wouldn’t be right, to tell you. Not when he still knew so damn little about you. It wouldn’t be right to tell you things changed after meeting you. Things changed beneath that church when you’d asked him for help. When he’d seen your fire born of defiance. “I don’t know. Just kinda… stopped one day.”

You narrowed your eyes up at him, and Logan knew you knew he was lying. Or not divulging the truth. But a lie of omission is still a lie nonetheless. You seemed to accept his answer however, though filing away the question for later, falling into an effortlessly comfortable silence in a bubble of warmth. You didn’t realise he was still looking at you when you lay your head down to rest in the dip between his neck and shoulder, leeching off the heat from his body and returning it in an ouroboros cycle. You were content, you realised, to bask in his presence, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. For the first time in a long, long time, you were at peace. 

“What’s your name?” He asked softly, and you pushed back against the sudden wave of remorse. Telling him would endanger your entire operation, everything you’d built would be compromised. And you couldn’t bare to look up at him, couldn’t bare to see the slight hope in his eyes. 

“Alecto…” you whispered in response, your chest constricting as you almost felt him deflate. And you realised you couldn’t fucking bare it. “Is what I was named when Boss picked me up,” it was almost comical, the way he stilled beneath your touch, as if too terrified to move in case you remembered he was there and you’d stop talking. “But before that…?” you trailed off, closing your eyes as you murmured your name so softly it was only thanks to Logan’s increased senses that he heard you.

He repeated it softly, tasting the letters on his tongue, savouring how they sounded pieced together. It suited you, your name. More than Alecto did, anyway. Fuck… what was it about you that had him so hooked? Other than absolutely everything?    

“At the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep–”

“A risk you’re willing to take?”

Logan rumbled a chuckle, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face and you lifted your chin slightly to peer up at him. “You were wrong, ‘bout what you said earlier,”

Your head tilted in confusion. You’d said a lot of things earlier. But your heart stuttered in your chest as his expression softened into something you really didn’t want to think about right now. 

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered, your true name falling from his lips like a secret, and your eyes widened, exhaling a soft breath of shock. How on god’s green earth could he think that? He’d seen your face. Seen your scars. Seen the mess of your body. 

“You don’t have to be nice because of my tragic story,” you responded quietly, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. But he gently gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly brought you back to look at him before caressing your jaw with his knuckles. 

“I’m not.”

You closed your eyes against the overwhelming wave of melancholy, hating how he was making you feel seen. Making you feel less like the monster you’ve had to be. Making you feel human. 

“I’m scarred, Logan. You don’t–” You cut yourself off, unable to quite find the words to articulate what you were trying to say. But you didn’t need to. Your eyes fluttered open to find him still gazing at you, no small degree of understanding flickering in his hazel irises. He knew you didn’t mean your body. He knew you didn’t mean your face. You were scarred in ways beyond physical, and you supposed, of all people, he would be the one to understand that.

“We all have our scars, sweetheart,” you scoffed at the nickname, rolling your eyes. You were anything but sweet. “I’ve been around for a long, long time. One thing‘ve learnt, is that they don’t define us. It’s how we choose to heal from ‘em.”

You didn’t want to bring up the fact that you’d chosen to heal by using your pain, your anger, to kill anyone who stood in your way. You didn’t want to ruin his perception of you, no matter how far from the truth it may seem. So you let the silence linger, your eyes flickering between his and finding nothing but brutal honesty.

“Now at the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep,” you began, savouring the way his lips pulled into a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You felt his gaze fluttering across your features and watched as his eyes landed on your lips more than once, before lingering there. “This Jean woman?” you breathed, leaning further into him, and his arm around your waist tightened. “Is a fucking idiot.” You whispered against his lower lip, his eyes searching yours for permission and you let him open the windows to your soul, and there was only a second of charged energy before he closed minimal space between you, his lips surprisingly soft as he moulded them against yours. You could taste his last cigar, however long ago that may have been, the smoky aromas still lingering in his mouth and you found yourself savouring it, eyelashes fluttering closed as he slowly, languidly moved with you.

Logan found himself having to suppress a groan, his palm spreading across the side of your face, cupping your jaw as your tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip and he parted his mouth, a shiver running down his spine as he tasted you, the subtle hint of what he could only compare to cherry dancing across the buds on his tongue. 

It was slow, unhurried, so different to every other aspect of your life. His touch was gentle, his hand sliding down your waist to tug you closer as you craned your neck up to meet him further, open palm splayed against your lower back. You’d never been touched with such tender delicacy before, and the heat in your body had nothing to do with your mutation. 

Logan hummed lowly as your fingers ghosted up and down the side of his ribs, goosebumps prickling his skin with your touch, and you gasped lightly when his teeth nicked your lower lip, and feeling your nails scratch gingerly at his waist, he repeated it, sucking gently on the soft hurt. 

The sweet, tangy scent of your building arousal reminded him that there was absolutely nothing separating him from you, and he couldn’t stop the overwhelming urge to skirt his hand down to your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip. You canted against him, the silken heat of his cock barely grazing your cunt had you whispering his name, sweet as honey. He didn’t care that you were scarred, mentally or physically. It didn’t matter to him. You were beautiful; heart, body and soul. And things changed the moment he stepped into that church. 

His hand drifted from your outer thigh to the warmth between, tentatively dipping his fingers into the gathering slick of your cunt, your fingers carding through his hair as your head fell back in pleasure, and Logan took the opportunity to pepper the scars on your neck with light kisses, nipping gently at the raised skin. You bucked against his fingers, silently seeking more from him, a quiet moan falling from your lips when the soft pads of his digits circled over your swollen clit. You clamped your lips together, a whimper trying to escape your gated teeth with the sudden spark of ecstasy rolling through your nerves, your nails clawing through his hair. 

Logan groaned against your neck, a subsequent gasp fanning your throat when you did it again, his cock jumping with each muted tug at the back of his head. You rolled your hips against his fingers, urging him to finally breach you, your arousal coating not only his hand but the tip of his member, trapped between his wrist and his stomach. He smirked slightly against your neck, nipping at the hollow of your throat before sliding one finger through your folds, growling carnally as your silken walls clenched around him.

“Logan…” you murmured, eyes rolling behind closed lids. Fuck he felt good, and he wasn’t really doing anything more than slowly fucking you with one finger. You guessed it had been a while, but that could only explain your visceral reaction to his touch so much. He pumped his finger inside you, his thumb still circling your clit in a way that set your blood on fire. And through your pleasure-addled mind, you realised he wasn’t getting anything out of this. He wanted to make you feel good. The scales were unbalanced, and you couldn’t help but want to rectify that.

Your hand left his hair, ghosting down the side of his body and dipping between your pressed hips, your fingers delicately grazing the tip of his weeping cock. A shiver wracked his spine as your curious hand wrapped around his sensitive head, his finger curling against a spot deep within your walls that had you crying out, squeezing his tip in your fist. Logan’s hips bucked into your hand, a stuttered gasp sailing from his lips. 

A furnace was building between your thighs, a low glow of ecstasy that only grew the moment a second finger joined the first, slowly stretching you out, scissoring inside your vice-like walls. You wanted him inside you. Not his fingers, you wanted his cock. Craved it. Fuck, you wanted to feel him throbbing in your cunt, wanted to feel every pulsing vein along your wanton heat. And so despite your building release, you relented your hold on his cock and gently took his wrist, pulling him from your thighs. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open as he looked down at you, dazed confusion creasing his brows. You cupped the side of his fuzzy jaw, panting against his lips. “Want you…” You whispered, and something shifted in his heart. Slowly, he pushed against your shoulder, urging you to lie on your back as he followed, hovering over you. Fuck he was gorgeous, gazing down at you with something you couldn’t quite decipher glimmering in his hazel eyes. 

“You have me.” He responded softly, ghosting his hand down between you to align his cock with your clenching cunt. You gasped as he coated the tip with your slick, sliding through your soaked folds before pushing into your heat, achingly slowly. 

A sharp hiss escaped your teeth at the initial stretch, Logan’s head falling against your collar as he fought every instinct not to drive into you with reckless abandon. He wanted to be gentle with you. He wanted you to trust him. And the moment you wrapped your legs around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back, he released a low, guttural moan. Inch by torturous inch he filled you, sharing a mutual gasp as his tip grazed that same spot his fingers were reaching just moments ago, your walls clenching around him when he bottomed out into you.

Logan stilled, gritting his teeth in restraint as he let you get used to him, your hands running through his hair softly, so softly that, when he looked up at you, your eyes held the exact same tenderness, brows pinched slightly in pleasure. He couldn’t help himself. Ghosting light kisses up your neck, he captured your lips with a passion that could only be matched by the aching desperation of his pulsing cock. You groaned into his mouth as he incrementally pulled his hips from yours, before filling you again, setting a low, languid pace. 

“Shit sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, a light gasp catching him off-guard as you tensed around him deliberately, his hips bucking into you before he wrestled back control of himself, opening his eyes to find your shit-eating grin, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He huffed a wicked chuckle, lengthening his thrusts to reach further into your cushioned depths. Your jaw fell slack as he established a new rhythm, airy, pitched moans swirling about the small cabin, joined in a symphonic dance with the low groans and soft growls of Logan above you. 

Pleasure accompanied every strong thrust, the tip of his leaking cock brushing that little bundle of nerves you barely knew existed before this, making your thighs quiver around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back in encouragement. Your soft scratches through his hair travelled down the back of his neck, nails clawing gently against the sweat-slicked, sinewy plains of his back, feeling the strong muscles flex and relax with each movement he made. 

“Logan… fuck! Logan…!” your voice cracked the moment his hand drifted between you, those same fingers as before circling your sensitive pearl in harmony with the consistent pumping of his hips, your own canting up against him in a synchronised dance of pure ecstasy. That same furnace started to grow once again, only this time surpassing the roaring flame of pleasure into a wildfire.

He could feel your building release in the way you clung to him, your walls fluttering and spasming around him involuntarily, a series of broken whines muffling his own heavy pants, barely able to kiss you for longer than a single moment before you’d both break away with another choir of moans. His cock pulsed against inside your walls, the need to find his own high fuelling his next few thrusts, pushing your knees up higher for your thighs to clamp around his ribcage, a wanton cry sailing to the heavens.

“Can feel you darlin’. Let go– fuck! Let go f’me,” he breathed through gritted teeth, relentlessly thumbing your clit until he felt you go stiff beneath him, your entire body tensing as you crested your high, spurred on by his heated words. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, jaw locked open as honey leeched through your veins, waves of rapturous pleasure cascading down your nerves, clouding your mind and leaving every fibre of your very being trembling in his hold. 

Your hips bucked mindlessly into his, fucking yourself on his cock and Logan had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle his own shout of ecstasy, finding his release in the way your cunt clamped around him like a vice, milking his shaft of everything he had to give. Those same crashing waves of lightning struck his system, his voice shuddering with every uncontrollable jerk, every pleasure-laced twitch of your sensitive body against his. 

You didn’t know where your soul had gone, but you basked in the floating afterglow of your orgasm, breath unsteady and shaking with each heavy pant, hands threading back through the sweat-matted strands of his hair soothingly. You could have sworn you almost heard him purr, a low, gravelly sound rumbling from the back of his throat.

“Well…” you started breathlessly, causing him to raise his head from your shoulder. “That’s one way to warm up I guess.” You shrugged with a wry smile, and Logan snorted a chuckle, raising up on his forearms to pull out, a wince crossing your features as he did. You’d forgotten how strange it felt to have someone finish inside you. And it was as if he was listening to your train of thought, realisation dawning on his face.

“Shit…”

“What?”

“I didn’t– Fuck.” He ran a stressed hand down the side of his face, pushing up from you to sit on his heels. “I forgot to ask, I– shit, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You recoiled slightly, fighting to keep the surprising hurt from your face. “Christ, that bad, huh? I didn’t exactly make plans to sleep with you either, you know.” You countered, crudely using the corner of the blanket currently falling from his waist to clean yourself up, praying to whatever deities were up there it was at least somewhat clean. You really didn’t fancy a UTI or a yeast infection. 

Logan blanched, struggling to understand what exactly it was you were talking about, assuming that this whole time you were on the same page. “What? No– fuck, no. That’s not what ‘m talkin’ about.” He huffed in frustration, and you sat up, crossing your legs.

“Then just what the hell is your problem all of a sudden?” You asked defensively, folding your arms across your chest. 

“I fuckin’ came inside you, that’s the fuckin’ problem.”

“And?”

The cabin fell into silence as he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether or not you knew the consequences or if you just truly didn’t care. And it took you far too long to finally understand what he meant, your gut twisting slightly. “Oh. Right. That’s uh– that’s not a problem.”

“The fuck you mean it’s not a problem? Look, we’ll get to a pharmacy tomorrow an’–”

“Logan.” You interrupted him curtly, though you couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly finding the discarded pile of clothes on the floor more interesting than his gorgeous face. “It’s fine, okay?”

It was then he paused to really look at you, the scars littering your body, and the one he’d missed before, thicker than most of the rest, situated dead centre between your hip-bones. The realisation struck him like a truck.

“You’re sterile…?” he asked quietly, though he didn’t need to see you nod your head to know the answer. But you nodded nonetheless, pursing your lips at the discomfort of the conversation. That was until the soft pads of his fingers traced the sunlit-ice skin of your scar, his thumb soothing slow circles against your naval. “Was it your choice?” his voice was as quiet as a breeze, his other hand pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head gently to look at him. 

“Nothing’s ever been my choice. Not even that.” You responded with a spiteful smile that had Logan’s blood run cold. Just how many atrocities have you had to endure? How much trauma did it take to make this version of you?

“It doesn’t have to be like this, y’know.” He murmured, relinquishing his hold of your jaw to instead take your hands into his own. “Come back with me,” you don’t think you’d ever get over the way he said your name, like the charged secret you’ve kept for years. But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t, and he knew you couldn’t. 

“Don’t... don’t do this now, Logan,” you pleaded, closing your eyes to spare yourself from seeing the defeat on his face. “Don’t ruin it.”

He didn’t know what ‘it’ was supposed to be, but he sighed all the same, letting the topic drop in favour of laying back down by your side, pulling the blanket back up around the both of you and sliding his arms around your waist, tucking you in to him tight. 

“Alright.” He agreed, using his one free hand to smooth your hair away from your face, returning back to tracing the MSR scar around your eye, his heart clenching painfully as you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You both knew the other wasn’t cold anymore, but neither of you were willing to bring it up. Neither of you willing to acknowledge that maybe you weren’t doing this for the necessity to survive. 

Maybe you were instead doing this for the craving to truly live. 

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ WHO DID IT? ❞

—poly!satosugu xmas shenanigans, satosugu x reader, justice for satoru he just wanted to make candy canes !

The day was going well. Splendid, even. It’s almost Christmas, and the chilly weather makes sure to remind you, flakes of snow peppering the ground and crunching beneath your boots. You’ve completed the task of some nice, last minute shopping for your husbands’ students, picking up some coffee orders, not forgetting a few of Gojo’s favorite desserts from that same coffee shop, and then you were back home in no time. Walking inside, you’re engulfed with a feeling of warmth and coziness, the smell of sugar with a hint of peppermint permeating in the air. Your call of ‘I’m back!’ suspiciously goes unanswered, but you assume your husbands are either distracted or out of earshot.

The honeyed scent of sugar grows stronger as you enter the kitchen, setting bags of gifts and groceries on the floors and countertops. Speaking of countertops…your brows knit, mouth agape in absolute shock as you really take in the center of what was once gorgeous marble. You hear Gojo’s boisterous laughter in the living room, Geto’s faint conversation underneath, and make a beeline straight for them. Upon your arrival, Geto spots you first, and the wide-eyed glance he shares between you and Gojo is very telling.

It’s a simple question.“Who did it?”

And yet getting an answer, at least from one of them, is like pulling teeth.

Satoru halts mid-sentence, turning to beam innocently at you, ignoring the bitter look in your eyes, out for blood. If Suguru’s simmering glare at his idiot counterpart is any indication, then you’ve already gotten your answer.

Said idiot is so good at playing dumb, as if something like this isn’t obviously his doing. “What’s wrong, baby?”

A small breath of exasperation leaves Geto as he takes in the interaction. He thinks Gojo is really in for it this time, he can tell by your body language alone that you’ve got some choice words for this man. Maybe you’ll actually kill him this time. Geto chuckles a good riddance, so low even he can barely hear it. Can’t afford to show too much amusement, lest he get caught in the whirlwind of your fury.

Your foot taps, impatient. Brand new countertops. Not even a month old, they told you to consider them as part of an “extra early Christmas gift”. Ruined with large, faded, circular marks right in the center, on display, and faintly reeking of peppermint.

Suguru grows hot as your furious gaze shifts to him, finger with a mind of its own as it points to Gojo. “He wanted to make candy ca–“

“What the hell, I thought we had an agreement?”

“I’m not taking the fall for this with you over that dumbass idea.”

“Dumbass? You were on board when I suggested it!”

“And that was my mistake for assuming you’d done more than five minutes of research and knew what you were doing.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get in the spirit of Christm– ow!”

The sharp pinch on his ear leaves Satoru yelping like a hurt dog, stumbling along as you drag him into the kitchen, and Geto takes extreme joy in the small snippets of Gojo’s excuses as he fails to plead his case.

“Baby, my extremely beautiful, lovely, gorgeous wife, I just miscalculated a little, a tiny mist–“

“Mistake?” With your incredulous tone, one can only imagine the look on your face right now. “Look what you did to the countertop, Satoru, don’t come in my damn kitchen tryna be a professional chef or candy maker or whatever!”

A groan. “Technically,” and Suguru cringes immediately, head sinking back on the couch. “It’s all of our kitchen.”

The immediate silence afterward is heavy enough to weigh down a bear. Followed shortly by Satoru’s meek “Ya know what, you’re so right, baby. Your kitchen.”

[liaragaming]

Emmrich and Johanna's dynamic is just fascinating to me.

I've said before that her skull banter in the lighthouse sounds like a divorcee who's bitter at the person she admires for not turning out the way she'd wanted. And I still stand by that.

Ultimately, Joanna cares about Emmrich but she resents his compassion, which she sees as a weakness.

In Emmrich's short story, Johanna thinks it's a waste of her time and effort to travel the Necropolis just to figure out what a screaming skull (that's too weak to become a demon) is going on about. But Emmrich cares and he's going to figure it out, so she goes with him because someone has to make sure he doesn't get himself killed down there.

Johanna sees compassion as a weakness but clearly hers is Emmrich. (She wouldn't be down here for just anyone.)

By the end, they discover the man whom the skull belongs to wasn't buried with his recently diseased wife, as he and his wife had wished. Johanna scoffs at such pointless fury. Emmrich makes a comment about "enduring friendships," which Johanna also scoffs at. But the two are described as walking back "in companionable silence."

Johanna acts aloof, but there's clear love between the two of them.

Also in the story, Johanna compliments Emmrich's corpse whispering. She says he "possess[es] a grand talent" and that he's successfully honed his skills. And Emmrich beams at the compliment.

It's clear she thinks he's skilled and powerful, and she admires that.

In the boss battle with Johanna, there's a bit of banter where she says she'll make sure to bury Emmrich and his friends (or his "new lover") in the same tomb. And this could just be a dig at Emmrich's compassion, but I actually believe she means this. She wouldn't want him to be a screaming skull in the afterlife.

She thinks compassion is a weakness, but she still cares about him.

I have so many thoughts about them! More below the cut for length and my inability to organize them.

In Johanna's skull banter, she says Emmrich was always dragging her out to pointless parties (Does he care about her social life? Wants her to have more friends? Or maybe he's concerned about her well-being in general and just wants to get her out of her study?) and she complains about how everyone fawned over him (jealousy? Or a waste of his time /talents? (probably the latter)).

Emmrich says they partnered on everything as students - "papers, rituals, research..." I can only imagine how charged that must have been - how exhilarating to have someone on the same wavelength to bounce ideas off of and talk through theories. And I can't help but wonder if one or both of them was sapiosexual 'cause, oh boy, would that would complicate things.

In Emmrich's personal quest, Johanna mocks Emmrich for his fear, and Emmrich says he misses having a friend who wasn't. I imagine he saw her as fearless. And like - the tender way he says it! The admiration he has to feel for her! And he almost turns her. She softens! GAH!

Her skull banter when they find a few minor points of agreement between them - like how the end of the world must be prevented and how much they hate nobility - there's a softness that comes to their words, like two friends finding equilibrium again. Like, their relieved they don't have to argue over everything! There's still some things they can agree on. I think they miss each other! I really do!

EDIT: I forgot two very important things!

Johanna calls Emmrich "Volkarin." Even though they are friends, even though he calls her "Johanna," she always refers to him by his surname. And that seems to be a clear use of purposeful distancing on her part. I don't know how else you would explain it.

In Johanna's skull banter, it's clear she thinks Emmrich is the leader of the group and not Rook. She hears about the impending end of the world and says, "Get Volkarin on it!" She sees him as capable and powerful and worthy of status. And she can't even fathom that Emmrich would act as a peon (in her eyes). He must be the leader. Of course, he is!

[badaziraphaletakes]

Making jokes and laughing about a frightening experience does NOT mean someone does not appreciate the gravity of a situation. Quite the contrary, in fact - it is a very, very common way of processing trauma.

In fact, I can't offhand think of any traumatized people I know who haven't make a joke about their traumatic experience/s. It's a deeply normal, human thing to do.

(And please don't try to tell me Aziraphale seeing Crowley be kidnapped and then being hit over the head with a crowbar (?), violently kidnapped himself, and dragged to hell, and then seeing the awful people and place Crowley had been stuck with for the past 100k+ years, witnessing the usher being murdered in cold blood before his eyes, and wondering if the same thing might happen to him, and/or if he hell was going to discover his and Crowley's secret, not to mention seeing for probably the first time what exactly the thermos of holy water would have done to Crowley if he'd used it, wasn't traumatic. First of all, that just is. Second of all, look at his irises. He was probably having a bit of fun - not surprising considering how relieved he was that the holy water didn't work on him and hell appeared not to have caught onto the deception; of course you'd be a bit giddy - but he was also terrified and scarred and angry and disgusted and I don't even know what else.)

There's a reason the rates of depression found among comedians are off-the-charts. And it's not because humor causes depression (we know it actually alleviates it). It's because traumatized people and people with mental illness (I mean, the Venn diagram between those groups is basically a circle, but y'know) gravitate to humor. It is one of the most powerful weapons we have to ward off despair. Humor can save us when nothing else can.

It can also stop you from wanting to punch someone when you're really, really angry. I propose that we can see smoldering contempt and fury and outrage and disgust on Aziraphale's face at the end of the scene, hidden just under that cheeky grin. It's some masterful acting work by Tennant, so many emotions going on at the same time.

Also - may I point out that Crowley loved Aziraphale's jokes about the whole thing. Aziraphale knows how to cheer Crowley up. A big part of the reason he was so sarcastic in hell was for Crowley, to score some points against the people who have been oppressing him for millennia without him ever being able to answer back. (And also he was acting that way because he figured it was how Crowley would act and he had to be convincing. If he'd gone in there and hadn't been 100% confidence and swagger, hell would have noticed something was off. They're paranoid, and Beelzebub, at least, is smart. No flies on that one. Heh, heh. Did Aziraphale overplay it a bit? Maybe. But the deception worked, so clearly his approach was correct overall.)

And finally: Don't tell me Crowley wasn't having a little fun with all this, too. His laugh on the bench was sincere:

He could arguably also be accused of overplaying it a bit with the neck cracking (which I don't blame him for; I would have done the same - but I don't see anyone getting mad at him for having a little fun the way they did with Azi):

And he LOVED getting to breathe fire at Gabriel & Co.

Which is exactly as it should be. :)

[cuprohastes]

Did you bring a sword?

The Zavazni pride themselves on their swordsmanship. If one of their Privateer ships pulls you over, you can duel them: Win and they’ll fuck off, nice and peaceful.

Lose and… well things might go the other way. Slavery or death for the challenger for sure.

Almost nobody duels the Zavazni. Nobody else has dropped all their points into weebing that hard about swords.

So the Freighter Mok Sipok Vuun Abta (Lit: Slow but Safe hands for Carrying) got nabbed by the Privateer ship ‘Elegant blade for which no foe may stand against’. The captain just sighed and started filling out the insurance forms, and had the Bankruptcy declaration cued up for after that.

It was wholly a surprise then, that the Cook decided to challenge the Zavazni’s Blademaster.

The cook was human, of course. She was called Sue - Probably still is.

The Blademaster - One Truun Var Odakan (Familial name Ovtin) accepted on the spot, pulled out a metre of gleaming silvered duelling sword, flourished and spun the damn thing faster than a hummingbird’s wing: Y’know, just to make a point.

Sue got a crappy spare one of the Zavazni handed to her. She waggled it, adjusted her grip, almost dropped it… Which provoked hilarity from the Privateers.

The Captain was hoping that they’d find this all funny enough not to be vindictive after they sliced Sue up. Which at this point was entirely out of his hands.

Sue did a few swishes with the blade and started to swing it, the point wobbling until she got the hang of it and then…

… and then it was moving faster, and faster as she got the measure of it, until it moved like a curtain of quicksilver. Like it was the petals of a flower picked out in the barely visible reflection of metal moving so fast it became ethereal. The tip moved so fast it sung. The damn thing looked like it was alive.

Sue moves in a way that the Captain had never seen, twisting, spinning, sliding, and weaving.

Ovtin was immediately wrong-footed, but then Sue stopped, the subliminal whine of the blade shocking in its sudden absence.

“OK big boy, let’s dance.” she said — And Ovtin, barely pausing, swept in with the terrible grace the Zavazni are known for.

Sue handed him his ass.

She wasn’t ever where he thought, she never stepped where he predicted. She moved like water around his silver blade, and she barely even took time to slap his sword out the way.

Ovtin started to slow, frustrated swings and lunges tiring him out, and Sue?

She relaxed into it. She looked loose and lazy.

The scalpel sharp point of the privateers sword whipping past her, as she bent like a willow, reaching up and just slapping the flat of Ovtin’s blade with her hand now and again.

And then when he was panting and livid, she took him apart: A flick of her sword tip here, a sweep there that dragged the cutting edge through cloth and skin: Her sword switching hands…

Some times even pointing backwards as she spun and ducked, the edge like a scythe, making him stumble out the way. And then as Ovtin staggered she spun inside his defence, elbowed him in the side, slid her hand up his arm and yanked his sword out of his hand.

Sue ducked down and whipped the tips across Ovtin’s thighs, backed up, dropped the tips, rolled her shoulders and started whirling both swords — Her shirt soaked, her hair matted and pure fury in her eyes.

The Captian nearly shit himself when he realised this creature of pure avatistic vengeance had been making his pancakes and hot tuvi of a morning.

Ovtin just couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. He could have surrendered, but he couldn’t conceptually accept it and kept lunging in to try to get his sword back.

Which was like reaching into a blender.

And when he finally died, Sue cried for him and told the Privateers to fuck off: And they did. They actually did.

She kept both swords. Mounted the old one over the kitchen hatch.

It took the Captain almost the entire rest of the trip to ask two questions

“Would you have challenged the Blade Master if we hadn’t been carrying aide supplies?”

…and:

“How? How could you possibly have done this?”

Unfortunately the answer to the second part, devoid of cultural context, meant nothing to him, but he wrote it in the log anyway:

“Cargo saved due to the actions of Sue Marrincourt, cook & ‘Beat Sabre Champion’.”

[jvnluvr]

jealousy, jealousy ; blue lock boys ♡

ft. sae, kaiser and isagi x f!reader

author's note: if only these scenarios i write would actually happen to me.. :( it's okay, maybe it'll happen one day. an idea i randomly came up with, kinda rushed but still put a decent amount of thought into it. i think i only can genuinely write good when i'm mad skdksj. anyways, enjoyy!! ♡

itoshi sae:

"she's actually, pretty cute..." sae could hear rin mumble next to him, noticing that he was clearly in some sort of daze.

he knew rin was just doing it to piss him off, and he hated to say it was working. everyone knew it, you and sae both liked each other. it's just the both of you were too shy too actually ask the other to be in an official relationship. still, he made it evident to let other people know not to flirt with you, cause worst will come to the worst.

"her outfit is also pretty nice, right?" rin mentioned yet another compliment about you. this time though, he was snapped out of his trance and he was talking to isagi, which the boy agreed with the statement.

it's like a fire erupted inside of sae. it didn't even matter at that point if people were able to see the fury on his face as he walked towards you. you were just minding your own business after all, giggling, chatting and catching up with your friends. well, that was until you were harshly pressed against a wall, the air almost being knocked out of you as your field of view drastically increased.

by just his cologne, you almost immediately know it's sae. but you still nervously look up as he's looking down at you with his usual bored eyes. however, the moment your gazes lock onto to each other, he's giving you that soft smile he only dares to show when you're around. it makes your heart flutter, cause why was he always hiding it if it was such a pretty look on him?

"um, is there a reason why you decided to pull such a bold move in front of everyone tonight-? huh-?" it was just a little sound you could make as he moved your chin up towards him to pull you for a kiss. it wasn't a short one either. he made sure to take his time devouring and remembering the way your lips tasted. at first, you had no idea to react, but eventually you were able to ease into the kiss.

it takes a while until sae is finally satisfied and able to let go of you. only then do you both realize how quiet the place has gotten, and that's when it hits that everyone is paying attention to the both of you. upon your realization, you put your head down in embarrassment, but it's not like anyone could see you really. sae's back was covering you.

he could hear the gasps and shocked noises from rin and isagi, but that's what makes his let out that deep chuckle. he kisses your forehead, whispering 'mine' across the skin as he grabs your hand. "where are we going-?" yet again you are merely cut off as sae drags you out of the area, with vivid plans to take you to his house, to make things official once and for all.

michael kaiser:

kaiser was definitely one to get jealous much easier. i mean, who can blame him? he takes great pride in his relationship, and you mean the absolute world to him ! it's only natural for him to get possessive over the one he loves. so when he sees some random guy leaning into you, he's outraged to say the least. but he's still in the middle of practice. noa would come for him if he left at any regard.

so when he goes on his little break, he tries to listen in a bit first. kaiser doesn't want you to think you're not capable of saying no yourself, but he's still there to rush in and protect you for whenever the time calls for it. "what's a pretty girl like you doing in a stadium like this?" this guy's tone almost makes him vomit right then and there.

"uhm, waiting for my boyfriend. can you please move? you're making me really uncomfortable." you say nicely, yet with a stern voice. kaiser's always liked that about you. your ability to still stay so calm in dire situations like these. you keep him balanced, and he loves you so much than words can express for that.

"c'mon, your little boyfie' doesn't hafta' know. just come with me for today." he really hates how insistent this man is. kaiser might be a bit of a jerk at times too, but he doesn't stoop down to this horrible of a level. he's really tempted to run in there, but again, he waits a little while longer.

"no thanks." it's simple, and you try to walk off, you really do. but the man grabs onto your arm roughly, which makes you yelp out in pain. he's almost trying to drag you away, to which you aren't able to retaliate as much as you has hoped to do. kaiser sees you, he does. so the instinct alarms loud in him, and he's picking up his pace to run over to you, quickly knocking the man out of his senses (literally) before turning around to you.

"sorry i didn't come sooner, baby. did he hurt you? i'm sorry-" you stop his chant of apologies by giving him a quick kiss and then wrapping your arms around him. even if he's sweaty, kaiser didn't want any more than to keep you in his arms forever. "it's okay mikka, he didn't pull too hard. thank you for coming." you kiss him on the cheek again as he does the same back to you.

"well first of all, he was ugly anyway. i knew you wouldn't go for him. second of all, i wish i had come sooner, really. i didn't want you to think that i thought you were incapable or whatever." you smile at him unconsciously as he talks. jealous michael was not only really useful, but he was also really cute.

isagi yoichi:

isagi is more of the "doesn't really notice but when he does he becomes 10000000x more clinger." (yes i just gave it a title shut up.) so when he invites you to his gathering with the blue lock boys, he wants you to enjoy yourself! he's off chatting with bachira and chigiri, but everyone once in a while he'll look at you to make sure you still have that gorgeous smile on your face!!

so when he looks back at you once again, he's a bit confused. you look great, of course! but it kind of seems like, you're having too much fun..? without him? his heart stings a little. isagi loves seeing you happy, but when it's with another guy? nagi at that? no, he's not happy at all now. he's the one who should be making you laugh like that, not him.

he quickly excuses himself from the conversation at hand and starts to walk over to you. you're sitting on a chair, back facing towards him. so to surprise you, he wraps his arms around you, gently putting his chin on top of your head. he makes direct eye contact with nagi, which almost looks like a death glare. "hey princess, what are you up to?" he coos at you, and since you can't see his face, you assume he's in a good mood.

"nothing much, yoichi! nagi was telling me about blue lock! how was the catching up going?" you say, smiling at nagi. but he gives you a barely visible one back as you suddenly feel your chair being turned around. you see your boyfriend's face, softly smiling at you. you couldn't help but think how adorable he was.

"i could tell you about blue lock too, y'know? come with me, cutie." he lifts you up from your chair, and you let out a small laugh. but then you remember about nagi. was he just staring at you both this whole time-? the thought of it flushes your cheeks, but when you turn around, the chair is empty.

"hey yoichi, what happened to nagi..?" he turns you back around, planting on kiss on your forehead and then one on your lips. "don't worry about it, baby! i'm sure he just saw reo and then walked off! come on, let's go!" he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together as he drags you off. but when you hear your phone buzz, you see a new notification, a message from nagi.

IMESSAGE:

nagi: your boyfriend is scary, tame him.

you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle once you realized what had happened.