#and get comfortable with making mistakes and learning from them

[1980shorrorfilm]

has it hit you?

click!!!

pairing��sam carpenter x gn!reader

in which…an argument causes sam to push you away; which she regrets when you end up under the mistletoe with someone else.

before you read…angst with comfort. alcohol usage. mentions of sex.

“whatever sam said, she didn’t mean— you know she gets like that sometimes!”

tara follows you around the frat house that was lazily decked out with flashy christmas decor, like a child being led by her parent. fitting, considering she’s taking your fight with sam to the heart. 

it was sudden, so sudden yet something you should’ve been entirely prepared for. 

you made the mistake of taking a step in a direction she’s repeated several times she didn’t want to go down. emotional intimacy. a hint at a relationship. dinner with your family for the holidays. 

you had invited her and tara, having believed you were close enough with them to do so, but specifically sam. the woman you’ve spent most of your nights with, wrapped in her arms, skin to skin. 

it wasn’t just sex with her. when she was vulnerable enough, she’d trust you with some of her lighter secrets, still unable to tell you everything that goes on her mind. 

you were okay with that, though, always so patient with her. that’s why you accepted what you two were…nothing and everything at the same time.

not dating, no, she wouldn’t say that. she wouldn’t call you her partner. she wouldn’t even call you her best friend. you were just…you. someone she liked enough to occupy her time with, and she assumed that’s all she was to you.

not someone to bring home to your parents, sam did not think she had the title. she thought she didn’t want it, imagining the judgmental faces from your beloved family members, as if you brought home a mistake. 

a mistake. that’s what she called your whatever-ship.

something that should’ve never happened, she told you. you’re too clingy, she said. just leave me the fuck alone, she begged.

you listened. you always listen to sam. 

leading you to a frat party, being followed by her little sister, a constant reminder of what you’re trying to escape. 

“maybe we should go home— she’s probably waiting for you,” tara tries again, watching you grab a beer from the fridge. you sigh her name, not wanting to scold her, but really tired of hearing about sam. tara gets the hint, and the obvious annoyance in your tone, deciding to back off. for now.

your mind can ease somewhat without having tara’s shadow, actually talking to your friends while the alcohol works its way into your system. 

you find yourself playing beer pong against some faces you occasionally see in class, laughing at just how bad you were— then remembering how good sam is. her aim is amazing, sam knows the right angles and how delicate or hard the pressure should be. you learned that a long time ago, though. 

why are you thinking about her? when you’re just her mistake?

you shake your head, bringing the red solo cup to your lips and downing the alcohol while the opposite team celebrates their win. your partner, a tall blonde who leaned in very close to you the entire time, now trying to hold a regular conversation. 

“aren’t you seeing that carpenter chick?” they had asked, and your head snapped toward them, brows knitting at the comment. you hadn’t known your association with her seemed to others what you also had viewed it as. romantic. 

it’s slightly comforting, knowing it wasn’t entirely in your head, the way samantha tried telling you it was. maybe she was lying more to herself, than you, or so that’s what you hope for. 

“nope,” you tell them, “not seeing anyone.”

the bitterness of your words goes unnoticed, and is taken as an invitation; which it sorta is. you came here to forget her, to make yourself feel better. and if that’s with some blonde that lost beer pong with you, you’re okay with that. you think.

you’re honestly not doing a lot of thinking right now. you’re fake laughing at their stupid jokes. you’re repeating ‘right,’ at their never-ending stories. 

you’re being reminded why you picked sam over everyone else. this is draining, a chore to pretend to be interested. there was no pretending with her. her. her. 

holy fuck, you need another drink. 

you excuse yourself, but they follow, still talking to you. they cut themselves off, an enthusiastic ‘hey,’ as their palm on your wrist halts you in the doorway. 

“wh—”

they point up, and you glance. mistletoe. you see it more in movies than in reality, you’re almost amazed by the sight of the small green and red shrubs. to be beneath it with the love of your life— to be beneath it with sam. 

sam isn’t here.

but you are, and so is the blonde.

because why the fuck not, you close the space between you two, a peck on their lips that goes as quickly as it came. but it lasts long enough for her to see it.

the heat rushes to her cheeks, tara not telling her you were occupied with someone else in the urgent message she had sent her. just the fact that you were drinking, and she’s taking your recklessness as confirmation. 

sam ignores the stares as she pushes past the drunken partygoers, remembering exactly why she didn’t come to shit like this. if she wanted to feel judged she would’ve searched her name online, a habit you’ve tried to stop her from doing.

“y/n.”

her voice cuts through the music and chatter, your eyes falling on her in the doorway of the kitchen. you’re leaning against the counter, the blonde in front of you, looking between you two. sam is only looking at them. 

“can you leave us?” it comes out as a demand when she says it, and they don’t protest, both of you now alone when they scurry away.

you gulp at whatever she has to say to you, probably to get scolded for having fun without her. with someone else. despite her harsh words making it seem like that’s what she wanted from you; to find someone else and stop bothering her. 

you laugh dryly to yourself at the thought.

“what was that?”

“what was what?” 

sam exhales through her nose, trying to be patient in a moment she absolutely did not want to be. she will show you some grace due to being buzzed and not entirely there, but that doesn’t change how she feels.

bitter. annoyed. mad, very mad, at you. 

“so we have one argument and that’s it?” she begins to walk toward you, making you feel extremely small the closer she got, and the louder her voice became.

you dare to bite back, “thought that’s what you wanted.”

“why would i want that?”

“because you fucking said so, sam,” you tell her, the woman not realizing the weight of the things she had said until this moment. 

sure, they weren’t the kindest words that had left her mouth, but they were spoken out of fear rather than honesty. unfortunately, you’re not a mind reader, and you have feelings that sam has obliterated. 

“i don’t…” she trails off, a roar from the crowd in the next room causing her to squeeze her eyes in annoyance. “let’s go home. talk there,” sam tells you, hand gently grabbing at yours, but you pull away. 

“you can go home.”

“y/n.”

“im staying, sam. don’t wait up for me,” you push past her, to the fridge you had originally come into the kitchen for. to your luck, there’s one more beer, but it leaves your hands as soon as you grab it. 

sam walks away with the drink, practically shoving it into someone’s welcoming hands, a tight-lipped smile on her face that drops when she faces you again. “guess i am too, then.”

the audacity.

making you feel like shit, pushing you away, then pulling you back in when you find happiness without her. even if it’s stupid decisions like kissing strangers and drinking until your head hurts. it’s a better feeling than being told you’re not wanted by the woman you love the most. 

“fuck you, sam.”

with that, you storm out of the room, out of the house entirely, the freezing december air hitting you at once. you hug yourself, your ugly holiday sweater not providing you the warmth that the frat home had, and drag your feet to the sidewalk. 

you hear her behind you before she makes her presence known. 

“where are you going?” 

“why? gonna follow me?”

once more, her hand finds your arm, a firm grip holding you in place, and a hard stare that goes through you. it causes your attitude retreat, and your confidence to die completely. 

“if you want to be mad at me, fine, but i’m not leaving you alone like this.”

you remain still, eyes falling to your feet because holding her gaze is too overwhelming. she sees through you, gets to you easily like she is now, and why you’re accepting defeat. 

“fine, whatever. let’s go.”

she lets out of a sigh of relief, thankful this wasn’t going to be another argument. she’s too drained for that. her grip on you softens, along with her eyes that scan your face momentarily, like she was taking you in for the first time tonight. red eyes and a cute frown on your face that she wishes she wasn’t the reasoning for.

sam leads you to her car, making sure tara is okay before she leaves, the ride is quiet and uncomfortable. she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at you, your head facing the window, watching the snow begin to fall.

you look at peace, probably the most calm you’ve been since the fight. since she wiped the smile off of your face, replacing your joyful eyes with eyes of pain. her heart begins to hurt.

at a red light, she peels off her jacket, handing it to you without saying anything. you don’t put it on, but you use it as a blanket, inhaling the scent of the cinnamon and sandalwood perfume she drowns herself in. a comforting scent that makes you feel warmer than the jacket itself. 

when you arrive at her place, you’re still clinging to the piece of clothing, sitting on the couch while she makes sure all the locks on the door are secure. you’re mindlessly watching whatever channel on the tv she previously had on, hearing her shuffle in the kitchen.

it’s a few minutes later that she enters the room with two mugs, placing one in your hands. you smell the hot chocolate before she informs you that’s what it is, thanking her before sipping on the sweet drink. 

she sits beside you, leaning forward to grab the remote and mute the television. damn it. 

“can we talk?”

“go ahead,” you mumble, but sam is not as bothered by your subtle attitude. she gets it. she may have acted like it was unwarranted earlier, but you’ve made it very clear she had hurt you. and she deserves the absolute worst for that. 

“what i said to you…i didn’t mean any of it. i was upset— and that’s not an excuse, i know,” she begins, brown eyes trained on her drink, “i just…haven’t loved anyone like this since…”

sam goes quiet, unable to finish that sentence, before speaking again, “and it’s a lot…you’re a lot for me— not in a bad way —it’s just new. and i’m scared im gonna fuck up. i mean i already did.”

she dryly laughs at herself, at the thought of shutting you out to avoid getting hurt and ending up in a much worse position. how she had someone so caring and beyond understanding, and made them feel bad about it. a villain simply for loving her as much as you do— but you’re not one, and you never will be to her.

even now, you have nothing unkind to say to her. you have no desire to even talk about the argument that had taken place. your patience runs deep with samantha, your sympathy outweighing your frustrations.

sam is hurting even more than you, trauma that you couldn’t even begin to understand, insecurities that taint her mindset and your relationship. it’s a problem, you both know this, and you’re still valid for being upset with the words she had spoken due to her own personal complications. words that aren’t true or reflect you at all.

sam will do better for you.

there’s a beat of silence, not nearly as uncomfortable the ride here. the tension is somewhat fleeting, replaced with something else, vulnerability when you both need it.

“so…” you begin, “you love me?”

her head snaps to you, shocked you’re even asking, and that you’re not addressing anything she had said. she doesn’t mind it, though, and answers you.

“so fucking much.”

your cheeks go red at her words, how she means it. sam loves you hard. it is the only reason why you had a fight in the first place.

sam understands it now.

in that part of her brain that is kind to her, in the part that allows her to be in love with you, freely, deeply, openly, like she deserves, ignoring the cruel self-deprecating voices in the back of her mind. 

you end the night with your head on her chest, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat as you fall asleep cuddled into her body.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Seungcheol with a first-time driver

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Seungcheol with a partner who’s learning how to drive. Maybe they didn’t get the same opportunities to learn when they were younger and now as an adult they’re trying to make up for it. It would be nice to see how he reacts in diff scenarios Thanks love your work!’

When you start dating Seungcheol, he’s pretty unfazed when you tell him you don’t drive. In a big city, it’s a choice that a lot of people make to save money when public transportation is reliable. But the more time he spends with you, he has this nagging feeling that there’s more to it than just choosing not to drive. One day, a few months into the relationship, you ask him to grab your ID out of your wallet for something. One glance tells him that it’s not exactly a choice when it comes to not driving. You don’t even have a driver’s license, just a government ID card. 

He sort of hates how you freeze up when he asks about it. He’s not judging, just curious why you didn’t follow through with something that he kind of sees as a rite of passage. You don’t have to give him a ton of details - just saying that you didn’t really get the opportunity to learn is enough of an explanation for him. He gets all soft at your expression when he offers to teach you. It’s an expression full of vulnerability and trust, and he absolutely won’t let you waste it on him. 

He guides you through preparing for the written test and getting a learner’s permit. From there, he starts slow, letting you sit in the driver’s seat and giving you a tour. He assumes you know some of it already, but he has a special way of teaching you things without making you feel stupid. You even feel safe enough to ask questions, and he easily answers all of them. 

When you’re ready, he takes you to an empty parking lot, letting you start up the car for yourself. He’s so, so gentle, not a hint of panic in him as he guides you through it. He lets you do laps and park and pull out of parking spots until you get comfortable with it. 

Then he picks a day, time, and route that’s not going to be busy and lets you take the wheel to get comfortable driving around other cars. Softly reminds you of stopping distances, speed limits, and other typical rules of the road. If you ever feel discouraged, he’s insisting you brush it off because it’s okay to make mistakes while you’re learning. If you ever get stressed, he’ll try to soothe you, but if it doesn’t help, he’ll have you pull over, and he’ll switch seats to take the wheel. 

He doesn’t rush you to take the practical test and straight up tells you that he’ll drive you everywhere you need to go forever, but he’s undeniably proud to watch you become more independent this way when you pass the test. He sort of thinks he has tears in his eyes if you take the keys from him and offer to drive one day because it’s such a 180 from how you were about it at the beginning of his relationship with you. Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’ll put up a fight because he likes you being his passenger princess, but he’s still proud. 

[threadbearsweater]

still | nanami kento x reader

you've lived a lifetime together, and the flame still burns just as bright as the day you met. a repost from my deactivated account- this one is near and dear to my heart. slightly suggestive, mostly fluff and nostalgia.

The days are long, but the years have a way of flying by so quickly that you're left reeling in the memories. When your children are still young and impulsive and messy and loud and learning, you're not sure if there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It's hard and it's intense and busy and emotional, and you make a lot of mistakes and ask for even more forgiveness. There are birthday parties and sleepovers and soccer games and piano recitals, and somewhere along the line, you forget who you were when you first met Nanami.

You're his friend, then his girlfriend. Years pass, and you're engaged to married. Your wedding is small and intimate, and not long after, you become parents. And the years pass by, and you're known as Mama to three beautiful blonde children who give to you joy and laughter and heartache like you've never known.

The day comes when the chaos and clutter are gone. The toys that were once once scattered about the living room are neatly boxed and labeled in the garage. The sink is clear of dishes, and there aren't anymore half-full glasses of water multiplying on nightstands and end tables. Choir concerts are over, football games are a thing of the past. You'd been so wrapped up in each little moment that you weren't quite sure when it all ended.

Your children are grown now, with careers and relationships and years of higher education under their belts. You've always been proud of them for all their achievements– big and small– and you've nurtured them with the confidence and drive to build lives of their own.

There comes a morning that you wake and reach across the middle of the bed, some small part of you expecting to find a tiny body curled against his father's back. And for a split second, you panic. Where is he? You pat the sheets, and your fingertips graze the broad, bare expanse of Nanami's back. He turns over and meets your tired but worried eyes and frowns, concern etching his handsome features. "What is it?" he asks, his voice gritty and deep with the dregs of sleep as he reaches for you.

You shift closer until you're tucked against his chest, and he folds you in his embrace, lips pressed against your forehead. "I thought..." You sigh, squeezing his arm. "Nothing. It's silly."

"I do it, too," he confesses. "The bed feels so big when it's just you and I in it."

You tilt your face up to him, eyes watery as you give him a melancholy sort of smile. "When did they grow up?"

He lifts your chin to kiss the corner of your mouth, then cups your cheek in his palm. "I wish I knew."

You lie there together in comfortable silence for a little while, drinking in the gentle rays of morning sunlight, the birdsong outside your window, the warmth of one another, and suddenly you're that young twenty-something again. Smooth skin, a body that hasn't been lived in and loved upon by passing years, a fresh outlook on life, a burning, brand new love for a certain blonde-haired, brown-eyed man. You feel the familiar stirring of desire deep in your belly and tangle your legs with Nanami's, pulling him ever closer to you.

"There's an advantage to this, you know."

His lips lift into a sleepy smile, and his broad hand grips your thigh. He hums an agreement. "And what would that be?"

He kisses you while shifting his weight so that you're beneath him, then brings one of your legs around his waist. You close your eyes and let yourself get swept away in his love, in the comfortable familiarity of his mouth on yours, kissing you with practiced, effortless ease. Your bedroom is still and quiet, save for the sounds of your skin against the sheets and the soft, moist motions of your lips and tongue as you move together the way lovers do.

And perhaps your body doesn't quite bend and fold the way it did when you were younger. You're both soft around the edges now- skin that's weathered by age and summers spent at the shore, stretch marks and cellulite and muscles that were once defined now nearly invisible. There's a comfort in that, too. He finds you beautiful still, and the same is true for you- there's no man you'd rather grow old with. The lines on his face and the veins in his hands and the subtle retreat of his hairline speak of the years you've grown together, of the memories you've made and the family you've raised and the love that you've made over and over again.

His passion for you never fades. He doesn't express it much in words - he never really has. Kento is a man of action, a man to whom small gestures are a sure way of letting you know that you're loved, you're appreciated, you're his.

There's something to be said for the way he still turns you on, for the way he kisses you and touches you that stokes the fires within, the way he laces his hands with yours after you’ve undressed and he moves within you as he has hundreds– if not thousands– of times before. You’ve had years to perfect the art of lovemaking, and Kento is an attentive partner through and through.

Time may have a way of slipping through your fingers, but you’ll always have each other. There are new memories to be made now. There’s time to enjoy one another without interruption, to pursue hobbies and interests without needing to worry about potty breaks or skinned knees or siblings fighting in the backseat of the family car. You always found it cliche when someone told you that you’d miss those days, because in the trenches of diaper changes and endless hours of breastfeeding and late nights of high fevers and tummy aches, you ached for simpler days. For days of peace, of cleanliness, of a quiet so delicious you could taste it.

You have those days now. And yes, of course you miss the laughter and the fun and perhaps even the mess, but you’re thankful for a new season in which you can connect with your husband on a deeper level. To remember who you were before you had children, to revel in the romance of middle age together.

[koenigami]

and the nights were as dark as my baby, half as beautiful too. tags : hurt/comfort, fluff, fem!reader wc : 1k synopsis : Togame's not a great texter, but for you, he will always make an exception.

Togame's major trigger in a relationship is when you refuse. to. openly. communicate.

He doesn't blame you, though. He would never! He's aware that sharing your feelings freely can be simply a lot, and maybe even scary sometimes.

But the moment he sees you sitting on your shared couch, the TV playing your favourite show yet your gaze so far away as you stare into nothingness-

Images of his childhood friend suffering in silence cross his mind. Memories of past mistakes and his incompetence at helping the person closest to him, and letting both of them drown in loneliness and bitterness.

No. He won't let that happen again. He won't let you get consumed by your own thoughts and doubts, won't you brush every worry of his away with a forced smile and false reassuring words because you fear that he might run away from you at the slightest inconvenience.

It just has been a rougher week than usual, too many things gone wrong, too little right. You still tried to move on because no matter how awful a situation may be, they never last forever. Or so you have though. Because somehow you feel them still ingrained so deeply in your head, and they make you rethink and relive every single mistake that you've done the past few days in a way that makes you wonder whether there is something that you can actually do right for once.

You don't notice Togame disappear from the doorway and slip into the bedroom, too busy with slipping further into a downward spiral.

That is until the sudden and short vibrating sound of your phone pulls you back into reality. With a strained huff, you lean forward to grab it from the coffee table, and as soon as the sender's name on the display appears, you freeze in place.

Togame did not tell you that he'd gone somewhere, neither have you heard him leave the house, so why is he- Oh.

'Wanna tell me what's happening inside that pretty little head of yours?'

You stare at his text for a few seconds, rereading each word as if you were trying to learn his sentence by heart. The phone in your grip shakes the slightest as you feel your fingers twitch nervously, unsure about whether to answer or ignore him, meanwhile Togame sees the little dots beside your name appear and disappear over and over again.

Why would he let you burden him with your silly problems? Some of them minor, others nothing but a mere creation of your imagination and overthinking tendencies. He cares. He cares. He cares, is what you keep repeating to yourself once you decide to type out two simple words.

- 'A lot.'

Togame's glad that you can't see him right now. The way he jolts instantly, quickly sitting up once his phone pings with an incoming message from you. It feels as if he had travelled a few months back into the past. A time when every single text of yours, every touch, every smile that you shot his way, made his heart beat erratically and plaster a stupid lopsided grin on his face.

The excitement and giddiness of your love has slowly become something quiet and soft. A constant that makes him feel comforted and safe. The kind of love that he knows you need, especially in times like these.

'I see.. Wanna talk about it? It's okay if you don't'

Warmth spreads through your chest as you take slow deliberate breaths, each one shakier than the other. Never one to pressure or rush you, always a gentle voice, and a calm aura. That is your Jo.

And so you let your thoughts run freely as your fingers tap over your screen. With enough time to contemplate over your words, express your feelings properly while clumsily trying to explain some of them that you yourself truly don't quite understand, you feel your eyes sting.

He knew that this is what you needed.

Togame anxiously stares at the last text he has just sent three minutes ago, left on read. His own chest feels so much lighter knowing that your own hopefully feels just the same. Yet as he stares at his unanswered message, he wonders if he might have crossed a line. He starts feeling like a cowardly idiot for making you sit out there in the living room, all alone with all these overwhelming emotions while he's lazily lying in your shared bed.

Soon, the sudden noise of quick steps padding against the floor appears until the door bursts open. His body is quicker than his mind to register what is happening when you throw yourself on him, making him let out a breathless oomph. The bed and mattress creak and jump, but Togame immediately has a steady hold on you as his arms instinctively wrap around your waist.

"Hey-" His forehead creases in worry when he feels you shake, soft sniffles and sobs muffled by his chest.

But when you lift your head and smile at him, such a sweet, beautiful and real smile, he knows that you'll be fine despite the tears that keep flowing over your puffy cheeks. He gently wipes them away, not minding that they're immediately replaced by new ones.

The lightest shiver makes you jolt against him when his hand slips under your shirt and slowly caresses the skin along your back, his thumb softly moving back and forth. His chest rumbles with a deep chuckle when you groan annoyedly before almost aggressively wiping with your sleeves at your face to get rid of the overflowing emotions that somehow never cease to escalate when Togame's in your proximity.

At the same time, the world always becomes a quiet place when you're like this. In his arms, in safety and comfort, with nothing left but both your beating hearts and the feelings that you harbour inside them for each other.

"Thank you, Jo. I love you." You whisper as if it was a secret, and watch how Togame's eyes soften as if you'd said it for the first time again.

With a hand on the back of your head, fingers tangling into the soft strands of hair, he pulls you so close that you can feel his lips move against yours as he speaks.

"Love you more, doll."

[lazylittledragon]

i feel like social media has warped people’s perception of conflict in relationships by making you think that any minor fuck up is the end of the world and everyone is secretly a narcissist manipulator with sinister motives, because actually in real life you just say “i’m sorry, that was a bad thing, i shouldn’t have done that” and the other person says “thank you for apologising” and then that’s the end of it

[fragglerockopinions]

The worst thing about suffering is that it still hurts when the danger is over but no one cares about it anymore because it shouldn't hurt. No one will ever say "I'm sorry that happened to you" especially when they barely say "I'm sorry that's happening."

[figurativepieceoftrash]

In the most insane motivation purgatory for Proximity because on the one hand I think maybe three people and a piece of lint are actively invested in it but on the other it is simultaneously a passionate and entirely earnest love letter to everything I want but have never received from a bnha fanfic and an extremely aggressive and unreserved critique of the tropes I hate

I daydream about its completion on the daily but at the same time am so painfully aware that each update will receive the attention of a single blade of grass in a flower garden that my brain will not allow me to work on it for more than three minutes a week :/

The pain of having unpopular preferences bites me in the ass yet again

[not-neverland06]

broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you believe in it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s going to be hard to remember that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get her out of here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am so sorry about this. Really.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We look good,” you muse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you. 

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns. 

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it. 

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you. 

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation. 

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous. 

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.  

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it. 

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls. 

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this. 

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are. 

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule. 

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by. 

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet. 

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck. 

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face. 

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste. 

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you. 

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth. 

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining. 

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation. 

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave. 

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop. 

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you. 

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up. 

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does. 

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them. 

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin. 

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him. 

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy. 

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now. 

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way. 

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips. 

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm. 

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves. 

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you. 

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him. 

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug. 

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face. 

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt. 

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth. 

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him. 

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride. 

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here. 

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened. 

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are. 

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump. 

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back. 

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off. 

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened. 

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation. 

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself. 

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress. 

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said. 

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut. 

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you. 

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway. 

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake. 

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name. 

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you. 

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you. 

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect. 

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough. 

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!” 

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised. 

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling. 

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again. 

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you. 

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class. 

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you. 

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression. 

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way. 

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon. 

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment. 

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye. 

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it. 

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room. 

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off. 

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside. 

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt. 

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood. 

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation. 

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin. 

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him. 

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly. 

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream. 

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you. 

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care. 

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows. 

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no. 

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want. 

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it. 

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

[sant-riley]

[Touchy feely] [tf141 headcanons]

(Romantic impied Task force 141 boys x gender neutral!reader headcanons :))

Summary: Being the sweetheart of the task force means the boys are not shy about the fact that they're all simps and always want some sort of contact with you at all times.

Consists of romantic/suggestive headcanons for each of the guys and little things they do with you <3

Words: about 1.5k (this was supposed to be short, whoops)

Warnings/Info: Can be read separately but it is intended that they all harbor feelings for you at the same time, possibly out of character for everyone, some swearing, the guys manhandle you, as always, let me know if I miss something!

Thinking about how each of the boys is so touchy with you, it doesn't matter where you are or who you're with, they're shameless.

Other units and teams who will sometimes share the base with 141 know better than to ask questions or directly say anything to one of the guys or you for that matter. Not that they could anyway, seeing as you always have at least one of them attached to your hip.

Price:

Anyone who walks into Price's office late at night to turn something in is used to seeing you next to the Captain on the little dingy loveseat he has in there.

John is usually smoking a cigar, taking care to not blow smoke your way while your head is resting on his shoulder. Your eyes closed as you hum at his words. It's terribly domestic for a military base.

John likes to gently play with your hair while he speaks about missions he's been on, always somehow trying to braid despite not knowing how to for jack shit, whether it because it's you or just the mindless motion, he's not willing to say.

John will usually walk you back to your room after dinner or time in his office unless he's swamped with work.

A small hand on the small of your back while he leads you. It's always a respectable touch, though he tucks you into his side, nodding at everyone you may pass.

If you're comfortable with it, he likes to press a kiss to your head, smiling that goofy ass smile, and tells you to get a good night's rest.

He lets you help him trim up his beard, he won't let you do all of it but he likes the closeness of it, him sitting down while you gently shape it up, tilting his head up and he tries his best to not stare directly at your chest.

The fact that he's letting you this close to his neck with a razor is a sign of trust, maybe small for others but for a man that doesn't drop his guard and doesn't truly trust others, it speaks volumes.

The first time he let you, you were barely putting any pressure and he grabbed your hand in his and showed you. "You're not gonna hurt me, put more force into it, yeah?"

Don't get me started on going out on walks in London with Price, he wraps you up in his beanie and some big leather jacket he has that dwarves you, helping you move through crowds by once again holding the small of your back, or taking your smaller hand in his. (He doesn't correct anyone if they mistake you as married)

He likes to kiss the back of your hand and laughs when it makes you blush and sputter out that his beard is scratchy.

Ghost:

Ghost is a subtle one, he won't actively reach for you or your hand but he does have some part of him against you most times.

Whether it be his leg, arm, or thigh, anything works. A normal place yall will be seen together is in the dining hall, you've both learned to ignore the stares from everyone else.

Simon never eats there, just sits with you until you're finished and then you both move on to either his quarters or somewhere else so he can peel his mask up to eat a bit.

However, while you're eating and telling him about anything under the sun, he'll lean over and wipe some crumbs off of your mouth with his thumb softly, which again, you're used to so okay whatever but Recruits always are taken aback in their seats.

Ghost's reflexes kick into overdrive with you. His hand going to cover a corner of a table 9/10 times before you completely wreck your shit, but when he does miss (sometimes on purpose).

He'll bring a hand up to rub at your head for you, chuckling under his breath before cooing down at you "That hurt pretty? Sure look like it did."

Whenever you two specifically are paired onto a mission, doesn't matter if any of the guys complain, he will share a cot/tent with you. He claims he runs the hottest (he doesn't, it's Johnny but he will not lose on this) and can keep your body the warmest.

He pretty much lugs you on top of him and wraps his arms around your waist, he'll press a hand against your head if you keep fidgeting, rasping at you to go to sleep. He takes great pride in the fact that you're usually out like a light very shortly.

I've said it once and I'll say it again, Ghost likes to hook a finger into your body straps and pull it really hard and let it smack you to get your attention if you're not actively paying attention to him, he'll soothe the area but he's smirking behind that fucking mask.

On that note, he definitely does the "You got something right here." And points at your chest and immediately pull up to flick your nose hard as fuck, he KNOWS his own strength but sometimes your eyes water and he immediately feels bad.

Ghost rests his head on your chest a lot, he finds your heartbeat to be soothing and reassuring, also grunts if you don't wrap your arms around him in return, bro literally shoves his head into you and groans

This is a grown man but it's cute so you let it slide bc he'll never ask for it outright, he just assumes you'll cradle his head.

Soap:

Johnny is the most shameless motherfucker here, I'm talking about draping himself over you, grabbing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair, kissing you dangerously close to your lips (it drives the others mad), he's the most unapologetic about it and will gloat to the others.

Manhandler #1, isn't above grabbing you by your hips and picking you up to move you somewhere, he's literally gone and grabbed you from some rookies side to come stand next to him with a smile and you're just so used to it that you just shrug and go along with it. (He gets slightly jealous, why would you stand next to some random ass dude and not him??)

Throws you over his shoulder, or likes you to cling to his front or his back and just carries you, he says it's a comfortable weight. If you ever dare say you're too heavy, he's gonna go to the gym and work out even more to PROVE to you that he simply doesn't care, he will carry you.

Extremely bad habit of sneaking into your room to fall asleep with you, Price has come into your room many times to see Soap sprawled on top of you, he's drooling and snoring and you're knocked the fuck out (he's like a glorified weighted blanket).

I've touched on this before but he only wants you to cut his hair for him, yeah he can go to the barber on base but he much prefers you and loves it when you scratch at his scalp. He also likes to just have his head in between your thighs but that's something else for another time-

Soap specifically slings you over his shoulder a lot, especially off base where he truly doesn't have any fucks to give.

You're not going to bed because you have other work?? Too bad, shoulder time you go. You're not willing to get up and make yourself food? Good thing he's here, either pick what you want from the kitchen or throw some clothes on bc he IS dragging you out of the house.

Johnny likes to draw on you a lot, it ranges from scribbles, to sometimes his name if he's feeling cheeky (he's drawn it on your thigh before and you didn't notice until Gaz shot you a look), to intricate drawings of whatever he can think whether it be a landscape or an animal.

He always holds you steady and it isn't uncommon for your limbs to fall asleep but it's worth it, if only to see him smile.

Gaz:

Gaz is probably the most secretly clingy person out of the four, he CAN function without your touch but does he PREFER to? No.

His first instinct in any situation is to grab you and shield you, he's the fastest of the four so his body moves without thinking and it's saved you more times than any of you would like to count.

The one mission where you both fell out of a moving truck, he tucked your body into his despite it costing him his shoulder popping out of the socket, you couldn't help but freak out while Ghost moved to pop it back into place.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Look at your arm!" "It's nothing." "Garrick what the fuck-"

When you're out anywhere off base, he's holding your hand, good luck trying to pull away bc he is not letting go. Too bad so sad, resign to your fate.

I think Gaz is definitely good at dancing, at least with you and when the right music is on, you cannot tell me this man wouldn't twirl you around and shit-fight me on it. He'll even lift you off your feet, laughing when you scramble to grab at his shoulders.

He goes stark still if you rest your head on his shoulder, not because he's nervous but because he's worried about waking you up when he knows you deserve a rest.

He'll usually wrap his arm around your shoulder to hold you in place so the heli ride doesn't jostle you so much, gentleness rubbing his knuckles along your arm to soothe you.

Gaz is the one who holds you when you have nightmares, on rare occasions when Soap isn't in your room and you just need to be held with no talking, you always without thinking find yourself in Kyle's room, his arms wrapped around your waist as he tucks your head under his chin, no questions asked.

He'll maybe hum a tune to help you relax but other than that, he lets you lead the way.

[pathologicalreid]

hazardous materials | s.r.

in which Spencer takes care of you after an accident in the lab

margovember

chemist!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: chemical burn, lab safety was ignored, first aid, cute banter, tattoos, chemist!reader, kisses word count: 1.24k a/n: every time i write chemist!reader i get bed chem stuck in my head except i've never heard the full song

“Time?” You asked, using the heel of your shoe to slam the door shut once you made your way through. Haphazardly, you dropped your backpack on the ground in front of the coat closet before rushing toward the bedroom.

Spencer was sitting on the couch, a glass of water on the side table and a book in his lap, he glanced over at you when you stopped at the back of the couch to say hi to him, “Forty minutes.” He reached out for your arm, a careful gesture just because he wasn’t ready for you to be out of his view yet, but his hand caught on your forearm.

You hissed at the contact, pulling your arm back and shaking it out, “Tight grip,” you tried to wave it off, but Spencer wasn’t easily convinced.

“I barely touched you,” he said, snapping his book closed and standing up, following you into the bedroom. “Let me see your arm,” he asked, opening the door when you tried to close it behind you.

Spinning on your heel, you shrugged at him, “Not without a warrant,” you told him. Your eyes burned as you begged yourself not to cry at the pain.

Your boyfriend reached out for you again, this time pulling you in by your belt loops, he herded you into the bathroom, holding onto your hips as he beckoned for you to sit on the countertop. The granite was cold even through your jeans, and Spencer took your discomfort as pain as he pulled your shirt off.

You grunted, frowning while he pulled your long sleeve over your head and dropped it in the laundry hamper, “It’s cold,” you grumbled, slouching as Spencer inspected the wound on your forearm. It looked a lot worse now than it had when you left the lab, the burned skin starting to develop a yellowish hue. “I have somewhere to be tonight, you know,” you reminded him.

This would be your second outing with the BAU ladies since you were first introduced to them a few months ago, Garcia had arranged tango lessons, and Emily was meant to be your dance partner. “What did you burn yourself with?” He holds your arm timidly, pinching your wrist between his index and his thumb and eyeing the burn with growing concern.

“Uh,” you hummed, bracing yourself for what is bound to be abject disappointment, “Nitric acid.”

Spencer set your arm down, resting it burnt side up on your thigh while he buried his face in his hands, “Baby,” he said from behind his palms.

When he said it in that tone, it was easily your least favorite nickname. “I didn’t think it was concentrated enough to burn,” you tried to defend yourself, looking down at the obvious mistake you had made. “It must have been mislabeled and no one caught it,” you told him, trying to shrug it off.

Dropping his hands, Spencer resorted to crossing his arms in front of his chest, “A lot of chemicals have been getting mislabeled lately.” It was an accusation, but not toward you, though you tended to be more lenient on lab safety than most of your colleagues.

“I…” You faltered, flexing your fingers and feeling the skin on your arm pull, “Yes, but—”

Spencer shook his head, “No, you have to talk to her.”

The her in question was your grad student, Leslie, who had made a similar mistake with hydrochloric acid last month, also leading to a chemical burn on your arm. You frowned at Spencer, making your expression as pleading as possible in hopes that he’d drop it.

“This can’t keep happening,” Spencer said, “I know you don’t want to make her feel guilty, but maybe she should. Maybe that’s how she learns.”

You furrowed your brows at him, “It wasn’t her fault.” You felt defensive over your lab assistant, knowing that she had asked you to be her thesis advisor made you feel the need to protect her.

He pressed his lips in a thin white line, “It was,” he corrected. “If you don’t say something, I’ll send an email to your boss.”

“Spencer,” you said, shoulders slumped in disappointment and the faint feeling of betrayal.

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer gingerly took your arm back in his hands, “I know that’s your thing around the lab, not wanting to cause trouble. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, but I need you to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you keep being so flippant about these ‘accidents.’”

You knew what he was doing, turning it into something you could do for him instead of something you’d do for yourself. “I’ll talk to her on Monday, and I’ll redo the UV spectroscopy on the nitric acid,” you surrendered, giving yourself the weekend to figure out how to broach the topic.

He set your arm down again, opening the cabinets in the bathroom and shuffling through miscellaneous belongings. Between the two of you, you had quite a remarkable collection of first aid, the basket that Spencer pulled off the shelf was intimidating, “Here, hold your arm over the sink,” he instructed, guiding you gently so he could rinse the burn with saline. “Does that hurt?”

“it’s just cold,” you answered, watching him make sure any debris was flushed from the wound.

His head bobbed, setting down the saline container and moving to coat the wound with a panthenol cream, “Were you wearing your hazardous materials pin?”

Your face warmed at his question. The one time you’d been the root cause of a spill, your boss responded by gifting you an enamel pin with the hazardous materials pin, “I was.”

“Maybe it needs to be bigger,” he proposed, filtering through the bin of first aid supplies and hunting for something specific, reading the labels on everything before he put it on the burn.

The corner of your mouth quirked up when you noticed he was trying to lighten the mood, “Or have lights on it,” you offered, imagining a border of LEDs around the pin.

Spencer hummed, finding silver sulphadiazine to cover the wound with, “Now, there’s an idea.”

You laughed breathily, “I could get it tattooed,” you waggled your eyebrows at him. “It would make a nice tramp stamp,” you told him, watching his gentle fingers apply dressings to your wound, securing them as carefully as he can so your skin doesn’t get irritated.

“But then I’d be the only one to see it,” he countered playfully, inspecting his handiwork.

Conceding, you nodded, “Unless the people in the lab get comfortable with a lot of things really fast.”

Softly, Spencer leaned forward and kissed you, “I want to keep an eye on this tonight,” he whispered against your lips. “If it doesn’t get better by the morning I’m taking you to urgent care,” he told you, kissing you again before gathering the first aid wrappings and putting them in the trash can.

He stepped out for a moment, returning with an old Princeton t-shirt of yours. You gingerly pulled it over your head, making sure not to bump your fresh bandages as you did so, “But what about my dance lessons?”

You hopped off of the countertop to be met by Spencer standing right in front of you, his hands placed gently on your waist before he whispered, “I can teach you to tango perfectly fine in the living room.”

[cazshmere]

12th House Sign in the Natal Chart and How you can Heal and Find Closure from Past Wounds 🩵

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER : healing is a journey, not a destination, and everyone moves at their own pace. these tips are here to give you a nudge, not to create pressure or perfection. if you’re reading this and some things resonate, that’s wonderful :) take what feels right and leave the rest. and remember, there’s no one right way to heal or find closure. it’s okay to stumble, feel lost, or take a break. trust that every small step forward, even the tiniest ones, are part of the process. be kind to yourself along the way; you’re doing the best you can 🩵

🧩 aries in the 12th house

1. you’re bold in action, but sometimes hesitant in introspection. reflect on fears you might avoid and tackle them directly, like you would any challenge.

2. pent-up frustrations weigh on your subconscious. try activities like boxing, painting, or writing letters you’ll never send.

3. give yourself time alone without needing constant action. Silence and stillness help you get in touch with buried emotions.

4. reflect on times you acted quickly and accept that growth often means making mistakes.

5. indulge in something silly, like playing a game or watching cartoons. It helps you reconnect with yourself. watching your comfort movie with your favourite snacks will surely help

HEALING TIP : try journaling with a twist : write letters to yourself from different ages, like your 5-year-old self or your future self, to see your emotions from new perspectives. this could be super cathartic for you and help you move through the hard feelings holding you back also try meditation that is targeted towards inner peace

🧩 taurus in the 12th house

1. learn to release your hold on past pain. Healing for you often means loosening your grip on comfort zones, even in memories.

2. reflect on areas where you’ve felt unappreciated, finding self-worth from within rather than external validation.

3. you resist change, so make small, gradual adjustments to your daily life that invite healing over time.

4. practice acceptance of things you cannot control or predict; even small, symbolic acts like letting go of a token can help.

5. revisit an old hobby that once brought you joy, like gardening, knitting, or cooking. it’ll remind you of your inner peace.

HEALING TIP : try a sensory grounding exercise: touch something soft, listen to calming music, and smell something grounding like lavender to soothe your mind and body. also something that can temporarily help is watching a super scary movie or just eating spicy food, it can help you distract yourself from your thoughts, at least momentarily

🧩 gemini in the 12th house

1. your mind runs fast, but your 12th house challenges you to slow down and acknowledge buried insecurities.

2. release old narratives, whether it’s past gossip, harsh words, or regrets, let go of thoughts that weigh you down. Practice rephrasing past stories with kindness.

3. try creative outlets that let you express emotions without words, like art or dance, to connect with deeper feelings.

4. when you socialize, make time for connections that feel supportive and honest, without intellectual posturing.

5. quieting your inner monologue helps you access the quiet truths below the surface. Breathing exercises can help here.

HEALING TIP : try recording voice memos on your phone when you feel overwhelmed. Sometimes saying things out loud can help you make sense of them faster than writing.

🧩 cancer in the 12th house

1. you tend to tuck away your deepest fears. Make time to reflect on past emotions without judgment or the need to ‘fix’ them.

2. address any unconscious attachment to people or situations that no longer serve you, knowing it’s okay to need change.

3. offer compassion to yourself, revisit times when you felt misunderstood or unsupported, and give your younger self the love they needed.

4. learn to let go without feeling abandoned. Spend time nurturing your sense of self apart from your relationships.

5. forgive old wounds, allow yourself to release grudges or hurts, understanding that they don’t define your future connections.

HEALING TIP : write a letter to someone from your past you’ve never fully moved on from, then release it (you don’t have to send it).

🧩 leo in the 12th house

1. step back from needing validation, explore who you are outside of praise or recognition. spend time with yourself, just being rather than performing.

2. acknowledge areas where you might have felt rejected or unappreciated. practice self-love that doesn’t rely on others’ feedback.

3. try activities where you’re a beginner. learning something new can help you find power in vulnerability.

4. let go of ego-driven fears, focus on what makes you feel genuinely fulfilled, not just admired. reframe your goals around personal joy rather than approval.

5. reclaim your authenticity by exploring what brings you joy outside of an audience, like a private creative hobby that brings you peace.

HEALING TIP : try visualising your inner child, close your eyes and picture yourself as a child full of hope and joy, and send love to that younger version of you.

🧩 virgo in the 12th house

1. acknowledge that some things don’t need fixing. practice letting go without feeling the need to control every detail.

2. practice self-compassion, allow room for mistakes and honor your efforts without focusing solely on flaws. embrace your progress, not perfection.

3. stop overanalyzing (ik it’s hard but your overthinking is what causes majority of your problems, the more you overthink the more power you’re giving to those unwanted thoughts) give your mind permission to take a break. activities like meditative gardening or painting can help soothe the inner critic.

4. connect with your intuition, trust your instincts rather than rationalizing everything. allow yourself to simply “know” without overthinking it.

5. embrace the chaos haha, let things be messy or spontaneous without judgment. Flexibility helps you grow beyond rigid expectations.

HEALING TIP : try writing a list of what you’re grateful for, it's a simple but powerful tool to shift your focus from worries to abundance.

🧩 libra in the 12th house

1. find comfort in solitude, learn to enjoy your own company, separate from others’ opinions or companionship. practice inner peace.

2. let go of past people-pleasing, allow yourself to address buried feelings of resentment that may stem from overextending for others.

3. balance your inner harmony, focus on inner alignment rather than external harmony. Journaling or meditating on your needs helps you center.

4. heal relationship wounds, reflect on past connections that left an impact. release blame, knowing each taught you something valuable.

5. set boundaries with yourself, give yourself permission to say “no” without guilt. embrace your inner balance, free from others’ demands.

HEALING TIP : you can try a heart-centered meditation to connect with self-love and release neediness for outside validation or try a balance-focused yoga routine, it can be both grounding and soothing, helping you connect with your inner equilibrium.

🧩 scorpio in the 12th house

1. embrace your emotional vulnerability, lean into your feelings without fearing loss or control. Sharing emotions helps relieve hidden weight.

2. release grudges (ik this is something hard for you but letting go is better than holding on to the things that cause you problems - forgive but don’t forget perhaps), practice forgiveness as a way of releasing old hurts that drain you.

3. face your darkest worries with courage, knowing they don’t define you. Write them down and let them go.

4. reclaim personal power, you’re literally THAT bitch don’t forget that queen, focus on how you can empower yourself from within, instead of seeking control externally.

5. trust others with your feelings when it feels right; vulnerability can be deeply healing.

HEALING TIP : you can try shadow journaling by exploring both light and dark thoughts to understand yourself more deeply or if you want something fun instead try listening to a mystery podcast or an immersive story app where you can dive into thrilling narratives. this helps you tap into your emotional depth while being entertained, offering healing through mystery and intrigue.

🧩 sagittarius in the 12th house

1. look inward for meaning, sometimes answers lie within, not in new experiences. find fulfillment in self-reflection rather than escapism.

2. explore spiritual grounding, sagittarius craves meaning, so find practices that connect you to a sense of purpose, like guided meditation.

3. release judgment and let go of self-criticism about past “mistakes.” accept that growth is a journey, not a fixed outcome.

4. embrace introspection by giving your adventurous mind permission to slow down and find contentment in stillness.

5. cultivate patience please (so so important) you may be prone to quick fixes; practice patience with yourself and your journey to healing.

HEALING TIP : start a personal travel vlog (even if it's just to document your local adventures) or use digital journaling apps to record your thoughts, dreams, and philosophical insights. It’ll allow you to process your emotions while in a fun way <3

🧩 capricorn in the 12th house

1. release pressure to always be “on”, let go of needing to achieve every moment. It’s okay to just “be” sometimes, without a goal in sight.

2. forgive your past mistakes, address any old guilt you’re holding onto. you’re allowed to grow beyond your old decisions and learn without punishment.

3. embrace vulnerability (very important) being open about your feelings doesn’t weaken you; it strengthens your ability to understand and trust yourself.

4. trust life’s timing, not everything has to be perfectly planned. lean into moments of uncertainty and find peace in simply experiencing.

5. reflect on your worth beyond productivity, spend time exploring who you are outside of what you “do” or “produce.”

HEALING TIP : try weekly self-check-ins to connect with your needs and desires, away from the hustle of daily demands.

🧩 aquarius in the 12th house

1. embrace your quirks and shadows, you have a unique mind, so allow yourself to be different even in your struggles. reflect on hidden fears and accept them.

2. let go of needing to understand everything, release the need to overanalyze or intellectualize every emotion; trust that some things are just felt, not solved.

3. balance independence with connection, don’t isolate yourself too much. healing also comes through genuine human connections.

4. explore spontaneous introspection, give yourself the freedom to meditate or journal in unconventional ways, like painting or singing.

5. lean into self-compassion, you may be hard on yourself for being “too different” or processing wounds and hurts “differently” but learn to embrace that unique perspective as your strength.

HEALING TIP : try creative expression exercises that bring your thoughts to life, like freeform art, dance, editing, posting stuff online (blogs, reels etch) or sound journaling helps too.

🧩 pisces in the 12th house

1. set healthy boundaries with emotions, your empathy can pull you into others’ feelings. spend time differentiating between your own emotions and theirs.

2. give yourself closure without finality, understand that sometimes closure isn’t perfect or neat, and let go of needing every question answered.

3. create a soothing retreat, build a healing environment, like a cozy corner or blanket fort lmao, where you can escape and connect with your inner peace.

4. release victim mentality, move beyond past hardships by reclaiming your personal power and seeing yourself as a survivor, not a sufferer.

5. TRUST. YOUR. INTUITION. you’re naturally in touch with the unseen. lean into that gift by tuning into your feelings without judgment.

HEALING TIP : create a healing playlist filled with calming music, or even soothing ASMR sounds, to help you unwind and feel safe in your own space.

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

banner & pic credits to the rightful owners <3

[cherrysnax]

being a self taught artist is hard because well. ur ur own teacher. hence the name shdhja I use to carry that as like a badge of honor to the potion where things like critiques and references felt like. attacks on my person

[collaredsoldat]

Shower Suds.

summary: You give Soldat his first bath out of captivity.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Non-sexual nudity | Mentions of scars and injuries | Self-Harm mention | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior

a/n: This wasn't supposed to be so long, but somehow it always happens when I write about him. Something sorta comforting with some recovery thrown in there. Unedited because I worked on this for so long lol ignore mistakes please! ;; wc: 5.8k

Filthy. You felt bad, really.

There was a lot of problems to tackle with Soldat's condition, but first thing's first...the soldier needed a bath. Badly.

He was dirty, his hair knotted, matted, greasy, his skin was covered in sweat and dirt, probably blood under the black uniform he still wore. The poor man stunk, and he didn't seem to even notice. Or care.

You found yourself in a bit of a hard situation, unsure of the best approach to cleanse him. A bath seemed problematic; he would essentially be marinating in his own grime, which was far from ideal. Would he sit for that long? Would he fight you? You weren't entirely positive.

On the other hand, a shower presented its own set of challenges. Your observations over the past days had revealed his struggle with prolonged standing. He didn't seem to want to stand for very long and often sat or laid down when he could. The majority of his time was spent either huddled in the furthest corner of the room or barricaded within the confines of the small closet, as if seeking refuge from an unseen threat.

As you mulled over the options, weighing the pros and cons of each, you ultimately figured a shower would be better in terms of cleanliness…if anything, you could have him sit in the bottom of the tub. Better than sitting in dirty water with the increased possibility of infection.

But there was one problem. How the hell would you get him into the bathroom in the first place?

You took a breath in, preparing for the worst, and went to the room he stayed in. It was the spare room in your apartment you barely used, but had been furnished as a bedroom in case someone you knew needed a place for a night or something. Not that you ever figured your friends would want to stay with you, you didn't have many to begin with. When you came in, your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him, spotting him huddled up in the corner like expected.

He didn't look up at you when you walked in, his gaze fixed downward and obscured by the curtain of his long, unkempt hair. The stillness that enveloped him was almost unnerving. Only when you took a few steps closer did he react, his head snapping up at you. His eyes bright blue against the dark, messy ink that surrounded them, like he tried to smudge off the black paint but failed.

You took another step forward, your movements slow and deliberate. You could see the change in his demeanor immediately with your approach, even as careful as it was; his breathing became more rapid and shallow, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace like he was preparing to be harmed.

"It's okay," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand extended slightly, palm open to try to soothe him. Carefully, you lowered yourself to his level, bending your knees until you were crouching before him. This position, you hoped, would make you appear less imposing and more approachable.

In the few days he had been in your care, you had begun to discern patterns in his behavior, learning to recognize the subtle cues that indicated his comfort level. You had started to understand which actions he perceived as threatening and which ones helped him feel more at ease. It was a delicate balance, one that required patience and constant observation, but you were determined to create an environment where he could begin to feel safe and secure.

"I think...a bath sounds nice. Doesn't it?" You asked him softly, smiling slightly to show you weren't intending to do any sort of harm. "It will feel good to clean off all that dirt...nice and warm water too...you've been shivering." You noted how cold he appeared to be, he was still latched in his cold clothes from when you found him. You were surprised the uniform kept in water.

He remained motionless, prompting you to reluctantly take a step backwards to leave him alone, you’d try later. As you turned away, the faint sound of movement caught your attention. Glancing back, you saw the soldier had risen to his feet, his eyes fixed upon you with an air of expectancy. "Would you like to come and shower?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Да." His voice was a harsh, grating sound, reminiscent of shattered glass scraping against parched earth. It was as though he hadn't uttered a word or tasted a drop of water in an eternity. Despite the brevity and roughness of his reply, it carried a weight of affirmation. You found yourself oddly relieved by this simple acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it felt like a significant step forward. The fact that he had agreed seemed like a small victory.

You had him in the bathroom. That was a good thing.

You pivoted slowly to face him, your gaze carefully scanning his imposing figure. For behaving so meekly, he was an intimidating body to be this close to. Your eyes meticulously traced the contours of his suit, lingering on the intricate array of tactical belts and buckles that adorned his outfit. Each piece seemed to serve a specific purpose, hinting at the dangerous nature of his profession. Your hand tentatively reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they approached one of the sturdy buckles.

Your action was met with an immediate and startling response from the soldier. His metal hand shot up with inhuman speed, grasping your wrist tightly, the cold metal a stark contrast to your warm skin. His hold was firm and unyielding, like a vice grip, yet it wasn't painful.

As his hand clasped around your wrist, his entire body tensed, transforming into a living statue. You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the abruptness of his reaction, your body instinctively recoiling even as his grip held you in place.

"I-It's okay, I promise," you managed to say, your voice deliberately calm and steady to avoid startling him further. You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I'm just going to help you undress for the shower... I promise I won't hurt you or do anything you're not comfortable with. We're just getting you cleaned up, that's all."

Your words didn't seem to have much effect at first. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his jaw flexed with tension. You remained patient, maintaining a soothing tone and open body language. "Take all the time you need," you added softly. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. It’s just you and me." His eyes scanned you intently, searching for any hint of deception or ill intent. You met his gaze steadily, allowing him to see the sincerity in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity, his grip on your wrist slowly loosened until he finally released you completely.

Second time's the charm. You reached out with steady hands, your fingers finding the first buckle on his tactical suit. With careful precision, you unfastened it, the metallic click echoing softly in the bathroom. Then, you moved to the next one, and the next, methodically working your way through each fastening. The process was slow but deliberate, each buckle giving way under your patient touch until, finally, the last one came undone. You paused, surveying your handiwork as the suit lay open, no longer confining him.

With the buckles undone, your attention turned to the decked out belt encircling his hips. You grasped the front, feeling the sturdy material beneath your fingers. You pulled the belt free from the thick buckle, the black leather sliding smoothly through the loops. As you removed the belt, you took care to lay it gently on the floor beside you, the heavy belt colliding with the tile was bound to make him jump and you didn’t want that.

The belt now removed, you returned your focus to the suit itself. Your hands found the straps, and you began to loosen them, pulling them out slowly and methodically. His uniform reminded you of a rehashed straight jacket, the uniform nearly acting just as one. When the tight suit gradually relinquished its grip, you noticed an immediate change in the soldier’s demeanor. The restrictive pressure eased, and you could see his chest rise and fall more freely. It was as if a weight had been lifted, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

You watched, a mix of concern and relief washing over you, as he took in several deep breaths. The realization hit you then, a jolt of disbelief and worry. The suit had been so constricting that it had barely allowed him to breathe properly. The thought was infuriating. What kind of protection was that? What twisted logic had led to the creation of gear that endangered its wearer almost as much as it shielded them? You found yourself shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell...

"There we go...good..." You praised calmly, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. He stood before you, now shirtless, his muscular frame tense with anticipation as he awaited your next move. Your eyes couldn't help but linger on his exposed torso, taking in every detail of his battle-worn body.

His skin was a canvas marked by the harsh realities of his past. Bruises in various stages of healing painted his flesh in a morbid palette of purples, yellows, and greens. Fresh cuts, angry and red, intermingled with older, silvery scars, creating a chaotic tapestry across his skin. Each mark had a different cause, accidental, intentional, self inflicted.

Your gaze was inevitably drawn to the most prominent feature: the junction where flesh met metal at his shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding his prosthetic arm was a sight that made your heart ache. It wasn't a clean, surgical line as one might expect, but rather a jagged, angry border that spoke of crude methods and little regard for the body it was attached to. The metal seemed to dig cruelly into his flesh, as if it were trying to consume more of him. You couldn't help but wonder about the pain he must have endured during the procedure, imagining how they had torn him apart with brutal efficiency, prioritizing function over comfort or aesthetics.

Despite the visible evidence of his suffering, he stood tall and stoic, awaiting your next move with a mixture of trust and trepidation in his eyes.

You offered him a gentle, comforting smile, you were acutely aware of his attempts to appear strong, but the reality of his fear was unmistakable. In that spare room, his demeanor reminded you of a cornered animal, flinching and retreating whenever the door creaked open. He cowered from you, even when you tried to give him water to drink. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, you didn’t know much of what happened just yet, but you knew whatever it was must’ve been utterly horrific.

"I'm going to help you out of your trousers now," you explained in a soft, reassuring tone. "Then we'll get you into the shower. The warm water will help you feel better, I promise." You paused, giving him a moment to process your words before adding, "Is that okay with you?"

He remained motionless. His lack of response was telling - not a nod, not a word, not even a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He simply stood there, statuesque, as if bracing himself for whatever was to come next. The stillness was almost eerie, so you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to come. You truly hoped he wouldn't begin to put up a fight randomly, you knew you couldn't take him if he did.

You grasped the zipper of his pants and slowly pulled it down, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room. As the fabric loosened, you gently tugged at the waistband, shuffling them down his muscular thighs and allowing the pants to fall around his ankles. Without a word, he stepped out of them, his movements controlled as he jerked his foot to get the leg of the pants off completely.

His gaze remained fixed on you, his expression betraying no hint of discomfort or self-consciousness at his state of undress. You found yourself averting your eyes, a mix of respect for his privacy and your own sudden shyness causing you to look away.

Turning your attention to the shower, you reached out and adjusted the taps, your hand testing the water until it reached a comfortably warm temperature, you could always adjust it upon request. The sound of cascading water filled the bathroom, creating a soothing ambiance. Once satisfied with the water's warmth, you looked back towards him, your arm extending in a welcoming gesture towards the bathtub. "Come on," you encouraged, your voice soft and inviting, "it's nice and warm." A gentle smile played on your lips, your expression meant to convey comfort and reassurance.

But even with your efforts, he remained motionless, his feet seemingly rooted to the spot where he stood. His lack of movement prompted you to maintain your encouraging demeanor, your smile unwavering as you waited patiently for him to make a decision.

The steam from the shower began to fill the room, creating a misty atmosphere that hung between you, yet he showed no signs of stepping forward or retreating. He just stood there, planted like a tree. You frowned, seeing that he wasn't going to budge.

"Hey, it's okay," you said softly, "It's just water, and it's nice and warm. I promise it will feel so good. You've been shivering for a while now, and I bet the warmth will be really comforting for your cold skin. There's nothing to be afraid of." You continued to encourage him, your tone patient and understanding.

The soldier's reaction was tense and wary. His metal arm plates made a series of soft clicking sounds as he shifted his arm and adjusted his stance, his body language radiating discomfort and distrust, maybe even a hint of growing agitation. The way he eyed the water, you could have sworn he thought you were about to subject him to some form of aquatic torture. His entire demeanor screamed of deep-seated fear and suspicion.

"It's alright, really... Look, see?" You demonstrated by reaching out and touching the water, letting your fingers trail through the warm liquid. You made sure he could clearly see that the water didn't cause you any harm or discomfort. Could he be afraid of the water? The concept seemed strange, but then again, you didn't really know or understand the full extent of his experiences or traumas. You had made so much progress with him already, and now all that remained was for him to sit under the water and allow you to wash him. It seemed so simple, and yet you could see the monumental struggle playing out behind his eyes.

He finally seemed to respond when he observed that you remained unharmed by the water, and he cautiously approached, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes wore wariness with a flicker of curiosity, carefully scanning your form and ensuring you made no abrupt or threatening gestures. As he inched closer, his body language betrayed a conflicting desire for comfort and an instinctive need for self-preservation.

Once he had convinced himself of a relative level of safety, he gingerly stepped into the bath. The warmth of the water seemed to catch him off guard, and with an almost childlike lack of grace, he unceremoniously lowered himself into a sitting position with a loud thud and for a moment, he appeared startled by his own actions.

Now fully seated on the bottom of the tub, he allowed the soothing warmth of the water to cascade down his dirt-encrusted body. The grime that had accumulated over time began to loosen and swirl around him, running down his body and creating murky patterns at the bottom of the textured bathtub.

He sat motionless, gradually acclimating to the comforting warmth of the water cascading down his back in a gentle, soothing shower. It was foreign to him, a luxury he had been denied for far too long. His time with HYDRA had been bereft of such simple comforts; the organization was a cruel and unforgiving entity, more akin to a heartless taskmaster than a nurturing presence.

His experiences with something as harmless as water was vastly different to what you were treating him with now - he was subjected to harsh, icy streams forcefully directed at him, the intense pressure through the hose so severe it felt as though it was stripping away layers of his skin.

He remembers being forcibly submerged by his handlers, a cruel and twisted game that shattered his expectations of a simple, cleansing bath. What should have been a moment of respite transformed into a nightmarish struggle for survival, where he was forced to submit to their ruthless whims.

The memory of sharp, abrasive bristles tearing at his skin and the application of painful, saline substances lingers. He didn’t want to think about the unnecessary groping he encountered either, something he wished he forgot along with his life during the chair’s wipes.

These traumatic encounters left an indelible mark on his psyche, turning what should have been a basic human necessity into a source of fear and anxiety. The handlers' sadistic approach to something as fundamental as personal hygiene served as a constant reinforcement of their control over every aspect of his existence, even the most intimate and essential.

For him, the act of bathing became synonymous with vulnerability, pain, and the complete loss of autonomy, a far cry from the soothing, rejuvenating experience it was meant to be.

This gentle treatment you were providing was so different from the abusive handling he had endured in HYDRA, it almost caused him to panic, the feigning comforts he were offered by handlers before tricked him too many times, and he refused to let his guard down.

His glacial eyes gazed up at you, the poor man looked absolutely pitiful under the steamy water, his once greasy hair now thoroughly soaked as rivulets ran down the contours of his entire body. You took a breath and exhaled out a soft sigh, your hand slowly reaching for your own body wash. You didn't have any products specifically designed for men, so your expensive shampoo would have to suffice until you went shopping.

You pumped the bottle twice, watching as the clear, slightly viscous shampoo pooled into your open palm and the refreshing scent of cucumber and mint permeated the humid air, filling your nostrils with its crisp, clean aroma. You turned and addressed him softly, "Alright, I'm going to wash your hair now. Just try to relax and sit still for me, okay? This might feel a bit cold at first, but I promise it'll feel good once I start massaging it in."

The soldier regarded you with an inscrutable expression, his eyes betraying only a hint of that fight-or-flight instinct, his mind was reeling as he battled the urge to respond to your presence. You knew he had the strength to easily break your arm if he chose to, so you tried your best to be as slow and careful as possible. Your fingers delicately threaded through his hair, methodically working the shampoo into a rich lather. You watched as the suds multiplied and foamed, the soapy shampoo pure white on top and slowly stained the closer it was to his scalp.

You noticed that every so often he would flinch ever so slightly or instinctively pull away from your hands. You wondered if he had hidden injuries or tender spots on his scalp, or bruises or cuts concealed beneath his hair, or maybe knots of tension that had formed from prolonged stress or blunt impacts. His hair must’ve been yanked around, his scalp was extremely tender and while you did your best to soothingly massage, he didn’t enjoy it as much as you hoped because of the discomfort there.

"It's okay, I understand it might be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just getting all that pesky dirt and grime out." You spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone, moving a little bit quicker so you could rinse and move on. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, you applied conditioner in the same manner as the shampoo, and then rinsed it out again. He looked much better now, his hair was now clean, wet, and sleek, with a smooth texture and a noticeable shine. It was so much better than before, and it had to feel better too.

Your hand extended under the rain of water, dampening a soft, handheld washcloth and applying a generous amount of body wash to it. You worked the cloth until it produced a rich lather. The soldier moved which caught your eye, you looked up at him and saw he had recoiled, his gaze fixed warily on the washcloth. He became noticeably slower and more hesitant, his eyes widening slightly as he regarded the cloth with apparent apprehension, as if it posed a threat. You furrowed your brow at his reaction to the cloth, he looked at it like you held a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, it’s alright…this won’t hurt. It’s just a cloth, see? A cloth with some soap," you said softly, you felt so torn up about his reaction to the simplest of things. "I won't hurt you, I promise, I'm just going to wash you a bit...get all that dirt and blood off you." You raised your hand holding the washcloth in a placating gesture. “It’s warm, it will feel good scrubbing off all that dirt, you’ll be nice and clean.”

Gradually, he relented and shifted backwards to where he had been sitting, permitting you to gently glide the damp cloth across his skin, meticulously removing every trace of grime from his body. After a few minutes of washing him, you noticed he was beginning to find comfort in the experience. His eyelids drooped, and his head dipped down slightly, a tired expression settling over his features as he succumbed to the soothing sensation of your ministrations. He wasn’t exactly serene, but he was too drowsy to focus on much else other than the feeling of the rag gliding over his back and flesh arm.

You adjusted him and you tended to his metal arm, diligently working the cloth between the intricate plates and joints of titanium, ensuring that no speck of dirt remained. You weren’t exactly sure how the arm was cleaned prior to finding him, but clearly there wasn’t a worry about rust or anything of the sort. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you unhindered access as the warm water cascaded over his back, leaving a rosy tinge in its wake. He enjoyed the hot temperature, he hadn’t felt hot water in decades.

Your focus then shifted to his lower extremities, concentrating on scrubbing his legs and feet. As the rag moved up to a more sensitive area, you paused, pulling the rag off his skin and slowly extending the washcloth to him. You pointed towards his privates, you softly instructed, "You can…get right there, I’d rather not touch you in that spot."

The furrow on the soldier's brow gave away his visible confusion, his eyes darting between you and the offered rag with a mixture of uncertainty and hesitation. It was clear that he was contemplating with the decision of whether to accept your gesture or not, if there was an ulterior motive, or if this was some sort of test. After what seemed like an eternity of internal debate, he finally extended a trembling hand towards you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal rather than a simple cloth.

He grasped the rag from your outstretched palm, his fingers curling around it slowly. Once in possession of the cloth, he set about the task of cleaning himself. His actions, though quick, lacked the assurance of someone accustomed to such basic self-care. Each motion seemed so carefully calculated, as if he were relearning a long-forgotten, essential skill. It had been so long since he was allowed to clean himself. His movements were unsteady, his hands quivering slightly as he went about his ablutions.

It had clearly been an extensive period since he had been granted even this small measure of independence. The concept of autonomy was a luxury he had been denied for far too long.

When he was done with his hurried cleansing, the soldier's gaze immediately sought yours out. His eyes, still holding the rag, were filled with expectation, awaiting your next command. His posture tense and ready to respond to whatever instruction you might provide. The rag remained clutched in his hand, as if he were unsure whether to return it or continue holding onto this small token of independence.

"Good, you're all done," you offered a warm smile to him. Despite the wounds still visible on his body, you felt a sense of accomplishment knowing that at least the layers of dirt and grime had been washed away, your work getting him clean would pay off and be better for the both of you. You reached over and turned off the water, the sudden silence broken only by the soft dripping from the showerhead. "Let's get you dried off," you said softly, gesturing for him to step out of the shower.

He complied wordlessly, his movements careful as he stepped onto the bathroom mat. You couldn't help but notice how vulnerable he looked, standing there dripping wet, his eyes never leaving your face, his body completely littered in discoloration. Reaching for a large, fluffy towel, you unfolded it and wrapped it around his shoulders, enveloping him in its warmth to fight off the rapidly cooling water droplets all over him.

As you began to slowly dry his body, you noticed a change come over him. His softened expression now returned to its usual blank mask and the brief relaxation he showed in the shower was long gone by now. His body returned to the stiffness he had before he got in. His eyes remained fixed on you, following your every movement with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

You worked in the quiet calm of the bathroom, carefully patting dry each part of his body, mindful of his injuries. The soldier remained motionless, allowing you to maneuver him as needed, but offering no assistance, like a doll. It was as if he had retreated back into himself, leaving only an empty shell for you to tend to. You wondered what he was thinking behind those watchful, guarded eyes, they were pretty up close. Glacial, stormy blue irises that had been glued to you since you started to tend to him.

After drying him off, you were lucky to find a pair of boxers in your apartment and helped him into them, where they came from wasn’t something you could remember at the moment, but you were glad you had them. He cooperated as you dressed him, then stood there clutching the towel around himself like a security blanket.

His gaze fixed on you with a mixture of expectation and vulnerability, as if silently asking for further guidance or comfort. His wide eyes blinked languidly, and his soft pink lips formed an almost imperceptible pout, giving him an endearing, slightly lost appearance.

Lost. He embodied the word entirely. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

Taking in his disheveled state, you smiled a little, "How about we get your hair detangled, hm?" Your voice was warm and reassuring as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against the damp strands, feeling the water practically seep out of the ends.

The soldier's reaction was a mix of acceptance and hesitation. While he didn't outright reject the idea, there was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. However he didn’t dare reject the idea, worried about any kind of retaliation. So he made his way to the stool nestled beneath the counter and lowered himself onto it. As he settled into position, maintaining a stoic silence, his eyes continued to convey that enigmatic expression, hinting at unspoken thoughts or emotions.

You positioned yourself behind him, your hands instinctively reaching for a comb and a bottle of detangling spray already sat out from your use earlier that day. You recalled how your fingers had encountered numerous knots and tangles when you washed his hair, and thinking about how knotted it looked dirty made you sigh outwardly.

The fine mist of the detangling spray settled on his hair as you applied it methodically, you guided the comb through his locks, working patiently to untangle any knots you encountered. You tried to be as gentle as possible, knowing not only were there a ton of knots, but you remembered his scalp was especially sensitive and sore.

Soldat remained still as a statue, his posture composed and unwavering. His disciplined demeanor allowed you to work unimpeded, your movements careful and unhurried. He maintained a firm grip on the towel draped securely around his body, the fabric acting almost like a barrier and protecting him from the world. You continued to work the comb through his hair, encountering tangles and knots that spoke of recent exertion or neglect.

The process of detangling was slow, your touch continued to be gentle yet purposeful, muttering soft apologies when you ran into an unexpected knot. Teasing apart the snarls with patience and skill, the resistance lessened, and you found yourself able to run the comb smoothly through his hair, the strands falling into neat alignment.

"There we are... much better," you praised softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sight of his hair, now brushed out and free of tangles, felt like a monumental achievement. You couldn't help but admire how the clean, detangled strands caught the light, a stark contrast to their earlier disheveled state. Your fingers ran through his locks, gently ruffling the hair from being so flat against his scalp.

You couldn't help but notice the angry red lines marring his skin, peeking out from beneath the towel. The blotchy colors on his skin that ranged from purple to blue, it made you frown. Your instincts as a caretaker kicked in, and you found yourself wondering if he would allow you to tend to those wounds. Hesitantly, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing the edge of the towel just wanting to get a better look at them.

In an instant the soldier suddenly sprang to life, standing with such force that the stool he had been perched on skidded across the tile floor, the harsh scraping sound shattering the previous calm. He retreated to the far corner of the bathroom, his body language screaming defensiveness.

His eyes, which had been closed or downcast for most of your interaction, now bore into you with an intensity that made you freeze. They held fear, yes, but also a raw, primal aggression that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the look of a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

You immediately backpedaled, not wanting to trigger any aggression from him. "Okay, okay... no wound checks," you reassured as you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender. You took a step back, giving him more space, silently cursing yourself for pushing too far, too fast. The fragile trust you had built over the past few minutes seemed to hang by a thread, you didn’t want to snap the little you had.

Your words had a calming effect on Soldat, who clutched the towel tightly in his fists, ensuring it remained securely wrapped around him. His gaze drifted down to his soiled attire, prompting you to shake your head in disapproval. "No, those definitely need to be washed," you explained, your voice dropping to a thoughtful murmur, "And to be honest, these can hardly be called proper clothes. I'll make sure to get you some suitable ones tomorrow, alright?"

Soldat's eyes met yours once more, his gaze still carrying a hint of coldness and wariness, but he managed a brief, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. You gathered his discarded garments and deposited them into the washing machine, silently hoping that the combination of leather and other materials wouldn't prove too much for the aging appliance. The damn thing had to be ran twice already, you just couldn’t afford to buy a new one right now.

As you busied yourself with setting the appropriate wash cycle, Soldat seized the opportunity to hastily retreat to the room that had been designated as his temporary living space.

He immediately gravitated towards the floor, as he had been the past few days. You hadn't seen him use the bed at all, rather stay cuddled in the corner or inside the small space of the closet. The towel long forgotten and laid splayed out on the floor, he ripped the blankets off the bed in one fluid motion and proceeded to wrap himself up in them, burrowing beneath the layers of fabric for comfort and security. The blankets having replaced the towel's symbolism for safety.

You wished he’d rest on the bed rather than the floor, but you knew better than to try to alter what he was doing. Leave him to be comfortable on his own, that is the best thing to do in this situation. And if Soldat wants to sleep on the floor in a huddle of blankets, then fine.

You approached the doorway, peering inside to see him nestled in a cocoon of blankets. His exhaustion was written on his face, yet there was a noticeable improvement in his appearance. The layer of grime and perspiration that had clung to his skin was now gone, you knew he had to feel somewhat refreshed.

You cautiously stepped into the room and made your way towards him, acutely aware of how his body tensed at your approach. In response to your closer proximity, he burrowed deeper into the thick comforter that enveloped him, seeking refuge from your presence.

A soft, reassuring sound escaped your lips as you placed a water bottle within his reach. As you anticipated, he remained motionless under the comforter, offering no acknowledgment of your thoughtful action. He stayed hidden beneath the layers of fabric, like a child seeking shelter from imaginary monsters lurking in the shadows.

"Get some rest, Soldat..." you whispered gently, your voice barely above a murmur. "I'll be down in the other room if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call for me, even for the smallest thing." With that reassurance, you slowly stood back up and turned to walk out. A faint noise suddenly caught your attention, causing you to pause mid-step.

The gentle rustling of the comforter drew your gaze back towards the floor, curiosity piquing your interest. The soldier cautiously peeked out from under the blanket's edge. His tired, weary eyes met your inquisitive ones, there was a beat of silence.

"Спасибо," the soldier rasped out, his voice meek and slightly hoarse from disuse, but still loud enough for you to hear clearly.

"You're welcome..."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

[astrosamara]

Astrology Observations #4

🩵Sun in 8th & 12th house are incredibly talented individuals with unique gifts to share with the world, but a lot of the time this potential is unseen to them and they can struggle a lot with their purpose. These people can also attract a lot of jealousy from people who don't want to see them win in life.

🩵So many Pisces suns I know radiate this effortlessly cool vibe and people naturally want to be around them. Unfortunately for Pisces, their energy gets depleted around people quickly and they require a lot of alone time or their vibe can turn sour fast.

🩵Earth suns, especially Capricorns, unfairly get labeled as being too boring and practical. These people can make great friends who are grounded and reliable though. This energy gets taken for granted in friendships I feel like.

🩵You might find yourself frequently getting crushes on people with their sun or moon in your 5th and 7th houses.

🩵Moon in 6th house are more sensitive than others to their environment and daily routines. They can struggle feeling grounded in their emotions, since their environment is so strongly connected to their inner world.

🩵Saturn in 1st can be insanely critical over their physical appearance. They might not take pictures of themselves very often, but when they do, they can obsess over how they look in them. I have this placement and I don't have that many pictures of myself when I was a teenager because I hated getting my picture taken. My entire day would be ruined if I saw a bad picture of myself.

🩵Venus in 1st is a placement I've always been jealous of, they just radiate feminine beauty and can have a strong interest and understanding of fashion. I've also noticed that there can be something unique about their beauty that really makes people notice them.

🩵Scorpio Venus can struggle a lot with limerence. They frequently mistake obsession for love. They might not even be interested in someone unless they feel like they're obsessed with them. Crushes in general can feel all consuming for them.

🩵Scorpio's are also great at hiding things from people and will only show a side of themselves that they want to portray. They understand the importance of keeping things private and will truly take their secrets to the grave.

🩵Pisces mercuries will blurt out the most random things in a group conversation that will leave everyone speechless and confused. I swear their minds are just tapped into a different dimension lol. Also incredibly funny.

🩵If you have any planets conjunct your chiron, there can be a great source of pain within the themes of this planet, but if you focus on healing this energy it can become a great source of power for you. I have chiron conjunct my mercury and I grew up extremely shy and afraid to use my voice. Now, I've found that journaling and writing about my pain has become incredibly therapeutic for me and it's strengthened my ability to communicate about my emotions.

🩵Mars in 6th house tend to be really passionate about trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle. They feel great when they prioritize their health and when they follow a schedule. I have this placement in Virgo and I can get so grouchy and irritable if I don't eat well and get some sort of movement in for the day.

🩵North node in 6th house can really struggle with being an active participant in their life. With their south node in the 12th house, they feel most comfortable observing other people's lives and blending into the background. Learning to embrace the spotlight and be seen by others will be very important for them in being on the right path.

🩵Sun in 1st house people can literally or metaphorically have a shine or glow to them. They radiate this light, warm, welcoming energy that makes people just want to look at them and be around them. Also, natural entertainers. They're meant for the spotlight in some way or another.

🩵Mars in 3rd house are constantly traveling and seeking adventure. They're always down to try new things or go somewhere new. I have a friend with this placement that is seemingly always traveling, in a new place, or trying a new hobby every time I talk to them. They don't like being stagnant.

[imaluvsj7]

緑 ──── KISS AND MAKE UP ; nishimura riki

SYNOPSIS: riki and reader make up after the argument over text but not only for the argument but also riki learns a little more about relationship PAIRING : idol riki x reader GENRE : fluffy, angst ; WC : 1,379

WARNINGS : to understand the plot better you need to read my riki boyfriend text smau which I have linked here and also all the way down. Not proofread thoroughly, english is not my first language. That's it I don't think there is anything sensitive they have some good talk about relationship.

AUTHORS NOTE : clearly my feminist didn't come over, but honestly to all the girls out there please choose a kind ask generous guy and don't be mother to any guy who takes everything from them I tried to put my message through this fic sorry not sorry if it offends anyone. I hope to make the mother wizard liz girls get it!!! DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

written in second person pov:

It's been two weeks since you have talked with Riki, one of the reasons was obviously you were upset with him but mainly because you don't know what to even talk about.

He has been sending flowers, food, and little gifts to apologize with a note saying he is sorry. Not only that but he is constantly sending you messages and voicemails. First it was explaining himself and apologizing but now it's all about him apologizing and asking to talk to you in person.

Today you finally thought of responding to him and meeting him because soon he has to prepare for their comeback, which also means there will be a tour announcement. You don't want him to go on without solving everything.

Walking towards the park you guys always meet since him being an idol wasn't an easy task to roam with his girlfriend everywhere. Thoughts have filled your brain that desires to turn around and run away but you kept your decision firm.

Walking towards the bench you guys usually sit you find him eagerly waiting because of his bouncing leg. “Hi” he turns his head and looks at you, soon standing up and nervously trying to stabilize himself.

“H-hi ___ you came hah I was waiting for you to arrive you know to talk and make up I know you wanted to talk and we talk but I wanted to talk so much” he shuts up as realized he was rumbling. “Sorry I am just nervous”.

“It's okay riki let's sit and talk please.” Soon you both sat while there was silence for a few seconds but he was the first one to break it. “___ I know it was my mistake,I said in the heat of the moment. I know it's just an excuse but please I'm genuinely sorry I didn't mean to say that.”

“Riki it's not only about part of me going to your company but also how you didn't understand why I took stand for jake, I explained to you but you didn't even once responded to that text or even mentioned it once, talking about me understanding your idol industry yeah sure I don't experience them I don't understand the same emotions but I have seen you guys working.

I always sat with you whenever you went through rough patches in your idol life. I tried my best to understand never backed away and how can I let someone disrespect Jake when all he was was being too comfortable with him.

Jake was clearly uncomfortable with her actions and he set the boundaries by dismissing her but then she went all defensive talking about how bad Jake was during practice hours so she is trying to help him. She isn't even your guy's choreographer and not only that also went too far saying Jake is acting too tough when all he did was speak for himself.

How can I let someone talk to him like that? I walked inside when she was talking in a disrespectful tone with him and all I did was hold her accountable for her actions and words. As soon as the manager called you and said I was being disrespectful you started giving me silent treatment even after Jake explained to you the whole situation you didn't approach me.

And even after understanding the whole situation you went ahead and said those words.” — you take a breath after letting out all the thoughts and emotions you had suppressed in the two weeks. “I know it was my fault soon after the text Jungwon hyung called everyone to talk about the matter and after discussing with them I realized my mistake and the things I said.

Before the discussion the manager told me Jake hyung did stand for himself and because you're not a part of the company you don't need to come over because of your disrespectful behavior. I knew and even defended you that you definitely did that because of some reason but as soon as the manager said I need to distance myself from you I went blank and felt angry and I just took that out of you even after Jake told me everything.

I was just angry about the situation and in the heat of the moment I thought if Jake did speak up for himself you didn't had to meddle in between which was my fault, I understand what you're coming from baby I was just furious from mangers words and I just took that on your I’m really sorry. I know that's my mistake and I swear I'm ready to do everything to make it right. I just don't want to lose you. I know it's pathetic and corny to say the sentence after doing wrong and all guys say the same thing but I mean it please I will do whatever you want me to.”

“Reflect on yourself then, reflect on your words and actions, it's not only about now it's about everytime we go through anything. I don't want a guy who acts tough and is emotionally unavailable when it's required. I want you to act mature when we have arguments and by that I don't mean you need to always be right or wrong I mean be a generous guy who understands the situation, who knows how to talk and knows how to communicate when it's required.

And it won't be achieved in the next day or the next moment. You need to work on yourself everyday, especially during every argument, it's not only about now but always. Do you understand what I'm saying?” — he quickly nods while looking at your hand and you nod, giving him permission to hold your hand.

“I know I'm definitely not the best guy and I love how mature you're ___ despite being the same age as me but I will try my best to understand your words and work on them, I know I am bad at some point of the relationship and that will never be an excuse to treat you bad but rather I will work of them I will understand situations before acting up. Just please hold my hand to guide me when we are in such situations.”

“I will riki but just know I'm not your mother who is raising a child, I will guide you depending upon the situation but you need to enhance your knowledge about relationship and how to make it work you're old enough to understand some aspects when things go wrong. I will guide you but I'm not your mother to stay emotionally strong through everything you do. I want a partner riki, not a baby.”

“Then lean on me as a partner and walk out when you need to play the role of mother. I don't want to act like a manchild or mommy's boy but as your beloved. Lean on me when we both know the direction and walk out when I push you forward to lead us on the path, lovely.”

Looking at you with teary eyes he asks “I know forgiveness isn't about the text but my behavior so it will take time and I want you to take time, but let's not break apart.” — he pleads with eyes filled with tears. “Who said we are breaking apart you dumb dumb of course not we will make it work” — you said while wiping his tears and hugging him while he breaks down in little sniffles.

“I was scared I thought you're going to break up after you stopped responding to me.” “Well that was because I wasn't mentally prepared to talk, you know.” “It's okay you're my precious so I am a little emotional.” “You sure it's little.” “Stop being mean, I will cry more.” — you laugh lightly at his whiny state while he still has his head in the crook of your neck. Soon after hugging for about ten minutes he pulls his head up and asks.

“So I can please kiss you.” “Well I don't think so.” “Sweetheart please please please.” “Sure you big baby.” — He quickly leans in while meeting your lips and locking them softly while he holds your hands tightly, silently promising himself to do better.

꩜ .ᐟ NOTE : haven't made my taglist yet so please ask in the reply to be added in my permanent taglist for more bangers,,, also I hope this doesn't turns out boring but people genuinely understand my point and for more context read part 1 here!!

꩜ .ᐟ TAGS: @taeminsboogers @mimisxs @nishimurarikisthings @avacelestepereira @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 masterlist taglist. 𖦹˙—

࣪

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

New Assistant 

Smut (Defloration, first-time sex, deep penetration, creampie, whinging, rough sex, ass spanking, little aftercare, slave contract)

Chapter 17

3975 Words 

(It’s time for a new assistant with Irene getting busy with her new girl group. Luckily she has a junior assistant in training that is due for a promotion. As her new boss it is required for you to welcome her and break her in.)

The office has been busy since returning from San Francisco. Multiple meetings with project managers, clients, partner companies, and personal meetings. You previously met with JYP and suggested a survival show with the trainees from his company. He mentioned it would give it a twist when it comes to the creation of a girl group. 

At first, you were hesitant, but after much discussion about what it would look like, you decided to get on board. You even considered adding Mina as a contestant since you were confident in her skills. 

The only thing remaining would be to inform the trainees about their participation in a survival show, so you and JYP decided to hold a meeting with all the trainees.

The meeting went as you suspected; the trainees were nervous about their participation. The younger trainees saw this as a way to prove themselves and increase their chances of debut, while the older ones voiced their disapproval. 

Nayeon, Jeongyeon, and especially Jihyo were angry at JYP for even suggesting the idea after their failed attempts at debut. 

Jihyo cries from disappointment, with the other two comforting her, knowing how much they have worked for these past few years. 

The meeting ends, leaving a sour taste in your mouth, not knowing how to react. You should have gone with your gut, but it's too late to change your mind, and only for the best outcome. 

When you get back to your office, you discuss things with Jieun (IU) and understand the situation. Being closer to them, she has learned a few things and has learned how disappointed 3Mix would be with their recent failed attempt. They assumed that switching companies would have an easier path to debut, especially Jihyo, who has been in training for the longest time among the trainees in the company. 

“I can’t back out.”

”I understand, sir, but try to be a bit understanding.”

”I’ll try.

The room is silent; you can feel the tension in the air and ask, “What’s next on the agenda?”

”You have a meeting with Irene to discuss about Miyeon.” 

“When is that?

”Later today, it's your last meeting.”

”Thank you.”

———

You hear a knock, “Sir, it’s Irene.”

”Come in.”

”Thank you.” She stands in front of you with folders in her hands, waiting for you to look up at her. 

“Take a seat.”

”Yes.”

”Let’s get to the point. How is she doing?”

”At the beginning, she had a bit of an adjustment to her new schedule. She asked a lot of questions but began to pick things up at a reasonable pace. I also made sure she continued her education and decided to pursue higher education.”

”That’s great. Seems like these few months have been good for her.”

”Yes, I tried not to give her so much at the beginning and slowly increased her workload. Now that I’m in my group, she makes my duties easier.”

”Do you think she can take over your duties once you get busier?”

”With the basic stuff, yes. I haven’t even her any sensitive information yet.”

”Let me ask you one thing. Do you think she can be trusted?”

”She hasn’t let me down. So yes, I think she can, but I can't promise she won’t make a mistake.”

”Jieun suggested a contract like the two of you have as assurance.”

Irene looks perplexed about Jieun's suggestion, “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

”No, that’s a great idea. I should have mentioned it sooner.” 

In reality, Miyeon has grown on Irene throughout their time together. Hearing about binding her into a contract like the one she is in saddens her as she knows that Miyeon’s freedom will be stripped. 

“Here are her files, sir.”

You read over her report, the things she’s helped Irene with, and her newly gained skills as an assistant. You opened her health file and noticed that her birthday was recent, “Oh, she just turned eighteen. How nice.”

Irene clenches her fist, seeing your grin. She understands what you’re thinking and is disgusted by it.

”Yes, I bought her a birthday and a small dinner together.”

”That’s sweet.”

”Thank you, sir.”

You close her file and say, “Thank you for the report. I’ll have IU put together her new contract and set up a health check for Miyeon as soon as possible.”

”Is that really necessary?”

”I would have thought you would be happy. She’ll take over some of your duties unless you want her to?”

”No, I’m grateful,” but she just felt sorry for Miyeon.

”Okay, you can go now.”

Irene exits your office, defeated, and heads to meet her members in the training room.

——-

It’s been a few days since your meeting with Irene, and now Jieun and Irene are meeting with Miyeon. 

She’s nervous about the meeting, hoping it's about her effort as a junior assistant. 

She is greeted by Jieun and escorted to the conference room you use for private meetings. 

“Irene unnie, good morning.”

”Good morning, Miyeon.” 

They sit and discuss Miyeon’s position as a junior assistant. It’s most of what you and Irene talked about a few days ago, but now it comes to the main part. Irene mentions that she believes Miyeon can take on a larger role within the company. This makes Miyeon smile and happy about her efforts being looked at after her mistake a few months ago. 

“Irene and I would like to consider you for the position of one of the CEO’s personal assistants.” 

Miyeon looks surprised and at Irene sitting across from her, “Does that mean that I’ll be working in the same position as you, unnie?”

Irene replies, “Actually, I’ll be taking a small role since I am trying to focus on my group, but you’ll be working closely with Jieun.”

Jieun interrupts and asks, “What do you think? Would you be interested in the position?”

Miyeon immediately replies, “Yes, I’d love that. I want to prove myself to everyone here after my incident a few months back, so I would love to do my share.”

”Great, that’s the sprint,” says Jieun. “We figured you would accept, so I brought up a contract for the meeting. You know, just to make this official.”

”Yes, of course.”

She goes over the contract and covers the position as the CEO’s assistant, as well as some benefits.

”I talked to CEO-nim, and he said that you’ll be getting a biweekly salary and spending money.” 

Miyeon looks at the contract and is surprised by the amount, “Oh my god, isn’t that too much?”

”He wants to make sure you’re comfortable.”

”Thank you so much.”

”Of course. Also, this section talks about you moving in with the CEO and assisting in his daily needs, like taking notes, setting up meetings, getting his dry cleaning, making sure he has his meals and other miscellaneous things.”

”Oh, I’ll be living with him?”

She looks at Irene, worried, and Irene responds, “We’ve all done it at one point, mainly at the beginning. Once you get out of your probationary period, you will have the ability to move out to your own apartment like we did.”

“Oh, I get my own apartment?”

“Irene says, “Yes, like the one we live in. The CEO provides it for us.”

”Okay, I’m excited.”

”Down below are some of the perks that come with the job.” 

Miyeon looks at the list and is surprised by the amount of perks, each better than the previous one.”

”Where do I sign?”

Irene interrupts, “Wait, we also want to let you know that this job comes with sensitive information, so confidentiality is required.”

”Yes, I understand.”

”Are you sure? Would you like us to give you some time as you read over the contract to make sure that everything is okay?”

Jieun gives Irene a side eye, signaling to not step out of bounds.

She turns the numerous pages and skims over the large letters that talk about job expectations, payment, sickness, insurance, dental, memberships, education opportunities, a termination clause, and other issues that are in fine print. 

“Where do I sign?”

Jieun points at the numerous blank spaces that require Miyeon’s signature. After signing about ten pages, she gets to the eleventh page and asks, “I have fully read and understood the content of this agreement. I sign this document entirely of my own accord without any enforcement and accept any consequences if the agreement is violated or broken. 

Irene tries to get Miyeon’s attention, but Jieun stops her, allowing Miyeon to give her final signature and stamps her Dojang (family seal) as a signed agreement. 

A tear falls from Irene, knowing that Miyeon has sealed her fate as your newest toy. “Unnie, are you crying?”

”Sorry, it's just that…”

”Irene is just happy for you, that's all.”

“Aww, thanks, unnie. I’ll make sure to make you proud.”

Irene feels like she’s about to cry and says, “Oh wow, look at the time. I have another commitment to get to. I’ll take my leave, but Jieun will continue with your onboarding.”

”Thanks again, unnie.”

Irene walks away and exits the room, leaving Jieun and Miyeon alone. Jieun asks Miyeon if she has any questions, and they continue to talk for a while. Most questions are about the role and about the chance to debut in the near future. Jieun replies that anything about her debut is up to the CEO, but she and Irene can answer questions about the job.

Jieun then takes out a folder with Miyeon’s name on the front, “I have your health file right here. It shows that all shots are up to date and have no signs of illness; they are practically healthy.”

”Yes, I take care of myself.”

”It shows.”

Miyeon giggles at the compliment when she hears Jieun ask, “Miyeon, are you still a virgin?”

”Ehh?”

Surprised by the question, she tries to calm herself before answering in a shaky voice, “Ye… yes, I am.”

”Just wondering. Since of your previous mistake.”

There’s a moment of silence, causing Miyeon to feel nervous, but Jieun changes the conversation, “I’ll submit the paperwork today, and your new badge should be ready for tomorrow. Also, begin packing, and I’ll send someone to pick up your items in the morning. 

——

Miyeon has spent most of the night packing her belongings. She tried to talk to Irene but never got home. Waking up, she sees a message on her phone from Irene saying that she ended up crashing at her member’s dorm after practice and will see her later today. 

Miyeon hears a ring and sees it’s the workers from the moving company. They help take her belongings to the CEO’s condo, where Jieun greets them. She escorts you to your room, which is much bigger than the one she was in previously. 

After unpacking the necessities, Miyeon accompanies Jieun to her office, where she gets her new badge and a copy of her job requirements and daily and weekly assignments. 

“It’s going to be most of the things you do now, but over time, you’ll be responsible for what’s on the bottom of the list.”

“Okay, got it.”

“Also, this is what a typical schedule for the CEO looks like. Meetings throughout the day, but his mornings and evenings are mostly free, and there are gaps throughout the day.”

Miyeon looks at the schedule and sees an asterisk for the morning and late evenings. “What are the asterisks for?”

“The CEO might need your help in the morning. For the evenings, it’s just helping him after a long day at work.” 

“Oh, like a massage?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Oh, okay. I’ve done that before with my appa and eomma.”

“Nice. I’ll show you how it’s done since it’s your first time.”

“Thank you, Jieun unnie.”

“You can go home and unpack. Just meet me in my apartment around dinner. I want to go over some things with you.”

——

Miyeon meets Jieun at her apartment a few hours later. They both enjoy a simple dinner and talk about their personal life when she receives a notification that you arrived back at your condo.

“He’s back from his dinner. Let’s get ready and greet him.” She looks at Miyeon and says, “Come with me. I’ll give you some things to make sure you look presentable for today.” 

They exit the elevator and head towards the large doors. Using their pin, they enter the room and hear the shower. 

“Seems like he’s showering. Come with me.” 

Miyeon follows Jieun to the service room and starts to get undressed. Surprised, Miyeon asks, “What are you doing, unnie?”

“Get undressed, rinse yourself, and put this on,” as Jieun hands her a two-piece bikini.

Jieun looks at Miyeon as she shows a lost expression, “Quickly before he gets out.” 

“What are we doing?”

“Service.” 

“Ehh?” 

She helps Miyeon undress and pulls her to the shower. Miyeon tries to cover herself with her arm but is shocked by the cold water coming from the shower head. Miyeon’s mind goes wild, thinking of what type of service Jieun meant. 

After rinsing, they quickly dry themselves and put on their bikini before coming out of the service room.  

They see you swimming in your pool, going from one end to the other. Before reaching the sliding door, Jieun pulls Miyeon to the slide and whispers, “Make sure to do whatever he asks. He can be nice, but if you rub him the wrong way, he’ll make your life rough and even ruin your career.”

Miyeon nods nervously and follows Jieun, who slides the door open and walks towards the side of the pool. She waits until your head pops out of the water and waves at you. 

“Good evening, sir. I see that you’re enjoying your swim.”

”After a busy day at work, I couldn’t help myself. It’s such a stress reliever.”

”That’s great to hear. I brought Miyeon with me today,” and waves at you to step forward.

”Good evening, sir,” and bows her head.

”I see that Jieun is teaching you properly.”

”Of course. May we join you?”

”Yes”, giving a satisfied smile.

Jieun walks towards the edge of the pool, grabs the rail, and walks into the pool. 

You look at Miyeon, who is standing frozen, “Join us.” She nods and follows, walking slowly into the pool. She makes her way to where you two are and is surprised to see your hand on Jieun’s ass. 

Jieun giggles and gets closer to you, letting you grip her cheeks, “Nice and firm like always.” Jieun blushes, “I try to work out since you like it so much.”

You look at Miyeon and extend your hand, “Come, don’t be afraid.” Miyeon hesitates but remembers what Jieun said earlier and extends her hand. “Wow, Miyeon, you look great in that bikini.”

”Thank you…” trying to hide her face by tilting down. 

Suddenly she feels the touch of your hand on her ass and freezes. “Miyeon, you have such a soft butt.” There is no response, and Jieun speaks up, “I bet she’s happy about your compliment but is too shy to say anything. How about we spice things up a little?" and undoes her bra, letting it float to the top. 

You let your hand off of Mieyon’s asscheek and grab Jieun’s waist, pulling her towards you. She wraps her legs around your waist, and you go in for a kiss on her neck. Jieun moans, feeling your lips kiss her neck to her collarbone. 

Miyeon remains frozen, seeing you massage Jieun’s breast as you kiss her. She understands now what Jieun meant when she said “service” and realizes what her role as the CEO’s personal assistant meant. 

Out of nowhere, Jieun says, “Did you know that Miyeon is a virgin?” Miyeon sees your attention and immediately goes towards her. “Oh, really?” 

“Yes, her body was silky smooth as well.” 

You put Jieun down, walk towards Mieyon, and say, “Come with me.”

”Where are we going?”

”To the bedroom, of course.”

She looks back at Jieun, who follows behind them. Miyeon asks in a trembling voice, “I don’t want my first time like this.”

Jieun replies, “Remember what I told you earlier. You belong to him now.”

You take Miyeon into the bedroom, drop your shorts, and toss them into the hamper. “Undress, I want to see what I’m going to be working with.” 

Miyeon's body trembles at the idea that she’s going to lose her virginity in this manner. She assumed it would be with her boyfriend and a romantic setting, but instead, as your assistant. 

You say sternly, “Strip, while I’m being nice.” Miyeon flinches and undoes her bra, dropping it on the floor before moving on to her bottom. 

With her completely nude, you circle around and admire her body, small breasts, flat stomach, and pretty face. You get behind her, part her hair to the side, and kiss the side of her neck. 

Miyeon closes her eyes, foreign to a male’s touch. She tells herself that she can do it; her dreams of becoming an idol are much bigger, and she is willing to sacrifice her body for a moment that will change her life. 

You can see her shiver in fear, like a gazelle that’s about to be eaten by a lion. It turns you on, the feeling of having control of a female. You get closer to her, and she gets startled when you press your body against hers. She feels a thick, hot sensation touching her back and remains frozen. 

You whisper in her ear, “I’m going to give you two choices; you can�� be in control of what happens to you, or I make the choices for you.” 

She is at least thankful that she can decide on how she’ll lose her virginity. “I can do it myself.”

“Alright, tell me what you want me to do.” 

Miyeon tries to come up with an idea quickly. She looks around and says, “Get on the bed and lay down.” 

You agree, head to the large white bed, and lie in the middle of it. She walks and climbs on the bed, sitting next to you.

With no idea what to do, she climbs on your thighs and stares at your cock. It's the first time she's seen a cock, and she is lost on what to do. She turns around and looks at Jieun, who is standing in the corner. “Miyeon, grab it with your hand and stroke it like this. Here, you use this.” With the bottle of lube in her hand she opens it, pours some on your cock, coating it. She uses her right hand, stroking it awkwardly at first. As she continues, it starts to get bigger, which makes her use both hands. 

“I don’t think it's going to fit inside of me.” 

You respond, “You don’t know until you try,” giving her a smirk. She turns around once more and looks at Jieun, hoping for her to save her. Instead, Jieun replies, “Miyeon, you got this. Hwaiting!”

There’s no way around it; she has a future to think about, and giving her virginity is a small price to pay. That’s what she is trying to make herself believe. It’s the only way she’ll be able to accept what she is about to do. 

Miyeon then grabs your cock and lifts herself off. She tries to align your cock to her entrance and is scared by how big it really is compared to her small entrance.

She lowers her body, pressing her lower lips against the mushroom tip of your cock, and stops. Miyeon looks at you with the look of someone who’s accepted her fate and control of her life to you and slowly drops her body. 

You feel your tip spread her lower lips, pushing into her virgin hole. She groans, experiencing being stretched this much for the first time. She stops when she reaches her thin barrier and looks at you once more before giving her a hungry smile. 

With her hands on your abs, she gives a hard drop; she gasps but immediately bites her lip. “Fuck, you’re so tight!” 

There’s no response, only her body trembling as she’s trying to quickly adjust to the pressure. You place your hand on her arm, but she waves you off. She immediately apologizes, “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I’m trying to get adjusted to your size.”

“Don’t worry, it’s expected.” You touch her arm once more, this time allowing you to embrace her. 

“Want me to take over?”

She nods, “Yes.”

You place your hands around her small waist and lift her, pulling her out from her cunt. “Bend over and get on all fours.” 

She does as she’s told and places her body on top of the large pillow. She presses her face against it and closes her eyes and she feels you press your cock into her cunt.

“Hmph… hmm…” 

She clenches the pillow, feeling your cock stretch her walls. She yelps when you hit the back of her womb, “Wait, wait, you’re breaking me!” You don’t respond and increase thrust inside her. She clenches her hands on the pillow as you use her body for relief. You want to make sure that her body gets used to your cock, especially her womb, since you’re its new owner. 

“Does it feel better when I take over?” 

There’s no response from Miyeon, so you raise your arm and give her a slight slap on her ass. She yelps and lifts her head, “Ow!”

You increase the pace of your thrust, your balls hitting her flesh, “Fuck, you’re going to be as great as my new toy.” Miyeon just continues to bite onto the pillow, listening to you talk about her position as your new toy.

Before long you’re about to cum and warn Mieyon on your orgasm nearing. “I’m going to cum.” Miyeon lifts her head, her mouth drooling, and pleads, “Please… outside… do it outside…” You scoff and say, “You’re in no position to throw out demands, I’ll cum wherever I want, and I always cum inside.” 

Miyeon feels your cock throb and releases a large wave of cum, flooding her walls and womb. “No! So much inside!” Your cum floods her womb to the brim; she can feel her womb getting addicted to your cum and cock, knowing that there is no coming back after this.

Jieun leaves after the second round and is satisfied, knowing she did a good job for her master. You continue to fuck Miyeon, round after round, until she passes out, and even then fuck her until you get your fill. 

Miyeon wakes late in the morning completely nude, and her lower body is completely sore. She tries to get up, but any pressure on her legs causes her to tremble and fall back onto the bed. 

“Miyeon, it’s me, Irene.”

”Unnie, come in.”

Irene comes inside, sees the mess, and feels sorry for what Miyeon just went through. “How are you feeling?”

”Horrible, I lost my virginity, and my body is completely sore.”

”I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

”Jieun said it was necessary if I wanted the slightest chance to make it in the industry.”

There’s a silence, and Irene breaks the ice and says, “Here, take this.”

”What is it?

”A morning-after pill.”