#i would highly recommend giving them a try

[troglobite]

(i agree w op and it's a good point; i'm pushing back against a couple things in this second addition/rb & some implications in the op, as well. still not trying to be argumentative, but push the conversation further & challenge certain entrenched ideas. bc again, i agree & am coming from that angle.)

hotter take: the demonization of "ultraprocessed foods" is damaging no matter what. highly recommend this nutritionist for any info abt that. if [general, not op/rb] you won't listen to me, maybe [general] you will listen to a thin and licensed nutritionist.

the intent here is good: don't deprive your child of unifying and delightful social experiences. let them enjoy food. don't give them complexes about food. don't micromanage your child's diet to the point where they resent it, etc.

but also, maybe, just let them enjoy food. and teach/show them how! they are CHILDREN. unless they have allergies, sensitivities, or other serious health concerns, they will be FINE if they eat some candy MOST days of the week for various stretches of time. or ANYTHING sweet. or salty. basically every person in the world (with medical exceptions, exceptions for taste/preference, etc.) would be fine having at least 1 dessert every day. (and also this is only using "health" as a reference, which is a Whole Thing in and of itself)

maybe, also, as is the solution to most things: simply treat children like people who are just learning how things work.

instead of limiting what they eat without their involvement, instead of demonizing food and scaring them away from it or shaming them, or even acting like certain kinds of diets are even accessible to most people, how about we instead:

teach kids abt what we currently know abt how food works. why do they crave sugar and salt? why do these foods taste really good, and these ones don't? can we make them taste better? sometimes tastes change over time, so every few years we can try this food again, if you're up for it. how do you feel after you eat A LOT of food, regardless of what it is? what do you want to eat at different times? how do different foods make you feel? what kinds of tastes do you like? here are traditional and culturally relevant foods, and how/why they're important. how do we MAKE food? what abt food safety?

give them knowledge and choice in what they eat and how they eat it and when.

this is only possible if we education ourselves abt food, as well! which is why education around this is so important. but even the basics: hunger is this, food gives you energy, you need different kinds of energy, you probably should have a wide variety of it, etc.

for example, there is no such thing as junk food, there's just food. nutrition isn't just about calories or vitamins, etc., it's also abt social connection (covered well in this post), cultural connection, and emotional regulation.

it also looks different for everybody. no two people will require the same kinds of food in the same amounts prepared in the same ways. and what we know about nutrition is actually quite limited! not to say what we have is Completely Wrong, but that it's silly to paint with such a broad brush when we keep having to research and revise--and there are so many factors to health and diet that are difficult to account for, and make each person's needs individual. food & movement aren't the only two. and your socioeconomic status & geographic location control what you eat way more than anything else.

"ultraprocessed food" serves so many purposes: it lasts longer, it's typically more reliable and widely available, it's generally more affordable, and it's, crucially, more consistent and predictable, which is a HUGE thing for children (not even speaking of neurodivergent people in general). for ppl who can't afford the money or time of fresh foods, "ultra processed foods" are GREAT. (and they're also great for anyone who loves them)

if you have a problem with them, take it up with the government! we can have "ultra processed foods" that don't hurt people--it's the hormone disruptors and unnecessary food dyes that are the problem. they're outlawed elsewhere. we could follow their lead. preservation of foods isn't inherently bad. (and on the labor side, again, take it up with the govt: all workers deserve to be safe at work, protected, have a more than livable wage, benefits, etc.)

all of this is an overarching pipe dream about how we talk abt, teach abt, and interact with food, particularly as it pertains to raising our kids. but that's the point i'm going for here.

op is completely right, as is the addition; my hackles rise against "more wholesome foods" and "ultra processed foods" and the "let them have it every once in a while". you can go a month eating "junk" food (again, no such thing), and unless you have particular allergies or health concerns, you'll probably be fine.

determinants of health are so much bigger than what we eat and what we physically do.

so when it comes to teaching kids about food, we have to stop categorizing some foods as bad and others as good. it seems to be easier, but oversimplifying things for kids never goes well. if you're gonna simplify, at least be accurate and at least don't give them fucked up complexes abt shit.

tree nuts are WIDELY considered a Good Food. but they hurt me and could possibly even kill me, because i'm allergic.

fresh greens are WIDELY considered a Good Food. but they're raw, uncooked, and staring down the barrel of fewer safety regulations--so not only are they inconsistent in quality and texture (bad for kids & anyone with sensitive tastes), but they're also riskier. and ALSO, i have hEDS, and my body Cannot Digest fresh greens very well. (if accessible, an opportunity to teach kids abt where food comes from and maybe grow your own! but also [stares at heavy metals in most of the US soil] so y'know. ymmv.)

they're no better or worse than an "ultra processed" version of greens. that includes things like salsa, flavored veggie smoothies, premade soups, frozen veggies, etc.

the sum of my response to op & addition is: yes, absolutely. but also, there are no bad or good foods, and nutrition is more complicated than that. as per uszh, the solution is to treat kids like people and give them what knowledge you can, then let them make their own choices.

and the sum of everything else is: basically what i wish more people knew so that they COULD teach their kids that stuff. and also for themselves! and also this doesn't even get into the concept of "health" as a Whole Fucking Thing.

This is a controversial take that everyone will hate but it's one thing to feed your kid better, more wholesome food than twinkies and hot pockets daily, it's another thing to force them to adhere to a crunchy granola beige colored diet where they cant share the snacks their peers are eating or have a normal childhood or have fun. None of you were raised like that and if you were you know what im talking about.

[maxdurden]

tagged by @deadchannelradio! thanks!! i'll always take the opportunity to talk ad nauseam about music i'm listening to lol

shuffle your on repeat playlist (on spotify) and list the first 10 songs and then tag 10 people

1. Pigs is Pigs by Mannequin Pussy — what an incredible first pull. uhm. sorry for the screamo ass punk music but also consider that i literally JUST saw them in concert and this song goes so hard. it's not sung by their front woman (who totally deserves her flowers), but i LOVE colins' vocals. not a lyric in the song, but what he said at the concert was 'we don't need police, we need community' and fuck yes. this is such a good band if you have an opportunity to see them in concert do it holy fuck they're so good haha 😬👍

2. American Teenager by Ethel Cain — i know exactly two (2) ethel cain songs but this one goes hard what can i say. peak speeding down the highway singing at the top of your lungs music (don't speed, dive safe kids)

3. Control by Mannequin Pussy — it's gonna be a lot of mannequin pussy on here,,,,,,, lmao. this song is great tho!

4. Too Sweet by Hozier — there's probably gonna be a lot of hozier on here too lol. he released new music which always makes me ill, but also unreal unearth unheard has been sooo good for the oc's i've recently been throwing around like ragdolls in my head lol

5. I Got Heaven by Mannequin Pussy — 'and what if jesus himself ate my fucking snatch?' need i say more? this is maybe one of their best songs lol

6. Smog by Indigo De Souza — everyone go listen to all of indigo de souza's music RIGHT. NOW. thanks :)

7. Clean Slate by The Mountain Goats — this is another band that released a new album recently(ish) and i've just been a bit ill about some of the songs. the trumpets are especially fun in this one lol

8. Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain — okay so stick with me on this one. it's a great song first of all (insane that it's on the same album as american teenager lmao but go off ethel) but i've mostly been listening to it for oc purposes. this oc is kinda a vessel for working through feelings about gods and faith, and the way that both gods and the faithful need each other and shape each other. essentially,,, in a universe where gods are sustained by the faith of their followers, what happens when all but one of their followers is wiped out. in what ways do those two entities change and warp and love and destroy each other. ya know. just coping with senior year of college things tbh. anyway it's a great song :3

9. Apollo by Momma — this song has fun instrumentation, makes brain go brr. also!!! very on theme for the previously mentioned oc and thinking about gods and the weird relationships you can have with them.

10. Same as Cash by The Mountain Goats —IN YOUR CAR WITH YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS AT THE FAR END OF THE WALMART PARKING LOT, TRYING NOT TO BUCKLE UNDER THE STRAIN, STRIKING A BARGAIN WITH THE IMP IN YOUR BRAIN, PREPAIRED TO TAKE ANOTHER KNOCK FOR THE SHORT GANG, BUT YOU CAN ASK ANY VETERAN RUNNING BACK, EVENTUALLY YOUR JOINTS COMPLAIN. this song is so special to me no one will ever understand it like i do (only bitches who have worked long hours at an understaffed walmart during the pandemic while couch surfing bc you just left your shitty home situation will ever understand what john is trying to say here like i do tbh. entirely possible john doesn't even understand it like i do [this is a joke. art is personal and always ripe for meaningful and individual interpretation. pls don't shoot me]). but everyone should listen to it anyway, the violins and piano are so so fun and good

hahaaaa i told you i could talk soo much about the music i like, unfortunately for y'all

@darkravenstag @thrustin-timberlake @mitebitmurderous @johaerys-writes @sabrirene @sarcasticbeanie @seethestarsalittlecloser @sleeperagentclone @notacluedo @alive-ontheinside

(no pressure ofc!!! and if you don't have spotify i say just go hog wild and talk about songs you've been enjoying no one can stop you)

[sunnibits]

decided to join in on @quezify’s eggtober again this year as a little art warmup and I actually ended up really enjoying it!! it’s obviously way outside of my usual comfort zone so I’m very happy that I was able to create an end result that I’m proud of :)

[mokeonn]

Currently I have so many bg3 saves bc I refuse to delete my old ones that will likely never be finished (first ever gameplays, not optimized, everytime I open one I get overwhelmed and stop), but also because I keep making new games with the specific purpose of romancing a certain companion, seeing special dialog, doing a specific style of run, or getting an achievement on steam.

[nochepsicodelica]

Toji who leaves hickeys all over you so often that you have to push him away when you start looking like you fought an octopus.

"Toji, you know these aren't always gonna be so small. They're gonna end up looking like bruises. Just look at the ones you already left."

"Mhm," he hums, already leaving another one on your shoulder blade, releasing your skin with a wet smack of his lips. He rubs his spit into the mark like it's some sort of salve that'll make it last longer.

"I'm fine with these," you say, looking at all the one's he left on your chest and below. "but my neck... i'm running out of makeup, baby. I won't be able to cover them if you keep this up."

"Then don't." He would just love that. Despite how nonchalant he sounds about it, it's a highly recommended suggestion. He would genuinely love it if you walked around with his marks all over your neck. People will automatically know that you already have someone you get freaky with.

"I have to go to work sometime. I wouldn't be able to take having my neck stared at by everyone I talk to. No more neck hickeys."

He nears your neck, again. The second you say he can't put another mark on it, he spots a clear area and leans in, lightly pressing his lips against it.

"Tojiii," you whine, leaning forward, away from him. "Leave it alone."

"But, it's clear. It's lonely without being marked like the rest of your neck." He scoots forward again, putting his enormous hands on your waist to pull you close. "I'll be quick. Just-"

"Mm-mm. No," you interrupt, brushing his hands off of you.

"I might just die if you don't let me do this, ma."

"Really?" You raise your brows in disbelief.

"Really," he responds, so confidently.

You scoff. "You're so dramatic. You won't die if you don't get to suck on my neck."

"Who knows? I might spontaneously collapse because of it. Weirder, more unexplainable things have happened."

He's so dumb sometimes. Your hunk is absolutely ridiculous, and yet you find yourself weighing towards his point in this.

"Would marking up that blank space actually cure you?" You feel as silly as him for asking the question.

"Who's to say?"

You tilt your head and deadpan. "Right. I guess i'll take my chances and just keep the random patch of unmarked skin on my neck."

"Hey, that doesn't mean we can't try. Come on, now."

You groan and roll your eyes before making your way back to him. He cups your cheeks, smirking as he looks into your eyes, before turning your head to expose the blank area on your neck.

"It's a reaaally good spot, doll. I think i'm gonna make it."

You huff, unable to look at him because of the way your head is turned. You feel his tongue slide over your neck, the gesture transitioning to his lips kissing the area and then it feels sharp. His lips leave a stinging sensation with every second that they stay on you.

"Ow, fuck, you vampire. It feels like you're actually trying to suck the blood out of me." You wince. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm done." He admires his masterpiece and smirks with pride. You have an entire collar of hickeys that he put on you, and the newest one looks mean.

"You look pretty. Could eat you up, mama." He swipes at the new mark with his thumb, looking at the color that will remain on your skin for the next few days.

"I can tell. You already devoured me. You're insane. Just look at all of this," you say, running your hand over your kiss stained neck.

"I was just nibbling on you," he speaks, into your jaw, before smoothly laying you down, onto the bed. "Just wanted a little taste," he says, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "Am I really insane for that?"

"Um..." you laugh, making your flustered state obvious. "Yes?"

"Damn." He gives you a long, deep kiss, that makes you forget what you were talking about. "You think i'm crazy?" You hum, and he does it again.

"Haven't you played with me enough? I feel like i'm some chew toy for you." You giggle, feeling his lips on your cheek, trailing towards your jaw.

He hums, dismissively. "Found more blank space."

[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♡

[occudo]

An incomplete list of TMA fics I adore

-beacuse of this ask

(If you liked the fics I previously recommended/made fanart for, I think you'll gonna like these as well, but you know, read the tags, know what you are going into)

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey @cirrus-grey

Time Travel Fix-it! Slow burn! So good! So much sass from future!Jon- I doubt I have to introduce anyone this amazing author, but if you somehow missed them till now, this is your time! I highly recommend all of their other fics as well, for example one of a more recent one, The Stranger I Know Best is also a lovely read.

enthralling by Prim_the_Amazing @primtheamazing

Vampire!Martin!! I have no words of how much I love this concept, this story, everything about this. I think I'm going to repeat myself through this list, but I also recommend everything else they've written!

to fill... my heart with music? by godshaper @godshaper so their Martin and Jon design are different from mine, also they made a way better art for this- but still, I wanted to include this really good fic in this list.

Do It All Anew by inkfingers_mcgee or @crit20art

You know the feeling when you read a book that makes you cry, and after that you recommend it to your friend? Well- there is no reason I mentioned this, I'm just so normal about this fic. Or any other fic from inkfingers_mcgee... like Strange Manner of what I made another fanart way back. Also, check out their art!

Anyway, here is Aamal- she is not going to cause emotional damage.

And they were sidekicks (oh my god, they were sidekicks) by arthureameslove @arthureameslove

A lighthearted series where Jon and Martin are sidekicks of supervillains- it's just a really fun fic, also recommend everyting from this author - I previously draw fanart here for an other fic of theirs Like a Lighthouse, Call Me Home

neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well by saintbleeding @saintbleeding

To quote the aurthour: "Post-divorce Jon and Martin in a wedding-based romcom" It's such a comfort read, also has a Tim/Sasha wedding, and lots of cameos! I realised most of these authors I made fanarts for before- like this one for some kind of miraculous bind, this one is oneshot and a bit more serious in tone.

Give Me the Words by rakel @rakel-on-ao3

"Jon and Martin try to make the most of a bad situation in the Scottish Highlands. The situation is worse than they realised." You know that one post about wanting to write PWP, but it keeps turning into character study? Well, this one comes to my mind each time I see that.

i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy @transgenderboobs

So what would have happened if instead of the cot (tm), Jon offered Martin his own flat to stay? There is no way it's going to change their relationship, right? Such a good read, if you want some fluff, I highly recommend it!

Lucky Stars by magnetarmadda @magnetarmadda

Martin has a lovely family (except his mother) but still, he needs a fake boyfriend, and Jon comes to the rescue. It's one of the first fics I remember reading after I finished the series. It is such a comfort read of mine~

(+enjoy a rare tall Jon from me)

There are so many more fics that also deserve the spotlight, these are just the ones I read multiple times and/or didn't made fanarts for before. If you find something here you like, give them some love! Kudos and comments! They deserve it. (Also, just an extra disclamier some of these are PWP or rated T- just mind the tags)

I tried to link and tag everything, I hope it works.

[insertdisc5]

📚 A List Of Useful Websites When Making An RPG 📚

My timeloop RPG In Stars and Time is done! Which means I can clear all my ISAT gamedev related bookmarks. But I figured I would show them here, in case they can be useful to someone. These range from "useful to write a story/characters/world" to "these are SUPER rpgmaker focused and will help with the terrible math that comes with making a game".

This is what I used to make my RPG game, but it could be useful for writers, game devs of all genres, DMs, artists, what have you. YIPPEE

Writing (Names)

Behind The Name - Why don't you have this bookmarked already. Search for names and their meanings from all over the world!

Medieval Names Archive - Medieval names. Useful. For ME

City and Town Name Generator - Create "fake" names for cities, generated from datasets from any country you desire! I used those for the couple city names in ISAT. I say "fake" in quotes because some of them do end up being actual city names, especially for french generated ones. Don't forget to double check you're not 1. just taking a real city name or 2. using a word that's like, Very Bad, especially if you don't know the country you're taking inspiration from! Don't want to end up with Poopaville, USA

Writing (Words)

Onym - A website full of websites that are full of words. And by that I mean dictionaries, thesauruses, translators, glossaries, ways to mix up words, and way more. HIGHLY recommend checking this website out!!!

Moby Thesaurus - My thesaurus of choice!

Rhyme Zone - Find words that rhyme with others. Perfect for poets, lyricists, punmasters.

In Different Languages - Search for a word, have it translated in MANY different languages in one page.

ASSETS

In general, I will say: just look up what you want on itch.io. There are SO MANY assets for you to buy on itch.io. You want a font? You want a background? You want a sound effect? You want a plugin? A pixel base? An attack animation? A cool UI?!?!?! JUST GO ON ITCH.IO!!!!!!

Visual Assets (General)

Creative Market - Shop for all kinds of assets, from fonts to mockups to templates to brushes to WHATEVER YOU WANT

Velvetyne - Cool and weird fonts

Chevy Ray's Pixel Fonts - They're good fonts.

Contrast Checker - Stop making your text white when your background is lime green no one can read that shit babe!!!!!!

Visual Assets (Game Focused)

Interface In Game - Screenshots of UI (User Interfaces) from SO MANY GAMES. Shows you everything and you can just look at what every single menu in a game looks like. You can also sort them by game genre! GREAT reference!

Game UI Database - Same as above!

Sound Assets

Zapsplat, Freesound - There are many sound effect websites out there but those are the ones I saved. Royalty free!

Shapeforms - Paid packs for music and sounds and stuff.

Other

CloudConvert - Convert files into other files. MAKE THAT .AVI A .MOV

EZGifs - Make those gifs bigger. Smaller. Optimize them. Take a video and make it a gif. The Sky Is The Limit

Marketing

Press Kitty - Did not end up needing this- this will help with creating a press kit! Useful for ANY indie dev. Yes, even if you're making a tiny game, you should have a press kit. You never know!!!

presskit() - Same as above, but a different one.

Itch.io Page Image Guide and Templates - Make your project pages on itch.io look nice.

MOOMANiBE's IGF post - If you're making indie games, you might wanna try and submit your game to the Independent Game Festival at some point. Here are some tips on how, and why you should.

Game Design (General)

An insightful thread where game developers discuss hidden mechanics designed to make games feel more interesting - Title says it all. Check those comments too.

Game Design (RPGs)

Yanfly "Let's Make a Game" Comics - INCREDIBLY useful tips on how to make RPGs, going from dungeons to towns to enemy stats!!!!

Attack Patterns - A nice post on enemy attack patterns, and what attacks you should give your enemies to make them challenging (but not TOO challenging!) A very good starting point.

How To Balance An RPG - Twitter thread on how to balance player stats VS enemy stats.

Nobody Cares About It But It’s The Only Thing That Matters: Pacing And Level Design In JRPGs - a Good Post.

Game Design (Visual Novels)

Feniks Renpy Tutorials - They're good tutorials.

I played over 100 visual novels in one month and here’s my advice to devs. - General VN advice. Also highly recommend this whole blog for help on marketing your games.

I hope that was useful! If it was. Maybe. You'd like to buy me a coffee. Or maybe you could check out my comics and games. Or just my new critically acclaimed game In Stars and Time. If you want. Ok bye

[queerautism]

It feels kinda wild I've seen no one mention the huge controversy NaNoWriMo was in about 7 months ago (Link to a reddit write up, there's also a this google doc on it) in this whole recent AI discourse. The main concerns people had were related to the 'young writers' forum, a moderator being an alledged predator, and general moderation practices being horrible and not taking things like potential grooming seriously.

About 5 months ago, after all of that went down, MLs or 'Municipal Liaisons', their local volunteers organisers for different regions of the world, were offered a horrible new agreement that basically tried to shut them up about the issues they'd been speaking up about. Some of these issues included racism and ableism that the organisation offered zero support with.

When there was pushback and MLs kept sharing what was going on, NaNoWriMo removed ALL OF THEM as MLs and sent in a new, even more strict agreement that they would have to sign to be allowed back in their volunteer position.

This agreement included ways of trying to restrict their speech even further, from not being able to share 'official communications' to basically not being allowed to be in discord servers to talk to other MLs in places not controlled by NaNoWriMo. You also had to give lots of personal information and submit to a criminal background check, despite still explicitly leaving their local regions without support and making it very clear everyone was attending the OFFICIAL in person events 'at their own risk'.

Many MLs refused to sign and return. Many others didn't even know this was happening, because they did not get any of the emails sent for some reason. NaNoWriMo basically ignored all their concerns and pushed forward with this.

Many local regions don't exist anymore. I don't know who they have organising the rest of them, but it's likely spineless people that just fell in line, people who just care about the power, or new people who don't understand what's going on with this organisation yet. Either way, this year is absolutely going to be a mess.

Many of the great former MLs just went on to organise their writing communities outside of the official organisation. NaNoWriMo does not own the concept of writing a novel in a month.

R/nanowrimo is an independent subreddit that has been very critical of the organisation since this all happened, and people openly recommend alternatives for word tracking, community, etc there, so I highly recommend checking it out.

I've seen Trackbear recommended a lot for an alternative to the word tracking / challenge, and will probably be using it myself this November.

Anyway, just wanted to share because a lot of people haven't heard about this, and I think it makes it extremely clear that the arguments about "classism and ableism" @nanowrimo is using right now in defense of AI are not vaguely misguided, but just clear bullshit. They've never given a single shit about any of that stuff.

[traveler-at-heart]

You're ok

Summary: As you recover from a life threatening mission, Natasha struggles to be vulnerable.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Edit: The last part is a scene from The Diplomat's season 2. Highly recommend the show, as it also has our lovely Ali Ahn ( AKA Alice Wu)

Death is part of the job. You had always been prepared for it.

Failure and a slow recovery were things that you were less inclined to accept.

It was hard to deal with the fact you had been ambushed, and almost killed by a bomb in what was supposed to be an easy mission.

Two weeks after being confined to the sterile hospital walls you’re back at the Compound. Bucky offered to help, carrying your things and lending his arm as support.

You certainly didn’t expect the rest of the Avengers on the foyer, excited to greet you.

“Don’t make a fuss” you say, letting them hug you. Wanda rolls her eyes, taking your bag.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive. We’re gonna make a fuss”

“Just for today, let us make a big deal out of this” Steve says.

You had seen all of your teammates when they visited at the hospital, with one notable exception.

Said exception walks through the door, the hint of a smile on her beautiful face as your eyes meet green ones.

“Welcome back” Natasha says, her tone gentle.

“Thank you”

“Romanoff might like you, she almost smiled” Tony says, but you don’t pay him attention.

“That’s just because I thought you weren’t here” Natasha walks past him, squeezing your good arm as a silent goodbye. How you wish you could follow after her, ask why she didn’t even stop by once, but she’s hurrying out the room in record time, as if she can sense your intentions.

Truthfully, you won’t act on them. Natasha doesn’t owe you anything, not even a get well card.

“Let’s get you settled in your new room” Tony becons, and you frown.

“New room? What happened to the old one?”

“This one has some improvements. You’re gonna love it”

It’s evident he still feels guilty over what happened, though it was definitely not his fault that you almost got killed.

The new room has a mini fridge, a giant tv, a king size bed, and a small couch. It also has a huge bathtub, as well as an incredible view of the forest behind the Compound.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s… I’m perfectly fine going back to my old room”

“Can I have it if she doesn’t want it?” Sam intervenes, looking around the space.

“Come on, you’re gonna be using crutches for a while. You need a bigger space. And entertainment”

“It’s true” Steve says. “Of course we all want to be optimistic but…”

The doctors had said it would take at least six weeks to get you walking without aid. And then, you’d have to train and get back in shape. You are looking at two or three months of recovery.

It’s not that you dislike the bigger space or amenities. It’s the fact that Natasha was closer to you in the other room, and so you’d meet her most mornings as you’d step out to hit the gym or make breakfast.

Now, not only is she emotionally distant, she’s also physically away. And you don’t know which is worse.

“I’ll give it a try” you promise, though you know nothing will be better than your old room.

—

There are unexpected challenges that come with your injuries. Like cooking breakfast. Wanda is more than happy to help most days, but she’s been out for a mission the past week. You could have stuck to cereal, except Steve is always around by the time you wake up, and he insists on making your breakfast.

It’s a nice gesture, though the food is horrible.

You’ve spent the better part of your morning  playing with your eggs, considering eating cereal again, when someone places a cup of coffee and a paper bag next to you.

“I don’t know who told Steve he could cook” Natasha says with a smile.

“He means well” you answer, and wait for her to nod towards the bag to inspect its contents. Grilled cheese and a scone. Your mouth waters at the smell.

“You’re amazing, Natasha, honestly” you say between bites, moaning at the taste. “I can’t remember the last time I ate something this good. Except Wanda’s food, of course”

“Enjoy” she says, taking away the plate with eggs for you.

You were hoping to have her company while you eat, but maybe that’s too much to hope for.

—

At last, there’s something you can do. While everyone is busy with missions, you focus on reports and intelligence, which is perfect, because all you have to do is sit and read.

There are still deadlines and though no one wants to put pressure on you, you make sure nothing is delayed. As you keep reading in one of the conference rooms, the door is pushed open and you look up, alarmed at the sudden intrusion.

“Yes?” you say, pushing your glasses up, staring at Natasha. She turns around, struggling to speak.

“Y-you should be resting”

“I’m doing Bucky’s reports. You know how he is, he can’t type anything in the computer”

“It’s close to midnight. Have you even had dinner yet? I’m sure he won’t mind if you do them later”

“Nat. It’s fine, honestly” you say, smiling at her awkwardness. “I like to feel useful”

She nods, looking around the room, as if weighting her options. Moving away from the door, she walks and sits next to you, checking out some of the paperwork you’re reviewing

“Someone should have really taught James how to type” she mutters when she gets to the part where Bucky wrote target pulled out a cock instead of Glock.

You snort out a laugh, because it’s the dumbest fucking thing in the world.

“Ten bucks if you leave it like that” she insists and you shake your head.

“I considered it but then Tony wouldn’t know when to stop the teasing”

“Fair” she tilts her head, still smiling at you.

It’s obvious now that Natasha’s staying to make sure you go back to rest soon. So you enjoy the silence that comes with her presence, thinking this might be a step in the right direction.

But then, you stretch your arms above your head, forgetting about the stitches in your side until you feel a pull.

“Fuck” you bend over in pain, and Natasha is by your side in an instant. “It’s ok. I just stretched too hard. Forgot I still have a hole on my side”

Natasha’s hands hold on to the edge of the table, as if she’s struggling between storming out and staying.

“You should get some rest now” she manages to say, eyes not meeting your own.

“I’m fine”

Natasha gets ready to argue, but then reconsiders and just nods.

“I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight”

The redhead leaves the room in a hurry, and you wonder what could have possibly made her so upset.

For the next few days, you don’t see Natasha at all, and a part of you is certain she’s avoiding you.

As you lay in bed, watching a movie with Wanda, you keep going back to your interaction. Did you say something offensive? Was she simply too repulsed by weakness and didn’t know how to deal with it?

Is she avoiding me? Am I overthinking?

“She is and you are” Wanda says, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“But why… now wait a minute” you click your tongue, looking at your friend.

“I didn’t mean to, your thoughts are so loud. And so are Natasha’s. When you came back she was having a screaming match inside her head”

“What do you mean? What was she thinking?”

“No, that’s where I draw the line. If you want to know, ask her”

“If I ever see her again, sure” you mutter, though you know you lack the confidence to confront Natasha. Even if you had the chance, what’s there to say? "Hey, why are you making sure we only see each other when strictly necessary?"

She doesn’t like you, that’s the only explanation. Natasha is just being polite to keep appearances and the screaming inside her head was probably her thinking how much she wished you were still at the hospital.

Wanda snorts next to you, making you glare.

“Outta my head”

“Hey, I’m trying to watch the movie. You’re the one that needs to keep it quiet up there”

A few days later and you still have no idea how to approach Natasha. Mind you, she’s only been around the kitchen to get coffee once or twice, spending the rest of her time in missions or at the gym across the Compound.

The only time you’re not thinking about her is when the physical pain is distracting you. Like now, while changing your bandages. The doctors told you to get someone to help, but you already get help with food, laundry, even changing your god damn sheets. You’ll be damned if you ask for help with this.

“Fuckfuckfuck” you clearly did something wrong because the dressing is stuck around the edges. You pull again, but the pain is too much, so you plop down in bed. There’s a knock at the door, and you groan, which will hopefully make whoever’s on the other side go away.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Natasha says, rushing to your side.

“Can’t change my bandages” you say, not caring if your incompetence upsets her.

“Can I look?”

You nod, sitting up so she can see for herself the mess you’re in. Her hands are surprisingly soft and tender, and you’re almost dozing off while Natasha works silently.

Except when there’s a tug and you jump back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’ll be just one painful pull, ok?” the woman says, one of her hands going to your cheek. Your eyes meet and the way she’s looking at you almost makes the pain go away.

“Ok” you nod. Natasha takes it off in a swift movement, and all you can do is take a sharp breath as your skin stings. “Fuck me” you say through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy it that much with the state you’re in” she jokes, which makes you smile.

“You know what I mean”

“Just teasing”

“You’re certainly good”

Natasha keeps working in silence, and you worry you may have crossed a line. When she’s done, she picks up the trash and goes to throw it away.

“Ask for help next time”

“I need help for everything. I wanted to at least do something on my own without being a burden”

“You’re not a burden” she says, her back to you as she washes her hands on the sink.

Something comes over you, and when Natasha walks by your side to exit the room, your hand shoots up to hold her wrist.

“Y/N?”

“I… I missed you. I know we’re colleagues and all I do is share whatever meal I’m having, or train with you from time to time. I know I can’t really do any of those things right now. I’m inconsequential, I know, to your life and to whatever you do. But I do miss you, Natasha. And I wish I didn’t care so much”

It feels like her skin is burning under your fingers, so you let go, ashamed at your little outburst. You’re expecting her to leave without another word but instead, she kneels to meet your eyes.

“You’re the opposite of inconsequential. But I don’t know how to care without being vulnerable”

“I don’t think that’s possible. Caring is vulnerability” you say softly. “But it’s also a strenght. It means you’re not alone”

Natasha smiles, a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. She’s about to say something else when FRIDAY calls for her at the conference room.

At this hour, it only means one thing. She stands up, looking apologetic.

“Be careful” is all you can say as she leaves the room.

—

A party is the last thing you’re in the mood for. Not only are you still wearing a cane (an improvement from the crutches) but Natasha has been gone for several days to complete a mission only a handful of people know about.

It makes you anxious, to think she might be in danger, though she is the most capable agent in the entire world.

“So glad you made it” Tony says when you finally show up. It took some convincing on Wanda’s part, but you agreed once you found an outfit that didn’t require you to wear heels.

The Avengers are at their own couch, talking and laughing. Bucky has apointed himself as your personal waiter, bringing snacks and drinks.

“Any word on Nat?” Stark asks, which distracts you from the conversation with Sam.

“Said she was still stuck at the debriefing” Steve shrugs his shoulders. It’s no surprise, if she can avoid these parties, Natasha will.

At least she’s home and safe. That brings you some peace of mind, and you’re able to enjoy the rest of the party.

Tony announces the fireworks are about to start, and you relunctantly stand next to the huge crowd assembled at the front yard of the Compound.

The first burts of color is followed by a couple of cheers.

But it’s different for you.

The booming sound, the lights, it all sets you on edge.

You’ve been around explosions before, and this had never happened. Frozen in place, you try to close your eyes and control your breathing as the noises increase your anxiety.

How you wish you could run back to your room right now, but it’s nearly impossible to walk between everyone.

“It’s ok” a voice says, and there’s the warmth of another body next to yours. “You’re ok”

“Nat” you sigh with relief, closing your eyes. Another firework explodes and you jump.

“Look at me” she says, her hand going up and down your back in a soothing motion. You nod, turning your body so she can wrap both arms around your waist. “Breathe with me”

You follow her lead, in and out, until your heartbeat is steady again.

“You’re ok” she says, this time more of a reminder to herself. “And I’m here”

“Thank you” you lean your forehead against hers, letting her decide if she wants to take that final step. Natasha smiles, a hand cupping your cheek as her lips meet yours in a tender kiss.

“I missed you too” she says when you break apart.

“I’m not going anywhere”

[theorist-fox]

Promise rings

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Filthy. That's it. If you want some more humiliation kink I highly, highly, highly, highly recommend this by @/the-californicationist

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

18+

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: Simon fingers you in the rec room and you give him a promise ring. Or two—depending on how many fingers he's used.

CW: smut (fingering, finger sucking, squirting), humiliation kink, semi-public, Simon is a little mean but you love it so it's fine

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Don’ wan’ anyone to hear ya now, do we?” 

He hushes you, mouth to your ear. His hand is shackled to your hips by the waistband of your sweatpants, two thick fingers already slick and buried to the knuckle.

Simon holds you tightly in place, hand curled at the base of your throat as an empty threat he won’t fulfill unless you kindly ask. He has you tucked between his legs, aptly spread to accommodate your body in between, as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt. Your knees are conveniently hooked on each of his thighs, and they’re already trembling even if he’s just begun.

Sweat collects on your back, dampening your shirt and by extension his own too. You feel his heart rabbit in his ribcage, thrumming against your spine. Thick arms glue your back to his chest—just in case you want to make a run for it. 

As if, right?

Earlier that night, he’d caught you out of your room much past midnight, trying to sneak a cuppa in the common area. Told you something along the lines of how he should have you cleaning the toilets because you’re breaking curfew, and you bit back with a hefty dose of sarcasm about how that’s not your favorite punishment he’s ever given you.

And so, he’d grabbed you by the waist and dropped back on the couch with an arm still coiled around it. 

You’re ashamed to say it only took two fingers circling your entrance and his tongue licking wanton stripes down your neck to make you embarrassingly wet. Balaclava lifted to his nose, he’d murmured unholy things to your ear, like how he’d want to drill in your head that you can’t go and break base rules, how he can’t keep covering for you, how he’d love to teach you a lesson by splitting you in half on his cock until you can only part your lips to apologize for giving him a headache.

But alas, the location isn’t sex friendly. 

However, the notion hasn't stopped Simon from adopting a more subtle approach that would lead to a similar conclusion. Like swirling the tips of his fingers around the fluttering hole of your cunt. Or biting softly at the shell of your ear, while keeping you nice and still with a hand on your collarbones.

Doesn’t stop him now, as he curls the pads of his fingers until they press where the velvet of your walls gets rougher to the touch. 

You abandon your head back onto his shoulder, heavy puffs leave your mouth in tandem with the skilled work of his hand, one that knows every nook and cranny of you. Glossy lips start nibbling at his neck and you relish how his throat bobs each time your teeth sink a little deeper. His growing stubble scratches the tender skin of your mouth, but it’s more than fine because you like how it stings.

“Little more, please?” You breathe.

But it’s then that he stops beckoning his fingers, leaving your walls to clamp around them as they fall still. You protest by biting the tendons of his neck a bit harder, suppressing a groan into it.

“Maybe it went over your head,” he drawls, tugging the balaclava down his chin before returning his hand at the base of your throat. “But this is a punishment, love.”

He cruelly leaves your hole to desperately flutter around nothing, but ultimately uses those same fingers to wet the rest of your sex. Keeping quiet becomes less of an option when he starts rubbing idle circles on your clit. He’s neglected it all this time, making it swell with blood and causing its sensitivity to peak. 

You shudder when he first brushes over it. 

As if out of habit, you search for his lips, sure to add a nice make-out session to pair with his fingers. But your mouth only meets fabric, and you frown.

“Don’t be a bastard, Riley.”

He hums, turning away to press a kiss to your cheek through the balaclava. “Only way I know.”

You pout. “Just one.”

“Behave.”

With a sigh, you relent. There’s no use in begging for something he won’t give you. You’ve learned to recognize what you can get from Simon, and what will be out of reach for the time being. If he’s decided he doesn’t want to kiss you, you will not get a kiss. 

But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a little petty about it. 

You tug at his mask with your teeth, catching his lower lip too, and sharply bite into it.

In response, Simon slaps your pussy. A wet thwack echoes in the silent rec room. It sends tingles up your spine, and you hiss and gasp against his lips. Your nerves are currently haywire, and they cannot discern whether that rush was due to pain or pleasure.

You pull back only to pout, but it's obvious to both of you that there is no animosity in your eyes. In fact, Simon’s gaze falls to your lips with lust embedded in his pupils, and he takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a little plea for him to give you what you need. Which is why he brushes his wet fingertips to your clit again, and again, until he can feel you soften in his grasp with a sequence of breathy, surrendering sighs. Only then, when you feel like molten wax in his hands, he switches to more rewarding, steady circles.

His focus leaves your lips only to take in your eyes. They’re diligently trained on him, because you know he likes to look you dead in the eye when he’s making you tremble to the bone. Eye contact is the only means he uses to communicate with you in the fog that is your relationship.

He’s more absorbed than you are, your eyes getting glassier by the minute. You want to keep it up, to hold your own against his stare that defies you to crack him open and peel the layers and understand. But you and him both know that is the last straw for you. He’s made you sensitive and supple and dull. Your head rolls back against his shoulder, and you push back, once again, the discovery of Simon Riley.

You breathe softly against his neck, trying to give yourself some containment due to the location you’re in. Nails dig in his forearms until they mark pink crescents over his tattoos, hoping that releasing tension through touch would help you keep your mouth shut.

Simon knows you still have something up your sleeve to use against him, because his weakness is to have you yearning for him as much as he does you—to have you pleading for his words, his touch, his presence, like he internally does each time you walk into his same space. 

You’ve never had a problem begging. When you’re confident enough about your person, pride doesn’t even get involved—they’re just words, and if he likes them, then so be it.

As long as he makes you come until your head spins.

“Please, Simon.” You whimper, putting up that act he knows all too well. As if he’d believe you’re truly submitting to him—but it’s fine, to be honest.

He's never wanted you to bend for him. Simon likes that fire that singes your pupils when you’re on active duty, or when you fuck him. He wouldn’t dream of snuffing it out, not when he’s more than aware that it makes him glow, too.

“Bit louder.” He rasps against your ear.

And you oblige, going as far as to wet your lips and bat your pretty lashes at him. Minx.

“Please? I’ll suck your cock after.”

Simon huffs. “Sellin’ it alrigh’.”

He loves to feel the stiffness of your clit under the pads of his fingers, how the more he skims them over it, the harder it gets—as if he’s flipping a switch. Which he sort of is, isn’t he? You’ve turned from the snarky little minx that could make him crack a smile or two, into this soft clay molding under the warmth of his touch.

“Wanna cum,” you sigh sweetly against his skin, sucking tenderly at the exposed flesh on his neck. “Please, Simon, let’s go to my room.”

He tuts at you, slowing down with his hand only to get you annoyed.

“We’re gonna stay ‘ere,” he murmurs, softly shaking his head so that the fabric of the balaclava scratches your skin. 

Then, out of the blue, you feel fingers dig into your jaw and pulling your mouth away from his neck. He forces your eyes forward, where the door of the rec room opens to the dark hallway. 

“You’re gonna cum on my hand, yeah? Soak it nicely.” He rasps against your ear, “An’ you’re gonna be quiet ‘bout it.”

Your cunt flutters.

“Need you sharp. Tha' clear?” He says, commanding as ever. “Answer, Sergeant.”

It almost makes you unravel then and there. Your eyes roll back and your hips buck against his hand. But you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. 

“Cameras,” you mumble, sounding a little stupid and definitely on the verge of surrender. “There’re cameras.”

His response comes swiftly. “Not pointin’ at the sofa.”

Your chest stutters. He feels it under the weight of his palm. Your soft moans quiet down, too. A telltale sign of your beautiful brain whirring its cogs again. How he loves it, more than your body. Outwitting his every move. A true opponent—or ally, if only he’d allow you a little closer.

“You planned this, haven’t you?” You whisper cleverly, face still hidden in the crook of his neck and chest still heaving under his hand. Still affected by him, and yet your voice sounds steady and smooth.

And you’re so right. He knows this place by heart and could walk around it blindfolded. When he saw you in your grey sweatpants and an old white t-shirt, fumbling lazily with the electric kettle, blood had rushed so quickly to his cock he thought he could have fainted.

There is something about you invested in this almost boring, domestic light that always strikes him breathless. When the outline of the pillow fabric is imprinted in your cheek. When your hair is tousled by the bedsheets.

You look good in uniform too, all safely cradled in Kevlar and padded in neoprene. But it’s when you look drowsy and soft that sends him spiraling.

With the calculating mind of the pathological control freak he is, he’d retraced the position of the cameras in his head, and promptly decided to have you then and there.

The silence following your question must not be as subtle as he thinks. In seconds, you go from pliantly soft, into a squirming mess trying to escape him. Simon manages to hold you still only because he overpowers you in strength.

“What is it, mh?” You hiss, pushing at his forearm. “Been following me, L.T.?”

He hadn’t. Truly, he’d just stumbled upon you. It wouldn’t be too odd—he’s a sleepless ghost, after all, oftentimes found wandering around base at ungodly hours. The fact that he’d found you in his usual haunting grounds had been mere luck—true, blessed luck.

“You are-”

“Shut up.”

“-Fucking obsessed, and you-”

“Don’t.”

“-can’t even admit it.“

“Sergeant.”

“Coward.”

He plunges those two fingers back inside, punching a gasp out of you, and he gives no time for your hole to readjust to the stretch. Simply, he starts dragging against the front of your walls with a voracity that could be mistaken for hate, if you didn’t know him better.

You stiffen suddenly, arching your back off his chest. Teeth catch your bottom lip in an almost bloodthirsty grip—as much as you want to scream at him, you don’t want to get caught either.

He rams relentlessly into you until you're melting once again. His mouth is painfully pressed against your ear, and if the balaclava wasn't in the way, he would be lapping at whatever piece of flesh he could land on.

“Y’re a clever little thing, uh?” He groans huskily. “Always got the fuckin’ answer ready.”

You laugh under your breath, perhaps because you’re getting exactly what you want, or perhaps because you’ve been reading him more keenly than he thought and you've finally uncovered some new information that has been shrouded in darkness up until now.

He doesn’t care, and he gives in to you.

“Oh, you love it, you bastard,” you bite back breathlessly, which only makes his cock twitch in the tight space of his briefs.

“Smug little cunt.” He breathes in your ear, but you swear there isn’t an ounce of hostility in it.

You turn your head to meet his eyes. The playful smile on your fucked out face is straight out of his dreams—he's seen it so many times and yet it never ceases to amaze him. Nor does the way your hair bounces off your face in recoil from the frantic work of his hand. Or how your cheeks turn ruddy for him. Or how your lashes cast heavy shadows down your face.

“You love this smug little cunt, too.” You breathe, smugly.

Just proving his words, really.

“Don’t get cocky,” he hums in your ear. “Might gonna have to prove ya wrong, then.”

The heel of his hand rolls against your puffy clit in tandem with his fingers, because he wants you to come undone impossibly quick now that you’ve caught him red-handed.

It’s enough to make you forget you’re having a battle of wits with him. Your eyes roll back again, and your head falls limply onto his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you wheeze, and he takes that as a sign to not stride away from the pace he’s taken.

His hand at the base of your neck tightens slightly, causing your breathy moans to lodge in your throat. Your cunt clenches right then, and your lips tug in a smile—because you love it, and he knows.

His contorted little mess. His cunning fox, strutting around the base with so much confidence in her gait, looking seemingly untamable. But when you're in his clutches, you're nothing but his pet, the one who enjoys having her leash tugged a little more firmly than socially acceptable.

“S-Simon.” Yes. Yes. C’mon, sweetheart. C’mon. “Simon – oh God –“

You’re being too loud. He doesn’t care if he gets caught with his pants down. He dares someone to confront him about it. Simon doesn’t revel in fickle things like dignity, not after life has done its goddamn worst to strip him of it.

But you? Hell, not you. He cherishes your privacy, in spite of how this whole predicament might make it look otherwise. On top of that, he selfishly likes to think he’s the only one with the delightful honor to see you so flushed and breathless, moaning his name like it’s the only one you know.

“Told ya to stay quiet.” And he stuffs two fingers in your mouth.

You groan and suck them back to your throat, until his pads graze the soft palate at the back. You gag around them, and he almost comes in his pants, wishing it was his cock instead. 

“Bite, don’t shout.” 

And you do. You bite the flesh around the base of his fingers, while his other ones are bringing you closer to the edge. An edge you’ve touched plenty of times with him, but one you’d rather not reach in such a public spot.

Granted, it’s night. It would be a fateful event for someone to walk by—rare, if not unique.

But still.

“Simon,” you moan, voice muffled around his fingers. “Fuck’s sake, no’ ‘ere.”

He chuckles, because he knows.

And you confirm it, by getting all agitated in his arms, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. Your hand curls around the wrist of his offending hand, still ramming deep into your sex.

“Simon, stop –” You croak, slightly pulling back to speak. “M’gonna cum—stop.”

He doesn’t. That’s not the safe word, is it? Say it, and he’ll stop stock still in less than a heartbeat. 

But you won't, right, sweet thing? No, you won’t. Because it feels too good, doesn’t it? 

“Red?” He rumbles, voice low and measured to give you the impression that he still has some semblance of control left.

You cry around his fingers until your brows touch. Tears prickle the corners of your eyes, and maybe, he thinks, you like this. The thought of getting caught. The thought of someone seeing you come for him, shaking and bucking your hips like you’re a fucking cat in heat.

His fingers don’t relent, because that tiny word still hasn’t left your lips.

“Red?” He insists, as he feels your cunt clench impossibly tight each time he speaks. “Answer.”

But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head with a sob, and Simon would bet his fucking right hand that it’s out of pleasure more than anything else.

He chuckles, low and deep. “Dirty fuckin’ slag.”

He’d recognize that fucked out look anywhere. As if you’re struggling to breathe, eyes unfocused and glassy, lustrous lips puckered right above the knuckle. He regrets refusing your kiss, because he's sure they’d look even more delectable after he’s bitten them to bits.

“You like this, uh?” He rasps against your ear. “Wan’ an audience all for ya, yeah? Wan’ the team to pop in to see you like this?”

You shake your head, muffling a cry around his fingers. 

He tuts at you. “Don’t lie to me, love.”

You squirm and moan, sniffling with your nose as tears travel down your temples and into your hairline. You nod, then, because you’re a good sergeant and you follow orders as dutifully as you hand them out—every time.

"Wan' em all to 'ave a wank as you cum 'round my fingers, don't you?" He croons, even if the thought of someone seeing you like this has his blood boiling.

Drool gathers at the corners of your mouth as you buck your hips to intensify the work of his hand. And you nod vigorously, once again, with your eyes rolled back. Heavy puffs leave your nostrils, shallow and quick.

Simon hums a groan deep from his chest. He loves to see you break, loves to see you crack so easily. Doesn’t care if your mouth is quieted by his fingers, because your cunt is so wet it’s making sounds of its own that are enough for his greedy, insatiable ears.

His forearm starts cramping but he'll be damned if he stops, keeping his ring and middle finger inside as he presses them to the front wall of your vagina, while rhythmically dragging them in and out in a dance he knows will make you shatter.

And then you tense, corded neck tilted back. A long, agonizing moan escapes your stuffed mouth, and your walls signal your orgasm before your lips do. You ripple around his fingers, making movements hard, if not impossible. He easily overcomes that obstacle and keeps fucking you raw with the help of your come collecting on his palm. You’re so wet he barely has to try.

He looks at your profile on his shoulder. At the fucked out look in your eyes, misty and unfocused. Keenly listens to the moans you're trying to contain, as they turn into wheezing mewls. Feels the vice grip your pulsating cunt has on his fingers, the indents left by your teeth on his other hand.

Fuck it, you're gorgeous.

You come back down from the high with a wet gasp choked by his knuckles. Your nose is stuffy and it’s probably a little hard to breathe—but he’s merciful and takes out his fingers. 

Or, at least, tries. 

Your head lunges forward before he’s fully pulled them out. You gag when the tips touch the back of your throat again.  

Simon’s eyes widen but he doesn’t waste a second.

He resumes the pace that has already made you come, watching with rapt attention how your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. There’s spit on your lips, and tears down your eyes. He’s already seen you wrecked, folded in half on his bedsheets. But there’s something even more unhinged about having you panting in the common area of a high security military base. It feeds him a great deal of power—you’re doing this for him, you’re putting yourself on the line because of him. 

That, of course, requires a reward. 

“Look at you,” he croaks. “Gimme one more, yeah? One more.”

Your legs squirm and you kick your heels against the sofa in sudden overstimulation, the hold of your hands on his arm turns into a death grip that paints your knuckles white and his flesh red. You could be skinning him alive, and he wouldn’t stop the onslaught on your pussy. 

He can hear you heaving, sees your pebbled nipples brush against the soft cotton of your t-shirt. Your teeth are sinking into his flesh, and he will most likely be sporting bruised bite marks on his fingers for a few days. He rolls his wrist to cause fluctuations in the pressure on your swollen clit and against your walls. Your hips swing together with his hand. He knows where to touch, you know how to guide him—it’s an intimate dance, and it belongs to you two only.

Simon scratches his cheek against your temple to collect the tears that are falling into your hairline.

He flattens the heel of his hand against your clit, which is once again a stiff kink of nerves—he’s shocked by how far he can push you before he wrings you dry. 

Your eyes touch his own, but you’re not even looking. Still unsated, still greedy for more—you love this, don’t you? Too much on your shoulders: responsibilities, a haunting past and an uncertain future. This job gives you very few rewards for the effort you put into it. That’s why you love it, when he brushes away every fear and uncertainty with a simple roll of his hand. 

He starts beckoning his fingers inside of you, teasing and pressing against that one overstimulated spot that has already made you come. The squelching noises coming from your pussy are enough to make his cock leak as he keeps pressing and sliding against your ass.

“Leakin’ like a fuckin’ faucet.” He rasps against your ear.

You moan around his fingers, and it vibrates through his bones. Your eyes are hooded, lushes clumped with tears, and your body is completely abandoned and at his mercy. You trust him to ruin you in the best ways, and he can only comply.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispers in your ear. “Could cum just by lookin’ at ya.”

Feeding you this knowledge seems enough to tip you over the edge again.

He wishes he’d taken this to another room like you asked before, because you slip into a second orgasm with a choked “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck!” muffled by his digits that will haunt him forever.

A rushing flood invades his palm, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at the sight. You come spraying liquid, tense and quivering in his arms. The soft grey marl of your sweats first darkens with tiny speckles, and then it blends into a larger spot covering the crotch of your pants.

Breath is caught in your throat, and if he wasn't witnessing the strength of your orgasm firsthand, he'd be dead worried by the look on your face. Pinched and overwhelmed.

"There it is." He murmurs, low and gravelly, "Fuck, tha's a sight. Fuckin' lovely."

He leaves your hole to flutter emptily only to skim the pruny pads of his fingers on your clit to prolong your orgasm, watching mesmerized how your squirt keeps staining the fabric.

It’s impossibly hot and it makes something in his head tick at the sight, almost like a needle puncturing his brain. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously keeps rubbing the swollen head against your plump rear, before an unexpected warmth floods through him and invades each one of his nerves. 

He tastes blood on his tongue for how hard he’s been biting his cheek. 

Fuck.

A ragged breath around his fingers tells him you’ve returned to yourself. You soften against him like a doll prettily placed on his lap. 

"Breathe," he says softly, watching keenly as you come back to your senses. "Slow n' steady, love. Deep breaths. Tha's it."

His fingers slow, guiding you down to earth. Your eyes are hooded, glossy and now apparently sated, blood collected in the apples of your cheeks. You’re looking at him too, now gently suckling on his fingers to keep quiet, nostrils flaring to breathe as he's instructing you.

You’re so beautiful he forgets he has to be a bastard around you, or you’ll come and try to steal the heart you unknowingly already own.

Simon takes his fingers out of your mouth, not without smearing the spit they collected all over your lips first. You pant and smile. And apparently, you don't care that he's wearing the mask, because you lean in and kiss where his lips would be. Just a peck. He can’t fathom giving you more, not now. Not when his head is so confused, thoughts and feelings twisted in an imprecise knot. He simply kisses you back, silently cursing the fabric separating your skin from his, but ultimately doing nothing about it. Then, he helps you stand. 

“Go on, now.” He murmurs, patting your thigh. “S’after curfew.”

You're looking a little out of it. Simon can't help but feel a brief moment of guilt for leaving you to fend for yourself, when your legs look like they're made of jelly and your head still swims in ecstasy.

You wobble to the table, flattening your hands on the faux wood to regain your balance. Head bowed and still panting, your hair falls to frame your face and hides it from his sight. You feel dizzy, blinking your eyes to center yourself. The pleasure ebbs away slowly, languid, like molten lava leaving the crater of a volcano, dripping down your quivering legs scorching hot, until it puddles at your feet.

Differently, Simon doesn’t move from the sofa. A hand comes to adjust his crotch, and he lifts his hips to get into a more comfortable angle. He stays like that, legs spread as the ghost of you still sits in between them. His thumb grazes the fabric of the sweatpants he uses as loungewear, and he looks at you. Bent at the waist, wet, messy and panting—his name is written over you with a big, fat indelible marker. 

You’re his, his, his. No matter what you say, or what he says—you’re his.

Simon’s eyes are dark and heavy with lust and a tinge of anger, and you can feel them like lasers drawing your profile as if he’s carving it into marble. Whichever thought about him was about to bloom, however, is smothered to cinders when you spot the huge wet patch between your thighs.

Your eyes widen and you turn, if possible, even more flushed. Your head snaps upward and to him in a flash. Your eyes are burning, and Simon can’t help but think he’d love for you to scorch him to the bone.

“Y-You fuckin’ bastard.” You point an accusing finger in his direction, walking awkwardly as the sodden cotton of your knickers sticks uncomfortably to your pussy.

“Go on, I said.” He murmurs in his usual, jaded way. “S’late, you’re gonna get caught.”

You’re infuriated. Incensed. He wants to fuck you all over, flatten your tits to that same table, and ram into you while you shower him with curses and come.

“How am I s’posed to walk around like I’ve pissed myself!”

You’re whisper yelling. Smoke is billowing out of your ears. Your eyes turn crimson and you’re growing horns and a pointy tail.

You look beautiful.

But he simply rolls his neck and keeps his big hand draped over his groin. 

“With your legs, love.”

And you stomp to him until you’re standing once again between his thighs.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Simon throws back his head onto the top of the couch and looks at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown into a black hole that sucks the light of his brown irises.

“Can’t kill a ghost.”

"Oh, shut your gob with that shit.” You spit with vitriol. 

“Not so smug now, uh?”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“You-you fuckin’ wanker.” You hiss, but the embarrassed stutter makes you look like a puffed up cat more than a viper. “I fuckin’ hate you.”

“Bet you do.”

“I’m a respected sergeant, I can’t go ‘round like I’ve piss-”

“That all?”

You glower at him. If he didn’t know you like the back of his hand, he would cower. Shame for you that he does, and the irate flame in your eyes only makes his hunger grow because he knows how voracious you are when you’re furious. 

“Told ya t’was a punishment, didn’t I?” He deadpans, “Jog on, now.”

Once again, you splutter. It would be such an entertaining sight, one he’d relentlessly tease you for, if he was in the mood. But he isn't, and in fact, he needs you to leave as soon as humanly possible.

You clench your fists, probably ready to strike him right in his mug. Totally deserved it, he’d let you get him straight on the nose. 

But then you huff and strike you don’t, stomping your foot on the floor like an angry child. Cleverly, you decide to put your hands to better use and tug down the hem of your oversized t-shirt instead—trying to cover, as best as you can, the wet patch on the crotch of your pants.

Scowling, you threaten him with a sizzling “I’m gonna make you pay for it, Riley.”

You turn around, marching away with ire in each one of your steps as if the soles of your feet could melt the linoleum of the floors by sheer, angry heat.

“Sure you will.” He murmurs to himself, knowing fully well he’s started a battle he’ll gladly let you win. 

Simon waits for the noise of your steps to disappear before he sinks into the couch with a defeated sigh. Tugging off the balaclava, he runs a sloppy hand across his face. He can still smell you on his fingers and something in his stomach knots.

Wearily, his eyes travel down his torso until they meet the hand covering the crotch of his sweatpants. With his thumb, he traces the purple indents left by your teeth at base of each finger. Tomorrow, he’ll wear them proudly. A weird promise ring, sure. But yours, nonetheless.

He lifts his hand slowly and scowls.

An incriminating stain stares back at him. Untouched, softening cock sensitive to the barest of movements he makes. 

Looks like you’ll meet again tomorrow in the laundry room, first thing in the morning.

[salemlunaa]

❦ TAPPING INTO THE VOID BUT YOU ALWAYS FALL ASLEEP?

It’s okay sleepyhead, we’ve all been there…

so a lot of people talk to me about the fact that they are trying to tap into the void/“I AM” but they will get super uncomfortable or just fall asleep trying. Then it cuts to them waking up pissed off and upset that they are still in their shitty realities. I feel like so many people have this issue but no one really speaks about it, and to get most blogs to give advice about this specific topic, a lot of the time you have to ask them directly by dming or asking. i’ve also had this problem and let me tell you it’s one: frustrating as hell to deal with and two: no one really speaks about this problem. Here, we talk a lot about giving up, getting too scared at the last second but we never talk about dozing off.

but never fear, sai is here!!

If you are struggling with this i want you to know that as frustrating as it is, it’s so easy to get out of this rut. I would highly recommend starting earlier, i personally love SATS as do many people in the community, but be honest with yourself love, if you see yourself sleeping off i recommend starting earlier than the state right before you sleep as you will have more control of your body.

I also want you guys to try sleeping to waves, whether it be alpha, epsilon, delta and whatever, fall asleep to waves, repeating “I AM” until you doze off. And i know it may be hard for your mind to stick to it but you can, i KNOW you can

you can even try entering during the day, and no it doesn’t always have to be at night because you’re a god and don’t need to be a slave to “time”. you can enter perfectly during the day and it’s just as easy as doing it in the night, don’t let limiting beliefs be the death of you. You can even use the day to affirm that when you sleep you immediately tap into the void/“I AM”, because you are a god, it will become fact when you decide.

I also need you guys to flip your thoughts, and you’ve probably heard this a thousand and one times so i will allow an eye roll just this once, BUT it’s actually something you need to do, don’t tell me “i get it, sai!!” and then come back after another day gone, don’t go around a cycle. I need you to live in the reality in which you are a master of the void and you have never slept off before. I’m gonna say this until i die but the law of assumption is a LAW not belief or superstition A LAW, meaning it can never, ever, ever fail. like ever. If you stand firm in the fact that you don’t have this problem and you are so powerful that there isn’t any time for sleeping, your reality will reflect that 110%

“i fell asleep again even though i told myself i was entering today”

“i hate myself omg i slept off AGAIN”

“i’m such a failure”

SHUT UP, SERIOUSLY? like do i seriously need to remind you who YOU ARE?

“i am a master at the void, failure simply doesn’t exist to me”

“i tap into the void/“I AM” so fast that i don’t even have time to sleep”

“i’m a god and i’ve decided the void always goes well for me”

You can do it, i dont think so, i KNOW it, for a fact, because you’re a god and i’ll be damned if you give up on everything because your body keeps dozing off.

YOU DONT FALL ASLEEP. YOU GET IN INSTANTLY. FLIP YOUR THOUGHTS, SLEEPYHEAD, AND YOULL FIND THAT YOUR DREAM LIFE ISNT FAR… 💋💞

[dcmcboxers]

My shout-out to queer youtubers

Hbombs list was great but obviously not comprehensive. I watch a lot of video essayists and wanted to give a little love to the smaller channels that fall under the radar. Please feel free to add to this list!

let's talk about stuff/Sarah Zedig

If you've seen Jesse Gender's videos on the Matrix movies you may already be familiar with Sarah. She does excellent film and culture analysis with a lot of great conversations on paratext and outside influence in engaging with text. Her video on Tunic is one of my favorites.

Pamphleteer

No one makes videos like hers, which has the side effect making them a bit hard to describe. I will link one of my favorites which describes the disconnected temporality of being older when you discover you're queer.

Turbo Queer

Really really under watched channel. Skylar covers a lot of topics from video games, to anarchist history and modern events, to autistic life, to current politics. For a fun one check out her video on the SpongeBob strike episode.

Kaz Rowe

Kaz does a fantastic job examining modern myths and manufactured history primarily pertaining to western Europe, Victorian & Edwardian England, and 1800-1900s US. And of course, talking about historical queerness in all its ambiguities and evolutions. I highly recommend their video on Weimar Germany.

drapetomania

drapetomania interrogates the politics of low class and high class art and entertainment from a queer and Black perspective. Their art history videos alone cover many angles of white supremacist history I haven't seen anyone else discuss and I'm very excited to see more from them. They are also a very under viewed channel that more people should see!

I am error

Evelynn's channel primarily discusses video games in a presentation style and voice most similar to Action Button reviews. There's something just a bit more personal here though. I hesitate to say cozy since that word has a bit of an infantilizing connotation, maybe comforting is closer. She puts an immense amount of thought and empathy into the experience of playing video games and the personal narratives we build with them.

Swolesome

For more transmasc perspectives there's Swolesome. He has a lot of interesting insights into the more traditionally masculine and "broish" communities like fitness as well as commentary on recent trans issues.

Shonalika

Music, disability, and aggressively non-binary. Their video on gender presentation in heavy metal was really insightful. I would also check out the video "Why I Wear Gloves" for more insight on invisible disabilities.

Vivian Strange

Vivian delights in being a bit of a contrarian- something I really appreciate. She's probably going to challenge you and you're probably going to disagree at times, which is what makes her channel so important. Her video on Marquis De Sade is powerful and a must watch (if you can stomach the subject material, although I would encourage you to try). I haven't seen her most recent video on Saw yet but I am extremely excited to.

[faithisyours]

can you write something about az eating out reader while she reads!

Absolutely obsessed with this request. Here you are, Love. Hope it’s everything you hoped for and more 🫶

Just Keep Reading

Azriel x Fem!reader

CW: smut, oral F receiving, fingering, I think that's it

Word count: 1.5k

It’s your day off, and on your days off you tend to curl up with a good book and read for the entire day. So that is what you are doing, curled up in your reading chair in the corner of your living room reading a smutty little romance novel Nesta had recommended. And it’s safe to say it was a good one, because you can't seem to put it down.

You hadn’t realized how long you’ve been reading until Azriel comes home, pulling you out of your reading trance. And just as you’re getting to the smutty part, too. As he walks into the living room, you look up from your book and give him a warm smile. He returns it, and gives you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading into your shared bedroom to change into something more comfortable than what he’s currently wearing.

You continue reading, which now has just turned to pure smut. You look towards the bedroom to make sure Azriel doesn’t see your giddiness, then you dive into reading. Subconsciously, your thighs start to rub together, and your scent gets sweeter, thicker.

All the way from in the bedroom, Azriel can smell you, or rather, the change in how you smell. He pokes his head out, looking to see what has gotten his mate smelling so sweetly. Silently he makes his way back to the living room to find you curled up even tighter than you were before, nose buried in your book, and the smell of you getting headier by the second.

When you notice he's standing right in front of you, you startle, looking like a deer caught in the faelights. You watch as a small grin takes over his mouth. “What are you reading?” he inquires, an eyebrow raising.

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly.

“Is this one of Nesta's books?” You don’t respond, but he already knows the answer. He takes a step closer to you. “How long have you been in this chair? Your legs must be stiff by now, no?” The change in subject is suspicious, but you're hoping this means he’s going to drop the fact that he just caught you reading smut in the middle of the afternoon. Without waiting for an answer, he kneels down in front of you and grabs one of your legs, pulling it towards him. You let out a small squeak at the sudden change in position. Azriel, as always, was right in guessing you’d be stiff. “Keep reading,” he says when he notices you've stopped.

He starts massaging your leg, staring at the ball of your foot and making his way up to your calf muscle, working his thumb in soothing circles. After a couple minutes he pulls your other leg out towards him, massaging that one too. It would be enjoyable if you weren’t so pent up already from your book.

As you continue reading, the chapters just keep getting smuttier. No wonder Nesta highly recommended this one. You can feel slick gathering at your core, can smell your own arousal getting thicker in the air around you. Azriel’s grip on you gets tighter, so you risk a glance over the top of your book to look at his face. His jaw is clenched, but that’s the only fault in his mask. He continues massaging your legs, paying seemingly no mind to you otherwise.

Even though Azriel looks fine, internally he is not. Your scent is driving him mad, and the fact that it isn’t him causing you to smell like that is getting him wound up faster than usual. A soft gasp escapes you, and that’s when he snaps. His hands glide up your thighs and towards the top of your lounge pants, pulling down on the waist.

“Azriel, what-”

He cuts you off. “Shh, just keep reading.”

Reluctantly, you do as he says. Or at least try to do as he says. Your brain short circuits a little when he pulls down your pants, panties along with them, the motion jerking you bottom half closer to the edge of your chair, closer to his mouth. You're naked from the waist down, and all you can focus on is Azriel’s gaze burning holes into your flesh.

“Az, seriously what-” you try to protest again, but he cuts you off a second time.

“Keep. Reading,” he growels, and then his mouth is on you, biting and licking and sucking his way up your thighs towards your soaked core.

You’re trying to read, and it's kind of working, until Azriel parts you with one hand and gives you a long, thorough lick up your core and hums.

“Lucky me,” he says between licks, “To have a mate wet and ready for me when I get home.” you squirm at his words, at the attention he's giving your clit. The hand that parted you goes to your hip, ceasing your squirming, the other curls around your thigh, digging fingers into flesh. “Keep reading or I stop,” he warns, when he sees you've stopped again. You take a deep breath and continue.

You manage to read a couple more pages before doing anything other than moaning seems impossible. Both of your legs are now swung over Azriel’s shoulders, and the hand not clutching your book in a death grip is white-knuckling the arm of the chair. His nose nudges your clit as his tongue teases at your entrance. You don’t want him to stop, but right now all you can do is lean your head back and pant.

But then he does stop, and it’s earth-shattering in a bad way. You look down to meet his eyes, which are full of determination and hunger. “Read,” he demands. You blink a couple times in hopes it will clear your mind, and start reading again. It takes you a second to find where you were, but you eventually find it and begin. But Azriel doesn’t. “Aloud.” His voice is low, so low you barely hear him. “Read aloud,” he states again. It takes you a second to completely understand what he is saying, what he’s asking you to do. But you know not to question Azriel when he’s like this, so you shove your pride down and start reading.

“His hand drifted over my thighs,” you start, glancing over your book to Azriel, making sure he heard you. “And his touch was like liquid fire.” Azriel’s head finally drops down to between your thighs, pressing kiss after kiss to your thighs and pussy, teasing, taunting his touch.

“His fingers parted me,” you continue, “feeling how wet I was, how warm and ready I was to take him.” Azriel groans at your words, sending shockwaves through your body. ““So…so sweet,”” you stutter, trying to regain some of your composure and failing miserably as Azriel starts using his tongue again. ““So soft,” he cooed against my clit. I…”” you gasp as he works a finger into you, curling to find that perfect spot.

“You what?” he prompts, urging you to continue. If only it was that easy.

“I squirmed in his grasp, but…his other hand,” your panting, whimpering between every phrase, “His other hand circled my waist, pinning me back against his chest.”

Your divine noises are music to Azriel’s ears. And hearing you recite the filthy things you read is even more of a turn on. He should do this more often, he thinks, but for now, he adds a second finger into you on a hard thrust, which has you moaning his name along with a slew of other expletives.

“Oh my gods, Azriel, please,” The fingers of your free hand reach for Az’s head, threading through his thick dark hair. “Plese, don’t stop.” He wants to make you keep reading, wants to hear those filthy words come out of your mouth, but your begging has him doing exactly as you say. He doesn’t stop. In fact, he speeds up, thrusting his fingers into your dripping heat, licking and sucking and nipping at your clit.

And then you’re coming, clenching onto his fingers so he can barely move them, thighs bracing his head as you ride through your waves of pleasure. And he works you through it, continuing the attention on your clit, rubbing his hand over your thigh to sooth you. Eventually you return to your body, becoming aware that your book is now on the floor, you’ve just come in the middle of your living room, and that Azriel still has that hunger in his eye.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, but it isn’t really a question. You shed yourself of your top layers, getting completely naked, and launch yourself at Azriel, who catches you and carries you towards the bedroom, much more fun to be had in there. Of course you’re ready for round two.

—

Also, just wanted to mention that I started a ko-fi for tips. No pressure of course. Just figured I’d start one since I’m a student with not much of an income at the moment. Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)

[lilacs-stars]

burning passion of twilight

this is part 2, recommended you read part 1 first! (to avoid confusion) pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is ariel's daughter and a mermaid) SUMMARY: as an enemy of the infamous pirate captain starts making advances on you, you are caught between the waves of your lover and the beaming rays of light given to you by another. GENRE: yandere, quite a bit of angst, comforting fluff at the end, a touch of spice CW: a bit of cursing, mentions of violence (sword fight, small injuries, threats), mentions of blood (just a few cuts), lots of hurt moments (from arguing), reader gets harassed, jealousy, possessiveness, suggestive material at the end, also uses of the word 'lover' instead of boyfriend or girlfriend because it fit the setting more WC: 5.5k (did I go overboard? ...maybe)

A/N: me? obsessed with this man? yes, yes I am. the things I felt when writing this...ahhh we love ourselves a jealous man. shoutout to everyone who read and supported part 1, I really didn't think people would actually enjoy reading my writing loll. I know this one is kinda long, so please bear with me. also thanks once again to the anon who requested this, this was a super fun idea to do! all feedback and suggestions are highly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts!

“…and then, out of nowhere, BAM! The entire thing explodes!” cries a boy not much older than you, with ginger hair and dressed in a simple green button-up shirt. 

Your entire table erupts in laughter, with you sparing a small giggle. It is early morning, and you are sitting with your usual group in the dining hall. You’re only close friends with a few of them, and merely friendly acquaintances with the others. After all, you aren’t really the extroverted, talkative type. Not like the boy retelling the story of how he pranked the headmaster last quarter, somehow with the same enthusiasm as the first ten times he told it. 

Peter Pan is one of the members of your large group that you aren’t really close with. Although he is considered to be on the “good” side of the hero-villain spectrum, he sure has his mischievous side. 

He is also incredibly extroverted, chatting up anyone he lays his eyes on. Which is why you've always chalked up his attempts to start a conversation with you to his gregarious personality, and nothing more. 

Still, you try your best not to get too close to him. Although James has never directly said anything about him to you, you can sense that there’s some…tension between them. Although he tries to act discreet, you’ve still caught on to the way James glowers at Pan whenever you’re with your group—although he doesn’t take much action, as villains and heroes don’t really mix. How he slips his arm around your waist and pulls you in tight whenever he catches sight of Pan, and even the few times he’s used his hook to pull you into a kiss right in front of the person who appears to be his enemy. Not to mention how he always happens to find you with some urgent matter or other that desperately needs your attention whenever you and Pan are having—or trying to have—a conversation. Although, now that you think about it, James does do that quite often whenever you speak to any guy besides him. 

Pan catches your eye from across the table, and you can tell he’s waiting for some sort of reaction for his latest joke. You give a polite smile, not really knowing what they had been talking about anyways, and turn away to chat with one of your friends. Whatever’s going on between those two, you don’t care, and you sure don’t want to ruffle any feathers. 

Your morning class this semester is Potions and Elixirs 101, in which you happen, by some cruel stroke of fate, to be seated next to the one and only Peter Pan. What is especially annoying about this class—or rather, about your table partner—is that you always end up doing most of the work yourself, being the only one out of your duo that actually listens to instructions. 

The teacher explains how today, your class will be making Shanty Serum, an anti-seasickness remedy. After he goes over the requirements a dozen times, you finally set off on the mission of brewing the potion, which is always done in a pair with your table mate. 

Everything is going fine, of course; you crush the siren teeth into a fine powder, and Pan, following your careful instructions, manages to brew the kraken saliva until it comes to a soft boil. Just as you reach the final steps, you crinkle your nose as a strange smoky odor fills your senses. You look up from your textbook to see your potion, which you worked so hard on, bubbling and overflowing from the cauldron. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry professor! I could have sworn I only put in two unicorn hairs!” Pan cries, jumping back to avoid getting purple goo all over himself. You shoot him a glare, and he adds on, “And I’m sorry to you too, Y/N! I really am!”

You sigh and shake your head, flipping through your textbook to find the page where it explains how to counter excess unicorn hair. Through a bit of luck and a decent amount of skill, you manage to save your potion and not get a terrible grade on it, either. 

The last few minutes of class, Pan walks up to you. “Look, Y/N, I’m really sorry about earlier. I know you tried really hard to get the potion right, and I just messed it up. God, I’m such a clutz.” He scratches the back of his head as he looks down at his shoes sheepishly. “Hey, but if you’ll let me, I can make it up to you! Say, you got any plans Friday night?”

His eyes light up as he looks at you with a puppy-dog gaze, and your heart melts a little at his attempt for redemption. But then again, you did promise yourself to keep a good distance from him…

“I-I’m, uhm, well, I was planning to study that night,” you say, which isn’t really much of a lie. “I mean, with midterms coming up and whatnot,” you tack on with a bit of an awkward laugh. 

“Saturday night?” Pan pushes, eyes still alight with hope. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m, uh, I’m going out with friends that night. But maybe some other time?” you flash him an apologetic smile, guilt gnawing at your insides as a result of pushing him away. Honestly, you don’t know why James has it out for the poor guy. He seems like the friendly sort to you. 

You quickly duck away and move to the other side of the classroom, deciding to meet up with some friends to get away from the stifling silence between the two of you. Deep down, you knew you wouldn't be able to resist Pan’s offer if you had stayed behind to see the disappointed, rejected look on his face. Still, you couldn’t help but glance back at his direction, feeling endlessly shameful for your cold actions. 

You thought that would be the end of that, but little did you realize, in that moment, how wrong you were.

School finally lets out and the afternoon rolls around again, which means you stand patiently waiting in the courtyard again for James. You pace around the water fountain, fingers lightly tracing along the rim, humming a tune under your breath. 

This fountain has always reminded you of the sea, the rolling waves of the ocean, how the cold water brushes against your skin while it hugs you in a tight embrace. Just thinking about swimming makes your legs ache to morph back into a tail and take off into the blue depths. The worst part about going to the Academy, in your opinion, is that it’s so far from any bodies of water that the only times you get to finally enjoy yourself in your mermaid form is when you’re off for the holidays.

Just as you make your way halfway around the fountain, you see something move on the other side of the water out of the corner of your eye. “Y/N?” a voice calls out. 

You walk back around the fountain to be met with… “Pan?” you ask, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I saw you come this way after school, and um, I’ve been feeling really bad the whole day for how I screwed up in P&E earlier,” he explains earnestly. “And so, I was thinking, I really want to make sure that I don’t mess up like that again. For both your sake, and my grades’.” He gives a little chuckle at his joke, before straightening his face out again.

“So, uhm, I was wondering, would you be willing to help me out? You don’t have to fully tutor me or anything, but maybe help me study and give me a few tips?”

There it is again. That spark of hope in his eyes. And honestly, how could you turn him down twice? After how sincerely he apologized earlier, and now with how he’s still thinking of you and trying to prevent himself from causing more trouble. You may have your priorities when it comes to relationships, but you still have morals, too. And there is absolutely no way you can reject him again, especially when he’s so desperate to improve. 

“Well…yeah, all right. I’ll help you out,” you say, trying to force a smile on your face. 

Pan beams, excitement lighting up his features. “Wow, really? Thanks so much, Y/N! You won’t regret it, I swea—”

Pan’s eyes quickly dart to a point above your head, perhaps catching a glimpse of something behind you. Whatever the cause, he stops dead in the middle of his sentence, face dropping. He goes pale for a second, before morphing his features into a hard and cold gaze. Shocked, you turn around to see what could have caused such a sudden change in his demeanor. 

And lo and behold, behind you stands a dark, glowering James, still half-concealed by the shadows behind him. He holds Pan’s cold gaze menacingly with a dark, furious, yet somehow misleadingly calm look of his own. Then, with no warning, he stomps towards you, ensnaring your arm within his hook as he drags you away. You barely catch his grumbled “Come on, we’re leaving” as you stumble backwards from his tug, practically running to keep up with his wide strides. 

He leads you down a number of empty corridors and doesn’t let you go until you finally reach a deserted staircase. The second he stops hauling you away from the courtyard, you yank your arm back to your side, panting from the difficulty of keeping up with him. 

James spins sharply on his heel, angry glare locked with your confused, half-mad, half-hurt gaze. 

“Care to tell me what the hell all that was about, love?” he snarls. Darkness swirls around in his vicious eyes, deep and unrelenting like the crashing waves of the ocean, and equally as violent.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” you spit back. 

“What the hell does Peter Pan want to do with you?”

“First of all, he’s my partner in Potions,” you reply heatedly, trying your best to hold back the angry tears you can feel already forming in your eyes. “And he was asking if I could help him study. As an apology for messing up earlier today. What’s so wrong with that?”

James laughs darkly, muttering, “Damn it, that bastard,” under his breath. He rocks his head back and forth, pairing it with a wicked, twisted smile that sends cold chills down your spine.

“I don’t understand what’s so wrong with that!” you cry out, feeling hot tears already start to trickle down your face. 

“Don’t you see?” spits James, taking a step towards you and waving his hook wildly in some form of gesture. “He’s trying to steal you from me!”

At this, you recoil, blinking slowly. You can feel the emotions simmering in you, deep down. The calm before the storm. 

“Steal me? From you? Steal me?” you ask, the emotions and fury building inside you like a rising wave. You take a step back from him, your voice rising. 

“Look, Pan and I may not be mates, but I know him well,” James snaps, clearly pissed. “And I can tell you right now that he doesn’t have any good intentions towards you.”

“Steal me? Like I’m some sort of treasure to be claimed? Like I’m an object?” you cry out, exasperated and relentless.

Something flashes across James’s eyes for a split second, some emotion or thought that is rather undecipherable. His features soften slightly, reminiscent of how he was when you sang for him under the moonlight not so long ago. As if his rational mind is finally catching up to his emotional words, his face falls, furrowed brows loosen a bit, and the cold anger in his eyes gives way to a more tender side of him. Maybe if you looked hard enough, you could also see a hint of regret laced in there. 

“No, I’m sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that,” he calls out after you. But it’s too late; you’re already running down the empty hall, away from James. Away from all your problems. 

You’re half-asleep when you show up to Potions and Elixirs 101 the next morning. After your fight yesterday with James, you simply couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. It’s the first time you two fought like this, and you honestly don’t know what to do or how to feel. Sure, you’re still angry at him for the way he acted, but at the same time, you miss his comforting embrace, his soft laughs, the touch of his skin against yours. 

You sit down at your assigned table, trying your best to ignore the ginger next to you. Today, you’re taking notes on a lecture the teacher is giving, so you thankfully won’t have to do much talking to Pan. 

You make sure to listen as intently as possible to the professor, wanting to fill your mind with something other than thoughts of your argument earlier. You pay attention to taking notes so closely that you nearly forget all about your problems. That is, until you’re reminded again at the end of class, as you’re putting your things away alongside everyone else. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Pan asks from beside you. 

“Yeah?” you reply, feigning nonchalance. You make sure to keep your head down as you stuff your notebook into your bag. Oh, please let this be about the homework we were just assigned and nothing else. 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”

Well, damn it. 

You think about giving a quick response to end the conversation, but in all honesty, you don’t really know if he expects you to accept his apology, or give one of your own. You aren't quite sure who is in the wrong here, but you are sure of one thing: saying the wrong thing will not do you any favors in solving your problems.

“What about yesterday?” You try to keep your tone light, as if it’s all water under the bridge, but you can’t help the apprehensiveness that leaks into your voice. 

“Well, I wanted to apologize if I was interrupting something between you two back there,” Pan starts.

You give him a small, apologetic smile, “No, don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting anything,”

“In that case…” Pan runs a hand through his hair as he lets out a quick exhale, before locking eyes with you and asking, “Why are you still with him?”

His blunt question startles you, sending your mind reeling for a response. “I-I don’t know…I just am,” you say, wishing this conversation would be over already. You had never been a big fan of difficult questions that made you doubt everything you knew, or thought you knew, about yourself. 

“He treats you terribly. I’ve seen the way he acts. He’s a terrible lover, Y/N.”

You turn to face Pan directly, a defensive glint in your eye at his accusatory tone. “No, he’s not!” You turn away again as you mumble a small, “And he’s not my lover.”

At this, Pan quirks an eyebrow and gives you a look with a very obvious meaning behind it. “Oh please, have you never seen how he is around you? Of course he’s your lover.” Without missing a beat, Pan tacks on, “And a shitty one at that.”

You huff angrily, but you can’t think of anything to shoot back at him besides blatant denials. Pan must have taken this as an offer to continue, because he steps forward and places a gentle hand on your upper arm. 

“I’m saying this because I care about you, Y/N. You deserve someone a lot better than the likes of James Hook. Someone who will treat you right, take you out on dates whenever you want, and proudly walk around in public with your hand in theirs. Not someone who only meets up with you after school so nobody sees and acts like you don’t exist half the time.”

Your anger only grows at his words, knowing that his accusations aren’t true and that James does care about you…right? Because underneath the part of you that is always ready to defend James entirely and completely, is a part of you that doubts it, doubts him. It’s always been there, lingering in the back of your mind ever since your unusual relationship started to blossom. And now, with a new layer of hurt and confusion having been peeled back during your fight last night, that part of you wondered, deep down, if Pan was right. 

“You need a better lover, Y/N,” Pan continues. “Someone who truly cares about you. Someone…someone like me.”

Your eyes blow wide at his revelation as your mouth parts slightly in shock. You take a step backwards, shrugging off Pan’s hand as you stumble away from him. 

“Wait, please, just hear me out,” he pleads. “Just give me one chance. One chance to prove myself to you. You gave Hook a chance when you started trusting him, didn’t you? And he’s a villain. So why can’t you give me a chance? You won’t regret it, I promise.” He moves closer to you and you keep inching away, until your back collides with a wall and you realize that you have nowhere to run. 

Pan continues forward, your fear skyrocketing at his increasing proximity. “Please?” he begs. “I could treat you right. So much better than Hook.”

He finally reaches you, standing far closer than you would have normally let him, or anyone else, for that matter, as he cups your cheek with his left hand. Truth be told, it feels nice to sense warm flesh on your skin instead of the cold, harsh metal of James’s hook. But you shake that thought away almost instantly, chastising yourself for, even for a moment, putting Pan above James. 

Pan places his free hand on the wall next to your head and leans in even closer. “Please?” he whispers, his warm breath fanning across your cheek. 

The feeling of his exhale, paired with his natural scent that you only smell now when he’s this close, takes you back to that day when you first met James. He had leaned in too, whispering in your ear. You had felt his breath on your skin, breathed in his scent.

You feel an odd sense of deja vu, but for some reason, this interaction causes your heart to race out of pure fear, rather than the exhilarating rush you felt when you were with James. The realization causes you to snap out of your trance and go into full-on panic mode. “N-no, I’m sorry, I…”

Pan growls, not backing away. “Come one! How come you gave a villain a chance and you won’t give me one? That’s not fair!”

Your breathing quickens in pace, the panic settling over you and dragging you deep under like a wave at sea. Your palms start sweating profusely, and you can hear your heart racing a thousand miles a minute. You’re pretty sure this is what people mean when they mention one’s fight or flight response. 

“No! Just, just leave me alone!” you cry, ducking under his arm and rushing away from him just as the bell rings. You run into the hallway, trying to put as much distance between you and him as possible. 

You finally make it to the dining hall, plopping down at a table far away from your usual spot. You don’t care if you have to eat alone; anything to get away from Pan. Your mind is already wandering to thoughts of how to convince your Potions and Elixirs teacher to let you switch seats when you notice a lot of commotion next to the entrance of the dining hall. 

People have started crowding around the doors and murmuring to each other. Curious, you get up from your seat, wandering over to see what’s causing the commotion. As you near, you hear distant shouting and the sound of metallic clinking. You move even closer still, and finally catch snippets of people’s conversations.

“...fighting…”

“over…girl…” “Wait, who’s winning?”

“...did you see that?” “Oh my god…he’s gonna kill him!”

You try to stand up straight to get a look at what's causing the commotion, but the large crowd that has amassed blocks everything from view. “What’s going on?” you ask, not really to anyone in particular.

“Didn’t you hear?” a short, round boy, with big glasses to match his wide eyes answers. You recognize him as Smee from some of your classes. “James Hook is fighting a duel against Peter Pan!”

James…fighting…what? You blink in absolute disbelief. There is no way this is happening right now.

You manage to push your way to the front of the crowd, albeit not without many disgruntled mumbles thrown your way, until you get a clear view of the corridor in front of the dining hall.

You stand there, petrified, as you watch. Hell, it is really happening. James and Pan each have their swords unsheathed and are violently swinging them at each other’s heads, parrying the other’s attacks with deafening clashes of steel.

“You bastard!” James yells, taking another swing at Pan.

Pan jumps back, floating a few feet in the air as he does so, with a laugh. “Oh please, all I wanted to do was treat her right. Unlike you.”

James grits his teeth, countering Pan’s blow with one of his own. “You tried to steal my girl!”

Pan rolls his eyes, continuing the back-and-forth between their swords. “Your girl? As she said herself, you’re not even her lover.” James ducks down to avoid Pan’s latest attack. “Ha, how amusing indeed.” A dark glint shines in his eye as he lets out a cold and malicious laugh, before charging forward once again. “Of course I’m her lover, you bilge-sucking scoundrel! She belongs to me!”

Your eyes grow impossibly wider at those words. It shouldn’t come as much of a shock to you as it does; after all, it’s not like you and James haven’t been acting like a couple for the past few months. But still, you had managed to convince yourself that it was nothing serious, since he had never once directly talked about what you were. And hearing him say it out loud…declaring to the whole school that you were his…it made your heart feel unspeakable things.

“Well, you sure as hell don’t act that way,” Pan bites back, nicking James’s cheek. James recoils for a second, raising his hook to his face and wiping at the gash. He looks down at it, and from your front-row seat you can see the blood smeared against the glistening metal. 

James looks back up at Pan, raises his cutlass, and resumes the fight with a new vigor. Every hit more violent than the last, every offensive move aiming at a critical point. “I’m gonna kill you!” James yells as he lands a blow on Pan’s right arm. 

This gash seems rather deep—far deeper than the one previously inflicted on James—the blood already leaking out and staining Pan’s sleeve. He winces and steps back, but continues the fight. 

You stand there, motionless, too afraid to do anything. Maybe a braver person than you would step in, tell them to stop fighting. But your feet remain planted to the floor, your jaw aching from being clenched so hard as you pray for no one to get seriously hurt.

Pan parries one of James’s attacks and does a quick spin, rapidly gaining momentum with his sword as he turns around and aims the blade…

…directly at James’s head.

A small whimper escapes your throat as the roar of metal hitting metal echoes through the hall. You gasp, heart in your hands, as your eyes take a moment to register the scene in front of you.

James has caught Pan’s blade in the curve of his hook, holding it just inches away from his head. Their arms tremble with strain, with Pan trying to break James’s defense and slash through his neck, and James fighting to prevent him from doing so. They lock eyes, an endless, unspoken conversation passing between them in that moment. Pan’s sword inches closer to James’s head, whose back is bent as he struggles to hang on. 

With a sudden swoosh, James yanks his hook in a downward motion, spinning Pan’s sword inside of its arch. A terrible screech sounds at the rubbing of metal against metal as the sword gets wriggled free from Pan's grasp. James jerks his hook backwards, and the sword launches out of his opponent's hands.

The entire audience lets out a collective gasp as Pan’s sword lands with a clang! against the rough marble floors, off to the side. Everyone is dead silent, holding their breaths with anticipation of what’s to come.

You watch as the realization of his defeat dawns upon Pan, the fear blossoming in his eyes as James extends his cutlass to Pan’s throat. He presses the sharp tip into his neck, lightly enough not to break skin, but still firmly so no one, not even Pan, doubts his opponent's defeat.

“Apologize,” James demands, voice booming across the corridor, tone rather befitting for the captain of a ship.

“I-I’m sorry!” Pan pleas, just now aware of what a dangerous predicament he had gotten himself into.

“Not to me, you moron. To her.” James jerks his head backwards to where you’re standing, in the front of the audience, eyes blown wide. 

Pan turns to face you, eyes locking with yours amidst the crowd. “I’m sorry! Truly, I am! Please, forgive me!” he cries.

James snarls, pulling his sword back, poised to strike a lethal blow. He thrusts his hand forward, straight towards Pan’s chest…

…but doesn’t ever reach it.

Everyone watches, confused—James more so than anyone else—as his hand remains suspended in midair. A soft blue force field shimmers around his arm, just as loud footsteps and an old, yet assertive, voice fills the hall.

“Fighting on school grounds is strictly against school policy, you know.” The headmaster, Merlin, walks in from the opposite side of the hall. His steps echo loudly against the high ceilings, filling the otherwise dead-silent area. “Boys, you come with me. The rest of you, get to your classes.”

The crowd slowly disperses as Merlin whisks James and Pan away. You still stand there, feet glued to the floor, watching their backs until they disappear from sight.

You didn’t see neither James nor Pan in your classes for the rest of the day, and you assumed you wouldn’t be seeing them for a while. The headmaster was generally a kind soul, but he was strict when it came to breaking rules. You didn’t know what punishment he had come up with for them, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

Which is why you’re rather surprised when you open your locker at the end of the day to find a note flutter out and land at your feet. Curious, you pick it up and read it. “Meet me at our spot after school. -J.”

A small grin makes its way across your face, although you try your best to help it. You don’t know why, but reading James’s little notes always brings you joy, even if you are in a tight spot with him. 

You make your way to the courtyard, where James is waiting for you by the water fountain once again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice back to being gentle and soft. You open your mouth to respond, but he puts his hook against your lips, quieting you. “I need to get this out first before you yell at me.”

“I wanted to see you to apologize for my actions. After hearing what Pan said…” His eyes wander down to the ground as a grimace spreads across his features. “I’ve come to the realization that he’s right, love.”

You raise your eyebrows at his statement, shocked at the confession. Cocking you head to the side, you wait for him to continue.

“I haven’t been treating you the way I should. And that is going to change, starting today. I also have to ask for your forgiveness for my actions earlier…it was wrong for me to get upset at you for speaking to Pan. But seeing you act so kindly to my enemy…it really struck something inside of me.”

“James,” you breathe, lifting his hook up to your cheek and placing your hand on top of it. “It’s fine, I forgive you.”

“Even for dueling Pan?”

You let out a small giggle. “Yes, that too. Although, I must admit, I did find you fighting for me to be kind of attractive.”

“Oh?” James asks with an intrigued smile dancing on his lips. He uses his free hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. “Then I suppose I’ll have to start more fights then.”

You giggle again, happy to finally be in your lover’s arms. Truth be told, you had mentally forgiven him long ago. Ever since the night of your argument, you had just wished it would all end, that you two would go back to the way things were.

“Why...why did you start that fight with Pan?” you ask, the question having been on your mind for a while.

James slowly lets out a breath before responding. “I heard of how he harassed you in your class earlier. The thought of him putting his hands on you…making you uncomfortable…it was just unbearable, love. I don't care what it cost me; he had to pay for what he did.”

You process this, giving a small nod. Although you don’t quite agree with his methods, you still find his protectiveness endearing.

“I have something to ask you, as well, darling,” James inquires. You meet his gaze, signaling for him to go on. “Did you really say that I wasn’t your lover?”

“I, well, uh…” your voice trails off. You were hoping that he hadn't quite caught that when Pan said it, but apparently he had. Glancing back up at James’s face, you wish you didn’t see the pain etched into his features, all but hidden by the mask he always puts up.

“Well…” you start. “You never said anything about us officially dating, and I didn’t want to presume…” You look down at your shoes, avoiding his burning stare.

James removes his hook from your cheek and slips it under your chin, gently tilting your head upwards towards him. “And here I thought that it was so obvious, I didn’t even need to mention it to you, my little mermaid.”

You give a small grin, finally at peace within your lover’s arms. “You can never be too sure,” you whisper, leaning in and intertwining your lips with his in a passionate kiss, the intensity building around the two of you.

James takes a few steps backwards as you lean into him, still locked in your embrace, his leg hitting the stone of the water fountain you two love to meet at. He maneuvers his way down and sits on the rim, pulling you on his lap. 

You wrap your arms around his torso, straddling his thighs. James puts his good hand on your waist, using his hook to pull you in by the collar of your shirt. You moan softly, the sound melodious as your rampant emotions spark the magical abilities inside you, one hand leaving his back and creeping inside his loose shirt.

You open your mouth as he slips his tongue inside, gently rocking on his legs. A groan escapes his lips as you rub your fingertips along the bare skin of his chest, moving lower to trace his rather well-defined abs. He moves his good hand down to your leg, gripping it tightly as he continues kissing you with a deep fervor. Everywhere he touches, he leaves a trail of fire on your skin. Your body ignites at even the slightest of brushes, a blaze consuming you inside and out.

Which is why when he raises his hook and brushes your cheek with the cold metal, the feeling is all-too welcomed. You nearly melt as your mind completely blanks, your senses overwhelmed. James doesn’t quite understand why his small gesture elicits such a reaction from you—you were now kissing him and moving with much more rigor than before—but he revels in the way you make him feel. You, on the other hand, get lost in the sharp contrast the coolness of his hook provides to your burning cheek, the inferno that swells around you ever-growing as you continue to have a passionate night with your lover.

The moon has its cycles, coming and going. When it disappears at the first rays of dawn, the tides yearn for its alluring and familiar presence yet again. And although it may seem like an eternity away, nightfall always comes, bringing with it the gentle serenity of being with the one you belong with.

You think back to the question you asked yourself not so long ago, If you could go back, would you change what happened, that fateful day you met James? In that moment, you decide, no, you wouldn’t. Because the life you have right now is the only one your heart will ever yearn for.

end x

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[drabblesandsnippets]

Confidence, Part 1

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 2

Pairing: Sex Worker!Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “What should I call you?” | [Master | Alpha | Pet] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (7k) AU Bucky is a full-service sex worker who enjoys helping women become more confident in their sexuality.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of an ex-boyfriend. Mention of insecurities/body image. Pet names (sweetheart, baby). Lots of asking for consent. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praise. Issues climaxing. Oral & fingering (f receiving).

---------------------------

The end of a long-term relationship had led her here. Years of unhappiness. Years of feeling unsatisfied by her ex. Years of wishing things would change. 

After she finally found the courage to end things, the breath of relief she thought would come never did. Instead, she was left feeling lost, insecure, and unsure about what she wanted or who she even was.

That’s when a friend referred her to Bucky. 

A full-service sex worker who came highly recommended. A man who believes that there’s something inherently beautiful about everyone.

“I’ve worked with all types of women,” he assured her, “and I’ve found every single one of them attractive.”

It sounded like a line, but all the evidence pointed to the contrary. 

Bucky’s not just doing this to make money. He truly enjoys what he does. The physical part of it, sure - he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t - but, it’s the emotional aspect that keeps bringing him back.

There’s nothing like the rush he gets from watching a woman find her confidence and blossom under his guidance. That moment when they finally feel comfortable enough to let go of their inhibitions and learn to trust themselves.

It’s a heady feeling, knowing he’s changing their lives forever, and it’s not something he takes lightly.

Over the last few weeks of emails, texts, and phone calls, she found it easy to talk to Bucky about what she wanted out of this experience. Sex is supposed to be fun, and she wants to be able to enjoy herself without worrying about how she looks or if she’s doing the wrong thing.

Even during the more personal topics, like when they discussed what her sex life was like with her ex, Bucky never made her feel ashamed or judged. Her lack of experience and seemingly lack of enthusiasm for certain acts, due to her ex, didn’t make him blink an eye.

If anything, it made Bucky more intrigued to work with her. She was a puzzle he was going to enjoy help figuring out.

Despite his intimidating appearance - his well-defined muscles and the abundance of tattoos, his entire left arm covered in intricate designs - his charismatic personality keeps her relaxed.

His easy-going nature helps her open up as they sit on the couch in the beautifully decorated hotel room, giving her the courage to blurt out a question, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks when she does.

“What should I call you?”

During their last conversation, Bucky had asked her something similar, curious if she would enjoy being called something other than her name. She settled on a few things, but they never discussed what - if anything - she should call him.

With a tilt of his head, and a warm smile, he tells her, “You can call me whatever you’d like.” 

The hand that’s been resting on the back of the couch finally moves closer to her, his fingers just inches from her shoulder, making her breath hitch.

“Try not to overthink it,” he continues, his hand drifting closer as his smile turns playful. “Let the throes of passion guide you. I’m good with anything, really. ‘Bucky’. ‘Baby’. ‘Sir’. ‘Daddy’, if that’s your kink.”

She immediately laughs, the pink on her cheeks darkening as she shakes her head at him. She’s just starting to figure out what she might like with a partner, she’s not ready to even consider the last two options. 

Bucky’s grin grows and he nods his head in understanding, happy to see that his teasing tone is helping to relax her a bit more. It encourages him to shift a bit closer, his knee just barely brushing against her thigh. 

Their layers of clothing do nothing to dampen the rush of arousal she suddenly feels, and she waits with baited breath as his hand hovers over her shoulder, his fingertips almost close enough to touch her shirt.

“Can I touch you?”

It’s such a simple question, but it’s in this moment that she finally understands the phrase ‘consent is sexy.’

There’s something so incredibly intimate and arousing about Bucky asking for permission, despite the obvious reason he’s here. 

He accepts the slight nod of her head and the soft whisper of ‘yes’ for now. Eventually, he’ll help her find her voice and figure out how to ask for what she wants.

Until then, he needs to find a balance between her obvious desire for more and showing her that it’s okay to go slow.

She deserves to have someone take their time with her, to learn her body, to help her figure out what brings her pleasure. 

She knows what she likes when she’s by herself - that’s never been the problem - it’s allowing herself to be vulnerable with someone that’s the issue. She’s always struggled with being able to fully enjoy the moment, and she’s trusting Bucky to help her learn how to do that.

Goosebumps spread across her skin at the first brush of his thumb along the soft curve where her shoulder meets her neck. A soft exhale and a flutter of her eyelashes tells him all he needs to know, but he still asks, his voice a low murmur.

“Is this okay?”

She’s quick with her answer. A slight nod before she tilts her head, wanting him to keep going. He’s more than happy to, his eyes roaming along her body as he caresses her neck, taking in all the subtle ways her body responds to her touch.

“Does that feel good?”

It shouldn’t make her laugh, but it does. Bucky doesn’t take offense though, just watches her with a grin on his face, his hand never leaving her. 

“Why does it turn me on when you ask questions like that?” She’s surprised she manages to get the words out, but any nerves that threaten to consume her are immediately alleviated when Bucky’s smile grows.

She can practically feel how proud he is of her for asking.

He was already excited about working with her, but this just solidifies it. He can’t wait to watch her come out of her shell even more. 

As his thumb dips down to trace over her collarbone, he tells her, “I think it’s because it shows you that I care about what you want. That your pleasure is important to me.”

After an audible swallow, and a steadying breath, she admits, “I think I just also like hearing your voice.”

Her confession makes Bucky laugh, the smile reaching his eyes, and he nods his head, “Good to know.” He shifts just a bit closer on the couch, his leg resting against hers, his thumb slowly following a path up to her chin. “Does that mean you wanna try some dirty talk?”

She immediately blushes again, but with his thumb caressing the curve of her throat, she’s forced to keep her head held high. 

It manages to give her a boost of confidence, and she lets out a soft laugh, confessing, “Oh god, I’d be terrible at it.”

Bucky chuckles along with her but shakes his head. “Oh don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to say a thing.” His thumb brushes over her chin, almost close enough to touch her lip. “I’d enjoy just watching your reactions.”

He always seems to know just what to say to ease her worries before they can even start. The moment his eyes glance at her mouth, her lips part, and she leans in, just a fraction of an itch. 

The smile on Bucky’s face brightens, and he shifts again, mirroring her movements, but he’s not going to kiss her just yet, wanting the anticipation to build a little more. Instead, he repeats his question, softly asking her, “Do you want me to talk dirty to you?”

The slight shudder that rolls through her would make her feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the hungry look he’s giving her. Her reactions are turning him on, and it helps her find her voice again.

“Yes.” 

With a tender touch, Bucky tucks her hair behind her ear, and all her senses are suddenly flooded by him - the smell of him, the heat of him, the sound of his voice whispering in her ear.

“Do you want me to praise you?” The question catches her off guard, but she’s suddenly aware of the way her nipples tighten, especially when he asks, “Can I tell you how good you’re doing?”

She wants his attention. She wants to be comfortable with someone complimenting her and praising her. So, with a slow nod of her head, she whispers another soft, “yes.”

But, Bucky hears the difference this time. The word just a bit louder, a bit more confident. She’s trying her hardest to allow herself to face her fears, and he wants her to know that he sees her. That he’s proud of how far she’s already come.

After getting her permission to touch more of her, he takes her hand in his, stroking his thumb across her palm, listening to the change in her breath. Without ever pulling away, he keeps talking, his mouth almost close enough to touch her ear.

“You’re doing so good for me.” 

The praise makes warmth pool in her belly and the softest noise of pleasure escapes her. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, his touch sliding higher, the pad of his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist. “I like that sound.”

She feels like she’s dreaming. Bucky’s barely started touching her, and she can already feel the wetness between her thighs, the ache for more.

“Let’s see what other kind of noises you can make for me,” he says, his soft beard brushing against her jaw. With one hand stroking up her forearm, his other hand slides into her hair to support her head, giving him better access.

She’s sure her heart is beating loud enough for him to hear, but she makes no move to pull away, not wanting to give him any reason to stop. Her head is flooded with thoughts of what he’s going to do, how he’s going to touch her, but he still takes her by surprise.

Just the softest brush of Bucky’s lips against her cheek before he’s asking, “is this okay?” and she’s a mess. 

She doesn’t even recognize the sound that comes out of her, and without thinking, she reaches for him, her fingers trailing over the front of his shirt.

Bucky rewards her confidence with another soft kiss along her jaw, and she suddenly decides to jump in with both feet, asking him, “Will you kiss me?” 

The question’s been building all evening, trying to work its way out of her, and his reaction to it makes her wonder why she was hesitant to start with.

“Absolutely.” The way he says it, like he’s just been waiting for her, makes her laugh softly, and he grins as he pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “I would love to kiss you.” 

And the way he kisses her makes her believe him. His mouth soon coaxing hers open, his tongue seeking permission to deepen the kiss, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest in response to the taste of her. 

It’s all so new and exciting, but somehow Bucky’s able to make it feel familiar and comfortable. And for the first time in what feels like forever, she’s not in her head about what’s happening or what she’s supposed to be doing. 

She’s just living in the moment, making out with an incredibly hot guy, welcoming his weight on top of her. 

If there was ever any doubt that he was enjoying himself, it’s erased when he settles between her thighs, letting her feel how turned on he is.

The moan she makes in return just makes him harder, and he leans up, meeting her gaze, a soft smile on his lips. As much as Bucky's enjoying kissing her, he wants to hear her, watch her as the pleasure takes over. 

She’s not sure who moves first, but with a slight tilt of her hips, the hard length of him is suddenly pressed right against her clit, eliciting a soft gasp from her. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the two of them still completely dressed, but the moment he starts to move against her, her back is already arching, her body seeking out more.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of her, watching her closely. She doesn’t even realize it, but she’s the one setting the pace here. He’s just following her lead, matching her movements with his own, wanting her to show him what feels good to her.

When he can see the attention he’s giving her is starting to overwhelm her, he closes the distance, placing soft kisses along her jaw, giving her time to relax all over again. 

With a soft moan right against her ear, he tells her, “You feel so good like this.” His fingers tighten in her hair at her reaction, her tense thighs and lift of her hips causing his cock to throb between them. “Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Oh god,” she breathes, grinding harder against him, his words sending a burst of pleasure straight to her clit. With her hands pressed against his back, fisting his shirt, she quickly nods her head, whispering, “Yes. Please.”

That’s the word he’s been waiting for. 

Please. 

Bucky’s free hand travels down to her thigh, guiding her to lift her leg just a bit higher. The new position makes her gasp and he groans against her neck, asking her, “Please, what?” 

Her body shudders as he starts moving again, the increased pressure between her thighs making her breath catch. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for. She just holds onto him, her hips moving a bit faster, the pleasure building inside of her.

Bucky still wants an answer, but he doesn’t pressure her for one. He follows her lead, listening to her gasps and moans get louder with each thrust of his hips against hers. He’s pretty sure this might be enough to make her come.

The same thought is running through her head, but it’s not long before the moment starts to catch up with her. 

The way she’s starting to sweat underneath her clothes, the way her heavy breathing has caused her throat to go dry, the way her foot keeps slipping off the edge of the couch as she tries to find purchase.

This time it doesn’t surprise her when his voice interrupts her thoughts, asking her, “Can you tell me what you need?” All he wants is for her to be comfortable, and if she’s not feeling this anymore, he’s more than happy to find something that works for her.

She knows what she needs. The only problem is that it’s the one thing that’s been giving her the most anxiety about this night. 

Being naked with him. Being vulnerable. Having to trust him to prove to her that she deserves to have someone bring her pleasure.

Bucky is more than up for the challenge though. His entire goal for the night is to show her how good it can be to have someone take care of her. To show her how much pleasure someone can bring her, if she just allows herself to connect with them.

Soon, he’s leading them to stand at the foot of the bed, taking his time to get her to relax against him, drawing her into a kiss that leaves them both breathless. 

And with just a bit of encouragement, she’s makes the first move, slowly lifting his shirt over his head. While her hands start exploring his newly exposed skin, tracing the lines of the tattoos that cover his shoulder and left arm, he pulls her into another kiss, groaning against her mouth. 

She doesn’t know what’s come over her. She’s never felt this confident before, refusing to overthink how she’s touching him, letting her desire for him guide her. It’s opening her up to so many possibilities, the memory of their conversations about boundaries and kinks suddenly flashing through her mind.

As she encourages him to help her out of her shirt, she softly asks him, “What if I change my mind about something we’ve already discussed?”

It’s clear to Bucky that she’s not asking about things she’s already said she wants, and he takes a moment to consider her question, appreciating the way her nipples strain against her bra.

It’s not lost on him that she makes no move to try to cover up or hide herself from him.

After he gives her another kiss, he meets her gaze, watching her as his finger traces along her bra strap, the back of his fingers brushing across the swell of her breast. 

He smiles when her lips part, her breath quickening, and he whispers, “Then you tell me. Tonight’s about learning to ask for what you want.”

She nods her head slowly, but her voice leaves her for a moment. Her entire focus is on his touch, his fingers teasing along the edge of her bra, the occasional brush of his skin against hers making her dizzy with need. She’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on before, especially not during foreplay.

“What is it you think you might want?” 

Bucky remembers everything she said no to - everything she knew she wouldn’t like, or didn’t want to try - and he can’t ignore the rush of excitement at the thought that he’s made her comfortable enough to try something she wasn’t sure about before.

It’s not until she’s helped him out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxer briefs, that she finally figures out how to voice her desires. It helps that he chooses the same moment to kneel in front of her to undo her jeans, the soft brush of his fingers against her stomach bringing her nothing but pleasure.

“I did what you suggested,” she begins, her hand resting on his shoulder as he starts to lower her jeans, his eyes briefly looking up at her, a pleased smirk on his face as he reveals the matching panties to her bra. “The other night,” she whispers, watching as he slowly undresses her, helping her step out of her jeans. “I tasted myself.”

Bucky doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s not that. 

His hands immediately reach up to hold her hips, his thumbs dipping underneath the waistband of her panties as he lets out a soft groan. The image of her alone in her own bed, touching herself, tasting herself for the first time has him silently praying that this is going where he thinks it is.

He somehow manages to keep his composure and looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, but his voice steady. “What did you think?”

She’s the one that brought this up, but her skin still grows warm and a soft laugh comes out of her. She’s trying so hard not to overthink all of this - to not let her insecurities start to overwhelm her.

Bucky helps her through this moment, like he’s done all evening. Still kneeling in front of her, he slides his hands down her thick thighs and gently asks, “Do you like the way you taste?” 

Her first reaction is to give him a slight shrug, her eyes looking past him. But he quickly gets her attention, finding a sensitive spot along the back of her thigh, the graze of his fingers causing her breath to shudder out of her. 

It has the desired effect, and she nods her head, whispering, “Yes.”

Bucky continues watching her as he caresses the back of her thighs, marveling at the way it causes obvious pleasure to ripple through her, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Do you think I’d like the way you taste?”

There’s no doubt in his mind that he will, but this isn’t really about him. Bucky needs her to get there on her own, to believe that someone wants all of her. 

She wants to shrug again. To brush off his question and keep her eyes closed, pretending that he’s not watching her right now. But, she can’t. That’s not why she’s here. That’s not why Bucky is here. 

After she forces herself to take a slow, deep breath, she finally opens her eyes and looks down at him. The confidence she wishes for isn’t there yet, but she’s able to answer him honestly. 

A soft whisper of, “I’m not sure.” And then, a barely audible utterance of, “Maybe.”

Without hesitation, his hands slide up the outside of her thighs, returning to her hips, his fingers tracing along the edge of her panties. “Do you want me to taste you?” 

She forgets how to breathe, air getting trapped in her lungs as she tries not to look away. She just needs to ask for what she wants. It should be easy by now. She’s already standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, letting him see the bits of her that she’s uncomfortable with.

But, for a moment, the words still don’t come. Her hands remain on his shoulders, her nails lightly scratching along his tattooed skin as she tries to refocus. This time, Bucky remains quiet. He just continues to look up at her, giving her as much time as she needs to show him she’s ready for this.

This is something her ex never volunteered to do, and she was always too shy to ask, but she doesn’t want to be shy anymore. 

She wants to own her sexuality. She wants to be able to ask for what she wants in her next relationship, even new things she might not even know she wants yet.

With a slight nod of her head, and another trembling breath, she tells him, “Yes. I want… I want that.” 

Bucky doesn’t move yet. The look he gives her conveys how proud he is of her, but he wants to hear her say the actual words. Instead of just expecting her to know what to say, he asks her, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She swallows the nervous laughter that threatens to spill out and takes a moment to close her eyes, trying to compose herself. How can such a simple term of endearment cause her so much pleasure? 

That’s not what she says though. When her mouth opens, the words come before she can overthink them. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh, good girl.” Bucky’s growl of praise almost has her collapsing into a puddle, but his hands on her hips keep her steady. Not wanting to lose the momentum she’s building, he slides his hands up her back to her bra, asking her, “Can I take this off?”

She’s already made it this far, the intensity of her insecurities starting to lessen each time she reveals more of herself to him. With a nod of her head, she gives him permission, unable to look away as he slowly unhooks her bra, his fingers immediately rubbing along the indentations left behind.

The soft moan of relief she makes has him grinning up at her, and he slowly slides the straps down her arms, giving her a moment to adjust to this new level of vulnerability.

With his gaze still on her face, he tosses her bra aside to join the rest of their clothes and softly asks her, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, please.” The words come easily this time, despite her nerves trying to get the better of her. She’s insecure about her breasts, gravity having caught up to her before she thought it would, and she finds herself wanting his approval.

In reality, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of her body, but he’s more than happy to help her see what he sees.

Matching his pace of the entire evening, his fingers brush along the sides of her breasts, the feather-light touch causing her nipples to pebble.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells her, unable to tear his gaze away from the way her body immediately arches towards his touch.

Bucky’s given her no reason to doubt his words, and the moment he cups her breast in his hand, her fingers slide into his hair as if to guide him closer.

He doesn’t make her ask for it this time, and she barely registers his breath on her skin before his tongue flicks out to lick her nipple.

The sound she makes causes his cock to twitch and he wastes no time trying to bring more of those noises out of her.

With his heavily-tattooed arm wrapped around her to support her, he immediately closes his lips around the erect bud, his free hand moving to her other nipple. 

It’s like he’s on a mission to see just how loud he can make her get before she demands more from him.

It doesn’t take long, her body trembling against him, both her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“Bucky,” she moans, meeting his gaze as he switches sides, his fingers now playing with her saliva-slick nipple. 

All he does is grin at her in return, the gentle scrape of his teeth giving her the last push she needs. He can practically see the last of her walls starting to crumble, and as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, she manages to surprise him yet again.

“Please,” she pleads, unable to hide how breathless he’s already made her. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groans against her breast. He immediately pulls back and slides his hand up to wrap his fingers around her throat, his tender touch adding to her pleasure. “Is that what you need, baby? You want me to lick your pussy?”

All it takes is a quick confirmation from her and he’s guiding her onto the bed, more than ready to show her what she’s been missing out on. 

Within just a few moments, he has her naked and writhing underneath him, his mouth starting at her neck, taking his time to kiss down her soft curves.

By the time he’s placing kisses along her inner thighs, she’s forgotten about all the reasons why she almost didn’t ask for this. All thoughts about her ex-boyfriend are gone, as are her insecurities, and she runs her fingers through his hair, whining softly, “Please.”

Bucky will never tire of hearing that word. And with one last glance up at her, he helps her push her thighs back a bit more, giving him the perfect view of her pussy. 

“Mmm.” The groan that leaves him makes her pulse, her hips shifting underneath his hold, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Eager, are we?” he teases, taking a moment to give her thigh another soft kiss, his beard tickling her pussy.

The question should make her blush - and any other time it would - but Bucky’s good at what he does. He’s somehow made her comfortable enough that not only does she not blush, she actually laughs. With a grin on her face, she quickly nods her head and tells him, “Yes. I am.”

Bucky’s so proud of her. She’s already come so far, and he quickly praises her with a soft rumble of, “Good girl.” 

And then he’s rewarding her, the slow swipe of his tongue along her slit immediately reducing her to a low whine of, “Oh my god.” He repeats the action, licking her from her dripping entrance up to her clit, teasing the bud with just the tip of his tongue.

“Oh my god.” She’s not sure she knows how to say anything else right now. She’s barely breathing at this point anyway, her entire body tense with anticipation.

And then he has the nerve to pull away, giving her another grin to tell her, “You were right.” 

She blinks, her hands fisting the sheets, her legs already shaking. All she can think about is having his mouth back on her pussy. She has no clue what he’s talking about.

“You taste so fucking good.”

Oh.

She’s not sure she even says anything, but it doesn’t matter because he dips his head back down and gets back to work, tasting her again.

Bucky alternates between long, slow licks and sliding his tongue deep inside of her, wiggling the muscle along her walls. He’s paying attention to all the ways she reacts to what he’s doing, repeating every action that makes her moan or shudder.

She gets lost in the moment, unsure of what to do with her hands, one gripping the sheets while the other holds her ankle, keeping herself spread for him. 

She can feel her pleasure building, but the longer he’s between her thighs, the more her insecurities start to resurface. Maybe this isn’t going to happen. No one’s been able to make her come before.

She’s always been responsible for her own orgasm, and while Bucky seems confident in his abilities, her doubt is starting to creep back up. 

When he returns his attention back to her clit, Bucky dragging the flat of his tongue over the bundle of nerves, she whispers his name. She feels compelled to apologize, like she’s wasting his time, but the only thing she can get out is, “I can’t.”

He pauses, but doesn’t pull his hands away, his fingers slick with her arousal as he looks up at her. Recognizing the confusion and embarrassment on her face, he realizes one crucial mistake he’s made. 

Bucky indulges himself with one more lick before he sets her at ease, explaining, “I’m not trying to make you come yet, baby. I just wanted to taste you, see what you like first.” His thumb teases over her clit as he kisses the soft skin of her inner thigh and asks her, “Is that okay?”

Just like that, he manages to get her back into the right headspace.

After a slow nod of her head, he’s bringing her pleasure again, exploring every inch of her pussy. He's enjoying taking his time, finding all the ways she likes to be touched, learning her body so he can give her what she needs. 

He’s also teasing her. Using his knowledge to make her more desperate. He hopes to get her to the point where she can ask for everything she wants without having to get this overwhelmed.

After his mouth moves away from her clit to lick across her entrance, he hears the change in her breathing. His quick glance shows him that her hands have moved to her tits, her fingers tugging at her nipples, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

Bucky returns his tongue to her clit, slowly circling the swollen bud before closing his lips around it, the soft suction causing her back to arch and she quickly nods her head, whispering, “oh god, please.”

But he pulls away again, her soft gasping whine proving he’s on the right track. She’s almost there. Just another quick tease of his tongue sliding inside of her, then back to suckling on her clit. That’s all it takes.

Her hand comes down to his head, fingers gripping his hair, as she breathlessly begs him, “Yes. Please. Just like that.”

This time, Bucky doesn’t move or pull away. He groans against her, unable to stop his hips from grinding against the mattress, her words sending pleasure straight to his cock. 

With each flick of his tongue, her noises get louder, the coil in her belly growing tighter.

She might actually come from this. Bucky might actually be able to make her come. 

That’s all she can think about. 

One hand in his hair, the other back to white-knuckling the sheet, using it for leverage to grind herself against his mouth. She can feel the pressure building, her muscles growing taut, her legs shaking uncontrollably. 

She’s going to come.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, seemingly unable to say anything else again. But Bucky still doesn’t change anything he’s doing, staying exactly where he is, his tongue never stopping. “Oh my god,” she repeats, nodding her head, desperate for this to happen.

It’s her downfall.

Just when she thinks it’s finally going to happen for her, the feeling suddenly starts to fade. The whine that leaves her, coupled with the frustrated, “No” has her quickly covering her flushed face.

The last thing Bucky wants is for her to think she’s done anything wrong. Or, even worse, that there’s something wrong with her. Because, there isn’t.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, peppering kisses along her thighs. His thumb returns to her clit, Bucky wanting to keep her pleasure building towards that peak again, and he tells her, “It’s okay. Sometimes we can get in our head. And sometimes... it’s just because we need more.”

She’s able to lower her hands away from her face to look down at him. It’s obvious he’s still enjoying himself, and all he wants is for her to be right there with him. It still takes her a moment of slow breathing for her to finally nod her head at him.

“Can you tell me what you think you need right now?” His slick thumb glides over her clit again before dipping down between her folds, teasing across her entrance. 

Her body immediately responds, her hips seeking out more, wanting him inside of her. 

Bucky tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at her, the smile on his face growing. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

It does the trick. With another shift of her hips, and more teasing pressure from his thumb, she nods her head. She doesn’t know how, but the words spill out of her without a second thought. “Fuck me, please.”

It takes every once of his control not to immediately let his thumb sink inside of her. She’s so wet, just begging to be filled, but it’s the perfect time to get her to verbalize her needs.

Bucky sits up on his knees just a bit, circling his thumb against her entrance before sliding it back up to her clit. He interrupts her needy whine with, “How do you want me to fuck you?”

She knows what he’s doing. And she’s incredibly grateful for it. Between quick and shallow breaths, she tells him, “With your fingers. Please.”

He tests her resolve, watching her closely as he starts to rub his thumb against her again, almost pushing inside of her. She immediately shakes her head and he pauses, a grin lighting up his face.

Bucky doesn’t even have to ask, she’s more than willing to tell him exactly what she wants. Her words coming quickly. “Please. Fuck me with your fingers. Two of them.”

His growl of praise immediately floods her brain, causing pleasure to radiate from her core. “Oh good girl,” he tells her, more than ready to give her what she wants,  “I’m so proud of you.” 

The cry that comes out of her as he fills her is unlike anything she’s ever made before. Her back arches and she reaches for him, grabbing his tattooed hand as his two thick fingers immediately find the spot that always seemed to allude others.

Bucky has every intention of tasting her again, planning to make her come with his mouth on her clit while he fucks her with his fingers.

He just wants to take a moment to watch her, enjoying the way the curl of his fingers causes her to gasp. His own body throbbing with pleasure as he strokes along her front wall, drawing more noises from her.

“You are so fucking hot,” he moans, interlocking their fingers as his gaze travels along her body from her thighs to her face, his cock leaking pre-cum at the sight of her.

When she’s able to accept his compliment without looking away, he increases the pressure, listening to the sounds of her wetness fill the air. 

She’s finally at that point that he promised she’d get to. Where she feels nothing but pleasure, able to bask in the connection they’re sharing.

“I wanna come for you.” There’s nothing quiet about her request, even as she struggles to get the words out between her soft gasps and moans.

“You really are incredible,” he tells her, eagerly returning to his earlier position, his head between her thighs. 

With his fingers still deep inside of her, he presses his tattooed arm against her thigh and places his palm flat against her lower stomach, using his fingers to spread her, exposing her clit.

She welcomes his touch, not a care in the world about how exposed she feels or how his hand digs into her soft belly. In fact, she doesn’t care how she looks at all. All she cares about his how close his mouth is to her pussy again, the feel of his warm breath making her whisper, “Please.”

Bucky glances up at her, a serious look on his face, quieting her pleading for the moment. 

“There’s no rush here, do you understand?” He accepts the slight nod of her head before continuing, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “If I need a break, I’ll tell you. Until then,” his raises his eyebrows in excitement, “let’s just enjoy ourselves, yeah?”

She’s quick to agree, forcing herself to relax, resting her head against the pillow. She doesn’t even try to keep her eyes open anymore, the return of his tongue to her clit practically making her forget her name. 

With the pressure of his fingers inside of her, rubbing against her g-spot, there’s suddenly not a doubt in her mind that Bucky’s going to make her come.

It still rushes up on her quickly, her senses completely overloaded - the obscene noises his mouth makes against her clit, the slight scratch of his beard on her pussy, the smell of sex lingering in the air.

“I’m gonna come,” she gasps, one hand on her breast, the other on his head, gripping his hair. “Please don’t stop.”

He actually has the audacity to laugh against her, but he has no intentions of stopping. The rhythm of his tongue never changes, Bucky already knowing exactly how to lick her to get her there. 

She allows herself to be consumed by the pleasure he’s giving her, and the moment her hips start to move faster against him, her thighs threatening to close, the groan he makes causes her to fall over the edge.

Bucky keeps her held down, even as her body bucks against him, using his strength to keep his mouth on her clit and his fingers buried inside of her. 

She’s so tight, barely allowing fingers to move at all, but it doesn’t matter, he just keeps stroking her g-spot, prolonging her pleasure as long as she’ll let him. 

It feels like it lasts forever, her body riding out the waves until she’s left a wrecked, trembling mess, incoherent words escaping her lips.

Once Bucky’s sure she’s had as much as she can take, he quickly kisses up her body to pull her into his arms. She wraps herself around him, clinging to him, burying her face against him as he soothes her with soft words of praise.

“You did so good for me.”

“Such a good girl.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

As her body starts to relax, she welcomes his mouth on hers, moaning at the taste of her arousal on his lips. It makes her want more and it’s not long before her hips move underneath him, grinding herself against his covered erection.

Bucky rests his forehead against hers and lets out his own moan of pleasure, his neglected cock wanting nothing more than to fuck her and feel her come. He won’t do anything unless she asks for it though.

The look she’s giving him tells him she knows exactly what’s going through his mind. But, she doesn’t ask him to fuck her. Not yet.

First, she asks for something else - something she thought she wouldn’t want to do, her request catching Bucky off guard, causing his hips to thrust against her.

“Can I suck your cock?”

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